by Rex Hazelton
Contrary to his assumption, Lylah told him that it was, in fact, a good deal harder. "That means my tail is stronger than stone," he replied in wonder as he arrived at the logical conclusion his line of thought was heading towards.
"Silly… of course your tail is stronger than stone, and your teeth and jaws are too" Lylah added before she snatched up a large stone with her long teeth, gave four quick crunching bits, tilted her head upward and swallowed the stony mouthful like she was a large bird drinking water. "And though you can’t tell by touching your hide, it’s tougher than any armor fashioned in the Warl of Man. It has to be with all the shards of rock that go flying about when we break the mountains apart. And not only that, it’s as cold ice, since that is what we are here- Ice Dragons.”
The chunks of stone Kaylan hungrily consumed tasted like nothing he had eaten before. Though each bite was undergirded with the rich qualities that edible roots had in the Warl of Man, delicious nuances were transmitted by the different kinds of stone eaten. The variety of flavors granite, marble, and slate produced were delightful. And each bite that was taken instantly renewed Kaylan’s vigor, sharpened his intellect, and increased his already amazing eyesight.
Perched on top of the towering peak he had dined on, stretching out his wing’s wide expanse to catch the refreshing frigid air that filled the steel gray sky, Kaylan watched as the surface of the Lake of Passage exploded in a massive spray of water, announcing that a pair of dragons had entered the Realm of Ice.
Shooting high into the air, the couple looked like huge spears had been thrown into the Realm of Ice before they spread their wings and began soaring quickly about, sending out punctuated roars as they went. One of them was as black as the Goar. Spikes as thick at their base as a large man’s shoulder and longer than the spokes on a wagon wheel swung about on a tail as long as the wagon itself, if you included the team of horses that were harnessed to it. The other dragon was as brightly colored as Lylah, though the colors varied in the order they appeared.
When Lylah sent out a roar of her own in response, Kaylan’s growing suspicion that these were her parents was proven true. How he knew this, he couldn't guess. But know it, he did. And with the knowledge came a certain amount of angst.
Banking steeply downward, Lylah’s parents flew to their daughter on swift wings. After alighting on the peak, so close to one another that their bodies touched, Lylah’s father spoke after taking a long thoughtful look at the two dragons perched expectantly before him. “Welcome to the family,” Loryn said to Kaylan with a voice that held a measure of reserve.
Though Loryn was aware of the prophecies about his daughter, the thought that she was mated to a human was still difficult to digest. The ramifications that all of this posed were hard to absorb. The uncertainty surrounding it was disconcerting. The prophets said the child that would come from their union would become the Mother of the Waterkynd? What did this mean? Was his grandchild going to be different from other waterkynd? If so, how would he relate to her? How could he help parent such a creature? Not a creature, he corrected himself. My granddaughter will be fully waterkynd and fully human is what the seers say.
“Thank you sir,” Kaylan replied feeling a bit embarrassed that Lylah’s father was well aware of how they’re Togetherness was achieved. Is this what other newlyweds go through, he wondered. I almost feel like I need to say I’m sorry for what I did to their daughter. But that would be a monumental lie. I'm not sorry at all.
Lylah shrugged her shoulders with a gracefulness that belied their power as she answered her mother's inquiring look. The unspoken message was clear, Lylah didn’t know if she was pregnant or not. Inhaling air in an exaggerated manner, unaware of the silent dialogue taking place between his wife and daughter, Loryn went on to say, “Well, now that’s done, I have a message I must deliver to Kaylan before you tell us what you know about the Goar that attacked you.”
“Sir, what message,” Kaylan replied as the sense of embarrassment returned? Now that’s done, provocative memories of Lylah's body back when they were in the Realm of Vapor came to mind as he pondered Loryn's words, what does he mean by that. Until this moment, Kaylan hadn't considered that he'd have to deal with Lylah's parents, at least, not with the same force that reality exerted on the situation.
“Your mother is asking for you to come home. There’s news about your father.”
