Vlad'War's Anvil

by Rex Hazelton

  "His captors need to keep him alive until they can unlock the secret of how to use the Hammer of Power." The Marta looked disappointed that the others hadn't figured this out for themselves, especially Alynd. After all, he was not only her king, he was her protege too.

  "They who?" Goldan's eyes were so intense one would think they were getting ready to flash blue light like the Elf-Man's did. To him the celebrated warrior, Jeaf was more than the Hammer Bearer, he was also a dear friend that he would unquestionably risk his life to help.

  "Ab'Don," Marta snorted out the detestable name. "Or someone in league with him. For few things that happen in Ar Warl escape his notice."

  "Does Ab'Don have the hammer?" Phelp's jaw muscles tightened as he waited for a reply. His steel, gray eyes took on an aspect that portended how dangerous of a man he could be to those who were numbered among his enemies.

  Illumanor tossed his thoughts into the cauldron of conversation. "He'd be taking a horrible risk to keep Jeaf alive if the Hammer of Power was nearby."

  "Ab'Don's not afraid of taking risks," Ahrnosyn interjected while he put his sharp intellect to work sorting things out. "Ashes! Didn't he go to Cara Lorn to meet with forces more wicked than can be imagined? The Sorcerer doesn't lack courage. He's a gambler of the highest order, and he's won every game of chance he's played so far. No doubt, he believes he'll come out on top if he risks keeping both the Hammer Bearer and Hammer of Power under lock and key."

  When the Chief Mentor of the School of the Sword and the Song spoke of Cara Lorn, he was referring to the tryst a young Ab'Don had with the Nameless Evil that dwells in the darkness engulfing nearly half of the Warl of the Dead. This hideous thing was the source of the Sorcerer's prodigious power. And the cost for this power was steep, the risks, unfathomably high. For he allows the Nameless Evil to use his body from time to time, so he can see the Warl of the Living through human eyes, the place the Evil One longs to conquer and a realm he was cast out of in an age now forgotten.

  All the while this relationship has been in play, Ab'Don is cognizant of the fact that the nameless Evil wants to take full control of him, to possess his body entirely, a thing the Sorcerer fervently believes will never happen. He's too smart for that. His wits are too great. And time had shown he was right. He was still in control of himself and Ar Warl as well. Soon the Nyeg would be his too. And when the two were joined together, the Age of Parm Warl would arrive and all the magic that came with it. Then he'd have all the power he lusted after and the Nameless Evil would no longer be needed. What a day that would be, for Ab'Don hated being in anyone's debt, especially someone as dangerous as the author of the darkness that hoped to take full control of the Warl of the Dead.

  Elamor's reverie kept her from giving her full attention to the conversation that swirled about her, filled with a murmering that rose and fell in pitch depending on who was speaking. It seemed like Jeaf Oakenfel's mother had spent her whole life coming and going to meetings like this. As she recalled, the first of these took place on the night Illumanor came to her home in the greenwood, south of the Thangmor Mountains. Under the cover of darkness, he brought a large, light blue-colored candle with him and a prophecy that went with it that spoke about the coming of the Hammer Bearer, the one who would inherit Vlad'War's mantle.

  Eminent among the wizards of his time, Vlad'War lived in an age that is recognized as the most auspicious known to man. Called the Age of Star's Blood, it was a time in which Shloman the Great, a Fane J'Shrym, reigned as king over all the warl that lay west of the Stone Desert. Back then, the Ar and the Nyeg didn’t exist.

  Illumanor came to Elamor carrying an old prophecy that emerged as the Age of Star's Blood completed its slide into irrelevance. This foretelling said that Vlad'War's insuperable talisman, the Hammer of Power, would be reclaimed by a Fane J'Shrym who would usher in an age greater than the one Shloman ruled over, Parm Warl by name. It was the Candle Master's belief that Elamor and her husband, Aryl Oakenfel, would give birth to a child who was destined to find the wizard's lost talisman since the prophecy he carried with him said that a Candle Maker and a Forger of Steel would bring the Chosen One forth.

