Waybreaker was underway. Brynwolfn had taken a much more direct role in ordering the commanding weapon for Keledrain than she ever had in years past. Ever since she had accepted her position as the highest ranking general of the Hulfraust army, she had been more than happy to leave the commissioning of the weapon between Keledrain and the leaders of the various artisan guilds. Up until now, Brynwolfn had seen little point in getting involved in a ritual which served the primary purpose of placating the ego of their arrogant “queen,” as well as serving the secondary purpose of giving the Hulfraust artisan guilds something to show off all their latest advancements and techniques on. 

Brynwolfn’s responsibility was very simple. Whatever weapon was ultimately decided, it was her job to train her Faraluken to learn to fight with it. The Faraluken Infantry was the most elite unit in the Hulfraust army and it consisted of the most skilled and experienced fighters in the entire nation. As the highest ranking general, Brynwolfn was the only one with the authority to command them. 

There was no duty she took more seriously than keeping her Faraluken primed and prepared for any battle they may be required to fight. She trained them in the heat of the forge halls and she trained them at the icy heights near the mountain’s peak. Part of the year she trained them to work as a single fighting unit, and part of the year she assigned them to train and fight alongside units of novice soldiers to set an example and show them the Faraluken standard. They were fast, they were efficient, and most importantly, they could all adapt to whatever challenge Brynwolfn threw at them. 

That need for versatility was the first reason Brynwolfn began the annual tradition of training them to use whatever weapon was being designed as that year’s commanding weapon. Keledrain never commissioned the same type of weapon two years in a row, and quite often her demands would vary wildly from one year to the next. This helped ensure her Faraluken never became complacent or bored. Every year was a new opportunity to adapt. 

Another reason she trained them this way was simply her disdain for wasting resources. The guilds responsible for creating the commanding weapon made dozens, sometimes hundreds of iterations before they were satisfied with a final result. That meant a surplus of weapons that were often unfamiliar to the majority of the Hulfraust army. Several of them even had enchantments and other modifications already bonded to them. Brynwolfn decided that it would be a waste to simply send such well-crafted weapons back to the smelters. 

And so every year, Brynwolfn trained her Faraluken with these early drafts of the commanding weapon as they became available. In all honesty, the challenge and novelty of those training sessions was one of the things she looked forward to most every year. But this year would be different. Her Faraluken would need no special training on the weapon being forged this year, because the weapon being fashioned this year was a malvapn. 

Brynwolfn smiled as she thought about her plan, and unconsciously twirled her malatol, the speaking tool that all Hulfraust adults carried with them to converse in their percussive language, and moved it deftly between her fingers. She paused a moment to look at her malatol and admire the simplicity and brilliance of it. More an extension of herself than a simple tool, to Brynwolfn the malatol and malvapn defined the Hulfraust nation more than their physical boundaries or location ever would. She took a moment to strike each part of the malatol against the stone in front of her. 

Thump. Tap. Click. Ping. 

With the right order, rhythm, spacing, and emphasis, those four percussive consonants could say anything worth saying in the Hulfraust language. Together, those four sounds told every story that ever mattered to Brynwolfn and her people. They were simple, yet contained the complexity of everything in existence. 

Thump. That was the blunt end of the malatol. It resembled the head of a hammer, but unlike most hammers its striking surface wasn’t actually flat. Rather, it was comprised of six triangles of equal size that all met together at the center of the surface. The tips of the triangles in the center were slightly more elevated than their edges around the circumference of the striking face, but the slope was so gradual it was easy to mistake for a flat surface without looking close. 

On the malvapn, the thumping side delivered crushing blows that could break apart stone and make most metal armor crumple like parchment. There was a reason that Thump was always listed first among the consonants, because in an argument fought with a malvapn instead of a malatol, there was rarely a need for a second syllable after the first Thump. 

Tap. That was the surface of the malatol furthest away from the handle. Brynwolfn had sometimes heard others refer to it as the “top” of the malatol, but she thought it was limiting to think of the tool in terms of “top and bottom” or “left and right.” That seemed to imply there was some established “right way” to use the malatol, which she believed was a mistake. The tapping surface was shaped like a single tooth on a saw, and it was placed directly between Thump and Click at the heavy end of the tool. 

On the malvapn, the tapping surface was shaped like the tip of a double-edged broadsword, and it provided an upward stabbing and slicing tool that turned the reduced height of the dwarves into an opportunity rather than a disadvantage. 