Chapter 12: Muriel's Request
The walls of the School of the Candle groaned as another earthquake rolled across Nyeg Warl, one of seven that day. Those secretly gathered in Illumanor's study, exchanged glances as the groaning was followed by a side-to-side shaking that lasted a handful of tense moments. Though only a few of the school's walls had succumbed to the incessant barrage of earthquakes that had been plaguing Nyeg Warl and collapsed, a person never knew if a dislodged stone would fall from the weakened structures during a quake.
"It seems the warl is adding an exclamation point to all that we have to say here." Illumanor wore a gray robe with a pale yellow hood thrown onto his back.
Seated at a table with him, all leaning toward a single candle that lit the room, was Alynd the Elf-Man, Marta his advisor, Phelp the Eagle King, the Tsadal warrior Goldan, Ahrnosyn the Chief Mentor of the School of the Sword and the Song, Dolfon a Candle Maker and Muriel's mentor, Muriel herself, her sons, and her mother-in-law, Elamor. Bear was present too, seated on the floor at one end of the table. Grour Blood stood behind Muriel, looking every bit her guardian.
The solitary candle that was being used to provide light for the clandestine gathering was of a particular magical make. Though the candle's limited luminous reach left much of the room in shadows, the flame- pulsating on top of the white, cylindrical, paraffin perch- had the ability to keep the person speaking from being heard by those outside the light's influence. The host of unlit candles, standing on a long table that fronted one of the room's walls, appeared to be asleep right along with the rest of the School of the Candle. Illumanor had seen to it that only a skeletal crew of Candle Makers were on watch tonight, and those that were, were some of the most trusted Candle Makers he knew.
"And what precedes the exclamation point you speak of?" Kaylan seemed more distant than usual. Though he took time to display pleasantries to all he met, he seemed oddly detached. Even now, he was struggling to keep focused on the proceedings. His thoughts kept drifting back to Lylah and the strange realms he had visited with her, most especially the Realm of Vapor where they had come Together. That's why he asked the question, to pull his mind into the room and away from...
Isn't she beautiful, he said to himself as his thoughts floated away like the ever present clouds filling the Realm of Vapor's tranquil sky?
Taking her cue from her son's inquiry, Muriel looked about at the others. Past the mid-point of a normal life span, the Prophetess' beauty had hardly been touched by the passing summers. Many reckoned that the magical ring she wore, the one Muriel's father graced her with on the day she was born, and the measure of the Hammer of Power's magic, that was transferred to her when she gave her heart to Jeaf Oakenfel, was responsible for this. Those that thought this, put forth the idea that her biological rhythm had been altered, and that her age was now relative to the magic she wielded. When people forwarded this notion in Alynd the Elf-Man's presence, he simply nodded his head. As one whose life span seemed of an indeterminate length, he naturally could fathom the possibility.
The resolve that filled Muriel was so great that her reddish-brown eyes looked more like polished stones than soft flesh. Wearing an ankle length tunic made of pale gold-colored cloth, her long black hair fell upon her back like it had been recently loosened for bed. All were similarly dressed in garments they wore in the leisurely moments preceding sleep, clothing that was meant to downplay their movements by any who might see them walking through the school's hallways, to hide the importance of the meeting they were off to.
After looking at each of her sons in turn, Muriel said, "I've asked
for you to come to this meeting to tell you about a reoccurring dream I've been having." All present leaned closer to the flame that enabled them to clearly here all that the Prophetess had to say, though she spoke barely above a whisper. "In it, your father pleaded with me to help him. Send the Four Winds, he said after I asked him what he would have me do.
"You want me to send our sons to Ar Warl? I pressed him for answers, hardly believing what he was asking.
"Yes, he said. But they must come alone. For like the wind, they will not be seen even though their presence may be felt. This will give them a chance to save me and the Hammer of Power that the Nyeg will need if it's to win the coming war with the Ar. For without Vlad'War's magic, Ab'Don cannot be defeated. But heed my warning. If others accompany our sons, they will be seen like chaff that is carried in the wind, and the enemy will use this chaff to locate and destroy our sons."
