Power Of A Wicked Tongue
along the back of his griffin. Rocktail’s sleek muscles were damp with sweat, and his feathers were particularly oily after flying all day. The griffin smelled as though he’d been cooking in the heat of the day. Pernden sniffed at himself and realized he needed to bathe himself later too.
He rested his forehead on Rocktail’s back and squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to ward off the welling tears. Since High Commander Danner Kane had returned to Clawstone, the Talon Squadron’s secret base, and told him of Master Melkis’s death, Pernden had been prone to short but piercing waves of grief.
The old master had been like a father to Pernden and his brothers when their own parents died long ago. The master’s sage wisdom and compassion had helped the young captain grow into one of the finest knights in all the Guard.
Now, faced with the burden of the throne and its title, Pernden needed Melkis more than ever. The rule of Whitestone fell to Pernden, as next blood heir after his mind-bent cousin.
He didn’t want it.
A crunch in the woods nearby jolted him upright. Rocktail stamped his feet, obviously sensing the guardian’s discomfort.
“I’m sorry to startle you,” Danner Kane apologized.
Pernden sighed and shook his head. “It’s alright.” He patted Rocktail and stepped toward Kane. “What can I do for you, High Commander?”
Kane carried a haunt with him. His usually clean, trimmed face was dirty and scruffy. He’d been laboring at plans for the past several days. He looked exhausted, and in fact, he was.
“My Lord.”
Pernden winced. “High Commander, I’ve asked you not to call me that.”
“It seems as though you’re having trouble letting my title go,” Kane said with a hint of teasing. Though a sadness swept over his visage. “I’m almost certain, it no longer applies.”
Pernden laughed and found it unsettling to hear mirth come out of himself. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll call you Danner if you call me Pernden again.”
Danner Kane looked to the forest floor and huffed out an amused chuckle before turning serious. “None have left our ranks to be with their families in Whitestone. The consensus seems to be that our best chance at protecting our families and the people of Whitestone is to retake the city. And we’ll need every guardian we have.”
“Did you expect anything less from the Talon Squadron?” Pernden asked with a hint of pride.
He tossed Rocktail’s brush into a wooden bucket and pulled out a rag. “Come here,” he said to the griffin as he began the process of wiping away gunk around the creature’s eyes.
Kane saw grief pressing down the young man’s shoulders and said softly, “Pernden.”
The burdened man stopped, his head fell forward, and he gripped the rag, wringing it in his hands. “Why would he do it?”
Danner Kane took a few steps closer. “Your cousin is not well. The sorcerer has some spell over him.”
“What kind of darkness must he wield that’s strong enough for Garron to betray his own people?” Pernden whirled on the older man.
Kane shook his head. “The orc was unlike any I’ve ever seen.”
“What darkness exists that could twist him to kill Melkis?” Pernden shook with emotions.
“It is a wicked power I do not understand.”
“How are we supposed to fight that?”
“I don’t know,” Kane said honestly. “But we’ll find a way.”
Pernden snickered. “How can you be so sure?”
“I have hope.”
Pernden’s facial contortions revealed his skepticism.
Kane pressed his lips into a tight smile and added, “Hope in the Talon Squadron, the best of our order. Hope that goodness will prevail. Hope in you.”
The younger man shifted uneasily, tossing the rag back into the bucket. “That’s a lot of hope.”
“Exactly,” Kane said. “Hope is a powerful ally. Battles have been won and lost on the razor’s edge of hope and hopelessness; even before blades clashed.”
“I get your meaning.”
“Though I am sorry to see the burden fall to you, I do have hope in you. I have known you for much of your life. You are a natural leader. Whether you like it or not, you will make an honorable king.”
Pernden winced again.
“Do you think I would have made you the captain of the Talon Squadron if I didn’t believe you are an exceptional leader?” Kane asked.
When the younger man hesitated, Danner Kane recoiled in mock offense. “You think that poorly of my leadership that I would choose an unworthy officer to lead our elite force?”
Pernden hastened to defend his hesitation but noted the wide grin on the older man’s face. “I just,” he paused. The words caught in his throat. “I didn’t want any of this.”
Danner Kane moved toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “No one wants such things in their lives. Like so many guardians in the long lineage that came before us, I have no doubt you are capable of overcoming any challenge that arises. Even one so strange as this.”
The younger man brushed at his cheek as though it would push back the tears that glassed his eyes.
“And besides,” Kane continued. “You’re not alone. You never have been.”
The older guardian reached to his side and untied a sheath. He lifted it before him. Pernden recognized it immediately. Wintertide.
