Tales of the Soul Weapons

By Kenneth McDonald

“Tales of the Soul Weapons” is a collection of novella-length stories about a mercenary company tasked with tracking down a deadly collection of quasi-intelligent magical artifacts. This book expands the story begun in my novels “Wizard’s Shield,” “Soul of the Sword,” and “Wizard’s Stone.”

When the Wolves encounter a basilisk on the road to Evachor, Surah is transformed into a living statue. Desperate to find a magical cure before the effects become permanent, Valen Wolvren and the other Wolves travel to the library of Havenstone, where a handful of monks preserve ancient lore. But there is something strange going on at the library, and the Wolves find themselves fighting for more than the life of their friend in “The Unexpected Urn.”

“A Wolf Is Born” tells the story of how Surah came to join the Wolves. Still new to the role of leader, Valen has been tasked with infiltrating a gang of brigands that has been terrorizing travelers and settlers in the vast Greenwyld Forest. But he finds that there is more going on than just simple raiding. A powerful magic is rising within the depths of the wood, one that even Valen’s skills and wits and the talents of Tarnas the Mighty might not be able to overcome.

Ianos and Urch have traveled to the monastery at Nal Suriyas for some rest and relaxation after a year of hunting soul weapons. Urch isn’t looking forward to the boredom of a week spent among soul priests, but when the boy finds a dead body in the abandoned sewers under the monastery both he and Ianos are thrust into the center of “The Monastery Mystery.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kenneth McDonald
• Release date: Aug 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310690525

Kenneth McDonald

I am a retired education consultant who worked for state government in the area of curriculum. I have also taught American and world history at a number of colleges and universities in California, Georgia, and South Carolina. I started writing fiction in graduate school and never stopped. In 2010 I self-published the novella "The Labyrinth," which has had over 100,000 downloads. Since then, I have published more than fifty fantasy and science fiction books on Smashwords. My doctorate is in European history, and I live with my wife in northern California.

Book preview

Tales of the Soul Weapons

Book Four in the Soul Weapons Series

Kenneth McDonald

[e-mail]

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2015 by Kenneth McDonald

Cover Credit: The cover image is adapted from the painting Vanitas by Hendrick Andriessen (c.1650). The image is in the public domain.

* * * * *

Works by Kenneth McDonald

The Ogre at the Crossroads

Forgotten Lore

First Series – The Elderlore Libram

Secrets of a Lost Age

Warriors of Shadow

The Shattered Key

Mysteries of the Book

Second Series – Shadows on the Frontier

The Road to Ironbridge

The Towers of Khormur-Dhain

Trouble on the Borderlands

The Horror in the Wood

Third Series – The Gem of the Deep

The Streets of Li Syval

The Secrets of Li Syval

The Heroes of Li Syval

The Legacy of Li Syval

The Fate of Li Syval

The Graves Crew

The Graves Crew and the Restless Dead

The Graves Crew and the Damned Dam

The Graves Crew and the Firestar Amulet

The Graves Crew and the Road of Doom

The Graves Crew and the Magical Forest

The Graves Crew and the Mountain Fortress

Refugees of the Crucible

Powerless

Overpowered

Balance of Power

Legacy of the Bulrazi

Power Play

Power Game

Power Surge

Soul Weapons

Wizard’s Shield

Soul of the Sword

Wizard’s Stone

Tales of the Soul Weapons

The Dwarf on the Mountain

Legends of the Soul Weapons, Volume 1 (omnibus paperback edition)

Legends of the Soul Weapons, Volume 2 (omnibus paperback edition)

The Colors of Fate

Black Shadows Gather

Green Hearts Weep

Red Vengeance Rising

Faded Yellow Dreams

Blazing White Stars

Shiny Golden Schemes

Silent Gray Depths

The Colors of Fate, Volume 1 (omnibus paperback edition)

The Colors of Fate, Volume 2 (omnibus paperback edition)

The Mages of Sacreth

The Labyrinth

Of Spells and Demons

Grimm’s War

Grimm’s Loss

Grimm’s Love

Of Blood and Magic

Of Steel and Sorcery

The Godswar Trilogy

Paths of the Chosen

Choice of the Fallen

Fall of Creation

Daran’s Journey

Heart of a Hero

Soul of a Coward

Will of a Warrior

Courage of a Champion

* * * * *

Table of Contents

A Note on Chronology

The Unexpected Urn

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

A Wolf Is Born

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

The Monastery Mystery

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Author’s Note

* * * * *

A Note on Chronology

The stories in the Soul Weapons series were not written in chronological order and depict events involving multiple characters over a broad span of years. The timeline below is based on the calendar of the Post-Imperium era, with AE1 being the first year after the final collapse of the Calurian Empire in civil war.

