by Mel Odom
“Greetings, Brandt,” Wick replied, leaning in with interest and studying the model. “Kulik Broghan’s home?”
“It is,” Brandt said, smiling. “A close approximation, at least.” He regarded Wick with keen interest. “And how is it you’re here in Torgarlk Town? I wasn’t informed that you were going to be coming.” He glanced up at Craugh.
Brandt was the one person Wick knew that was almost as innately curious as he was. “It was a last-minute decision.” Wick pushed himself up from his seat. Now that he was puzzled, his shortness of breath and dizziness were of secondary importance. “So Kulik Broghan is the target?”
Smiling lazily, Brant flipped over a hand and said, “The man does appear to have what we’re after. And we’re determined to change that.”
“How?”
“Cake!” Brandt said enthusiastically. “That’s what this will be!”
Wick brightened a little at that, but he’d been around Brandt and the Band of Thieves long enough to know that even the best of plans didn’t always turn out well.
“Speaking of cake,” Cobner said, rubbing his big hands together briskly, “Lago said something about the food being almost ready. Let’s have a look. See if Wick can still come close to eating me under the table.”
“We’ve been here for six days,” Brandt said. “As soon as we could get here after getting the offer from Craugh.”
“Offer?” Wick sat in the dining room they’d arranged in one of the rented rooms. The thieves had brought in two long tables and they now stood laden with food that Lago had prepared.
Lago stood nearby, a smile beaming on his ancient, seamed face. He wiped his big hands on an apron. As long as Wick had known Brandt, Lago had cooked and baked for them, always preparing meals wherever they ended up. Age had bent his body and robbed it of strength, but he still knew his way around a kitchen. Part of their leasing arrangement had included use of the kitchen, which—Lago had informed Wick—was nothing to be proud of. But he’d turned out a fine meal. Wick had seen the old dwarf do the same thing with nothing more than a camp cookfire.
“An offer,” Brandt affirmed. He shrugged a little, enjoying the telling of the tale. “Knowing that his adversaries partially consisted of the Razor’s Kiss, Craugh knew he would have to eventually have thieves.”
“It did,” Craugh added, “seem prudent.”
“And it was. Since Craugh knew that Boneslicer was probably in the Cinder Clouds Islands, and that Sokadir still held Deathwhisper somewhere in the Forest of Fangs and Shadows, he had us on hand in Calmpoint.”
Wick chewed a delightful raspberry-nut cake covered with hickory-honey and sweetened peppers that burned just enough to tantalize the palate before the cake extinguished the flames.
Calmpoint made sense. It was at the other end of the Steadfast River. The Never-Know Road crossed the river twice early on and ran parallel at other times. A fast, determined rider could make the distance between Torgarlk Town and Calmpoint in less than three days, but a trade caravan would take weeks to negotiate the rough terrain.
“Once Craugh discovered the weapons had been brought here,” Brandt said, “he asked us to come. And here we are.”
“The weapons are there?” Wick asked.
“They are.”
“You’ve seen them?”
“I have.”
“How?”
Brandt smiled. “Why, I was invited, of course. After all, I’m Baron Lorthord, a collector of fine and unusual weapons.”
“Baron Lorthord?” Wick repeated.
Brandt sipped his wine and picked at a piece of turkey breast. “Yes. A very rich and influential man. From the Spoonhorn Pass.”
“A good choice,” Wick said. “Spoonhorn Pass is on the other side of the Broken Forge Mountains and is supposed to be a gathering place for the rich and indolent. I knew you’d gone there because you told me tales of the city. But who is Baron Lorthord?”
A wide smile split Brandt’s face. “Why, me of course. I am Baron Lorthord. After we looted what we could of Shengharck’s treasure and retreated from the Broken Forge Mountains, we went to Spoonhorn Pass and lived extremely well for a few months. With all the gold at my disposal, becoming Baron Lorthord was an easy task. A lot of people who live there were someone else before they arrived. Most of the gold they bring to the city wasn’t originally there. In fact, while we were there—as I have doubtless told you—we saw two blackhearts get their just desserts. One was overtaken by a group of men he’d robbed, and the other was robbed by good-hearted thieves who stole back the money he’d taken that had left a poor town behind.”