Click. That surface sat opposite to Thump, on the other side of Tap. This surface was wide, flat, and curved. It also provided the most versatility in terms of regional and family accents within the nation. 

On the malvapn, Click was a great, curved axe head that was used to cleave and chop anything that couldn’t be smashed or sliced out of the way. The ends of the axe blade did not make contact with the handle, and this allowed it to also be used to hook on to targets that needed to be brought down. And this was done for the final syllable to end things with finality. 

Ping. The side furthest away from all the others, on the opposite end of the handle. Its base where it met the handle was round, but it sloped steeply to a point as sharp as a needle. A small spherical weight sat between the base and the handle and served to prevent any accidental slipping of the tool, and to give some extra weight to make sure the higher pitched sound of Ping was not lost among a flurry of other sounds. 

On the malvapn, Ping acted as a spike to finish off any foes brought to the ground with Thump, Tap, or Click. It was sharp, heavy, and was tipped like a spear. While the other three parts of the malvapn were responsible for countless injuries inflicted upon their enemies over the centuries, this end delivered only swift and inescapable death. 

Ping was a sound of finality and completion both on the battlefield with the malvapn and in the peaceful halls of the Hulfraust with the malatol. Nearly every poem, song, and story composed in the Hulfraust language ended with a Ping to let the audience know when it was done. 

Thump, Tap, Click, Ping. Brynwolfn couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that she was neglecting something important in her plans, but couldn’t figure out what that was. She was still missing something, and she worried it could cause the entire plan to fail. The feeling left her on edge. 

Brynwolfn felt the edge of the Click face on her malatol. Then she paused and looked at the tool again. She struck the stone next to her, going through each of the consonants again. 

Thump. She had convinced the Council of Balance Sages to go along with her plan and help organize the the several pieces that needed to simultaneously fall into place. It was only the first blow to Keledrain’s power over the Hulfraust, but an absolutely critical one. 

Tap. Brynwolfn had initiated the construction of Waybreaker, and had personally delivered her instructions to the blacksmiths, mages, and other artisans involved in its creation to ensure it would be made exactly to her specifications. Keledrain had no reason to believe Brynwolfn would ever take such a personal interest in one of her commanding weapons, and Brynwolfn had taken full advantage of the lack of oversight into those details. 

Click. Preparations were underway to make it possible for the entire nation to evacuate their mountain home in a matter of hours, rather than days and weeks. Land around the base of the mountain was being cleared, and portable structures were being constructed that could be set up for sleeping, cooking, and other living essentials. The balance sages were even building pieces that could be assembled into a small, outdoor Temple of Balance, complete with inner and outer halls. Food, clothing, bedding, weapons, medical supplies, and other goods were being stockpiled and organized with the kind of efficiency only possible among the Hulfraust. Life outside their mountain would be strange and scary for many, and very different from the warm, dry, comfortable life they enjoyed within. But Brynwolfn knew that severing their desperate dependence to the mountain would be crucial to severing Keledrain’s power over her people. 

Ping. 

Ping. 

Ping. 

Brynwolfn looked down at her malatol. Spinning the handle between her fingers, the faces of Thump, Tap, and Click created a blur of motion. But little Ping at the far end didn’t seem to move at all. Brynwolfn almost felt as if the tip of the tool was staring at her. 

Her plan lacked a Ping. She realized that even with the success of the first three parts of her plan, without that final stab to Keledrain’s power over them, she would still be a threat. How many cold, rainy days would it take before some of those in the camp started talking about the possibility of returning to the mountain? Even if Keledrain somehow followed through with her threat to kill the heat of the mountain, she could always promise to bring it back for those who returned and pledged their loyalty to her. 

Brynwolfn already knew how that would play out because she had heard the stories from her grandmother. There would be a mad scramble for power, with dwarves practically climbing over each other to prove themselves more loyal than others. The network of spies and secret police that Keledrain had once kept such a tight grip over would surge in power and paranoia just like in the first three dozen years after she came to power. Records would be erased, friendships and trust would be shattered, and dissenters would be culled. And all of Keledrain’s power over them that she had let slip through generations of neglect would come back greater and more terrible than ever. 

And in a rush of dread insight, Brynwolfn knew with a surety that that’s exactly what would happen if she failed to find the Ping in her plan before all the other aspects of the plan came to fruition. And that meant she had only a week or two at the most. So she stood up from her seat, put her malatol in her pocket, picked up her malvapn, and got to work. 