  Aware that her husband was from the Fane J'Shrym bloodline, the same as Shloman the Great was, a bloodline that was now, for the most part, despised for allowing the glorious Age of Star's Blood to fade away, she listened carefully to all that Illumanor had to say that night. That was the beginning of her troubles, and she knew it, though nearly twenty summers of happiness followed while she and Aryl raised their son together. Inevitably, just as Illumanor had predicted, the blissful time finally came to an end when her son became a man and the prophecies she suspected he was a part of began to come to pass.

  From that time until now, her life had been like a ship that was carried along on great swells that rolled across the surface of a turbulent sea as trouble followed trouble. Deep troughs filled with fear and despair were followed by waves that lifted her, and the one' she loved, up to a place where they could enjoy the sun's warmth for a time before descending into the next danger-filled trench. And with each watery valley there came a meeting, a blasted meeting that talked about evil tidings and the darkness that created them. As always, the gathering of the learned and wise said hope was at hand if someone, who was willing to risk their life for hope's sake, could be found. And as it turned out, the someone who was asked to accept the risk was almost always from her family.

  Elamor had learned the hard way what such fire-blasted meetings could produce. She had lost her husband some twenty winter's before after one of the gatherings sent him to Ar Warl on a dangerous quest. Fifteen winters after Aryl had died in that horrible place, another assembly sent her son back to the dark warl the Sorcerer ruled over where he was lost too. Now she was sitting in another one of these meetings, and the fodder they wanted to feed to the fire was her four grandsons.

  Shaking herself from her dour reverie, Elamor spoke up not caring if she was interrupting anyone. "What if this really is a trap?" Though a woman of strength and a counselor who had helped many escape bitterness' grasp, she was still only human. And as a human, she had her limits.

  "I want to see Ab'Don's rule end as much as any of you, but... what if this really is a trap? Think! You're asking my grandsons to enter darkness' lair by themselves, where the Sorcerer waits for them with jaws opened wide. Why my grandsons? Haven't I given up enough? When will the sacrifices end? When will my family be given peace?"

  "But it's your son we're trying to save," Goldan sounded almost apologetic as he spoke.

  "I lost my husband." Elamor's eyes filled with tears, though her shoulders didn't slump. "I fear I may have lost my son too. Isn't that enough? Does fate have to pick my pocket again by asking for my grandsons to go unaided into the darkness none willingly enters? And if my son can be saved, as you say, why don't you go instead, or Alynd, or Bear, or Grour Blood, or anyone else?"

  "Mother," Muriel spoke with a calmness that belied her own concerns. "You're not the only one who has lost a husband, and there are those here who have lost their parents and siblings too." Graced with a Healer's heart, the Prophetess' eyes were filled with compassion as she looked at those seated around the table before she settled her gaze back on Elamor. "I respect you above all others here and I understand the anguish that the choices before us have brought you. But I have seen evil up close. I've felt its hot breath on my face as it violated me."

  Pausing to gather the strength to go on, Muriel added, "I vow to you, I'll not let it remain. I will destroy such wickedness even if the cost of purchasing its destruction includes every life in this room. For if we do not destroy it... NOW... none will truly be safe, not our children, our children's children, and any who live in their lifetimes."

  "I chose to save my father or die trying," Ay'Roan said as he looked at his brothers.

  "I'll go with you," J'Aryl said with a voice filled with conviction.

  Looking at his mother, Travyn's head was no longer l
owered or his eyes hidden. The pride he felt over her at that moment equaled the intensity that filled Muriel's proclamation. "Aye, and me too," he said as he turned his gaze to his grandmother like he was challenging her to say otherwise.

  "That makes four of us," Kaylan stood as he spoke. Then going over to his grandmother and looking at her with eyes that were like pools of calm water, he added, "Don't worry Grandmother. Haven't you heard what the prophets have to say about us? We're Sons of the Storm. Life wasn't meant to be easy for us. You of all people should know that. And as Sons of the Storm we're far from being helpless. I give you my promise, we'll not fail to bring your son home."

  In time, all of Elamor's grandsons came over to comfort her, even Travyn, whose eyes softened as much as the flames burning inside of him would allow.

  Fighting the emotions that welled up inside, as her grandsons gathered around her, Elamor replied, "I know you won't." After taking time to savor her grandsons' attention, she added, "Forgive me for my weakness. It's not a luxury I could afford once I married your grandfather."