500AE: The Duchy of Nal Vedaris is established

545: Soul of the Sword

552: Valen Wolvren takes over leadership of the Wolves from his great-uncle Dalevan

554: A Wolf Is Born

557: Wizard’s Shield, Wizard’s Stone

558: The Unexpected Urn

559: The Monastery Mystery

* * * * *

The Unexpected Urn

Chapter 1

Rolan was down.

The basilisk had climbed on top of him and was using its weight to pin him while it tried to bite through his shield. Valen could see him holding the shield up with both hands, trying to keep the creature’s deadly snapping jaws from finding purchase. The man was tougher than fighters twice his size, but even he wouldn’t last long against that assault.

Surah screamed as she fired an arrow at close range into the creature’s flank, but while the missile stuck in its hide Valen could see that it barely penetrated. Neither the shout nor the arrow distracted it from its prey.

It was pretty clear that more direct measures were needed. Valen raised his sword and charged. He risked a quick look right before impact, just long enough to pick his target. He slammed into the basilisk’s side, using his momentum to drive his sword through the armored folds of skin that protected its neck.

That got its attention. The creature reared up, giving Rolan another stomp for good measure before snapping its head toward its new tormentor. Valen dodged back, but still took a glancing hit that spun him half around and knocked him several steps back. He only barely stayed on his feet, completing his turn to face the creature. He saw Rolan crawling away even as the monster started lumbering forward.

Don’t meet its gaze! Kerinn warned.

Valen had already lowered his eyes. He didn’t need to see the basilisk to sense its approach. Its splayed feet thudded heavily into the ground as it moved, propelling its massive body forward. This was more than just an apex predator. It was a magical beast, a leftover from the Age of Heroes, the time before the rise of the Empire and the heyday of man’s time at the top of the food chain. Once monsters like this one had roamed the continent freely while humans had cowered afraid behind thick walls and armored doors. For the most part, those days were long past.

Unfortunately, however, nobody had bothered to tell this specimen that it was supposed to be extinct.

A bright flash erupted around the creature’s head, causing lights to flash in Valen’s vision even with his eyes turned away. But the basilisk didn’t stop its charge; apparently it could resist Kerinn’s magic as effectively as it resisted their weapons. Valen fell into a ready stance, his weight balanced lightly on the balls of his feet, his sword held low at his side. He could feel the ground shaking as the monster approached.

Valen! Kerinn shouted.

The monster let out a loud roar and lunged. Valen was already moving, his arm darting forward even as his body twisted out of the creature’s path. His thrust was a blind one, but he felt the solid thrum of impact up his arm. The basilisk’s roar became a furious squeal of pain. Valen’s lips twisted into a grim smile—apparently the insides of its mouth were less armored than its exterior—but his satisfaction came to an abrupt end as the monster’s head bucked and what felt like a battering ram slammed into his side. The impact picked him up off the ground and knocked him flying. Valen saw sky, then, incongruously, a landscape of craggy hills. It was only when he was descending again that he realized it had been the basilisk’s back, that the creature had flipped him all the way over its body.

But then he had bigger problems to worry about. He hit more or less upright, but the momentum of his fall was far too much for his addled balance to handle and the next thing he knew he was lying face-down in the weeds. He could taste blood in his mouth and a sharp wedge of pain in his side that suggested a cracked rib, but there wasn’t anything he could do about either at the moment.

An angry bellow drew his attention up. He only remembered just in time to flick his eyes to the side.

The basilisk was coming for him again. For all its speed in a charge it was not especially maneuverable, so it was ponderously circling around to bring its head back around to face toward Valen. He could see the black splatters in the dirt that it left behind, proof that he’d hurt it, but thus far it seemed like the monster had the edge. With it turned away he risked a quick look at its body. It was like an armored knight, only one that was low to the ground, with six stubby legs and a tail that it thrashed to help balance its considerable weight. There were several arrows stuck in its body now, but none of them appeared to have had much effect.

The basilisk suddenly stopped its turn, and Valen shifted his gaze to see what had drawn its attention.

Oh, crap, he thought.