*** 

When facing an enemy on the battlefield that was hard to Ping down, Brynwolfn had been taught to first look at any attacks that went before to see where they may have failed, and what weaknesses or cracks in the enemy’s defenses those earlier attacks may have left behind. She knew that the Commanding Weapon ritual had been an intentional blow to Keledrain’s power, but one that only managed to injure her hold on them, but failed to end it. 

She had never asked others about the details leading up to that event because she worried that if Keledrain heard even rumors that Brynwolfn was curious about it, she may begin to question Brynwolfn’s loyalty to her, which would greatly reduce how effectively she could serve her people. With time now so short, Brynwolfn decided it was finally worth the risk. 

Brynwolfn spent hours in the Temple of Balance talking secretly with Brekoth, asking the elderly balance sage everything she knew about the events leading up to Keledrain conceding to the Council of Balances Sages and agreeing to the commanding weapon ritual. The first thing Brynwolfn learned was that she had assumed correctly that it was a victory hard-fought, and Keledrain had been reluctant to agree, but in the end she had made some blunder that even she knew she would have to answer for unless she gave at least some evidence of penance. 

“I can’t say for certain what it was,” said Brekoth. “I had only just become a young woman when those events took place, and it would be many years before I earned my place on the Council. Those with firsthand knowledge of the situation refused to discuss it, and everyone was afraid of asking too many questions and attracting the attention of Keledrain’s secret police. But sometimes silence can tell you more than a confession.” 

“What do you mean?” Brynwolfn asked. 

“I remember that for almost a year before Keledrain agreed to the ceremony, everyone was talking about the Lost Warriors,” said Brekoth, tapping out the last two words so quietly that Brynwolfn wasn’t sure if she heard them correctly. 

“Who were the Lost Wa-” Brynwolfn was shocked when Brekoth put out her hand to silence her malatol. Brekoth’s wrinkled hands were soft, but Brynwolfn’s heart pounded with outrage. Even a parent silencing their own child’s malatol would be scolded for poor parenting if witnessed in a public place. Brynwolfn would have been less surprised if the kindly old woman had slapped her across the face. But when she looked into Brekoth’s usually gentle eyes, her expression was grave. 

“There are some things that are unwise to speak too loudly,” Brekoth said, not looking away, “even here in the temple.” She then lifted her hand from Brynwolfn’s malatol and added, “I’m sorry for the disrespect. It was done out of a protective instinct. One that you are too young to understand I’m afraid.” 

Brynwolfn paused a moment to steady her breathing and calm her wounded pride before continuing. She reminded herself that if Brekoth really respected her so little, they wouldn’t be having this conversation in the first place, and she decided to trust her old role model, rather than press the matter further. “Is there anything you can tell me about them?” Brynwolfn asked. 

“Not much,” said Brekoth. “Very little detail was said about them, even in those days. What I can tell you is that after the first commanding weapon ritual was over, I never heard anyone mention those Warriors again. It was as if a lever had been pulled, and overnight everyone’s malatols forgot how to say those words. I still have nightmares from time to time of the fear I felt from that eerie sudden silence.” She punctuated the last word with an emphatic Ping. 

Brekoth put down her malatol and flexed her fingers, making several popping noises in the process. “I’m afraid that’s where we’ll have to end for today,” she said with an especially shaky, weary grip on her malatol. “I don’t have as much endurance as I did when I was younger. Not as much bravery either, I think.” She smiled then, and the number of wrinkles that crinkled around her eyes seemed more numerous than Brynwolfn had thought physically possible. “I’m glad to see we managed to pass that fire along to your generation,” she added. “The Hulfraust chose well when they picked you.” 

Brynwolfn helped Brekoth stand, then the two exited the temple, though they were careful to not be seen exiting at the same time. Brynwolfn wandered aimlessly through the crowded and busy halls of the mountain for several hours, alone with her thoughts. Eventually she came to a door to a balcony on the outside of the mountain, and she stepped through. The sting of the cold air on her face brought her thoughts into sharp focus, and at once she again became aware of her need of haste. 

Her conversation with Brekoth had not given her everything she needed, but she could feel that there was a heavy wisdom in what the venerable sage had shared with her. It also left her with an itch in the back of her mind, as if there was a thought or memory that was just waiting just below the surface, and she was getting closer. She knew she needed to scratch that itch. 

She needed to find out what had become of the Lost Warriors.