Whetstones of the Will

by R J Hanson

  However, A’Ilys respected Slythorne for another reason entirely; two reasons, actually. One, he kept his circle very small, reducing the likelihood of betrayal. Two, and more importantly, those he chose to surround himself with were the absolute best in their respective professions. A’Ilys had no doubts about the magical prowess of Lady Dru or how she had contributed to Slythorne’s goals. The recruitment of the Shadow Blade, though; that was a masterstroke. For, if you were one who could not enter a place simply because you had not been invited, the greatest way to compliment that weakness was to procure the services of one of the best infiltrators in the world. Now, A’Ilys followed that infiltrator.

  A’Ilys was no spellcaster himself; however, he did possess a large and varied collection of trinkets, each of which provided a spell or two the Master of Spies found useful. Currently, he employed a silver earring that masked both his body heat and his scent. He wore a black diamond pendant that allowed him, within limits, to alter his physical appearance or to become invisible for short stents. The crafty rogue also wore a set of supple drow chainmail that silenced his movements.

  A’Ilys followed as the Shadow Blade started along the winding path that would inexorably take him back to the surface of the mountain above. A’Ilys followed at a respectful distance but made sure to keep the dangerous Shadow Blade within his sight at all times. He had five skilled drow stationed at various locales within Moras watching for any sign of Maloch, Slythorne, and this Shadow Blade; however, if Slythorne had established a camp outside the city, A’Ilys would have to follow the skilled assassin to find it.

  The impostor drow shifted his form, although remaining as a drow, several times before reaching the final corridor that led to the surface. A’Ilys almost lost the assassin a few times. However, the Master of Spies had made note of the Shadow Blade’s particular gait, something most difficult to alter about one’s self. With each change of the assassin’s appearance, A’Ilys was able to spot him again within two to three strides.

  A’Ilys watched as the impostor skillfully triggered the hidden mechanism to open the outer passage of the drow cavern. A’Ilys, moved with absolute silence as he followed the assassin out into the overcast night. The assassin took a path back toward the south and away from Moras; A’Ilys had been hoping for just such a change in direction. This meant the Shadow Blade was indeed headed to a new encampment.

  The assassin moved around a large outcropping of rock while A’Ilys, more skilled in traversing mountain trails, ascended above the turn so that he could watch the assassin’s movements from a higher vantage point. A’Ilys crept to the crest of the outcropping, careful not to allow his silhouette to give him away. The Master of Spies squatted on his heels, several feet back from the crest, and scanned the area where the assassin would reappear.

  “Your thoughts are so loud,” a strange voice whispered from behind the drow. “You are skilled; I’ll give you that.”

  A’Ilys began to take in a preparatory breath when he felt the point of a dagger slip around the neck of his fine armor and slightly prick the skin where his collar bone met his throat.

  “Now, now,” the stranger said. “Let’s not be rude. My employer may wish to seize control of the clan of ogres or coven of drow when this is all over. He might find one of your relative skill of service. We are both professionals, so let us not squawk about. The only reason I might let you live is that you provided me quality information such that your remaining alive would be a benefit to my employer and to me.”

  A’Ilys knew well the area beneath the assassin’s dagger tip. There were at least three ways an injury there could disable someone. First, there was the proximity of the large artery in the neck that, once cut, could bleed a warrior dry in less than a minute. Second, there was another artery that ran along the collar bone and injury there could prove just as fatal. Finally, there was a cluster of nerves in the region that, when struck, could cause temporary paralysis. However, if a blade sliced through those nerves, the paralysis might not be quite so temporary.

  “Slythorne,” A’Ilys whispered in reply. “We are both professionals, so let’s not use euphemisms amongst ourselves. Your employer is Slythorne.”

  “Ah, well-spoken,” the Shadow Blade responded. “You may call me… oh, it’s a bit chilly out, so you just call me Frost.”

  “Very well, Frost. What would you know?”

