by R J Hanson
Ashcliff had never known anyone he could call a friend. He could not remember a time in his life when anyone was concerned for him. He had been trained, and trained well. He had been trained so that he could bring the best reputation and profit to his master. He previously had delusions that his master had cared for him but he saw things more clearly after spending two years enslaved when his master could have easily accomplished his escape. Ashcliff had been not much more than a child back then. His fifteenth birthday would come a week from now. He was much older now, and much wiser. He had found true friends in Roland and Eldryn.
Their friendship was a treasure he never thought to find, and it was a treasure he planned on keeping safe. They would not understand about Lynneare, his employer. A Shadow Blade had to keep his word to his employer. It was the first and last rule in Ashcliff’s profession.
Ash traveled for months in the silence of shadows. He traveled swiftly and sustained himself on herbs that he had collected before beginning this trek.
At winter’s end Ashcliff came to the port city of Stamdon, on the northwest corner of the continent of Hunthor. It was one of the points of departure for armies heading to Tarborat and other lands contested by Ingshburn to the north. He took passage on a merchant vessel to the fourth largest body of land recorded on any maps.
It was the land held by Prince Ralston, son to His Majesty Eirsett, King of Lethanor. It was a vast terrain where Prince Ralston battled to save lands already claimed by Lethanor from Daeriv. There was no confirmation that Daeriv was in league with Ingshburn, and therefore no lords considered Ralston’s dilemmas worthy of aid from their armies. Ralston sent his troops out from two large cities on the small continent, Vanthor and Skult. This land of Lawrec was also the home of Lynneare, and had been for centuries before the return of the Great Men to Hunthor.
Once Ashcliff was within one hundred leagues of the coasts of Lawrec he took a charm from his pack. It was daylight now. Lynneare would prefer the dark. Ashcliff put the charm, shaped like an hourglass broken in two at its middle, back in his pack. The charm looked remarkably like the symbol adopted by the dark elves of Nolcavanor.
Nightfall finally came and Ashcliff removed the charm again. He held it in his left hand and whispered the words to activate it.
Some distance away a tall, shaved bald shadow of a man in black robes stood from his chair at a darkly stained table and looked to the southeast. His face was handsome in its own way but curious. Depending on the light he might appear twenty-five years of age at one moment and fifty in the next. He bore the frame and bearing of the race of Great Men. But no Great Men of the day were so pale and very few this lean.
“Shanks,” the figure said. “After so many moons could you have finally succeeded where so many others failed?”
The seven-foot tall and athletically muscled Lynneare walked as if floating over the stone floor from his dining room to a study filled with books and magical items his knee-high black leather boots not making a sound. The pale figure took a large sack of coins from the desk in the study, put on two rings, and took up a belted Shrou-Hayn and slung it around his slim hips.
Lynneare raised his shaven head and focused his dark blue eyes as he whispered into the night. A vapor seeped between his lips as he did so. The vapor grew and swirled until it surrounded him. Once the vapor completely engulfed him, Lynneare vanished from the scarcely lit study.
On the deck of the ship that Ashcliff had taken passage the vapors collected from thin air. They began to darken and take form. Then from them walked the ancient and powerful Lynneare, The Warlock of the Marshes. He was a man that at one moment might appear to be no more than thirty years of age and in another the wrinkles at the edges of his eyes would proclaim at least fifty. Ashcliff, however, was no fool. The Warlock of the Marshes had walked this world, and perhaps others, for many centuries.
“It took me longer than expected,” Ashcliff said. “However, I do have the items you hired me to collect.”
“I am very pleased with your work. What are a few months to one who has lived as I have? In this bag you will find your well-deserved payment. You may count it. I take it that my old mount is still secure in his prison.”
“That fool, Yorketh, almost brought the whole complex down on our heads,” Ashcliff said as he looked into the bag. “I saw no signs of the lower levels being compromised though. No one had even been near the door to that place. I think he, or it, is still secure.”
