Whetstones of the Will

by R J Hanson

The shorter girl, the one with the brown hair, ran her finger into her mouth and over her tongue many times during their walk. Each time she did this, she would look to the taller girl for confirmation that they had been healed. Their physical wounds had mended, but the wounds on their souls would likely be with them forever.

  They walked for two hours when the smell of smoked fish came to them. They walked into the small camp to find that Maloch had built the fire up against the chill of winter and had six fresh fish grilling on the fire apart from the dozen or so that Dunewell had caught and smoked on a hastily constructed chimney nearby.

  “We’ll eat, rest, and when we’re warm and ready, we’ll take the raft to the other side of the river,” Dunewell said to the girls. “Once over there, we’ll get another fire going, and you can bathe in the river. The water will be cold, but I believe you’ll find it refreshing.”

  The girls, still silent and the one with red hair still clutching the looted drow’s short sword, both nodded in unison. Then, while keeping a wary eye on Maloch, both girls began eating their fish with a hunger and zest any soldier could recognize.

  Chapter V

  Souls Promised

  A few leagues outside Moras, and at least a league underground, Lady Dru was being escorted into Queen Jandanero’s throne room. Dru was not without her tricks and used one of them now, silently casting a spell that enhanced her myriad perceptions. She noted the nook, what Silas had called a cully door, concealed in the floor of the room, but more importantly, she confirmed what Silas had suspected, and Lynneare had affirmed; Queen Jandanero was in possession of a Dark Guardian.

  Dru berated herself for having missed such an incredible aspect of the drow community. The presence of a Dark Guardian, a suit of armor inhabited with the captured soul of a champion, indicated many troubling possibilities. First and foremost, she had been remiss in assessing the strengths and weaknesses of the drow, and of Queen Jandanero herself. To possess a Dark Guardian was the equivalent of having a dragon at one’s beck and call.

  It also meant that the Queen of the drow had access to a powerful alchemist, sorcerer, and cleric. Any one of the three could be a significant resource, given the complexity of the spells required to create such a being. However, Queen Jandanero had access, one way or another, to each of the three and held enough sway over them to command of them years of toil to produce this single work.

  Furthermore, Dru had learned of the subtle tension among the drow of Dark Hammer Coven owed to the rumor that Maloch of the Black Lance rode from Nolcavanor once more. Dru had never encountered Maloch, but she had heard of his legend. If Queen Jandanero possessed a Dark Guardian, and was still concerned, bordering on fear, about Maloch, then he was a dangerous foe indeed.

  Finally, it suggested that Dru had been so focused on her backtrail, watching for signs of Slythorne, she had missed significant potential threats that were very close at hand. For, a Dark Guardian was not something easily defeated. Dru was as well versed on the arcane as just about anyone in all of Stratvs, save perhaps the likes of the Warlock of the Marshes, and she was not aware of any way to destroy such a creation.

  Momentarily, the Queen was brought in by her customary guard, carrying her on her large throne. As the constructs, and one Dark Guardian, set the throne in place, the ebony-skinned beauty that was Queen Jandanero allowed her eyes to drift up to Dru briefly, before they returned to some scroll in which she feigned interest.

  “You may speak,” the Queen said at length.

  Dru glanced about the room, noting A’Ilys and several other drow courtiers and counselors.

  “Perhaps a more private setting, good Queen,” Dru offered.

  Speak, Dru heard in the Queen’s voice within her mind.

  Of course, good Queen, Dru replied, attempting to hide her surprise at yet another indication that she’d been far too ignorant of her surroundings. I am given to understand that you command a Dark Guardian. I have come to ask what I may offer you that would tempt you to loan me, and my agents, use of such a magnificent creation.

  His soul is not that of a champion, but of a family friend, Jandanero replied. His soul belongs to one that raised me and saw to my tutelage when I was young. His soul belongs to one that protected me with his life, until the very end.

  I see.

  I doubt that you do, Queen Jandanero thought/said. I wanted you to have an inkling of my investment when I ask of you your Chaos Lord in return.

  Good Queen, I cannot.