In the silence that followed, the wooden timbers used to build the School of the Candle could be heard creaking and groaning as they readjusted their positions following the earthquake. Moaning joined the sounds that wafted quietly through the air like a murmuring complaint, heralding another tremor was on the way. The cacophonous din made it seem like the school itself was disquieted by Muriel's dream.
"You saw Father," Ay'Roan asked as the hands he rested on the table top clenched into fists? "And did he tell you where he can be found?"
A man of action, it seemed simple enough to Ay'Roan, tell him where the stick had been thrown and he'd go fetch it. In his mind, like so many others who were intoxicated with the wine of indestructibility that the young wantonly imbibed, he had nothing to fear by going to Ar Warl. Ab'Don be burned! If his father wanted him to come and save him, he would.
Taking into account that it was the Prophetess who had this dream, Goldan asked, "Could you see where Jeaf was at? Were there any clues that can help us find him?"
Jeaf Oakenfel, the Hammer Bearer who bested the Lord of Regret at the Battle of Decision and defeated Ab'Don at the Battle of the Temple of the Oak Tree, had been missing ever since he went to Ar Warl to find the Hammer of Power that had unexpectedly abandoned him. This happened five winters before. And over all that time, neither mystical nor natural means had given the slightest hint to his fate. Was he alive or dead? None of the seers knew. The only consolation that could be found was in Muriel's adamant insistence that he was still alive, for Muriel was convinced that she would feel his death. And who would disagree with the Prophetess on this point?
Now after all this time, a dream had finally come, and it came to the greatest seer Nyeg Warl had, Muriel Oakenfel.
"It's dark where Jeaf's at." Muriel frowned as she tried to recall the details of her dream. "He's suspended in mid-air with nothing, that I could see, holding him up. His eyes are closed. His arms are stretched out like a criminal held in stocks that aren't there. His head is lowered."
There was a catch in Muriel's voice as she described the dream. After all, the man she was describing was her husband. "And when he spoke, his mouth didn't move."
"Did you see the Hammer of Power?" Phelp couldn't keep from interjecting the question.
The talisman, some called Vlad'War's Child in honor of its maker, would play a pivotal role when the Nyeg came to blows with the Ar as Jeaf had intimated in the dream Muriel had. Without its magic, Ab'Don would surely win the fight. With its help, a chance remained of over overcoming the evil Sorcerer's might.
"No," Muriel looked at the Eagle King with weary eyes. Knowing the strategic importance of his inquiry, she hated to be the bearer of bad news. "Jeaf looked as bereft of its power as he was of its presence. That's why I believe he's begging us to come and save him. My husband is helpless. We must go to him."
"What if your dream is another trick?" Ahrnosyn regretted being the one to ask this, but the question needed to be asked. And who better to do that than the one who loved Muriel like a father.
Many summers ago, when she was pregnant with the twins, Muriel had a dream that compelled her to go to Otrodor and confront Arachnamor, the giant spider she felt posed a threat to her children's lives. Filled with half-truths, for the spider was indeed a danger to her and anyone she loved, the dream's author was none other than Ab'Don, the Sorcerer who ruled over Ar Warl. He, and the Hag who followed him, engineered the deception that could have killed Muriel, or hurt her so badly that she would never recover in time to help the Nyeg when it went to war with the Ar.
In the end, as history records, the Sorcerer's trickery failed and what was meant for evil was turned to good: Muriel's life was saved, the kingdom of Otrodor was resurrected, and Alynd the Elf -Man was made its king. Nevertheless, the dream that led to a fight that was responsible for taking so many lives was a ruse that Ab'Don's dark magic had conjured up. Could the dream about Jeaf be a ruse too? But instead of it drawing Muriel into a trap, was it meant to snare her sons?
"I've considered that possibility." Muriel wasn't offended in the least by the Chief Mentor's question. There so many who paid for the mistakes she made in handling the dream about Arachnamor, the Prophetess was determined to make sure that wouldn't happen again. Besides, her mind was no longer being assaulted by the resurgence of the dark magic that Schmar's abuse had injected into her earlier life.