“He, it is he,” Lynneare confirmed.
Ashcliff felt the weight of the bag. He took one of the gold coins out and examined it closely.
“There is another thing,” Ashcliff said. “The woman fighter, Dawn. You asked me to keep an eye out for her.”
“Yes.”
“She works for the wizard Daeriv. I suspected he would be looking for the same items and I began spying on him. I was captured, but eventually put into his service. I traveled with a female warrior who goes by the name of Dawn. She must be the same one you told me of. It was said that she had a sister who was equally beautiful, but I don’t believe any could match Dawn’s cruelty.”
“Go on,” Lynneare said.
“I believe she, along with the cantrip mage I mentioned, Yorketh, will be hunting a pair of my friends, Roland and Eldryn. If you still intend to capture her that would be a good place to start.”
“Excellent.”
“Are you sure you do not wish to hire me to collect her for you as well?”
“No. She is dangerous, and I must have her in custody and alive. Is she in danger from this Roland and Eldryn you mentioned?”
“She might be,” Ashcliff said. “They are both inexperienced, but strong as oxen. They felled four giants between the two of them and they are the ones that killed the two headed beast that guarded those artifacts. Roland also felled the dark elf Maloch in single combat.”
“They sound competent,” Lynneare said, his voice rich and melodic. “You saw this Roland drop Maloch of the Black Lance in single combat?”
“Yes. It was battle to be sure, but fell him he did,” Ashcliff said. “There is another thing. Roland is the taller of the two. I believe he is even taller than you, my lord. He is the second son of Lord Velryk. Eldryn is the son of Ellidik. They held the hourglass and survived it. It did cost them a few years of their lives though.”
“That is another thing indeed. Does Lord Velryk know of any of this?”
“He does not. Roland is becoming a great warrior, but he is too proud to seek help from his father.”
“That is good,” Lynneare said.
Lynneare took two more coins of Rorkor from his pouch. Rorkor was a metal which, in its raw form, was stronger and more resilient that any alloy devised by man or god and light as ship’s wood. Its proper name was Roarke’s Ore. The dwarves that discovered it ages ago named it thus because it was said that it was the personal metal of the god of smithing, Roarke. Roarke’s Ore was eventually shortened to Rorkor and remained so for any non-dwarf that referred to the unequalled material.
Roarke’s Ore could slay unholy beasts without the benefit of holy runes or symbols and would hold an edge almost indefinitely. A point of Rorkor could pierce almost any alloy as if it were made of leather. It was treasured by all races and creatures of this world. It was, however, as rare as it was powerful.
“This is for the extra information. Information that is valuable to me. I will understand if this Dawn comes after you and you must defend yourself. However, you will not find a god that can help you if I find that you have assassinated her, is that clear?”
“Crystal, sire,” Ashcliff said as he took the coins.
“Very well. You have done good work for me Shadow Blade. If I have need of your services again how should I get in touch with you?”
“In the city of Bolthor there is a blacksmith who has a shop next to a tavern called the Rusty Nail. Go to that blacksmith and ask for two mercshyeld tipped arrows with pine shafts and Ostridge feathering. He
can get in touch with me.”
“I thank you again, Shadow Blade. Travel safely.”
With that the Warlock breathed the familiar vapors from between his blood red lips and was gone in the mist. Ashcliff, now able to relax, shuttered a bit, breathed a quick prayer to whatever god might be listening, and then went below deck to his cabin. His first mission was complete. Package delivered and payment collected. He was indeed a Shadow Blade now.
Chapter VIII
The City
Roland, Lucas, and Eldryn traveled hard for two weeks. Roland and Eldryn began slowly concerned for Lucas’ health. However, they discovered quickly that Lucas could almost match even their reserve of endurance.