  Not his indenture, Jandanero replied, actually waving her hand to halt any further reply from Dru. I simply need him to recreate the ritual he underwent. I want him to assist A’Ilys in becoming my own Lord of Chaos.

  From what I understand, we could not guarantee A’Ilys’s safety, good Queen, Dru responded.

  No need to guarantee his safety, the Queen continued. If my Dark Guardian is not returned to me whole, and if A’Ilys does not survive the ritual, then you will give over Silas to me to command as I wish.

  Good Queen, if I may, you seem not surprised by any of this, nor are you surprised by my request. May I ask…

  You may ask, but this is the only answer I will grant, Jandanero bluntly interjected. I have many spies, those that walk on two legs as well as four or eight. I know much. Maloch of the Black Lance has been seen beyond the borders of Nolcavanor; thus, something dark and ominous is afoot. You are an educated creature, for a human. Your curiosity would someday overpower you concerning Leapold, my Dark Guardian. That was only a matter of time. If you think I’ve been unaware of Slythorne, then you insult me with how foolish you assume I am. If casting you out would change anything, make no mistake I would cast you out in chains of lexxmar with your flesh hanging in rags from your naked body. However, Slythorne would come here just the same to inquire after you, and I am not inclined, at the moment, to tolerate his self-righteous attitude. I reserve the right to change my mind in that regard at any time. Now I grow tired of explaining myself to one barely able to comprehend the intricacies of the drow mind. My Dark Guardian, for a time, in exchange for the services of your Lord of Chaos. I’m risking two servants, whereas you only risk one. Perhaps I grow generous as I age to maturity.

  Silas’s services would have to wait until after this threat is quashed, Dru replied, still grappling with all the implications thrust upon her.

  Understandably, Queen Jandanero responded. Your word, on your soul and promised before one of my clerics in a minor ritual of binding, is good enough for me.

  Dru, for the first time in a long time, felt something unusual. She felt afraid of losing something… someone she loved.

  Agreed, Dru answered.

  Verkial and Hallgrim, aided by Dru’s teleportation spell, were securing their troops in Wodock the day after their meeting with Lynneare. Verkial needed to be with his men on the front in Tarborat, but steps needed to be taken here first. Soldiers fighting in Tarborat needed to know that Wodock was a safe harbor for them. They needed to know that a steady supply of food and reinforcements was virtually guaranteed as long as Verkial controlled the pirate city.

  Verkial didn’t like the idea of diverting any resource from Tarborat. However, he had been able to turn the building of a fortress in Wodock, or rather in the mountains beyond, into a means of boosting morale. The vast majority of his soldiers, a mix of many races, cultures, and species, were motivated by the idea of having something of their own. They were driven by the possibility of holding land where neither Ingshburn nor Eirsett nor any other puffed up lord or duke could tax them and meddle in their lives. Verkial promised an acre for each year of service in addition to their soldier’s pay. The land was harsh and uninviting. It was a land of rough weather and rougher peoples of little or no laws. But, it was also a land where they could live as they chose, and that was enough.

  Verkial was smart enough to know that the plan, long term, couldn’t survive. He would need a government system of some sort to maintain a relative peace within his lands, to prevent
anyone claiming rule as a despot, and to keep a standing army prepared and provisioned. He had decided those were troubles for another day, if he lived that long.

  Wodock had gone smoother than he anticipated. He was no fool to let his pride get in the way of sound tactics. He had no doubt that Silas’s display of destroying the wizards from the Blue Tower and Lady Dru’s appearance and apparent alliance were key to the locals accepting his rule. Verkial had the troops and means to seize and hold the city, but that would have been much more difficult, and costly. The news that mining operations would begin soon also bolstered his position among the merchants and citizens of the pirate outpost.

  Verkial walked out from his keep overlooking Wodock proper and headed toward the secluded shed where his witch, Loucura, spent most of her time. She had been with Verkial for more than five years now and had served him faithfully during that time.