The new arrival was a boy of maybe thirteen or fourteen years. He was thin and scrawny in the way of many boys at that awkward stage of growth. He was unarmed save for a belt knife, but he hadn’t bothered with it, perhaps recognizing the futility. Instead he was waving his arms and shouting at the creature.

Hey, ugly! he was yelling. Gods, you stink, did your mother fuck a shit-heap or something? Yuck!

Valen doubted that the basilisk understood what the boy was saying, but it clearly didn’t like way he was saying it. It brought its head up. Valen couldn’t see its face, but he could imagine the eyes deep within the bony ridges of its skull focusing their attention on the boy. Urch made no effort to look away. Neither could Valen tear his eyes clear. He thought he knew what would happen, but still had to look.

For a moment boy and monster just stared at each other. Finally the basilisk shook its head, as if disconcerted that its magic had failed it. But it came up with a backup plan pretty quickly and shot forward toward its tormentor. The boy spun and ran. He was fast, but the basilisk was deceptively quick.

But before it could do to him what it had done to Rolan and Valen there was another bright flash. This time whatever spell Kerinn had hurled at least dazed it; the monster stumbled and came to a stop, shaking its head again.

Valen struggled to his feet, trying to ignore the fresh pain that exploded in his side at the motion. He looked around for his sword and saw it lying on the ground a few steps from where he’d fallen. Trying not to draw the stunned creature’s attention, he bent and recovered the weapon.

But Rolan got back into the fight first. The warrior looked to be handling his injuries better than Valen, and as he charged into the monster’s flank he drove his sword—a short, straight-bladed infantry weapon—into the monster’s neck just above the shoulder. The wound was almost an echo of the one that Valen had inflicted on its other side just moments before. The basilisk shuddered from the impact, and Valen started to think that maybe they might escape from this encounter intact.

But then the creature twisted suddenly aside and snapped its jaws down hard on Rolan’s swordarm. Even from ten feet away Valen could hear the loud crack as the warrior’s bone broke from the pressure. Rolan didn’t scream—he wouldn’t, not even in agony—but his attempt to bash the monster with his shield to get it to release its grip was feeble.

Valen was already rushing forward, though the monster was facing away from him and he wasn’t sure what he could do from this side. Its tail protected what was usually a vulnerable spot on any animal, but he wasn’t sure Rolan could wait until he came around to its head. He was about to try something desperate and crazy like running up onto its back when Surah ran up and shot it point-blank in the head.

He could see what she was trying to do, but the arrow just missed its eye, bouncing off the bony plate above the socket before tumbling free. The basilisk opened its jaws and released Rolan, who collapsed to the ground.

Run! Valen wheezed, but he knew it was already too late. In her effort to make the killing shot, Surah had looked at where she was shooting. And now, even as she started to turn away, to draw the creature after her, her body was stiffening. Valen had the perfect vantage and thus witnessed all of it. First Surah stopped moving, her body frozen in an echo of motion. Her skin darkened and took on the texture of stone. The whole transformation took barely two seconds, but when it was done the archer was a statue. Her possessions hadn’t been affected, but the rest of her, from her feet to the individual strands of hair that stuck out from her cap, had been turned to stone.

Valen couldn’t remember making the conscious decision to attack; the next thing he knew he was driving his sword into the basilisk’s body. He wasn’t sure where the damned thing’s heart was, but it didn’t matter; the tip punched through its body but only penetrated a few inches before it stopped. The hilt was yanked roughly out of his grasp as the creature jerked and twisted. One of its six legs clipped him on the knee and he fell. He rolled clear before it could trample him the way it had Rolan.

When he came up again—careful to keep his eyes turned away from its head—he saw that the basilisk was otherwise engaged. Rolan had dropped his shield and transferred his sword to his good hand, and even as the basilisk’s head came up again he clipped it hard on the edge of its jaw. The basilisk immediately pivoted as it had before, but this time the warrior was ready. He ducked under the snapping jaws and drove forward until the monster’s head was resting on his shoulders. His legs were hardly longer than the creature’s, but they drove forward powerfully until its front-most legs were lifted up off the ground. Somehow Rolan held it there, despite the fact that the thing had to weigh at least five hundred pounds, if not more. The basilisk was struggling and it tried to withdraw, but the warrior was already driving his sword repeatedly into its body, one thrust after another. With each impact the basilisk was driven back a step, but Rolan kept following, refusing to let it get free. More and more of its weight came to rest on him, but still he refused to stop, stabbing even as its head dropped low and its legs stopped pumping.