The Battle at the Temple of the Oak Tree, and all that transpired there, had swept away the last of the Lord of the Cave of Forgetfulness' foul magic. It had broken his spell entirely. Not a single crumb of his evil power remained. Muriel's thoughts were clear. Her emotions were now commensurate to the situation she faced. Jeaf had seen to that when he breathed over the surface of Andara's tears, sending their power to complete her healing, tears he had found in the quest that sent him to the haunted city of Cara Lorn.
"But I don't believe that's what's happening here," Muriel calmly added. "Though I love my husband with all my heart, I wouldn’t carelessly risk my sons' lives for his well-being."
"Mother, that's not your decision to make," Travyn said with the firmness that was part of his nature.
Loving Travyn as deeply as she loved her husband, he wasn't an easy child to raise. Aware that the Nameless Evil's hand had touched him while he was in her womb, Muriel made sure she always had an ample supply of patience on hand to handle the strong-willed child who now sat before her, a man with a dark scowl on his face.
Nevertheless, Muriel's son's patronizing declaration spurred her into saying, "Travyn, I didn't have to tell you my dream if I didn't want to. Keep that in mind." Muriel wanted it clear to all that she had called for this meeting, and that she would have a big say in its outcome. And who, but her own children, would deny the Prophetess this?
Such was the way of life. Familiarity really did bred contempt or, at least, less dramatic variations of the emotion, so that a prince or princess would stand up to a king when others would fear for their lives by doing the very same thing. After all, he was only Da as children often called their fathers. If you added the protective feelings sons have for their mothers to this dynamic, one can understand why Muriel took time to set the rules for the meeting she called.
Folding his hands together with an outward calmness that hid his true feelings, Travyn lowered his head until the rings of amber light in his eyes were no longer visible to his mother. He would hold his words for now, or at least until he had heard all there was to say. Then, once everything was placed on the table, so to speak, he would do whatever he wanted to do. Nothing would change that; not even the love he had for his mother. And make no mistake... his love for her was great.
Marta's laughter, sounding like she was having a coughing jag, broke the silence that followed. "My, my... the prophets got it right when they said you're a storm and your sons are winds the storm will birth." After looking from Muriel to Travyn and then back to Muriel, she wryly added, "With all this huffing and puffing going on, I would have expected a bolt of lightning by now."
The old woman's rough laughter was heard once more before she got to th
e point she wanted to make, "You're dream's true enough. Jeaf's been caught. That's a fact. But by who or what, I can't say. And as for the Hammer of Power... it's obvious he hasn't found it."
"How do you know that?" Phelp asked in frustration over what he thought was nothing more than prophetic conjecture. With his steel gray eyes framed by a black head of hair, the Eagle King looked as formidable as he really was. Phelp was a fighter through and through; he always had been; even before the Lord of Regret's infamous White Guard murdered his brother. Since then, he had dedicated his life to prepare his kingdom for an inevitable fight with Ab'Don and his ruthless hordes. Over time, due to his fervent focus, people had started calling him Battle King whenever they spoke about him.
"Muriel's not the only one who has dreams," the Marta explained with a knowing smile. She was not offended by the Eagle King's question. In fact, there was very little Phelp could do that would offend her since Marta had taken a strong liking to the man that the Otrodorian's had once thought was their worst enemy. "Take Alynd for instance, he's been known to have a dream or two."
"Well," the Eagle King looked to the Elf-Man whose eyes flashed blue light as they met his gaze, "tell us, have you had a dream that pertains to our meeting?"
"Yes," Alynd said while the Marta chuckled. "In fact, I've had the same dream Muriel has, though it wasn't mine, really." Blue light flashed through the room as the Elf-Man explained. "I believe I was given the ability to enter Muriel's dream sin I saw her standing before Jeaf, who hung in the air just as she described. I heard his thoughts too. He's in a cave I think." The Elf-Man looked at the others, each in turn, like he was searching for an answer. "Or a dungeon... I think. Why he hasn't been killed yet is puzzling."