The Demon's Blade

by Steven Drake

  "What did she look like?" Darien said. The Master had a few female assassins, though they were mostly used in situations that called for the use of seduction. Darien could think of none that the Master would send against him, though it remained possible that the Master had trained new ones.

  "Well, she was quite unusual. She was tall and strong, more than one would usually expect of the fairer gender. I might not have marked her a woman at all had she not taken off her helmet. She had fair features, bronze skin, and long blond hair, but she was tall and somewhat broader than most women, rather absurd looking, actually, as if someone had stuck a woman's head on the body of some knight.” Tobin paused for a few moments, and tapped his pipe on the table again. “I suppose it was the armor. She wore shiny steel plate armor. It looked heavy and I couldn’t believe any woman could bear the weight of it. None of it looked to be of dwarf make. It was smooth and polished to a shine, for all the good that does. All that shine won't stop an arrow like good dwarf black iron. I have seen the like often enough. When those Golden Shield mages come in from the west on their way to Mandala Fortress, they are always escorted by knights wearing armor like that.”

  "I see. Was she alone, and did the armor bear any markings?"

  "Obviously she was alone," Tobin said in exasperation. "Don't you think I would have mentioned that? And no, the armor didn't have any markings that I could see."

  What a strange new puzzle this is, Darien thought. The Master's assassins would not be wearing full armor when operating in foreign lands. It might be a knight from the Golden Shield, but they always operate in pairs, and their armor is usually well marked to identify them as members. It could be some amateur bounty hunter that just stumbled upon information stirred up by Avirosa's interrogations, but there’s no way to know for certain and nothing I can do about it anyway. I need to see what Tobin can tell us about the book, and then get moving.

  "Any idea who she was?" Tobin continued, slowly puffing on his pipe once more.

  "None that are particularly good. It doesn't really change anything anyway. Just another hazard to watch for. Now, will you take a look at this book?"

  "Oh yes," Tobin replied in a surprised tone, "I had forgotten that's why you came in. Let's see it then."

  Darien motioned to his young companion, who pulled out the book, and set it on the stone table. Tobin looked at it with a skeptical expression.

  "Well, the lettering is ancient elvish, but this book doesn't look like anything of any importance. It looks like no more than some journal, but let's look inside, shall we." Tobin opened the leather cover and began turning the pages, slowly at first, then more quickly, with practiced care not to damage the fragile pages. "As I thought, the letters are elvish, but the language is not. It is written in the common tongue using elvish letters instead of modern ones. The elves used this tactic to keep their knowledge, such as it was, to themselves, long after they had forgotten their own language. This is fortunate, since I haven't tried to read anything in that language for over three hundred years." Tobin continued on through the pages, hmm-ing and hmph-ing as he went. "It's just a record of the history of an elf village. It looks like they continued to add pages as the years passed."

  "Yes, that was what I was told by the former owner," Darien said, "but there is another section at the end. It looks subtly different from the rest of the book, and I was told it was an ancient prophecy."

  Tobin then turned to the end of the book. He turned the last couple of pages over and back several times, his eyes gradually widening in apparent surprise. Then he leaned in to examine the book more closely, furrowed his brow and squinted his eyes as he inspected the pages. He let out an occasional 'hmm' and 'ah' as he continued to study, but said nothing, and started puffing more quickly on his pipe.

  "What is it? Is it written in ancient elvish?" Jerris asked. Darien frowned at the young man’s impatient question.

  "Just a moment," Tobin went over to a cabinet against the far wall, fished around in it, and produced a magnifying glass. He then returned to his inspection, tool in hand. Several more minutes passed, and Tobin's face began to change again. His brow relaxed and his eyes did as well. "Astounding! Absolutely astounding."

  "Well what does it say?" Jerris asked with anticipation clear upon his face.

  "Oh, I can't tell you what it says," Tobin replied. "As far as I know, there's no living elf, man, or dwarf that could." A look of anguish passed across Jerris' face, and he hung his head down.