Kane took the weapon in both hands and pulled the hilt so part of the blade was visible. A runic marking glinted in the light as the tree leaves rustled, shifting dancing shadows all around. Pernden reached out and touched the white gemstone embedded in the hilt. A sudden wave of energy flooded him, and he pulled away in shock.
Danner Kane returned the sword to its sheath and held it out to Pernden. His pressed smile widened, and his eyebrow cocked. “I think this belongs to you.”
The stench of goblin made Commander Jolan’s nose twitch. Goblin foot soldiers were scattered in various inner chambers throughout Whitestone Castle where they hid from the sun. It would be setting soon enough, and their activity would resume.
Jolan was thankful for the brightness of the day that sent them scuttling for shade. It was the only time he could walk through the castle without their leering eyes on him. He surveyed the state of the castle as he walked freely.
Gear lined the hallways with clutter.
The castle was so well kept before, Jolan thought to himself. What future do we build for ourselves? He’d been asking the same question over and over for the last several days, but we’ll survive was the only answer he could find.
As he weaved around a pile of shields, he thought back to the day that changed it all. Everything had happened so fast—the mirror-turned-magic doorway, the king’s slaying of Master Melkis, Jaernok Tur’s arrival, and Danner Kane’s flight. Everything had changed.
Everything.
He shuddered at the thought of the sorcerer orc. Jolan, bigger than most men he knew, still stood short of the shrouded orc who seemed to be bathed in darkness. The commander did not like being in the sorcerer’s presence and experienced continuous crawling sensations when near him, like a thousand spider legs creeping across his skin.
Regardless of his feelings toward the orc, Jolan had witnessed power in the sorcerer unlike any he’d ever seen. With such a powerful enemy, certainly they would have fallen to Drelek eventually. At least they would survive by Jaernok Tur’s side if the sorcerer could be held at his word. The goblins hadn’t killed any of the citizens of Whitestone, which Jaernok Tur threatened them not to do.
A shiver ran up Jolan’s spine as he rounded the corner and saw the king’s chamber at the end of the hallway.
Several days ago, in that same room, the sorcerer had grabbed his tongue and spoken some evil curse over it. Or was it a spell? Maybe a blessing or a gift? Jolan had moments where everything made sense, but others when he wasn’t sure what was going on. There was no question, though, that whatever the sorcerer had done to him had made easy work of convincing the rest of the Guard to fall in line behind Jolan. They were confused when he’d initially turned up at the Grand Corral with an edict from King Garron declaring him the new High Commander of the Griffin Guard. He explained to them the situation as best he could, and his words that day carried an eerily persuasive power, one he did not understand.
Some of the guardians had been less than happy about the arrangement with the incoming Drelek forces, but they had been dealt with. Those that argued were thrown into the dungeons until they could see the error of their ways.
Since then, it seemed better to keep the Griffin Guard on mission in search of the traitors. Danner Kane had obviously convinced his elusive Talon Squadron to take up his hopeless cause, for none of them had returned from the elite group’s secret location.
A twinge of sadness struck him at the thought of his old friend. Fool. What hope did we have against such dark forces? Do you really think your small band can fight this magic?
Jaernok Tur had brought goblin foot soldiers and orc commanders through the Alkhoren Mirror. It was deliberate work and required much effort from the powerful sorcerer. That power alone made Jolan believe resistance was hopeless.
He stopped at the doorway to the king’s chamber. The door was still broken and hung lazily on its hinges. Jolan took a deep breath and pushed into the room. King Garron sat in a chair next to the table, pouring over scrolls. His wretched body shook as he studied the contents feverishly. He looked like a sack of bones.
Jolan glanced about the room, initially relieved to not see the shrouded orc but almost immediately filled with a chilling dread. He could sense the sorcerer. He didn’t know how, but the commander knew the orc was somewhere beyond the curtains that had sectioned off part of the chamber. The curtains were strangely adorned with markings Jolan didn’t recognize. A scratchy, ugly language of a bygone era.
“It seems so simple ...” Garron muttered to himself.
“What’s that?” Jolan asked, drawing nearer to the malnourished king.
Garron’s eyes flicked up as he emerged from the scroll he studied. “What?”
“You said something,” Jolan replied. When Garron stared at him as though he were crazy, Jolan said, “Never mind.”
Garron stared toward Jolan, but his eyes looked far off.
“What spell did he use on you?” the massive commander asked the shriveled king.
“He showed me,” Garron whispered.
“Showed you what?”
“Showed me the shadow. The coming wave. The end of our time.”
The creepiness with which Garron said the words made Jolan step backward and uttered the response that he’d reasoned to himself over and over, “But he said that if we join him our people will survive.”