  Verkial had been sent by Ingshburn to kill a witch, Loucura, that had been causing trouble among his soldiers in the mountains north of the Stone Throne. It seemed she had been peddling her wares, potions of magical effect, to Ingshburn’s army. Some had decided the benefits provided gave them the strength they would need to challenge Ingshburn’s rule. A Great Man by the name of Luebek led a hearty group of over seventy warriors with plans to recruit more. Verkial took only Hallgrim with him and put Luebek, and his coup, in the grave. In exchange for sparing their lives, Verkial gained the trust and loyalty of a few good warriors that day, and the fealty of one very talented witch.

  That was the day he began building an army in secret. That was the day his plans for Wodock and Tarborat began to take shape. That was the day Verkial took his first step out of the shadow of Ingshburn.

  As Verkial exited the gate to his keep, Raven’s Nest, Hallgrim rose from a chair nearby where he’d been waiting.

  “It’s not like you to want to accompany me to the witch’s lair,” Verkial said, knowing Hallgrim must have something else on his mind.

  “No, my lord,” Hallgrim said as he took up his huge battle hammer and fell in step just behind and to the left of the warlord.

  “Well?”

  “I’ve been wonderin’ about somethin’. That Duke of Chaos…”

  “Lord of Chaos, go on.”

  “Yeah, that Lord of Chaos, Silas, what makes them so special? I mean there’s nothin’ easy about droppin’ a champion, fallen or otherwise. But, I’ve done it. And, I’ve seen you do it more than once. So, what’s the big deal with him?”

  Verkial continued up the trail that wound into the foothills of the mountains, trying to decide how to explain the little bit that he knew about the abominations. They had been only legend for hundreds, if not thousands, of years, but now some fool had re-opened that can of worms. Actually, not just some fool, but a spoiled brat with a smarmy mouth and likely no head for politics or tactics whatsoever.

  “You remember that ox that defeated you in those games during our respite in Dead Horse?”

  “Sire, I was drunk, and had been fightin’ in games all day that day, and I…”

  “Shut up. You remember it, right? The game of Rope-Pull between you two?”

  “I do.”

  “That ox was stronger than you,” Verkial held up his hand to stop another protest from Hallgrim. “Just barely, but it still won the Rope-Pull. Tell me, did anyone in that crowd fear the ox?”

  “Of course not,” Hallgrim said with a confused look on his face. “Why would anyone fear an ox?”

  “But they do fear you, right?”

  “You’re da…, yes, they do, my lord. They fear yourself as well.”

  “Why, neither of us is as strong as that ox.”

  “’ Cause we’re a danger to more than just piled up hay,” Hallgrim said with a laugh. “Why, I remember this one time…”

  “So, it isn’t strength alone that makes something dangerous, right?” Verkial waited for Hallgrim’s nod and then continued. “Champions are powerful, no doubt. They’re strong. But, they don’t have any ambition, no drive. Some know how to use weapons, but they only know what they’re taught. No champion ever invented a weapon or a new killing technique with blade or hammer. No champion ever devised a plan of battle or set up an ambush. The violence of this world is all man-made. A Chaos Lord, well, that’s just a man with the strength of a demon at his disposal.”

  “So, like if I could teach that ox to swing my hammer…”

  “No. It would be similar to you being able to take the strength of the ox and add it to your own, for you to control.”

  Hallgrim nodded and was quiet for a long time after that as they walked through the winding forest trail. Verkial was glad of the silence, for it gave him the chance to go over what he must say, and how he must say it.

  Snow was falling, and winter was coming fast to the northlands, and by the time they reached the witch’s shed, both Verkial and Hallgrim had their winter cloaks pulled tight about them. The smell of something cooking touched their noses, and Verkial heard Hallgrim’s stomach growl.

  “Please, come, my Warlord,” Loucura said from within the shack as they entered the clearing before it.

  The shack, a rough collection of castoff ship’s planks and cargo crates, sat squat against the side of a hill. There were only three wooden walls to the chancy structure as the back side of it had been dug several feet into the side of the hill. It always sent a shiver down Hallgrim’s back when the witch knew they were coming before they even arrived. It made him worry about what sort of curse she might put on him if he ever had to kill her for Verkial.

  “It’s cold, my lord,” Hallgrim said when he noticed Verkial giving him a disdainful look, likely after seeing him shiver.