“I take it you charged a commission?”
Brandt laughed. “Of course. No one does that kind of business for free. Not even good-hearted thieves. Trust me, those poor people were grateful to see their treasures returned to them. Even after subtracting the commission.”
“So you entered the premises as Baron Lorthord,” Wick went on.
“You should have seen it, Wick,” Sonne gushed. “It was one of Brandt’s most masterful performances. He played every inch the fop and had Kulik Broghan eating out of his hand.”
“Tell me about Kulik Broghan,” Wick requested. Giving up after finishing his second big piece of cake, he leaned back in his chair and took out his writing utensils. As he talked and listened, he drew the faces of his friends and some of the details they brought out regarding Kulik Broghan’s estate.
“Kulik Broghan is a collector at heart,” Brandt said. “A greedy man by nature. He fancies himself something of a wizard as well, I suppose, because one of the things he collects are spellbooks from dead wizards.”
“A very dangerous preoccupation,” Craugh said, frowning.
“Perhaps,” Brandt agreed. “But every safeguard can be beaten. Provided the proper motivation and the right tools.” He cocked an eye at Craugh. “Even yours.”
Craugh sniffed in disdain. “We’ll see.”
“When that day comes,” Brandt said, “you won’t be here to see. If there’s anything too dangerous to be left lying about, any spells or secrets, you’d be better served taking them to the grave with you.”
“Duly noted,” Craugh said.
“Why is Broghan interested in the weapons?” Wick asked.
“Primarily,” Brandt said, “I think it’s because they are a set. A trilogy of known death-dealers, if you will. They were all carried by fallen heroes.”
“Sokadir hasn’t fallen,” Wick pointed out.
“So you say,” Brandt replied. “I only know that no one has seen him in years.”
“I saw him only days ago.”
Brandt looked at him with keen interest. “Where?”
Wick took a moment to explain about the visions Craugh had tried to summon, and the fact that the elven warder didn’t want to be found.
“His son was the one who bound the weapons at the Battle of Fell’s Keep,” Brandt informed them. “Did you know that?”
Craugh tugged at his beard in sudden speculation. “No, I didn’t.”
Wick shook his head.
“Evidently Qardak, the eldest, was something of a wizard,” Brandt said.
“Unusual,” Craugh said. “Elves go for a more natural magic, something that comes from Nature and enhances Nature. With the magical creation of the vidrenium, it should have been anathema to elvenkind.”
“Deathwhisper was created for the elves,” Brandt reminded.
“True,” Craugh agreed, “but that is a spell that’s friendly to the user. A binding spell like the one you’re talking about should have been beyond his ability.”
“There are some elves who tinker in the more chaotic magicks,” Wick said. “Hallinbek’s Compendium of Mislaid Spells and Wardings lists no fewer than fourteen elven practioners. Those are only fourteen that he knew of.”
“I’ve known them, too,” Craugh said. “They’re usually not very successful at them. Elves have an innate sympathy with Nature. They hate to see anything viol
ated. Even those who have gone rogue or outlaw are limited in their abilities to warp the essence of something. Shape-shifting. Tracking. Charming. Those are all areas where elven expertise is the order of the day.” He put his pipe in his mouth and snapped his fingers, lighting the bowl. “But at the level you’re suggesting? That’s very rare.”
“But not impossible.”
“I would bet against it. Every time.”
“Why did Qardak bind the weapons?” Wick asked.
“To strengthen—” Brandt began.
“There would be—” Craugh started at the same time.
Smiling, Brandt gestured to Craugh. “I bow to your area of expertise.”
“I can think of only one reason to do such a thing,” Craugh said. “To shore up whatever magical defensive wards he had in place around the defenders.” He puffed on the pipe thoughtfully. “While the weapons were bound, their special powers couldn’t be called into play.”
“No one’s ever mentioned this before,” Wick said.
