by Rex Hazelton
With that said, Horbyn lifted his arm up before taking hold of a loose thread that hung from his sleeve. Pulling on the thread opened a small pocket that held a pea-shaped stone in it. Withdrawing the tiny sphere, Horbyn laid it ever so carefully in the palm of his hand before stroking it gently like it was a favorite pet. Then he stretched out his hand so the campfire's light could shine on the object he held. Bathed in the flickering illumination, a golden orb came into focus.
"Andara's Tear," Kaylan said in awe. Though he had seen his father use the tears to help he and his brothers recuperate from injury and illness while they were growing up, Kaylan had never seen one of the magical spheres in another's possession, save Mystlnor, the Elf-Man. One of the more revered and coveted talismans in existence, he was stunned to see that Horbyn carried one since few of the orbs existed. Fewer still were the number of people who possessed them.
"Yes. Yes, that's right!" Horbyn said excited that Kaylan could appreciate the treasure he held in his hand. Few of the Hag could. The orb's healing virtue would have escaped their notice. The magic it exuded would be detected by only the most fastidious practitioner of the dark arts since its brand of power lacked the kind of emanation that would catch the Hag's attention. It was too benign. Not dangerous enough, it lacked the promise that someone could use it to inflict pain or control another's mind and body.
"How did you come by it?" J'Aryl had suspicions that Horbyn had taken it from his father. "Have you been to the haunted city of Cara Lorn?"
"NO!" Horbyn's gray eyes took on a steel-like aspect as he snapped his hand shut over the golden orb. "Despite what you may think, I'm not insane. I'm not recklessness enough to go to that desolate place uninvited. If I had, the wraiths that rule there would never have let me leave. But that doesn't mean I don't know who Andara was, nor am I ignorant of what Ab'Don did to him in Cara Lorn. Remember, I once was a Hag and I'm still a Healer.
"As for this tear, I took it from your father after we captured him in Mishal Parm. Of all the dark brethren I traveled with to capture him, I was the only one who could appreciate the prize Jeaf Oakenfel had with him."
"He only had one tear on him?" Kaylan was puzzled about why that might be, for his father carried a pouch filled with Andara's treasure. "Are you sure there weren't more?"
"I suspected there were more of them somewhere here abouts." Horbyn gazed steadfastly into the moonlit night like he was actually trying to locate the tears. "Your question tells me I'm right. I've always believed your father had others that he hid once he realized he couldn't escape the snare we set for him. But if he did, I haven't been able to find them. The tears won't respond to my call. Every spell and incantation I've tried using in my search has failed. Even a considerable expenditure of Healing Magic wouldn't arouse them."
"So you have one of our father's tears?" Travyn looked more than unhappy. "What does that prove?"
"It proves I was here when the Hag captured your father. Since I recognized Andara's Tear for what it was, it proves I am a Healer. Demanding that you help me save my daughter before I tell you where your father is proves I'm desperate. All of this proves you can trust me, at least enough for you to consider my proposition.
"Think," Horbyn said with a fervor that was trying to shake Travyn into using common sense his ill will toward the wizard kept him from using. "I could have told Ab'Don everything I know. And I guarantee that he would be here right now if I had. Imagine the reward he would have given me if I had only whispered a part of what I know in his ear. But I don't want wealth, power, or the license to commit perversion he would grant me. I want my daughter. And I want to be a Healer.
"The day Ab'Don took my mother's life was the day I cast off his bonds. I will not be a Hag. Nor will I play their game any longer. But I will help you find your father, if you grant me my boon."
This was true enough. Horbyn would help the brothers find their father. Second to his desire to restore his mother' life was his longing to destroy the beast who had her murdered. And what better way to do that than having the Hammer Bearer set free. Besides, what kind of life would Horbyn and his mother have, if somehow he was able to resurrect her, living in the darkness that surrounds the Sorcerer?
Ay'Roan crossed his arms over his chest like Travyn had done earlier as he said, "Before we consider your proposition, tell us how our father was captured."