King Garron tilted his head and muttered, “A ship is as a plaything to the sea. It might survive the waves, but there are storms—terrible storms—that can crush them.”
Jolan blinked at the king. “If we are just going to get crushed in the end, why did you listen to him?”
“The same as you,” Garron said, waving an absent hand. “Fear blinds. This was the only option visible that could potentially lead us through the storm. Some ships survive the storm and reach land in the end.”
Without another word, Garron returned to his scroll.
Jolan stared at him for a long time. He wondered whether fear was the reason he was still here. Admittedly, he was afraid, but the power of the sorcerer had shattered his reality. He’d never experienced anything like it. As he thought about it, he was unsure whether he was impressed by the sorcerer’s power. He also didn’t know if his thoughts were his own anymore.
A flourish of the weirdly decorated curtains revealed Jaernok Tur. He looked tired. At least Jolan thought he looked tired. The orc’s wicked grin appeared quickly at the sight of the commander. Jolan mustered all his strength to act unafraid. He was pretty sure the sorcerer could sense fear.
“Hello, High Commander,” the orc said, whispers dancing off the ends of his words. “Do you bear good news?”
Jolan forced a step away from the weary king and toward the sorcerer, trying to prove his courage. “A report.”
“Well, then. Do report.”
Jaernok Tur turned away from the guardian, sizing up the Alkhoren Mirror for the next wave of troops and using his nonchalant attitude to remind Jolan how little power the man had against him.
“I have a griffin squadron en route to Dahrenport to inquire of the Talon Squadron and Danner Kane. It is possible they are holed up in the port city. Other squadrons are on rotation, taking shifts to scour Whitestone Forest. They’ve been working their way from east to west. The forest is dense, and the process is slow. We have covered only a quarter of the forest so far—”
Jaernok Tur growled.
Jolan gulped down the lump in his throat and continued, “I sent out a scout team to Hill Stop a couple days ago. They questioned the locals, but they said they hadn’t seen anything.”
“So, no news at all!” Jaernok Tur sneered, whirling around on the guardian.
Jolan took an involuntary step backward. “I am preparing another squadron to fly to Lakerun, farther south, in case they fled to—”
Jaernok Tur slithered into the man’s face and loomed above him.
“Have I not given you power? Have I not ensured your people’s survival? Have I not given you what you want?” The words echoed with whispers bouncing around the room. “I have been a benevolent master. Why won’t you give me what I want?”
Jolan’s chest wavered. “I-I am trying, Maste—”
The room grew suddenly darker, and Jaernok Tur’s eyes turned the color of obsidian. Pressure squeezed at Jolan’s heart, and his brain felt as though someone thrust their hand into his skull to grip it tight.
Jolan stammered, “If-if I had more men, I—”
Jaernok Tur’s stare froze him.
As Jolan stood before the wicked sorcerer in total silence, it became apparent he wasn’t staring at him, but to some distant realm.
The commander waved a cautious hand in front of him, utterly confused by the eerie development. A whimper from the king behind him jolted him from his thoughts, and Jolan saw another choice they hadn’t been presented with before.
He reached his hand slowly to the hilt of his sword. Terror gripped the man. The metal slid against the sheath painfully slow.
“He’s back ...” King Garron whispered, giving Jolan the shivers.
And just like that, Jaernok Tur snapped. He looked tired. Or maybe frightened. Jolan couldn’t tell which, but he had let his sword slide back into its sheath and moved his hands away just in time.
Jaernok Tur took a second to realign himself. When he spoke, his attitude was different. “I have more troops coming from Drelek, a wyvern squadron. But you need to accomplish the task I have given you.”
Jolan shook away his confusion, suddenly and inexplicably inclined to help Jaernok Tur again. “I could possibly get it done faster by utilizing Whitestone citizens to search the forest on foot, as well. There is no guarantee Danner Kane is in the forest. He could be anywhere, really. If we can get some of the city’s people out searching, I can send more griffin squadrons to the coast to search.”
“Do it.”
Jolan hesitated at the venom in the command, but he had more to offer.
Jaernok Tur noticed and softened his approach. “What is it, High Commander?”
“Well,” Jolan looked back at the thin form of the king, still slumped over a scroll at the table. “The castle staff that was shooed out to make way for the goblins have spoken to others in the city. Word has gotten out about what is happening.”
“That was never in doubt. The wave of the future is not easily missed by the ones in front of it.” Jaernok Tur tried to dismiss the commander’s concern.
The comment made Jolan pause. He felt as though he’d had a similar conversation recently. Did I? For some reason he couldn’t remember.
“Yes, Master,” he agreed. “However, it would do the people well to see their king.” He checked himself. “Well, not like this.”
