by Rex Hazelton
After this, a multitude of scenes were shown in staccato like fashion.
First, Jeaf was riding with a troupe of Tsadal that were escorting him to Thundyrkynd, the home of the Bjork. Then he was aboard the Thorgood, touching the tattoo the Bjork had placed on his neck to signify his adoption as one of their own. Bacchanor, the shape shifting wizard stood on the bow of the longboat with the young Woodswane. Fyreed and Goldan were there too.
Before long the Company of the Hammer had grown to five as Tsut’waeh led the others to the Warl of the Tayn’waeh with a garland made of living branches hanging from his saddle.
A moment later, an avalanche of terrible proportions was cascading down a steep mountainside. Alynd, the Elf-Man, stood between the giant wall of frozen debri- swiftly pushed along by a sea of snow gorged with countless broken rocks, chunks of ice, and shattered pines- and the Company of the Hammer. With an up lifted hand, he was heard shouting an elven war cry across the surface of a golden sphere that lay in his open palm. And as she shouted, Andara’s Magic burst forth from the orb and blew the avalanche of the face of the warl.
As quick as one flips a card to determine if they've won a game of chance, Jeaf was atop Credylnor’s snow-covered battlements accepting a shovel from the hand of the most beautiful woman he had ever met.
Then he was riding on Grour Blood’s broad back, leading a phalanx of griffin that was being chased by a cloud of cretchym. The pursuing winged-demons were the Sorcerer's offspring made by magically melding his own essence with that of the flying creatures living in the warl.
Finally, before the branch was finished telling its part of the tale and withdrew, Phelp the Eagle King was shown on his knees, holding his father’s lifeless body against his blood-smeared armor. The dead lay all around him. The Hammer Bearer stood close by.
A fifth a branch emerged to take its retreating brother’s place. Once the expected incandescent cloud was formed, another scene- bathed in dirty orange light- came into focus.
Watching the Company of the Hammer walking through a gauntlet that cut its way through a mixed host comprised of river children, hunchmen, and Hunters the audience knew it was seeing the Battle of the Cave of Forgetfulness. The walls of stone that surrounded the dangerous host made this abundantly clear.
Seeing a much younger version of himself, Bear cleared his throat. Rubbing his round nose with the back of his thick hand, the self-conscious giant smiled as he looked at Fyreed who was frowning over the dour memories the picture brought to mind. The three young men who flanked the Bjork looked just as unsettled as their father did when they looked at the throng of children standing behind the amassed army. Just like Bear, younger versions of themselves were there too, but they weren't with the Company of the Hammer, instead, they were numbered among the children whose pain Schmar fed upon, the monstrous beast who Muriel- accompanied by Jeaf Oakenfel, Bear, Fyreed, Bacchanor, Alynd, and the griffin, Grour Blood- had come to face so she could, as prophecy foretold, learn to sing the Song of Breaking as the dark drama unfolded, a song whose magic would act as the antidote to the Spell of Shame that evil creatures like Schmar had cast over her and the children.
And who was Schmar? He was the fat, little man that sat on a throne carved out of stone the Company of the Hammer was approaching. Beside him stood a tall woman dressed in black. But she wasn’t really a woman. Nor was he a man. In truth, Arachnamor was a huge black widow spider who took the form she now had by reason of Schmar’s magic, and the fat, little man was a leech-like creature who was many times larger than he appeared to be. For deception was the game the two played, and pain and sorrow was the fare that sustained their lives.
In time, a riotous fight broke out in the subterranean chamber of horrors Schmar ruled over. While Bacchnaor, the shape-shifting wizard, took on the form of a griffin and teamed up with Grour Blood to wreak havoc on the river children, Fyreed, Alynd and Bear took on the hunchmen and the Hunters.
While his friends were engaged in frenzied fighting, Jeaf struggled to retain his wits after Schmar vomited his Bile of Forgetfulness over him. At the same time, Muriel was being overwhelmed by memories the rotund fiend hurled at her, memories of the horrid abuse she had suffered in this place. That’s when Jeaf struck the Hammer of Power for a third time. And as the the Dream-Messenger had foretold, if the first three blows were dealt in wisdom, the Hammer's power would be firmly fixed to him forever. And indeed it was.