Its body was still jerking from those thrusts as Valen came back up to it. Its eyes were glassy and empty, their power fled, but he still avoided looking directly at its head. The ground beneath it had been churned into a saturated mess of blood and dirt.

It’s dead, Valen said. It’s dead, you can stop now, friend.

He helped Rolan extract himself from under the dead weight of the creature. The warrior almost followed it down as it fell. His broken arm hung at his side, and the monster’s blood covered him in a gory mess. But he ignored his own pains and stumbled over to their stricken companion.

Valen followed him, joining Kerinn and the boy around the petrified form of their archer. Surah stood there frozen within a shell of stone, a torn edge of her coat flapping slightly in the breeze.

* * * * *

Chapter 2

His name was Urch—short for Urchin, which was a good description of his life as a sneak-thief and pickpocket before Valen had plucked him out of the back alleys of Nal Vedaris. It was a name he’d chosen for himself, to take ownership of the slur the same way that Rolan had with his nickname, the Dwarf.

The Dwarf had proven that he was no slouch in the ass-kicking department, Urch thought as he looked around at the wreckage of their campsite. There was only a tiny sliver of sunlight visible now above the uneven horizon to the west, over the hills they’d spent the last two days meandering their way through. Urch had never camped in the wilds before this trip, had only left the city of his birth on a few brief occasions.

He certainly had never encountered anything like the basilisk that the Wolves had just killed. Urch’s gaze kept shifting between the dead creature and its victims, including the petrified figure of their team’s scout and archer. Urch had never really gotten along well with Surah, but he still felt a twinge when he looked at her frozen form, trapped in a shell of stone.

Surah hadn’t been the only casualty. The basilisk had come upon them while they’d been setting up their camp. Urch was just starting to get the hang of the process and his role in it; he’d been tending to the horses when the animals had caught the predator’s scent and gone into a stir. One of them was still standing near that spot, transformed into another statue. A second one had frozen in mid-rear and had toppled over, its legs shattering from impacting the hard ground. Urch looked over again at Surah and thought about that.

A faint crunch of boots on stone warned him that someone was coming. He quickly went back to what he was supposed to be doing, brushing down one of their surviving horses. It had taken some time to collect the panicked animals after the fight had ended, but fortunately they’d all been well trained and they hadn’t wandered too far from the campsite. Valen had been teaching Urch how to ride, but he still wasn’t very good at it.

Are you all right, Urch? Kerinn asked.

He turned toward her. He was still getting used to her as well. Valen and Rolan and even Surah he could understand, but wizards were something else, something beyond his experience until just a few weeks ago. The Duke of Nal Vedaris had forbidden wizards in his city, but that hadn’t stopped Kerinn and her friends from coming there to track down a dangerous magical artifact. That was how Urch had first met the Wolves, though he never would have predicted his current situation from how that initial encounter had gone.

Yeah, I’m fine, he said.

How are the horses?

They’re okay. Calmed down, now.

You’re good with them, Kerinn said. Ianos, he’s normally the one who takes care of the animals on these sorts of trips.

I don’t mind doing it, Urch said.

I wanted to ask you about the fight, she said.

He adjusted a harness strap and patted the horse’s side. It was Rolan’s mount, its tack specifically adjusted to fit the warrior’s unusually short frame. Yeah?

You met the basilisk’s gaze, she said. Did you know your resistance to magic would protect you?

I guess, he said. I just… I couldn’t just stand there while it ate them, right?

She stepped in closer and laid a hand on his. I’m not being critical, she said. You distracted it at a key moment. Valen’s not mad at you, he’s just distracted by what happens next. Her eyes flicked over at Surah.

Yeah, he said again, fidgeting under her attention. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his coat, then took them out and started to reach for the horse again before finally tucking them behind his back.

Come on, she said. You have as much say in this as any of us.

She led him over to the campfire, which was now crackling earnestly against the fast-falling night. Valen and Rolan were arguing as the wizard and boy approached.

The warriors looked rather the worse for wear. The absence of their priest had complicated their medical situation, but all of the Wolves had at least some skill in treating wounds. Rolan’s arm had been splinted and slung from a wrap stretched tight across his chest, while Valen’s torso was bare under his cloak, the pale gray of fresh bandages visible against his skin. Both had taken medicine for the pain, but they had avoided the drugs that would have put them to sleep and given their bodies time to heal. Even Urch knew that they didn’t have that luxury here.