Jaernok Tur’s eyes flitted over to King Garron. The young man-kin had been wasting away. Since his arrival, the orc sorcerer had been focused on setting things into motion, getting goblins into the castle through the mirror doorway, and ensuring the prior High Commander of the Griffin Guard—and his special squadron—were found and killed before they were able to mount up any semblance of resistance. He had nearly forgotten the usefulness of the king.
“His father was a well-loved king. The people loved him as a prince and were pleased for him to be the new king,” Jolan continued. “If my master would clean him up and give him strength once more, he could be very helpful. He could lean the people’s hearts to your plans. With the people behind you, we could accompli—”
A stone clawed hand rested on the large commander’s shoulder. It was heavy, as though the weight of the world fell on him with its touch. The sorcerer’s features were softened though.
“It appears your wisdom was wasted before.”
Jolan only stared back at the orc.
“He may have been loved,” Jaernok Tur glanced over the man’s shoulder toward the king and back. “And I will refresh him for these purposes.”
“Thank you, Master.”
“But when all this is over, I will reward your loyalty. And I will need to set up under-kings. Let us see how your wisdom plays out. Should it prove fruitful, who knows what riches I might bestow upon one so prudent?”
Jolan’s heart tightened. He had no doubt the campaign would succeed. At the same time, he realized he had no idea how powerful Jaernok Tur was, but he intended to find out.
Pernden had spent the past hour sparring with Nera. Sweat matted his long blond hair and dripped into his eyes. Nera, as sweaty as he, simply glistened. How could he appear so rough while she looked radiant? Her heavy breathing, though, betrayed her exhaustion.
They smiled at each other as they lowered to the ground to catch their breath. Pernden was grateful she was willing to spar with him. To do something normal with him. Although their sparring session had been anything but normal.
Nera had been learning the magics of her spear, Santoralier, and Pernden understood clearly why it was called “Lightning Rider.” For his part, Pernden was learning the magics of Wintertide, Melkis’s weapon. Sadness enveloped him as he examined the sword in his hand.
The hilt was long enough to be used with both hands and was accented by a strange white crystalline stone. Pernden assumed the stone, combined with the ancient elven etchings, was the source of its magic. Its silvery blade shone as sunbeams poked through the trees waving in the wind. Somehow, even after the many battles it had seen, it still looked as though it were straight out of the forge.
Nera nudged Pernden with her elbow. “It’s surreal to taste the familiar sting of Wintertide.” She picked at some snowy ice stuck in the end of her long, thick braid. “You wield it with the fury of a blizzard!”
“I wish it were not I who wielded it.”
Nera reached a sympathetic hand to his shoulder. “I know. Though, I also know he is in Kerathane right now, proud that you are the one who does. Melkis loved you like his own son.”
“And I loved him like a father.”
Nera let out a long exhale, trying to regulate her breathing. She leaned back, resting her body weight on her hands behind her and looking all around them. “I have always loved this place. Always thought it would be a wonderful place to build a cabin. Raise some children.” She laughed at the notion.
Pernden nodded his agreement. “Thankfully, we have this haven. Imagine if the Talon Squadron had been somewhere else when the Drelek sorcerer broke into Whitestone.”
“I’m not so worried about that.”
“What?” Pernden was shocked by her words.
“I understand there is a battle before us,” she reassured him. “But I have no power over that right now. When the battle comes, I’ll be ready to fight. Until then, I’ll fill my mind and heart with my reasons to fight and dreams of a future after victory. I’ll think on hopes. It is better that than being consumed by worries. How can you fight if you are captive to worry?”
“You’re the second one to mention the power of hope to me recently.”
“Whoever it was must be incredibly wise,” she said with a smirk.
Her dark skin glistened as the trees cast shadows and light waving around her. Pernden gazed into her eyes, no longer sparkling gold, since Santoralier rested beside her in the grass.
Nera’s smile softened, and Pernden thought he could dream for a future as well. He leaned toward her, but a stick cracked under a heavy boot nearby, halting him and breaking their intimate silence.
Danner Kane approached them. His face teetered between the look of an approving father and an apologetic interrupter. The young captain stood to greet him.
“My Lord ...” Kane started.
“Danner, please.” Pernden begged his mentor. “Please. My heart can’t take the weight of the title.”
The commander chewed on his response for a second and finally huffed out a laugh. “You are capable of far more than you know, Pernden. I am sorry I have not instilled in you the same confidence that I have in you.”
Pernden realized the situation was not only awkward for him. He had been Danner Kane’s protégé and had hung on to the older man’s every word. Kane had led him through many challenges over the years. He’d taught the young man how to lead guardians well.