As the Hammer’s magic was released, it reached out from Jeaf to the others in the company and gave them the strength they needed to win the day, though the odds were more than two hundred to one against them. At the same time, Vlad'War's Magic rudely tore away the masks Arachnamor and Schmar hid behind, revealing who they actually were.
Realizing what had happened, seeing his leech-like form was no longer hidden behind the veil of illusion his magic had woven, Schmar conjured up a spell to call on the mountain that surrounded his foul lair and used its strength to increase his size until he grew into a giant that dwarfed the Hammer Bearer. Then taking a massive weapon called the Rod of Recompense, he set out to obliterate the little human and his annoying entourage.
The battle that took place in the Cave of Forgetfulness kept the audience, seated in the Hall of Meditation, riveted to its action. On and on the gargantuan leech and the Hammer Bearer fought until it appeared Schmar would win.
At the moment this seemed most likely, Muriel’s voice rose above the din of war as she began to sing a song she didn’t know she knew, the Song of Breaking. And when she sang, the Lord of the Cave of Forgetfulness’ horrible reign was brought to an abrupt end.
At the battle's end, slain by the hand of the beautiful woman who sang the Song of Breaking, Schmar's corpse exploded releasing the souls of thousands of children he had devoured. One of these was a daughter Muriel had conceived in that foul place.
As the students watched the Prophetess being reunited with her slain child’s spirit, the incandescent cloud disappeared, along with the picture it carried, and the fifth and last branch returned to its place in the luminous tree.
A hush came over the students and guests who sat motionless on the rows of polished wooden benches that filled the Hall of Meditation's impressive length. It was the kind of hush that comes before the breaking of a storm. And as the silence promised, the storm did indeed come the instant the tree dissolved into a single massive cloud on which the Battle of Decision was being shown, a battle in which most, who were present, had lost loved ones.
A vast throng of Ar Warl’s warriors moved methodically across the Crescent Plain’s western reaches as it approached the fortress city of Wyneskynd, the place where the Battle of Decision would be fought.
Though the scene was still painted in a luminous, monochromatic blue, the students gathered in the Hall of Meditation were well-versed in the battle’s nuances, including the multitude of colors that were actually there, those that distinguished one warrior from another, colors their mind’s eye added as each scene arrived.
The leading edge of the angry swarm included warriors from Shomeron, Verdant Deep and Cassiakynd, three of Nyeg Warl’s kingdom’s that had already fallen before the Warriors of Regret’s relentless onslaught. With their families held hostage, these were unwilling combatants forced to fight under the threat that their loved ones would be put to the sword if they didn't. Joined by conscripts from Ar Warl’s realms that had fallen out of favor with the cruel Sorcerer who ruled over them, these would sacrifice their lives to blunt Nyeg Warl’s swords before Ab’Don’s best fighters stepped in to engage the wearied defenders.
All in all, this produced a maelstrom of colors that swirled before the Lord of Regret who rode at the hurricane's center. For the closer the warriors were positioned to the eye of the storm that churned across the Crescent Plains, the greater was their status in Ar Warl’s dour caste system. And nearest to Koyer was his White Guard: mindless fiends all that unflinchingly followed the cretchym who had enslaved them with the Spell
of the White Hand. Wearing garments as pale in color as their bloodless flesh, they needed no armor. Riding mounts whose hues were muted to match their masters’ insipid tastes, the Guard looked like the foaming scum that gathers at the bottom of a dirty waterfall. And at the center of the pool of frothy white sat Ab’Don’s general. Spreading his massive black wings out as he faced Wyneskynd's battlements, the pompous cretchym displayed his hideous glory for all his enemies to see.