  "What do you mean?" This time it was Darien who asked the question. "Even if you can't read elven, there are surely others who can."

  "I'm afraid not," Tobin replied confidently. "You see, this isn't written in elvish either."

  "Well then what is it?"

  "I have not seen a document like this since I was still an apprentice," Tobin replied, his eyes wide with the wonder of discovery. "This is indeed a prophecy, a very old, and I suspect a very important one. This is a direct recording from a great oracle, or at least a copy of one."

  "What does that mean?" Jerris asked eagerly.

  "This is from a time that is only spoken of in legend. According to legend, there was a time unimaginably long ago, when all the races of the world were united in a war with the formless demons. The war was eventually lost, and the demons ruled the world for ten thousand years. During this time, almost every record from before their victory was destroyed, but the elves managed to preserve some of their most important wisdom. They particularly went to great lengths to protect their prophecies," Tobin explained with a knowing smile upon his face.

  "That still doesn't explain why we can't read it." Darien said. "Come to the point. We have much to do and cannot afford to linger too long here."

  "Yes, yes, I apologize, but what you have brought me is, to a scribe and scholar, a treasure more valuable than all the gold in all the mountains of the world. This is written in fae speech,"

  "But the faeries have no language," Darien said, "They never had one."

  "You are almost correct," Tobin said with a sly smile. "The faeries have never had any written language. Being creatures of the water, writing is somewhat impractical for them. Yet they did have a spoken language. The elves learned it themselves so that they could speak to them. Many of the faeries possessed the gift of prophecy, and those with the greatest gifts became oracles. The waters brought them visions, and they would speak them, while the elves transcribed the words onto special parchments that would endure far longer than ordinary paper. This is one of those transcriptions, or perhaps a copy that they made later."

  "But why write them in the speech of the faeries?" Darien asked. "Why not just translate them to their own language?"

  "Probably for the same reason the rest of this book is written with elvish letters," the old dwarf calmly explained. "The elves of legend were notorious for keeping their secrets to themselves. It was the elves who first brought writing to the other races. Their language was the first to be learned by the other races, and it became much like our common speech is now, easily read and understood by most anyone who could read at all. The elves most likely wanted to keep their prophecies secret, so that only they could read them."

  "That does make sense," Darien shook his head. "Well, that's that, I suppose. We may as well give up on trying to read that book."

  "Maybe and maybe not," the wise old dwarf responded, as he took the last puff from his pipe. "I’ve no idea whether any of the faeries know how to read any language, or how you might find one, but if you could, there’s a good chance you could translate this. You see, since the elves used their own letters, it's very likely that they attempted to reproduce the pronunciation as precisely as they could using the sounds of those letters. If I am correct, then the words should be pronounced exactly as their letters suggest. Then, you would only need to speak them to a faerie. Perhaps you might even find a faerie who could read it. There are some very old records that suggest there was a time when the faeries were far more invol
ved in the affairs of the world."

  "If the faeries still speak their own language, and if it hasn't changed so much that its ancient form is still understandable to them," Darien said.

  "Here, I'll translate the elven letters into our own modern ones as best I can.” Tobin took out a quill and parchment, and wrote down the words. When he finished, he handed Darien the copy. “If you read this exactly as it sounds to a faerie, they may be able to tell you what it means. Before you ask, I've no idea where you might actually find a faerie. I know that this isn't what you were hoping for, but it's still better than nothing."

  "I suppose it is, at that," Darien said.

  "So, the prophecy is real? You said it was important?" Jerris asked, suddenly sounding hopeful again.

  "Oh yes," Tobin smiled at the young half-elf. "This was of great importance, and whoever made this translation went to great lengths to keep it secret. The pages even have enchantments upon them to make them appear more worn to match the other pages of this book. If you don't mind me asking, where did you get this?"

  "It was…," Jerris paused before continuing. "It belonged to my mother. She gave it to me. I didn't even believe the prophecy was real. I thought it was just a silly story that she made up to make me feel better about… well, about being an elf."