  “Delightful. It is such a relief dealing with another professional. How committed to Lady Dru’s defense is Queen Jandanero? I don’t want to hear about her feelings on the matter; I want to know how many soldiers she would lose before she abandoned the effort. I want to know how much loss she would endure before leaving Dru to her own means of defense. I also want to know if there is an amount of coin that might spare us all this nonsense and enlist the good Queen’s assistance. Oh, and you will tell me how far along the Chaos Lord is and about the relationship between him and this risen Lord of Order.”

  “He won’t tell you those t’ings,” came from a raspy voice off in the rocks. A voice that A’Ilys knew well. “He won’t tell you ‘cause I’ll kill ‘im before he does.”

  “Well now, that’s a bit rude,” the Shadow Blade, sometimes called Ashdow, said. “You must be afraid of me to hide off in the rocks as you have. Come on down here, and we’ll all discuss it.”

  “I’m afraid, ‘tis true,” Hellmog said from his high perch. “I’m afraid of my Warlord, Rogash. He wouldn’t like the drow tellin’ secrets. He wouldn’t like the drow dyin’ neither, but I’m thinkin’ secrets ‘er more important.”

  The assassin twisted the needlepoint of his dagger just a bit as he turned to look in the direction of Hellmog’s voice.

  “Come on down here, and we’ll discuss how your warlord might be rewarded by my employer.”

  “If you think me dumb ‘cause I talk stupid, then you’re dumber,” Hellmog said, not moving from his concealment. “You’ll not twist my pride to make me come within reach of you, assassin. You won’t ‘cause I got no pride. It costs too much.”

  “Tell me, friend, why can’t I hear you?” the assassin asked, sounding genuinely curious. “I could hear the drow’s thoughts clearly. One sneak to another, why can’t I hear you?”

  “I don’t think too much,” Hellmog replied flatly. “You move away from the dark-skinned one, and I won’t put an arrow in your head. Maybe I’ll only put an arrow in your leg.”

  “I have a different plan…” the assassin began as he twisted his right foot in preparation of a spell assisted leap.

  Hellmog loosed his first arrow, and then a second in such quick repetition, the common eye could not even track the movement. Ashdow had no time for the move he’d prepared. The assassin pulled his dagger from A’Ilys’s neck in just enough time to slap aside the first of Hellmog’s arrows.

  However, Ashdow was no novice to quick and deadly combat. As the dagger in his right hand led the way to parry the first arrow, Ashdow pitched his left hand out with the speed and agility of a serpent striking. Before either Hellmog or A’Ilys could blink, Ashdow caught that second arrow, spun, and drove it into the seam of A’Ilys chainmail shirt at the armpit. The instant the arrowhead punctured the drow’s flesh and was driven into his lung, Ashdow summoned his exceptional magical skills and caused a smoke flash to burst at their feet. The flash dulled Hellmog’s night vision, and the following smoke obscured the entire area. In that same move, Ashdow cast a spell of teleport that moved him far down the mountainside.

  “You can pursue me, Sneak, if you like,” Ashdow said from far out in the darkness. “However, your drow will bleed to death long before you catch up to me. Take my employer’s offer of coin to your masters. They will be richer, and won’t lose nearly as many soldiers.”

  Hellmog was already moving down the rocky outcropping on nimble hands and feet. He was at A’Ilys’s side before the assassin had finished his sentence. Hellmog pulled a wineskin from his pouch and crammed it into A’Ilys’s hands.

  “Drin
k,” Hellmog commanded.

  “What… what is it?” A’Ilys finally managed to say.

  Hellmog’s only answer was to look over A’Ilys’s shoulder and nod to a point in the distance behind him. When the drow turned to look in the direction of Hellmog’s nod, Hellmog grabbed the end of the arrow and broke it off less than two inches from the entry wound. A’Ilys gasped in pain, and fresh blood splattered his lips and chin.

  “Dwarf potion,” Hellmog said as he moved around the drow to take him up under the opposite arm and helped him to stand. “Now, drink.”

  “Pardon me,” came from a rich voice in the darkness just behind the two unlikely partners. “Could you tell your respective potentates to meet me on that peak an hour before sunrise?”