We have to abandon the mission, Rolan was saying.

I’m not saying that Surah isn’t the first priority, Valen replied. He nodded at Kerinn and Urch as they came over to the fire. But look where we are, Rolan. We’ll probably have to go on to Evachor anyway before we find anyone who can help her.

We could turn around.

And it would still take us a week to get back to the coast, let alone how long it might take for a ship heading north to Whiteport to come along this time of year. And that assumes the weather holds. It’s still winter in these parts.

Rolan looked up at Kerinn. You’re sure there’s nothing you can do?

It’s an old magic, Rolan, she said. I’ve tried what I know, but I can’t even begin to unravel the transformation.

But you’re sure it can be done? Rolan prodded.

Kerinn nodded. According to the old scholars, there was a ritual that could restore a petrified person back to normal, as long as it was done within a week or two of the transformation.

All the more reason to consider our course carefully, Valen said, anticipating Rolan’s next point. He started to get up, then grimaced and sat back down again.

You need to take it easy, Kerinn said sternly. You’re lucky those ribs were only cracked, and not shattered.

We’re not going to have the luxury of waiting, Valen said.

I have an idea, Kerinn said. Have you heard of Havenstone?

The library? Valen asked. It’s said they have the largest collection of pre-Imperial works on the continent, larger even than the archives in Chanmar Dek. I’ve even heard that they have one of the last fully intact sets of Camberan’s complete works.

The other Wolves all gave him a long look. What? Valen asked. I can read, you know.

Do you think that they’ll have something that can turn Surah back? Rolan asked, eager.

Well, according to the Collegium’s records their repository does include a considerable storehouse of magical lore. Some of the librarians are also practitioners.

I’m surprised the Collegium hasn’t tried to regulate them, Valen said.

Kerinn’s look grew stern. The Collegium’s mission is to protect the public from the ill effects of unregulated magic, she said. Not to control all knowledge, Valen.

How far is it to this place? Rolan asked.

It’s off our intended route to Evachor, Kerinn said. It’s on the far side of these hills, but I’d bet we could still get there faster than it would take to retrace our steps to the coast.

Then that’s where we’ll go, Rolan said. He looked at Valen as if defying him to challenge the statement, but the Wolf only nodded. We’ll need to get a wagon. To move her.

According to the map, the next village is a day ahead of us, Kerinn said. Rumblerock.

Sounds charming, Valen said.

Someone will need to ride on and fetch a wagon, then, Rolan said.

I can do it, Urch said. At Valen’s look he added, I’m not afraid.

Valen shook his head. No one questions your bravery, Urch. But we have to stay together. There are almost certainly more dangers in these hills.

I won’t leave her, Valen, Rolan said.

The leader of the Wolves nodded. He looked thoughtful for a moment. Urch noted that the other two waited for him to work through his thoughts without interrupting. Valen wasn’t the oldest or most powerful in the group, but he fit into the role of leader with a smoothness that was outside of the boy’s experience. In the world he’d come from, the leaders were those who could dominate with raw physical strength or who could manipulate others through cunning and duplicity. He was still coming to grips with what it meant to be a member of this company, but he already knew that it was far preferable to his earlier life.

All right, Valen finally said. Urch, are you okay with staying here with Rolan?

Sure, the boy said.

Very well. Kerinn and I will take the remaining horses and ride on tomorrow to this ‘Rumblerock.’ We’ll get a wagon if such a thing exists there, and extra horses, if they’re available. We’ll be back as soon as we can. He looked at Rolan. Okay?

Rolan looked relieved that they had a plan. Okay, he said. You two should rest tonight then. I’ll keep watch.

He would, too, Urch knew, despite the broken arm. I can help, the boy said.

Valen nodded. Well. Let’s get supper together then.

* * * * *

Chapter 3

Valen’s side itched. It was an improvement over the painful throbbing that had been his companion over the last few days, but the persistent itching was almost as bad. He squirmed and tried to get at the itch but his mail coat and the layered fabric and leather under it made that difficult.

You okay? Kerinn asked from beside him.

Yeah, he said. He had to speak up a bit to be heard over the rattle of the wagon behind them. The vehicle that they had fetched from the village of Rumblerock was old, rusted, and loud in its operation, but it functioned, for the most part. They’d already had to replace one wheel, and he now understood that its former owner hadn’t been trying to push up the price when he’d offered them additional spares.