  "On the contrary, whatever this says, the ancient elves believed it to be of great importance. You should keep it safe, as it was entrusted to you."

  "I will." Jerris smiled and bowed awkwardly., "And thank you, sir. I am in your debt."

  "Thank you Tobin," Darien added, as he too, stood up, and handed the old dwarf a few coins. "For your trouble. Now, we must be going. We must still buy supplies, and find a room to rest. We have a long journey ahead."

  "Then I wish you goodbye, and safe journeys,"

  With that, the two men headed out the door, and down toward the city. Afternoon had turned to evening, and the city was now quite dim, with the reflected sunlight replaced by the considerably less effective torches. The two half-elves wound their way back out towards the main plaza.

  “Where are we going?” Jerris inquired.

  "It's getting on in the evening. We'll have to find a suitable inn to rest.” Jerris nodded his agreement, and Darien led his charge down into the city, down all three ramps, then down again into the lower part of the city. The lower portion of the city looked very much like an inverted version of the upper, though lacking most of the decoration of the upper levels. The shops and inns here appeared humbler than those of the upper levels. The lower levels were where the common dwarves dwelt, and where much of the real business of the city was done. Warehouses of traders, filled with goods from everywhere in the world, dotted the outer walls. Here also were the massive stable complexes where horses, sheep, cattle, and oxen, as well as exotic beasts from foreign lands could be bought and sold. The massive ore depositories of the miners’ guilds dominated the lowermost sections of the city. As above, large ramps descended downward for three levels, with smaller ones below. At the bottom of the lower city, massive elevators ferried miners up and down from some unknown depth. The two half-elves continued along the spiraling path until they came to an arched stone door with a wooden sign hanging above it to display the name of an inn, The Monkey's Eyebrow.

  "What a strange name for an inn," Jerris said. “What’s a monkey anyway?”

  "Oh, well yes, it’s a strange name, "the other responded. "I've stayed here several times, but I've never heard where the name comes from. Monkeys are tree climbing creatures with long arms, legs, and tails. They live in the forests of the south. I’ve no idea how a place so far north got such a name. There aren’t any wild monkeys for hundreds of miles, although, if you really want to see one, there are probably some for sale in one of the menagerie shops. Either way, this is the safest place for us. The innkeeper doesn't ask for names and never remembers faces. That makes it ideal for anyone that doesn't want to be found.”

  The two men walked in and sought out the innkeeper. Other than the fact it was, like so much of the rest of the dwarf city, hollowed out of the mountain, it was a very ordinary and friendly inn. Darien paid a few coins for a night’s stay, and the innkeeper, a friendly looking dwarf with an orange beard and long braided hair, led them to a small room near the back.

  Both men took an opportunity to rest. Jerris collapsed on one of the beds while Darien found a wooden rocking chair and sat down, turning his mind towards the business of choosing where to go from here.

  There were only two real choices. They could continue east on the Great Northern Road. This approach would take them straight into the lands of the Demon King, but this would hopefully also be the way Avirosa least expected them to go. The task then would be to slip through Mandala Fortress and into the lands of the east, then south to the sea, where it would be easy enough to secure passage on a trading ship. The other choice was to take the underpass to the southwest then make for Galad. A more direct route, certainly, but the underpass was all but abandoned, and the Craglands were a labyrinth of high ridges and steep canyons, where a traveler could easily become lost for months if he was foolish or desperate enough to leave the road. Neither option particularly appealed to the cautious mind of the Executioner, but with winter oncoming, these were the only choices he had.

  A few minutes later, a serving wench appeared in the doorway with a tray of warm bread and soup. Jerris roused almost instantly from apparent sleep at the smell of food, and the two men were able to enjoy a warm meal for the first time since Kantu. Jerris had already eaten half the food by the time he bothered with any conversation.

  “So where are we going tomorrow?”

  “I haven’t decided,” Darien slowly confessed.

  “You haven’t decided? Why not?”

  “We have two choices, and I don’t particularly like either of them.”

  “And what would those be?”