  Both turned to see a tall man with a shaved head and pale skin standing before them. A’Ilys’s first thought was to note the unusually proper posture the figure maintained. Hellmog first noticed that he’d never seen anyone wear a Shrou-Hayn on a hip-belt before. Both knew they were likely being addressed by the Warlock of the Marshes. Both nodded.

  “Oh, and A’Ilys, would you be so kind as to tell your Queen that I would be quite grateful if she were to bring a certain construct to our meeting?”

  Three hours later, and an hour before sunrise, Lynneare stood on a mountaintop, looking out over the harshly beautiful valleys that surrounded the area. He could take no action against Slythorne directly; however, he did find the constantly gloomy weather irritating. Thus, with a wave of his hand, the dense fog and overcast sky cleared to reveal crisp stars and a radiant moon.

  Dactlynese stood paced behind him while Warlord Rogash and Queen Jandanero approached their position from two different trails. Lynneare smiled when he looked upon the suit of animated armor that marched behind Queen Jandanero; the old vampire was glad to see that the drow had indeed brought her Dark Guardian.

  “How long will this take?” Dactlynese demanded from behind him. “Every moment I’m away from Wodock, my position with Verkial’s troops diminishes.”

  “‘Accept peace when it is offered, enjoy the sun and stars while you may,’” Lynneare quoted.

  “Do not speak to me of platitudes and maxims,” Dactlynese snapped back. “If we’re to be away from here, then let us be about it!”

  “You worry for him,” Lynneare said as the realization came over him, surprised him. “He does walk into the path of danger, but I have seen his survival many times over.”

  “I don’t know who you mean.”

  “Your drow paladin,” Lynneare said simply. “I knew he cared for you. I am glad you also care for him.”

  “Father, you push my temper.”

  Lynneare smiled and drank in the cold mountain air. He smiled again when he noted the scent of the other two, the two he’d met just a few hours before. They were quite stealthy; there was no doubting that.

  “Ah, fair Queen, mighty Warlord, thank you both for coming at my invitation,” Lynneare said when the two rulers stepped onto the plateau of the summit. “I hope you understand why we had to meet under Merc’s Road.”

  “We met here ‘cause I ain’t about to invite you into my caverns,” Rogash stated flatly.

  Lynneare only responded with a smile.

  “I have deigned to acquiesce to your request,” Jandanero said as her eyes drifted over the horizon and peaks surrounding them.

  All there heard Dactlynese’s teeth grind and saw her twist the lanyard of her mace around her wrist.

  “That was very gracious of you, fair Queen,” Lynneare said in his rich voice. “I’ll have him back to you intact and before the next moon.”

  “What you gonna do about your bloodsucking buddy down there in the city?” Rogash asked.

  “I’ve done what I can… what I may,” Lynneare said with a tired sigh, perhaps revealing a genuine emotion for the first time during this exchange. “Slythorne’s fate is sealed, I think. There may be loss. There almost always is. Frost may be another issue.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Rogash asked with an edge in his voice.

  “I’m not quite sure,” Lynneare responded, clearly unconcerned about the warlord’s mood. “Speak to your Lady Dru and your Chaos Lord. Dunewell and Maloch will face Slythorne soon and will need their help. Maloch holds my part of our bargain for her. Please, pass that information along. They must work together, or they will fail. Afterward, well, there are some corners of the future less opaque than others. Soon another will come against you; against all. Be ready, and don’t waste time and resources by squabbling.”

  With that, Lynneare whispered a series of quiet words that generated a thick smoke that engulfed him. In a moment, he, Dactlynese, and the Dark Guardian were gone.

  “I hate vampires,” Rogash said as he swiped a vast clawed hand through the dissipating smoke.

  “I understand your… creature, Hellmog, was somehow involved in the attack on my Master of Spies,” Jandanero said, ignoring Rogash’s conversational prompt altogether.

  “Involved? He saved your skinny drow’s life is what he did.”

  “Perhaps. It is good to have valuable servants.”

  “Your point?” Rogash asked, growing impatient.

  “I may have work for this Hellmog in the near future, should you allow it, of course.”

  “That will depend on the work.”