Roland and Eldryn also discovered their new friend, Lucas, was quite a story teller. Each night at the campfire he had a new tale of a different land. He told them of growing up in Janis, an unusual land where the tundra on the southern half was divided from the hot jungles of the north. He told them of hunting great white bears and of warriors there that rode war-cats into battle. He told them of fighting pirates between the port cities of Thorvol and Janisport, and of the fierce jungle warriors of, the Zepute, of the city of JunTeg. He even told them a little of when he first went into the caverns of Nolcavanor, when his eyes could still see. Apparently, he had been struck by a serpent while wondering in the dark within the first years of being trapped there. The venom had robbed him of his sight. In the short time, the three became good friends.
When ten days of travel were behind them, they began to encounter outlying farms and ranches. They traded with a few for simple foods and wares. They were tempted to borrow a barn for shelter and perhaps share a proper cooked meal with the families they encountered. However, the thought of Yorketh and Dawn catching them in one of those homes kept them from it. Fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, daughters, and sons dying in a potential ambush aimed for them was not something any of them had any taste for.
They were able to make some purchases though. Lucas seemed to cherish the taste of milk as much as he had the coffee. He asked after something stronger to drink but these folks lived sparsely and only kept spirits for their use as medicines from time to time, and then used very sparingly.
“I’ll give you this precious stone for whatever brandy, wine, or whiskey you have,” Lucas offered one of the farmers they traded with. Lucas, apparently unwittingly, had offered the man a rock. A rock of no particular value or distinction other than the fact that it was smooth.
The farmer, who could clearly see that Lucas was blind, looked to Roland and Eldryn. Eldryn acted quickly producing a small gem that he had found in Nolcavanor. He and the farmer exchanged a knowing, yet quiet, glance.
“Sir, that is far too much to offer for such simple wine as I have,” the farmer said. “It is only little more than half a bottle’s worth.”
“I’ll take it,” Lucas said.
They made their exchange, rock for bottle, and as Lucas was walking away Eldryn handed the farmer the jewel he had shown.
“Do you take me for a fool?” Lucas asked after they had walked a league or so down the road. “I’m not sure what you mean,” Eldryn said.
Lucas tipped up the bottle and drained it in a single quaff.
“I know that was a simple stone,” Lucas said. “I kept them to kill snakes in the caverns. I became quite good at throwing them. The snakes were quite tasty compared to the rest of my diet. I was hoping that dirt worker would have some pity on an old, blind man and make the trade anyway.”
Although Lucas seemed serious both Roland and Eldryn shared a hearty, and much needed, laugh.
“Did you really give him good coin for that wine/water?” Lucas asked.
“I did, well a small gem stone actually,” Eldryn said, still laughing.
“Roland, you travel with a good man,” and that was Lucas’s final word on the matter.
After leagues and days of traveling south, they finally arrived at the nearest city of Dalloth. It was the first time either boy had been to a large city. Both were amazed at the sights and sounds of the market places and taverns. They had been to Gallhallad, the home of the lord of their homeland, but that was only to spend some time at the soldiers’ academy. And on those rare occasions they had no look at the city but only the martialing yards near it.
Now they approached a great walled city. The walls were of wood but were thick and strong. Velryk had told them both years before that the walls around a city were primarily to keep raiders out in the older days or, for cities that were near a boarder, keep out neighboring armies. He had said that in these times most city walls were to keep thieves and assassins in rather than invaders out. It was tactic he called controlled access. He explained that, much in the same way a sally port was used in vaults and keeps to prevent escape, so were the walls of the cities used to prevent looters from fleeing to the woods with their prize. When the boys were older Velryk also explained that it was a means for tax collectors to monitor exactly what goods came in and what goods were exported.
They were not disappointed when they arrived at the gate and saw that it was well manned by town guard. They also noticed that many of the guard were looking inward to the city and only a few looking outward to the roadway.
After a perfunctory examination at the gate by the guard they were allowed in. Roland and Eldryn were amazed at the sight they beheld. Merchants and mercenaries, farmers and scholars, priests and tavern girls mixed about them in what seemed a chaos of purposes.