Nodding his head, Horbyn clasped his hands together like a teacher who was ready to give a leasson as he got ready to tell the story of Jeaf Oakenfel's capture.
Chapter 16: Jeaf's Capture
On a cold morning, five winters past, Ab'Don's servants were busy doing their morning chores when they came upon a silver hammer sitting in the center of the Hall of Voyd's main courtyard. With its metal head reflecting dawn's first light, it looked like a star had fallen from the heavens above. The weapon's handle, standing upright like it was inviting passerbyes to take hold of it, had a Name of Power inscribed upon it in an ancient language that only the most learned understood.
Many a Malamor warrior came and tried to carry the hammer away. But it couldn’t be moved. Even the Hag failed to dislodge the hammer from the ground, cursing the stubborn thing as they did. The black candles' power didn't work on the object that all had come to suspect possessed great magic.
After a time, the news of the hammer reached Ab'Don's ears, prompting him to go and see the baffling thing. As he did, a voice entered his mind and said, "Pick it up, for it is the Hammer of Power."
Not wanting to insult the one who had spoken to him, an old and powerful acquaintance who had given him the magic he used to build his empire, the Sorcerer stepped forward and took hold of the handle. And as quick as that, he lifted the hammer up off the ground, laughing in exultation that he alone could do so.
Feeling the hammer's power, Ab'Don lusted after the magic he knew resided there. His old associate, the ancient entity who had spoken to him in his head, desired after it even more. With the Hammer of Power in his possession it was certain that Ab'Don would take control of all mankind, that he would be the one to usher in the age of Parm Warl that would be forced to conform to his will when it arrived, and that his claim to be a spiritual Fane J'Shrym, who was the rightful heir to Shloman's the Great's Throne, would be validated.
The story of the insuperable event, whose telling swept through Ar Warl like a fire gone rogue, filled Ab'Don's enemies with dread while it thrilled his allies who would profit from Nyeg Warl's fall.
Though Ab'Don didn't try to prevent the story from being disseminated to the masses, he did curtail overt expectations once he found that he couldn't access the hammer's power. Initially excited that he was the only one who could move Vlad'War's Child, the Sorcerer became dangerously frustrated by his inability to use its magic, so much so, that he killed one of his own dark wizards who pressed him to display the Hammer of Power's abilities at the School of the Hag. The fact that the Hag he murdered in a fit of rage was a trusted advisor, revealed the depth that his foul mood had reached.
That's when Isham came to him, after the murder was committed when Ab'Don's rage had depleted his energy, leaving him empty and emotionless.
Taking her nephew by the hand, Isham led Ab'Don to his bedroom where she used her body to make him forget the disappointment he felt over his inability to use the Hammer of Power. She was good at what she did, and what she did pleased the Sorcerer. She had been Ab'Don's consort since the earliest days of his conquest. More than that, she was his mentor, though her lessons had to be presented with subtlety, since Ab'Don's vanity wouldn't allow her to be too bold. The Hag advisor's fate was proof of that. She was the one who had encouraged the Sorcerer to risk going to the haunted city of Cara Lorn to call upon the Nameless Evil who dwelt in the Warl of the Dead, so she could reap the benefits of the chances Ab’Don took if he was successful. One of the benefits was the extremely long life the ancient entity had granted her and her nephew. As she had done from the beginning, Isham was still trying to manipulat
e Ab'Don to do her will.
While her nephew was enjoying the warmth of her flesh, Isham quietly asked, "What would you do if you were Jeaf Oakenfel?"
Because Ab'Don didn't want to talk at a time his ardor was up, Isham had to repeat her question three times before he said, "If I was Oakenfel, I wouldn't be answering questions right now, if that's what you mean. What man would at a time like this?"
"I'm talking about the Hammer of Power." Isham gently pushed her nephew to arm's length so she could look him in the eyes. "Please consider my question,"she said with a sweet but firm voice. "What… would… you… do… about the Hammer of Power if you were Jeaf Oakenfel?"