  “Then, perhaps, you will have work for him which will benefit us both,” Jandanero said. “I will provide the direction, you the scout. Then we will share in the information learned. Oh, and do tell your creature that I am quite adept at perusing the minds of wizards and sorcerers, I’m sure his mind would be no trouble.”

  I hope you understand, I mean no intrusion, the voice in her mind startled Lady Dru from her contemplation. I pray you’ll forgive my need for expedience. The Queen of the drow, Jandanero, has held up your end of our bargain, and thus, I am sending your piece of the Drakestone with the Lord High Paladin, Maloch.

  A paladin of Time is going to surrender a Drakestone to me? she asked as she also cast a spell of searching, attempting to ensure she was alone in her chambers while mentally engaged with the likes of the Warlock of the Marshes.

  He will. In the days to come, he may have reason to destroy you. However, you both understand that Slythorne must fall. He understands that an even greater threat looms. As to the behavior of this Inquisitor, Dunewell, I can only say that he understands the dangers one such as Slythorne poses. He and your Chaos Lord do have unsettled business. That may pose a problem, assuming they survive the encounter with my old Master Templar. I know something of the bond between master and shyeld. I hope your words of reason will guide him.

  I think you misunderstand, Lady Dru replied. Silas loves his brother.

  Silas entered Lady Dru’s rooms in A’Ilys’s chambers. He paused in the doorway to bow. Typically, his signs of courtesy were sarcastic at best and usually some subtle means of mocking someone in the room. However, this morning he sincerely hoped to communicate his subservience to his mistress. He doubted any had noticed, but he knew she was frightened.

  His curiosity, rarely sated, was burning within him now over the subject of Slythorne. The Warlock of the Marshes, the Original Betrayer, had called on them to face this threat; this threat and some other threat yet to be named. He had called on them to face these threats together. The fact that Dru was afraid, not concerned but afraid, was enough to raise Silas’s interest in the person. When one considered both Lynneare and Dru paid Slythorne the respect of their alarm, the unanswered questions became maddening.

  Dru sat at her desk, flipping through tomes of powerful spells, yet Silas had the feeling she wasn’t really reading any of them. He had sworn his loyalty to the vampire mistress before him as a means of maintaining his independence from the demon princes and because he thought their purposes would be aligned. He had not anticipated finding someone who loved to discover, who loved to learn, as much as he did. He had not anticipated her superior intellect or s
trong will. He had not anticipated loving her.

  “Lady Evalynne’s compliance has been without hesitation,” Silas said when the silence in the room became more than he could tolerate. “The assassin, said to be a Shadow Blade, has arrived and questioned her and Uriel-Ka at length regarding Stewardess Delilah and the death of Steward Silas of House Morosse. I spoke to Ramaj, the Shadow Blade, previously employed by House Morosse, and he offered nothing about the other Shadow Blade. Also, I’m fairly certain Ramaj is not his actual name, but no matter. In truth, I don’t think he knew anything about him. He hid it well, but seemed surprised when I mentioned another of their guild being in Moras, and then seemed eager to be on his way. Interestingly enough, he is posing as merchant captain Danmorgan of the Split Town House Wellborne, technically making his alias a subordinate of my alias, Cambrose of House Wellborne. I thought that quite amusing.”

  “I offered her you in exchange for the loan of the Dark Guardian,” Dru said, not taking her eyes up from her book of spells.

  “Understandable, and expected,” Silas said. “The Queen has indulged my presence thus far only because of her curiosity about my… current state of being.”

  “You are to aid A’Ilys in attempting the same ritual,” Dru continued, still not willing, or unable, to look at her Chaos Lord. “If that ritual should fail in any way, then you are to become her sworn subject, loyal to only the Queen.”

  “I understand,” Silas said, hoping to sound more dutiful than he felt.

  He did not take this as any sort of betrayal; it was simple pragmatism. Given the apparent danger of their current circumstances, Silas understood the necessity. Although, he began to wonder if Lady Dru was keeping her eyes to the pages before her because of some perceived guilt, some sense of shame. That thought touched him profoundly. The idea that her attention, her concern, might be so much so that she experienced a feeling of guilt over him quaked the foundations of his heart.