Roland noted the stone foundations of the streets and building that must have been laid by the first Great Men and the newer construction of stores and taverns of the common men who dwelt here now. Both saw the great spires of several churches and the high stone walls of the keep toward the center of the city.
Although amazed by what they saw, smelled, and heard, all were exhausted from the road. The three found the nearest inn, bathed, and ate a huge meal. Lucas asked for a quill and paper and Roland borrowed them from the innkeeper. Lucas wrote a short note and sealed it with a ring he wore that was very dirty and worn. It was addressed in the Slandik language. Roland could speak Slandik but, had no hope of reading it.
“I want you to take this to a tavern in this town called The Blood Hair, if it still stands,” Lucas said. “It is frequented by friends of mine.”
“You will be well here, in your room?” Roland asked.
“Yes, I will be well.”
“Eldryn should be nearby if you should have need of anything,” Roland said.
“I survived in Nolcavanor for over twenty years,” Lucas said. “I think I can handle an inn for a few hours.”
Roland asked the inn keeper for directions and still lost his way twice before finding the Blood Hair. When he entered, he understood why Lucas had sent him to this place. He had never been to Janis but had heard many stories of the barbarians and blood thirsters from there. Some stories were from Velryk, but those were mostly for information. Velryk had schooled Roland on almost all of the races, cultures, and lands in the known world. The best stories about Janis he had heard were told by Lucas.
It seemed that within the walls of this tavern a piece of Janis had been created. The style of the place was certainly not of a western build or design. It was filled with the sons of the frozen plains who sat in chairs made of large bone and rough hides. The floors were carpeted here and there with the skins of great predators from distant lands. Each man stopped to watch Roland enter the tavern and walk to the bar. Roland delivered the letter to the bartender as asked.
Roland made his delivery and left as soon as he could. Something in him liked these men and their way of life, however, he could see that they were not given to accepting others. Roland exited and made his way back to his own inn. Then climbed the stairs to his room and slept.
Roland awoke, and he could see through his window that the sun was high in its arc over the land. He bathed using a cloth and a basin in his room. He looked at himself in the mirror and
almost didn’t recognize what he saw there. The months of traveling through the wild lands and the battles and struggles those travels brought to him and his friends had put age on his face along with a full beard. Not to mention the effects of the Hourglass.
Before arriving at the inn, he had begun to wonder if he would ever again be warm or rested. He had trained, and trained hard, all his life. He had been taught of the enemies he might one day face including the enemy of exhaustion. He had been prepared, but training for a deed and the deed itself were often different experiences entirely. He understood that now, or at least had a better understanding.
He had seen the change in Eldryn. El looked much the same on the outside, but some change on the inside had shone through and could be seen in his eyes.
Roland went down the steps of the inn to the dining area and found Eldryn setting alone at a table set with four full plates of food. He was setting near to the roar of the fire that burned in the large stone fireplace.
“I see that your appetite is healthy,” Roland said.
“Some of this is for you too. I didn’t think it would be long before you awoke. Do you know how long we slept?”
“Well past the tenth hour. I would say closer to noon.”
“Accurate enough, but on what day?”
Roland looked at Eldryn curiously.
“We slept for two days,” Eldryn said. “I went down to check on my horse in the stable and pay the man for his keep and discovered that I had slept while an entire day had passed.”
Roland didn’t miss the fact that Eldryn had checked on his horse before seeing to his own needs. He was a good man.
Roland began eating and discovered that he was hungrier than he had thought. Both young men ate three full plates of fried eggs, ham steak, cheese, and bread, and drank a gallon of milk each. Once their ravaging stomachs were satisfied, they headed out to the market place.
They purchased dried fruit, lamp oil, and several pounds of ground smoking leaf. They also purchased five pounds of coffee, four yards of leather, fifty more feet of rope, and three new heavy tarps.