Lowering himself onto his back, Ab'Don's yellow eyes fixed their gaze on the stonework ceiling that arched high overhead as a thought dawned on him.
"I'd do everything in my power to get it back," he replied with the excitement of one who was close to discovering something significant.
"Why, Love," Isham spoke with breathy delight,"that's what I was thinking too."
Though Isham was much older than her nephew, the magic Ab'Don shared with her, the same magic he received from his dark benefactor who lived in a realm far removed from the Warl of the Living, had extended her life as it lengthened his own. At the same time, it kept her young. Not young like a newlywed, but like a woman who had reached full maturity in every sense of the word and then stopped aging.
Still, there was a problem. Though in her physical prime, Isham was on its downside. In another step or two, she would beyond even that. It was certain, when enough time passed this would surely happen. That's why this conversation was important to her. She didn't want to just live a long life, Isham wanted to live forever, unchanged. And in her thinking, the Hammer of Power could make that happen. Vlad'War's Child was the last ingredient needed to complete her formula for the elixir of eternal life she was formulating in her mind.
Isham's recipe was as follows. Take the nearly limitless power the Nameless Evil doled out to Ab'Don in payment for services rendered, mix in the Hammer of Power's magic, add the Prophetess esence captured inside the thin, iron branch called Crooked Finger that Ab'Don thrust into her heart when he held Muriel prisoner in the Temple of the Oak Tree, the place where reliable reports said she had raised the dead back to life, and you have the formula to create magic that would give its wielder eternal life.
Slipping out of bed, not taking the time to cover his naked body, Ab'Don paced through the room, darkened by shadow and the soot filled air, looking like a cat as he walked. The Sorcerer's muscles rippled beneath his taut skin as he moved. Tall and lean, no one who didn't know his history, or the magic he possessed, could have guessed his age, nor would they have thought he was a sorcerer. He looked more like someone who would excel in the games of strength and agility held at the Spring Solstice. Only his matted, blonde hair, sticking out of his head like eagle's feather, said he was something other than this; that, and his yellow, raptor-like eyes whose penetrating gaze froze the blood of even the bravest men.
The Sorcerer stopped pacing. The silence deepened. Then he growled out, "Ashes! Jeaf Oakenfel is coming to Ar Warl!"
Isham moaned in pleasure over her nephew's proclamation. But instead of calling her nephew back to bed to satiate her physical response to the things she heard, Isham quickly rose and slipped on a light weight tunic over her shapely form. Grabbing another, she glided across the room filled with dirty air that was a side effect of the kind of magic Ab'Don practiced and helped her nephew put on his own tunic while asking, "My Love... what will you do?"
Though she had asked what appeared to be an open ended question, she didn't want him to suggest that they resume their repose together. The bed had served its purpose. An old ally, it once again got her what she wanted. Since Ab'Don was being herded in the right direction, it was no longer needed. His attention had been properly focused on the Hammer Bearer, whose knowledge of the Hammer of Power was needed to access the talisman's magic she needed to brew her elixir. Besides, Ab'Don had a stable full of concubines who could satisfy his appetites later.
"This time, I'll catch the worm."
Ab'Don's fury hadn’t abated after discovering Jeaf Oakenfel had secretly entered Ar Warl on a quest to find Andara's[EH3] Tears. Though the quest took place more than fifteen winters before, the Sorcerer's anger was no less today than it was back then. Having lost an opportunity to capture his enemy, the Sorcerer vowed to not waste another chance if the man had the hubris to return.
By the Fires Darkness, the fool is surely on his way here, Ab'Don surmised as he began making plans on how he would take advantage of this knowledge. And he doesn't have the hammer. The Sorcerer sneered as he continued his train of thought. If he hasn't learned to use the fire-blasted white candles the sniveling Nyeg Warlers employ to channel their pathetic magic with, he'll be no fun at all. Bitter memories of the Hammer of Power's magic being used against him at the Battle of the Temple of the Oak Tree fueled his sarcasm.