  “Well, if you must know, we can either continue east along the road to Mandala Fortress, or head south through the underpass.”

  “Mandala Fortress? The underpass? I’ve never heard of either place.”

  “That’s hardly surprising,” Darien scoffed at the ignorance of his companion and started gently rocking in the chair. “You don’t seem to know much of anything useful. Mandala Fortress is a secret fortress in the mountains at the source of the Saldean River, where the river emerges from underground. A group of mages weave the enchantments upon the waters that keep the Demon King’s armies on the east side of the river. It’s heavily defended, but if we got past, we could slip into the disorganized small kingdoms east of the river, then make our way south to the sea. I know those lands well,” Darien rubbed his chin, which was already beginning to cover with dark stubble. “The disadvantage is that the Demon King claims lordship over those lands, and his servants operate openly. The human kingdoms there pay hefty tribute and acknowledge his claim, but they don’t serve him directly, and he has many enemies there who would gladly aid us, but we’d have to be exceptionally careful. The journey would take several months, but it is probably the less dangerous choice for now. The present threat is Avirosa, and he wouldn’t expect me to try that.”

  "And the other choice, the underpass?"

  “The underpass is an underground highway that leads south and west for many miles before emerging in an area known as the Craglands. From there, we would go southwest towards the Silver Mountains, then take the pass at Galad, a quicker and more direct route, but also a dangerous one.”

  “That sounds a lot better to me. What’s wrong with it?”

  “The problem is the terrain. The underpass is a closed tunnel with no means of escape. If Avirosa has set a trap there, we’d have no way to avoid it except to turn back. The Craglands are nearly as bad, a vast maze of high ridges and steep canyons. We’d have to keep to the road, giving Avirosa still more opportunities to ambush us. I don’t know those lands well, and if we were forced off the road, we might never find our way back. On top of
all that, the only pass west over the Silver Mountains is Galad, which we might be held against us.”

  “I still like the idea of the most direct path,”

  “That’s because you’re young and foolish. The shortest path isn’t always the best, or the least dangerous.” Darien shook his head in frustration. “Then again, there are risks with either choice. We may be doomed either way.”

  “What a comforting thought. I’ll sleep much better now,” the younger half-elf rolled his eyes, sarcastically, but his words chiding went ignored. The Executioner simply rocked slowly in his chair, lost in his own thoughts. With the food gone and the conversation ended. Jerris laid on the bed and slept. Darien simply dozed intermittently, facing the difficult choice.

  The evening passed slowly, and sleep eluded him, as it often did. Near midnight, he finally gave up and headed out to the front room of the inn, sat down at the bar, and ordered a dwarven ale, not for the alcohol but rather to avoid appearing suspicious. The room had nearly emptied, and only a few patrons remained. The Executioner surveyed the room, and listened to the conversations, hoping to obtain some useful information.

  For about an hour, he listened to tedious conversations about the vagaries of dwarf politics, useless gossip about local goings on, and the ever present meaningless discussion of the weather. The tired half-elf was nearly ready to give up, when a dwarf trader who had been droning on about some tax or another to a spindly man who seemed only vaguely interested abruptly turned the conversation to his destination, Mandala Fortress. A few meandering sentences later, the man let slip that he had just come from there, and that he had left just before the fortress was closed.

  Closed! The words shocked the eavesdropper. Something must be very wrong to the east if Mandala was closed. It had only been closed a handful of times in its long history, and always for the same reason, the threat of an attack. From the beginning, the Order of the Golden Shield had understood that the fortress was far from reinforcements, so they had built it to withstand a siege of months, or even years. The dwarf designed fortress was all but impregnable when on alert. Darien drank deeply from his mug of ale, wondering what was going on. Unfortunately, the spindly man gave him no further clues, and the dwarf seemed not to be interested in pressing the issue. Whatever the reason, with the fortress closed, there would be no way to cross the Saldean, and going north around it would be walking straight into the lands of the goblin hordes. The Executioner scowled inwardly, realizing he now had only one choice.