Ab’Don’s own people, the Malamor, were next in line after the White Guard. Tall, blue-eyed warriors, the Ar Warlers were the physical antithesis to the Archan who marched before them with their short, heavily-muscled frames. Though the Malamor and Archan came from the same ancestral line, their physical appearance, other than the color of their hair and skin, was the polar opposite of the other. Most thought that the vagaries of Koyer’s magic, practiced on the Isle of Regret, were responsible for the Archan’s transformation. Others thought that the numerous winters they spent hiding in the tunnels that bore their way through the Mountains of Sorrow, following the Battle of the Breach, had produced the change.
Concealing their presence from the others who lived in newly formed Nyeg Warl for nearly two centuries worth of winters, rarely coming out into the light of day least the threat that existed on the Isle of Regret- the land mass that had been pulled along in Nyeg Warl’s wake as it fled the Ar at the conclusion of the Battle of the Breach- was revealed, the Archan had lost the blue eyes that were common to their forefathers. Large, black eyes, better suited to see in the dark, were now the norm. Similarly, the warriors’ squat, heavily-muscled frames were better suited for the tunnels, they were forced to crawl through as they hid during the dark days of their concealment, than the imposing height their cousins, the Malamor, had.
Marching in an exaggerated fashion, with each arm and leg thrown out as far as they could reach, the squat, powerfully built Archan were awesome to behold. With multiple thousands mirroring each other in military precision, the affect was a powerful one that could easily break the nerves of a less disciplined foe who witnessed their advance. Covered in all black, except for the red-stained, boiled leather breastplates they had securely fastened into place, the colors the Archan wore directly reflected Koyer’s own. Long handled axes were strapped to their hips. Coarse, blond hair flowed out from under conically-shaped helmets. As vicious in disposition as their master was, the Warriors of Regret were equally committed to Nyeg Warl’s destruction.
The Malamor, who followed the innumerable rows of Archan, wore burnished bronze breastplates with the sign of a blazing sun hammered into them. Oval-shaped shields, embossed with the red sun, were as numerous as the paddle-shaped leaves found in a field filled with spear brush. Hair, ranging from blond to red in color, fell beneath the helmets the Malamor wore and onto their shoulders and backs. The braids the Malamor were fond of wearing, were noticeably present. Advancing in orderly formation, the Malamor marched with an athletic fluidity that was in keeping with their impressive height, unlike the Archan whose movements were suited to their overly-muscled frames.
Having closer bloodties to Ab’Don accounted for the attitude of superiority they held towards their shorter cousins. The fact that the Sorcerer was their master, and not some cretchym underling, only added to their self-esteem.
In time, the Battle of Decision went into full swing. Exhausted Woodswane and Tayn’waeh, who had helped Wyneskynd’s warriors fight off an advance force the Lord of Regret sent ahead to soften up the city, now took on his main force. Streaming onto the fortress battlements through the portable towers that had been placed there, the Ar Warlers were met by fierce resistance. Bjork longboats, hidden beneath a Cloak of Invisibility the Wisdor Stones they carried cast over them, appeared on the shores of the Wyne River as Thundyrkynd's strength came to the beleaguered fortress-city’s aid. Hadram, who the selfarer's had picked up on their way to the battle that raged in Nyeg Warl's northern reaches, traveled with them.
Laviathon’s luminous fire exploded, time and again, atop the Nour Sea that lay beyond the mouth of the Wyne River as the evil sea serpent was busy destroying as many Bjorkian longboats as he could find.
The combined armies of the Eagle, Wolf, and Bull Kings attacked the invader’s flanks. Outnumbered and ill-prepared for battle as a result of Koyer’s campaign of deception, for the Lord of Regret had blinded Nyeg Warl to his intentions until it was too late to do anything that was substantial enough to stop him, only Goldan’s brilliant military mind kept the Nyeg Warlers from being quickly overrun. But as brilliant as the Tsadal general was, unless the Prophetess and Hammer Bearer showed up on time, the battle would be lost. But arrive they did, accompanied by a throng of Forest People and a disheveled host that had once been Schmar’s prisoners.
Though the sky was filled with evil cretchym whose numbers nearly blotted out the sun, the Prophetess and Hammer Bearer were soon joined by griffin and elves, whose sparkling thread arrows joined the winged lions’ assault on the flying cloud of death.