  Verkial entered the shack first, followed closely by Hallgrim. The two were very large men and were forced to duck to the point of a near crawl to avoid upsetting the shambling hut. Verkial moved directly to the center of the dirt floor where Loucura sat, bent over a still bloody hide of some unfortunate beast. Hallgrim moved with his liege but kept his eyes moving about the interior of the hovel, as if any one of the various petrified creatures stored and strewn about might come to life and strike at him.

  There were, of course, a large number of rats and spiders that scurried about the shack, and Kesstral, Loucura’s scaly pangolin that was the size of a large dog. Any one of the living creatures in this abode could cause a stout heart to quail, but Hallgrim had always hated the dead things she kept about.

  Loucura, who had appeared as an ancient hag to them on some visits and as a vibrant temptress on others, sat with her back to them, dirty black shawl pulled up over her head, and leaned over the freshly skinned hide. She chanted under her breath, and Hallgrim felt his lower guts tighten.

  Without any hesitation, Verkial walked around her to stand over the witch and the hide. As Loucura chanted, her hands swirled over the hide. She dropped one foul-smelling component after another into the still warm fatty tissue and blood on the animal skin. A small fog began to coalesce over the skin. Soon the fog was rolling at the edges and rotating counterclockwise about a foot above the floor. Verkial looked down into the center of the fog and spoke.

  “Daeriv,” Verkial said as his voice seemed to vibrate throughout the room and carry through the magical scrying fog Loucura had created. “Daeriv, above you.”

  Daeriv’s fragile and bent form could be seen pacing back and forth in front of his opulent throne. He halted immediately and looked up, squinting his eyes as he did so. Lord Kyhn and Engiyadu, Daeriv’s undead bodyguard, could be seen at the edge of the fog, their hands closing on weapon hilts.

  Lord Kyhn, a Great Man of almost seven feet in height and weighing close to five hundred stone, was clad in his customary black steel plate armor with his deadly shrou-sheld at his side. His ashen skin seemed stretched tight over the bones of his face. Verkial knew him well enough to know he was very angry about something. Something he wasn’t talking about.

  Engiyadu, the ever cryptic undead ronin, wo
re no more than his simple blue silk pants and high black leather boots. His katana sat comfortably in the red sash he wore tied about his waist. Verkial had learned much from Engiyadu over the years; however, the primary lesson he’d taken away from his time studying with Blade Master Engiyadu is that someday he would have to find a way to kill him. Thus far, Verkial hadn’t.

  “Ah, is it Warlord Verkial now, or still only Captain?” Daeriv said derisively.

  “You’ve squandered what little advantage you held in Lawrec, which will anger Ingshburn,” Verkial said, ignoring Daeriv’s jabs. “The Prince and his men will likely be pushing you from the land before long. I’ve seized Wodock, and my soldiers in Tarborat have their orders. My separation from Ingshburn has begun. Your failures will put you in danger, but any association with me after today will certainly set Ingshburn and most of Tarborat against you. There it is. You’re down and in need, and I’m walking away from you. If you don’t understand that, or hold a grudge, well… I don’t care. I’m doing you a courtesy just by letting you know.”

  “How kind, Warlord Verkial,” Daeriv said, managing to sound genuine. “You have saved us from making the tactical error of counting on your support. However, fear not, for we have made contingency plans.”

  “I never offered you my support,” Verkial said flatly. “I offered you a chance to join me. You chose not to. I told you that was the wrong approach for Lawrec. Kyhn, Engiyadu, no hard feelings. Ingshburn understands your value and will know the failures in Lawrec should be laid at Daeriv’s feet. This will have to be the last time we speak until the battle lines have settled.”

  “We understand,” Lord Kyhn said with a thoughtful nod. “No need in all of us being exiled at once. Can we count on Wodock to be a friendly port if storms come?”

  Verkial smiled.

  “Always,” Verkial said.

  Verkial nodded to Loucura, who, with a quick wave of her hand, dispelled the magical fog.

  “It would seem the Warlock was right,” Verkial said, rubbing his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully. “Hallgrim, it looks like we have acquired dangerous allies.”