“Kulik Broghan mentioned it,” Brandt said. “To me.”
“How does he know what we don’t?”
Brandt wiggled his eyebrows. “It’s all rather interesting, isn’t it?”
“What does he plan to do with the weapons?” Craugh asked.
“He told me he was actively seeking Deathwhisper, that he knew the bow was somewhere in the Forest of Fangs and Shadows.”
“Sokadir has it,” Wick said.
“He didn’t,” Brandt said, “tell me that.”
Craugh puffed on his pipe. “I trust you offered to buy Boneslicer and Seaspray from him?”
“I did. I offered more gold than I’ve ever seen. If he’d accepted, if we truly meant to pay his price, we’d have had to dig out the top of the Broken Forge Mountain and find Shengharck’s treasure trove again.” Brandt sighed—more, Wick thought—upon reflection of how much gold they’d lost when the volcano had exploded and filled the interior of the dragon’s chamber. “But he refused. Although I swear I saw temptation in his eyes.”
“Did he mention Lord Kharrion’s Wrath?” Craugh asked.
Wick held his quill still, pausing in the middle of drawing a profile view of Sonne. He hadn’t ever heard of Lord Kharrion’s Wrath. In all the time he’d been searching for the three mystic weapons with Craugh, the wizard had never mentioned it.
“No,” Brandt answered. “Should he have?”
“It would be better,” Craugh said, “if he didn’t. But I’m afraid that may be what this is all about.”
“What’s Lord Kharrion’s Wrath?” Wick asked.
Craugh sat forward on his chair. Everyone drew in close to hear him. “No one knows for certain,” the wizard answered. “Even midway through the Cataclysm, Lord Kharrion knew he was hard-pressed to seize victory from the jaws of defeat. In the beginning, his successes came easily and cheaply. He had thousands of goblinkin to call on, and he’d studied his targets.”
Wick changed pages and took notes, drawing small goblinkin in the margins.
“The Goblin Lord brought his forces up from the south,” Craugh went on. “He knew the goblinkin would be less than enthusiastic about venturing into the north to fight in the snow-covered mountains.”
“He was right about that,” Lago said. “They still tell stories about how the goblinkin cried tears of ice and ate their own frozen feet.”
Wick blinked at that. “If they ate their own feet, how did they march?”
Lago scowled. “I don’t know. Mayhap they hurried about on their stumps afterward. It’s just a story. But a good one.”
“The fact was, after Teldane’s Bounty was destroyed and the coast shattered,” Craugh went on, “Lord Kharrion had a harder time earning each conquest. In the early years of the Cataclysm, the humans, elves, and dwarves didn’t get along and seldom worked together on anything.”
“Except in Dream,” Wick said.
Craugh nodded. “Except in Dream. But Lord Kharrion’s pursuit of them, his destruction of all their books and ways of life, bonded them in ways; they had never before had to rely on each other. If they were going to survive the goblinkin onslaught, they had to join forces. They did, and the tide of battle began to turn. But those days were dark and filled with loss.”
Wick remembered. The journals he’d read from that time—tired and unkempt things barely held together with second-hand glue, thread, and ties for the most part—had all carried a note of inevitable sorrow and pain.
“Lord Kharrion knew he needed more in his arsenal,” Craugh said. “In Silverleaves Glen, he used dark, arcane powers and perverted the elven princesses, turning them into fierce and vicious Embyrs that fought the Unity warriors till the end when Lord Kharrion’s hold over them ended. On other battlefields, he raised dead goblinkin, twisting them and shaping them into Boneblights. Then there came the second uprising at Dream.”
“The first battle,” Cobner said soberly, “killed most of them who lived there and scattered the rest to the wind.”
Craugh nodded. “After Lord Kharrion moved on north, the Unity leaders decided to try establishing a beachhead at Dream and raising an army of the survivors there. The effort was premature. They hadn’t counted on the Goblin Lord’s ability to raise the goblinkin dead and have them fight again as Boneblights. This time when Lord Kharrion took Dream, he shattered the city and tore it down to rubble.”