Seeing his chance of victory was now in jeopardy, Koyer called on all his magical power so he could kill the Hammer Bearer himself and ensure his triumph. Stripping away the power he used to cast his spell over the White Guard, the Lord of Regret quickly absorbed the magic that animated the dour host so he would have the speed and strength needed to fight his enemy. Then taking the magic the Hag’s black candles conjured up for him, Koyer made an enchanted weapon he would use take the Hammer Bearer's life with. Now ready for battle, the Lord of the Cretchym attacked the young Woodswane who had been entrusted with Vlad’War’s Child and the mystical might it possessed.
The audience sat enthralled by a struggle that defied human imagination. Moving at speeds that made it, at times, impossible to follow, the Hammer Bearer and Lord of Regret went after each other with feral fury in a duel that would only end wwhen one of them was dead. And the one who survived the ordeal would determine the Battle of Decision’s outcome, an outcome that would not bode well for the loser’s side.
As the gathering in the Hall of Meditation watched the Hammer of Power race through the air and crush Koyer’s skull, the scene changed to show another battle that took place in Otrodor’s Temple of the Oak Tree, a battle fought ten winters after the Battle of Decision. This time, the Hammer Bearer was taking on Ab’Don himself.
Engorged with magic the likes of which the warl had seldom seen, the Sorcerer and Woodswane had become giants who fought with swords that matched their massive size. In time, Jeaf used the rage he felt over the harm that had been inflicted on his wife to pummel Ar Warl's Lord into submission.
Being so far away from his seat of power, the Sorcerer’s diminished power didn’t prevent him from escaping on the back of a fiery, winged serpent he conjured up to fly off into the eastern sky and back to Ar Warl. And as he escaped, the picture faded away along with the luminous cloud it was shown on, for Muriel’s song had ended.
****
Taking a step back after the Song of Remembrance’s magic was spent, Jeaf and Muriel made room for the School of the Sword and Song’s Chief Mentor to come forward and address those who had witnessed the litany of salient events the Hammer of Power had chosen to show them. But before Arhnosyn had time to speak, a foreboding feeling swept over him, making him reach a hand out like he was trying to stop someone who planned to do mischief. At the same time, the griffin gazed about the great hall snarling as he did. Soon Alynd, Ramskynd and Alegramor joined the winged-lions in searching for the thing that had activated their Power's of Intuition.
When a groan rose up from the ground and the sound of creaking wood was heard- the kind of noise great ships make as they sail across a vast, undulating sea- the Marta stood to her feet, looking like a bear rising from the thicket it had been hiding in, and cried out with a loud, breathy voice, “Now it comes!”
And as soon as she was finsished, the Hall of Meditation started shivering like it had become ill while the groaning turned into a deep rumbling soun
d.
Looking about, Jeaf recognized that an earthquake was upon them. Then a pain shot through his right arm, pulling his attention away from the vibrating that was quickly turning into shaking. Grabbing his forearm with his left hand, he shouted as the pain increased along with the shaking that grew to violent proportions. And as the tremor multiplied its force, Jeaf’s arm jerked about like the quake's epicenter was found somewhere in its length. And as his arm spasmed, the Hammer of Power began to pull itself out of his flesh.
Falling to his knees as he yelled in pain the rude extraction caused, Jeaf felt Muriel's arms wrap around him while the griffin’s roaring joined the tumult of sound the distressed warl poured into the room.
A jagged crack, appearing at the base of the hall’s wall left of the dais where Jeaf knelt, worked its way upward as Vlad’War’s Child’s silvery head rose out of the Hammer Bearer’s trembling arm. Rubies floated on the liquid metal that lifted above knuckles where the rubies once were held as the hammer regathered itself. Rivulets of silver wormed up Jeaf’s forearm and onto the wooden handle, that rose out of his flesh like it was the stem of a quickly growing plant, as they wound their way back to the amassing metal.
All the while the magical weapon was busy reconstituting itself, the earthquake grew in magnitude as it pushed the crack up the hall’s wall. In time, the Hammer of Power began to struggle to pull itself out of the grasp of the one who had been its master for nearly thirty summers.