  "There's nothing to forgive, Great Lady." Ahrnosyn exhaled a breath he had been holding before he spoke. "Anyone who is struck hard enough, or enough times, will flinch when another blow is seen coming. We all have our limits. But I know you Elamor: You don't lack courage. To risk your own life would be an easy thing for you to do. But risking your grandsons' lives, well... that's a different matter. Yet let me make this clear: Your grandsons, who are gathered around you, are boys no longer. They are men. And they don't lack resources.

  “Their mother is the Prophetess who learned to sing the Song of Breaking," Ahrnosyn smiled at Muriel who had come to stand beside her sons, "their father is a Fane J'Shrym who wields the Hammer of Power, and their grandmother is Elamor the Candle Maker. Though the quest set before them is a daunting one, they aren't undertaking it empty-handed.

  "The fact that both your daughter and the Elf-Man have had the same dream assures us that this is no trick; rather, it is a sign that cannot be overlooked." Ahrnosyn ran his hand over his balding head as he brought all the streams of conversation together. "Each day the warl shakes as the Nyeg and Ar are being drawn back together, reminding us that a war is coming that none can avoid. Maybe this is the first battle that will be fought in this war? In any case, your grandsons must go and find their father. We need him. And if I might add... you need him too, Great Lady. There is not much chance we can defeat the Sorcerer without Jeaf."

  Reaching out to each of her grandsons in turn, Elamor touched their faces before she spoke again. "I married a man who came from Ar Warl, a place his son went to so many winters ago. Maybe it's fitting that his grandsons go there too. Maybe that's why he came to the Nyeg in the first place, though he didn't know it. Maybe he never really left the Ar, not completely, and the pull of that place now exerts itself on his grandsons too. But if that's true, you boys are being drawn there to do what Aryl always wanted to do, to strike Ab'Don and break the hold he has on the warl your grandfather was born in. What better way to do that then to find the son he loved so much and free him so he can become the Hammer Bearer once more."

  Easier said than done, Marta thought as she grimaced while watching the Oakenfel family reunion. Memories of the Battle of the Temple of the Oak Tree, that took place in Otrodor twenty winters before, flashed before her minds eye as she considered the sight: Muriel hanging on an iron tree Ab'Don had created with his dark powers was the first to memory to emerge; a troupe of Hag, melding into the Sorcerer's body to create a giant that the Hammer Bearer's magic was hard pressed to subdue, was the next to come to mind; the Warl of Dead pouring into the Realm of the Living, like water forcing its way through a dam compromised, followed; Ab'Don being forced to remove the thin, iron branch he had thrust into Muriel's heart preceded a memory of the Sorcerer escaping on the back of a flying, fiery serpent he had conjured up with the branch still in hand. All were troubling recollections that cast a shadow over the quest Muriel's sons would undertake.

  The Sorcerer still has that fire-blasted branch, the Marta closed her eyes as she considered this troubling thought. Suddenly feeling her age, the old woman slowly opened her eyes and sighed. Muriel watched her as she did. A wry smile crossed the Marta's face as she realized the Prophetess' Powers of Intuition were picking up on her ruminations, or at least sensing that she was thinking about her in a way that went well beyond friendly concern.

  Wrapping her shawl tightly about herself like she was trying to protect her inner reflections, Marta continued her line of thought. What can Ab'Don do with that branch? What magic does it possess? Wasn't the Hammer Bearer afraid to touch it? Didn't he force the Sorcerer to remove it? Can it still be used against the Prophetess? Then looking at the twins, who Muriel was carrying in her womb at the time the branch had been thrust into her heart, she continued. Can the branch be used against Kaylan and Travyn?

  All of this brought the peril that Muriel's sons would face in their quest into clear focus. If the Hammer Bearer barely survived a fight with Ab'Don that took place in Nyeg Warl, while he had the full power of Vlad'War's Child at his disposal, what would happen to the boys if the Sorcerer was to catch them in a place where the fount of his evil magic flowed unabated.