He glanced back over his shoulder at the wagon. Rolan was driving it, with Urch sitting beside him. Surah was in the back, covered by a tarp that had slid partly off again to reveal her stony features. She was surrounded by bales of hay, including one tied under each arm and another thrust between her legs. They’d taken as much care as was possible to cushion her ride. The sight of their shattered horse back at the camp had been sobering. They hadn’t been able to get her bow out of her hand, though they’d unstrung the weapon to spare its tension.

Rolan noticed his attention and said something to Urch. The boy clambered back into the bed of the wagon to check on the petrified scout. He slid the tarp back into place and double-checked its moorings.

Valen… I think we’re almost there, Kerinn said.

Valen lifted a hand, signaling a halt. The wagon rumbled to a stop. Valen looked at the spot that Kerinn indicated. The horizon was the same as it had been for the last few days, just more stony hills layered as far as they could see. The road had wound a meandering course through them, past scattered clumps of trees that could never properly be caused forests and around obstacles that were too significant to be cut through or bridged over. They had gone through dry watersheds that would become torrents in the coming spring, and detoured around rockslides that had blocked the regular path of the road. The villages they’d passed had been few and far between, settlements with simple descriptive names that matched the grimness of the landscape: Granite Ridge, Thistledown, Boulder Falls.

The hills ahead looked identical to those behind at first glance, but as Valen focused he could see what Kerinn had noted: one of the hills had a summit that was a bit too angular, a bit too neat to be natural. Surah would have seen it right off, he knew.

We should be there before dark, he proclaimed, though that could have been wishful thinking. In these hills distances were almost meaningless; progress depended almost entirely on the condition of the road.

But the road proved to be in fairly good shape, and their destination quickly drew nearer as the day faded. As they got closer the library complex became more distinct. It wasn’t actually on the summit of the hill, but more perched on a bluff that jutted from its shoulder. Even so it had more of the look of a citadel than a place of learning. It probably had gotten its start as such, Valen thought. It reminded him of the Kyrat Khre, a similar place in the Firestone Hills not far from Nal Vedaris. This place wasn’t quite as isolated or so obviously fortified, but he made reflexive note of its potential defenses just as a matter of course.

There was a village at the base of the hill a few hundred yards from the library’s gate. Kerinn’s map didn’t have a name for it, but it was clearly there to provide support for the hilltop complex. There wasn’t much to it, no more than a dozen stone structures with thatch roofs. The place was surrounded by a patchwork of hardscrabble fields and terraced plots squeezed into every available spot that wasn’t choked with rocks and thickets of tangled brush. There was even a herd of sheep, two dozen scrawny creatures watched over by a pair of dogs and a child who observed them from atop a boulder as they approached.

The child wasn’t the only one to monitor their coming. There were people working the fields, weather-worn folk dressed in bulky furs that made them look a bit like the grazing sheep to Valen’s eyes. There was no immediate reaction to their arrival, but he had no doubt that there were men in the village getting ready on the off chance that the unexpected strangers had something more in mind than a friendly visit.

As it happened they didn’t even have to go into the village at all. They came to a fork that clearly was the route up to the bluff, and they turned that way, quickly leaving the village behind them. The road was steep but not impossible for the four-horse team pulling the wagon, but still they took it slow, with Rolan on the reins and Urch ready on the wheel brake. In order to wind its way up the face of the hill the road turned back on itself several times until the villagers below were just small figures in the distance.

As they climbed they could hear a sound from above them, a faint but constant ringing of metal on stone that drew steadily louder. The mystery of it was finally solved as they came around another switchback to find a crew of laborers working to clear a rockslide from the road. There were about a dozen of them, all men dressed in the same thick coats as the villagers they’d spotted in the fields below. Several were engaged in shattering boulders with heavy iron sledgehammers, while their peers dragged baskets full of the resulting debris to the drop off at the road’s far side. They shuffled back as the riders and their wagon approached. Valen could see their overseer, a big man with a dark beard who was dressed in a simple white robe. The garment couldn’t conceal the hard lines of muscle underneath; from the look of him he could have done the work of two of the village workers himself. He nodded at them as they drew close but didn’t offer any other greeting. The laborers just paused in their work and watched.

Valen signaled them forward. Rolan passed the worksite very slowly and carefully. While the obstruction had been mostly cleared, the wagon’s right wheels dipped slightly into the weeds that grew along the shoulder of the road. Beyond that thin fringe was a steep drop.

Once they were