Suddenly, Pernden had become the leader. Why? Because of some blood relation to the crown? He didn’t even want to be king. He’d never wanted to be king. He was happy flying around on griffin-back, worrying about nothing but his duty to the Guard.
“What can we do for you, High Commander?” Nera stepped in, recognizing the two men’s internal struggles.
“Ah, yes,” Danner Kane adjusted his stance. “I have been reaching out to my sources, gathering as much information as I can without us being detected. We could not risk being discovered before we are ready.”
“And are we ready?” Pernden asked.
“Well, that’s why I’m here,” Kane continued. “It sounds like we will have to fight sooner than I’d hoped. I still do not understand the power of the orc sorcerer. Whatever power he wields enables him to twist the minds of others toward his will. It got me thinking since we are facing an enemy that thinks and works differently than us, we need to approach this in a different way.”
“That’s an understatement. It wasn’t exactly a direct attack. The sorcerer has completely changed everything. We know Drelek’s usual tactics have been shifting of late, but they still tend to lean on wyvern squadron raiding parties,” Pernden added.
“Correct,” Kane went on. “However, we were infiltrated by craftier means this time. More sinister, illusive means. Get into the heart of someone and you can turn them to your causes.”
“Garron was clearly deceived into betraying Whitestone,” Nera interrupted.
“That’s what I believe,” Kane admitted. “And I was thinking about how long Garron had been gone before his return. If I remember right, it was several weeks that he was away. It is possible the enemy could have captured him and twisted his mind then before sending him home to Whitestone. You remember when he came back?” he asked to Pernden.
The young captain wiped sweat from his brow. “Yes. He was ... different.”
“He was,” Danner Kane nodded solemnly.
“So, could the sorcerer do that to others as well?” Nera asked.
“Apparently, he’s already doing so. My sources still in Whitestone tell me Commander Jolan has been decreed High Commander of the Guard. The sorcerer has been using Jolan as a mouthpiece to poison the Guard. The sorcerer has been bringing goblin soldiers into Whitestone through the Alkhoren Mirror and having Jolan manage the tensions between the incoming goblins and the Guard.”
“That blasted mirror!” Pernden seethed.
“Goblins in Whitestone? The Guard would never allow that!” Nera protested.
“Again, we know not how wide the sorcerer’s web of deceit can spread. It sounds like Commander Jolan’s words have been ... persuasive. Any guardians that don’t fall in line are locked up in the dungeons.”
“Lock up any who would fight against them,” Pernden visibly shook with rage.
“Yes. But also, the Guard has been kept away from the castle. Jolan has them running missions all over, looking for us. Keeping the squadrons separated in smaller groups may make it easier to control the guardians. Also, we don’t know how deep his claws dig into people the longer he hexes them.”
“Garron looked worse and worse as every day passed,” Pernden put in.
“Which means we need to hurry. The more we delay, the worse the sorcerer’s influence over the Guard will be,” Nera reasoned.
“That’s my thought as well,” Kane said.
“Goblin foot soldiers we can manage. But the power of the sorcerer orc is unknown to us. If we fly in, we could be flying to our deaths,” Pernden said gravely.
“Yes. However, the time for action is upon us. I’ve reached out to a source of mine in Ghun-Ra. She reports a wyvern squadron will be headed from there to Whitestone to solidify their hold.”
“A source in Ghun-Ra?” Nera asked.
“A very old friend,” Danner Kane said, with a reminiscent smirk. “A goblin’s love of coin knows no bounds.”
“So, foot soldiers, a sorcerer, and a wyvern squadron? Not to mention the rest of the guard is under the sorcerer’s spell and hunting for us. Anything else we need to add?” Pernden quipped.
“Those are rough odds, even for the Talon Squadron, Commander,” Nera pointed out.
“Exactly,” Kane said. His eyes narrowed at Pernden.
“Oh, I see,” Pernden said, his command brain taking control. “We must take them out separately. We can’t fight them all at once. We go for the wyvern squadron and catch them as they crest the mountains. We never let them reach Whitestone in the first place.”
“Exactly what I was thinking,” the High Commander affirmed. “When we take them out, we will have to recover quickly. They will certainly send for another squadron. But we need to take Whitestone back before they arrive.”
“So, we are agreed,” Pernden concluded.
Danner Kane looked at the young man before him. Even in his exhaustion, he brimmed with fatherly pride. How much he had seen the young man grow. Kane longed to see him grow into the man that would lead their people into the future. He hoped he would be able to witness it.
“The lead is yours,” he said.
Pernden nodded with determination.
“Prepare the squadron. We go to war.”