  Though the confidence the young men were displaying to comfort their grandmother in her time of weakness needed to be tempered by the reality of the situation, Marta knew the four were Sons of the Storm. As such, they were formidable foes in their own right.

  The memory of the thunderstorm that assailed Eagle's Vale the night the twins were born was the last recollection to come to mind. A fierce storm, Marta recalled her exuberance over its prophetic timing that heralded the birth of those who would become warriors equally as fierce, those filled with fury and violence. And here they were before her, ready to risk their lives to rescue their father.

  Boys had become men. In Ar Warl, these men would become Sons of Storm. And when the storm struck, the war that would determine the warl's fate would begin.

  Chapter 13: The Madara Spike

  A natural fortress suited for protecting the Bjork's swift longboats, the Madara Spike served both as a hideout and base of operation the seafarers' used to launch raids against Ar Warl. If a griffin were to look down as it flew overhead, the Spike would look like a city-sized stone had been thrown into shoreline facing the Largryk Sea where it shattered on impact. Though the Madara Spike had a prominent peak that lead to its name, it had eight lesser pinnacles that huddled up against the Spike like hatchlings gathered around their mother. Another four trailed farther off into the Largryk Sea, looking like siblings that were hurrying along to join the family.

  Numerous, irregularly-shaped outcroppings of smaller stone flanked the mountains rising above the sea's surface, each a tiny island of its own that provided hiding places for the sleek longboats. If the Bjork chose to use the Wisdor Stones' fields of invisibility, their vessels would be virtually undetectable in such a place.

  Ay'Roan wore a ring that had one of the magical gems set in it to commemorate his adoption by the Bjorkian Community, a ring that was the twin they had given his father, Jeaf Okenfel, so many summers before.

  The Wisdor Stones magic was the reason why the crocodon stayed away from this place. It was too easy for the Bjork to ambush the sea serpents here armed with the Magic of Invisibility. That's also why the Ar Warlers didn't risk a naval assault on the seafarers' hideout. The Madara Spike's unwieldy formation stacked the odds too heavily in the Bjork's favor if such was ever attempted. Besides Wygean's Children never used their hideout on any regular basis. To do so would tempt Ab'Don to attack the Madara Spike in spite of the grievous losses his fleet would ultimately incur if the longboats were forced into an all out fight. Unable to predict whether the Bjork would be found at the Madara Spike at any given time, launching such a venture was impractical to undertake.

  It was also foolish to have ships stationed here to keep the Bjork from using the hideout. The number of v
essels needed to adequately do this over a long period of time was cost prohibitive. Besides, there were too many ways to sail into and out of the Madara Spike to make a trap a practical option. And a token presence would only court disaster since the Bjork would welcome an opportunity to weaken Ar Warl's capacity to impose its will on the Largryk Sea and its close neighbor the Breach Sea by sinking any ships that were unwisely left to guard the rocky labyrinth.

  Taking into account the distance that separated the Madara Spike from Ar Warl, Ab'Don decided it was better to establish patrols that would keep a wary eye open for Bjork longboats sailing north out of their rocky hideout. If successful in spotting the invisible raiders, those on watch could give warnings that would provide the Sorcerer's fleet the time needed to mount a defense once the longboats entered the nearby Breach Sea.

  "Horses can cross the Madara Desert?" Ay'Roan's question was posed to the Bjork who had transported him and his brothers to the Madara Spike aboard their longboats.

  Lowen's reply was uncharacteristically brusque. "How would we know? We're not landlovers." But his apparent aggravation wasn't over the question at all, it was over the fact that he wasn't being allowed to accompany his friend on a quest that would take Ay'Roan, and his brothers, into Ar Warl's dangerous domain.

  If Lowen was confronted by someone astute enough to figure this out, he would have said it wasn't fair that Ay'Roan was given a chance to gain glory and not him. But his irritation wasn't rooted in jealousy, nor did it spring out of a competitive spirit, rather it came from the concern he had for Ay'Roan's safety, since he loved him like a brother.

  Seeing the young Bjork struggling with the feelings of helplessness his sense of loyalty bred, Fyreed, who was leading a horse along as he approached the men, said, "Lowen, you'll just have to get used to being left behind if you're going to be friends with an Oakenfel. This type of thing comes with the territory."