Wick still recalled the fountain he’d seen in Hanged Elf’s Point that had let him know what the city overrun by goblinkin had been before it had been destroyed. He remembered how hopeless he’d felt standing there in a slaver’s chains.
But that changed, he reminded himself. Just as this can change.
“No one knew why Lord Kharrion didn’t raze the city the first time they passed through,” Craugh said. “Many suspected it was because he wanted more, faster victories to keep his goblinkin hungry and not surround them with the losses they’d suffered. Perhaps that was true, but he also may have had another reason.”
“The vidrenium,” Wick said, knowing immediately what the cause for the decision had been.
“We didn’t know what he was doing there,” Craugh said, “but now that we’ve learned what we have, it stands to reason.”
“What are you talking about?” Brandt asked.
Craugh nodded to Wick, acknowledging the little Librarian’s skills as better to summarize the story. Quickly, Wick sketched out the events as they’d been able to put them together.
“Lord Kharrion went there to retrieve the weapons?” Sonne asked when Wick had finished.
“That’s what it looks like,” Wick said.
“You said Lord Kharrion was there in disguise,” Hamual said. He’d traded places with one of the dwarves to come in and eat.
“He was, as best as we can reconstruct the events that happened then.”
“What if he wasn’t after the weapons?” Hamual asked.
“What do you mean?” Craugh said.
Hamual shrugged. “Just that when we steal a unique and well-known piece of jewelry, one or more with original settings, we have to break them apart to resell them. Otherwise they’ll be recognized.”
Brandt leaned forward and put his chin on his forefingers, resting his elbows on the table. “Ah, Hamual, you are starting to think like a true thief.”
Hamual blushed and smiled. “What if Lord Kharrion wasn’t after the weapons? Remember, they weren’t made until later by Master Oskarr.”
“Then what else would he be after?” Lago asked.
“The vidrenium,” Wick said, seizing on the idea at once. “In its purest form. He intended to make a weapon from it himself.”
“Or else he already had,” Craugh said, “and wanted only the magic bound into the metal to fuel his latest creation.”
“Lord Kharrion’s Wrath,” Wick said, looking at the wizard. “Do you have any idea what it is?”
“No,” Craugh answered.
“Then someone, somewhere, must,” Brandt
said. “Otherwise there would not be so much interest in collecting these three weapons.” He leaned back in his chair. “All we have to do to stop them is to steal the weapons.” He grinned. “And that’s one of the things we’re best at.”
11
The Magic Sword
You are a master thief. You’re traveling with master thieves. You won’t get caught. You are the wind. No one will know you’re there until you’re gone. You’re as quiet as a tear sliding down a cat’s whisker and—
“What’s wrong, little warrior?” Cobner whispered behind Wick.
The sound of the dwarf’s voice nearly caused Wick to jump out of his skin. He started and hit his head on the top of the drainpipe he, Cobner, and Sonne crawled through.
“Nothing,” Wick said, rubbing the top of his head. “I was just waiting till my eyes adjusted to the darkness.”
“Well? Are they adjusted?” Sonne asked with a trace of irritation.
Except for the stars I’m presently seeing, Wick thought. “Yes.”
“Then get a move on. We don’t have all night.”
“Stay off the little warrior,” Cobner said. “He knows what he’s doing. He’s a seasoned veteran.”
“Your voice carries in the tunnel, you know,” Brandt whispered from the opening they’d entered on the other side of the Chop River.
Reluctantly, Wick went forward, trailing his fingers along the side of the drainage tunnel. Brandt and his thieves had found the drain tunnel early on and explored it as much as they dared. Of course, it didn’t lead where they wanted it to, but it got them closer to their ultimate goal. If everything worked right, it brought them close enough.
Kulik Broghan’s fortress had been built long before the wizard had taken up residence. During that time, the fortress had been added to and remodeled on a number of occasions. It would have been too much to hope that the tunnel would have led directly into the treasure room where the wizard kept the captured weapons. However, Brandt had used his time as “Baron Lorthord” well.