Wanting another crack at Hammer Bearer after the upstart embarrassed him in the heated fight that took place in Otrodor, Ab'Don was almost disappointed that Jeaf would be without his hammer. On the other hand, he thought it was only fair that the pest had a disadvantage this time since he certainly had one in their last encounter, separated as he was from his seat of power in Ar Warl.
The distance laying between the Temple of the Oak Tree that stands in Nyeg Warl and the Hall of Voyd was the excuse the Sorcerer used to help him live with the intolerable thought that he had been beaten in a fight. If the duel had taken place in Ar Warl, he reasoned, the outcome would have been different.
After meeting with his most trusted advisors, at least those he hadn't yet murdered in a fit of rage, Ab'Don was speeding northward along with a portion of the Malamor cavalry and thirty mounted Hag. Two cretchym flew overhead to spy out what lay ahead. Two more flew off to Mishal Parm's ruins after the council determined that that is where Jeaf Oakenfel would most likely[EH4] go if he was trying to find his wayward hammer.
With the help of their dark arts, that's exactly what the Sorcerer's seers said had happened. The Hammer of Power was indeed wayward, and had acted on its own when it came to Ar Warl. Ab’Don’s spies in Nyeg Warl confirmed the seers’ assessment, adding that the Hammer of Power had abandoned the Hammer Bearer during a ceremony that was being conducted at the School of the Sword and Song.
This is not a trick, they said. We sense that Vlad War's Child is conflicted, that it has misgivings about loyalties it has been forced to form. It wants to come home, and as we have all seen, it considers the Hall of Voyd to be its home.
That's because the hammer knows that I'm Shloman the Great's rightful heir, Ab'Don mused over his good fortune. And as sure as it knows that, it knows that his throne belongs in the Hall of Voyd where the spirit of the age Shloman ruled over is destined to be resurrected with surpassing glory once Parm Warl arrives.
More than the voices of the prognosticators who served the Sorcerer, the Nameless Evil's unwavering insistence that Ab'Don should welcome the hammer's arrival emboldened him to do just that. This wasn’t some sort of ruse the desperate Nyeg was foisting on the Ar with the intention of striking the first blow in a war they knew they would lose when the two continents collided. No. This was proof that Ar Warl's magic was superior to Nyeg Warl's. And Vlad'War's Child knew it. That's why the Hammer of Power had come, to render obeisance to its rightful master. Now all Ab'Don had to do was capture Jeaf Oakenfel and compel him to reveal the Hammer of Power's secrets. And as fate would have it, the man was on his way here, now.
One might wonder why the Evil Lord, who ruled over the darkness that covered half of the Warl of the Dead like a blotch of mold on a piece of white bread, would advise Ab'Don to lay hold of the Hammer of Power whose magic could prevent it from carrying out the dreadful plans anient thing had for the Warl of the Living. Wouldn't this be a mistake? After all, Vlad'War's spirit was residing on the Warl of the Dead’s grassy plains wher
e an army was amassing to resist the Nameless Evil's foul designs for the Scha’Vaot, the Mountain of Song. Shloman the Great was with him, along with Aryl Oakenfel and a vast host of others who were willing to fight to protect the hallowed mountain even with the threat that the Fires of Darkness would be used to put an end to their conscious existence facing them.
The answer to that was found in the Nameless Evil's confidence that his touch could ruin the best of people and subvert the best of intentions. That's why he had Muriel Oakenfel's spirit brought to him in his Dark Realm, to touch her, and with his touch, forever change Muriel, and the spirits of the unborn children she carried in her womb with an infection of iniquity there was no cure for.
That's why the Evil One encouraged Ab'Don to pick up the hammer. The fiend was confident that Vlad'War's Child had been altered to its liking when the talisman struck the bridge it was building over Gulf Fix[EH5] that spanned the chasm separating ancient entity’s dark camp from the grassy plain. Later in the struggle to keep Murtiel its prisoner, when Jeaf used the Hammer of Power to strike the black mountain it was constructing with the souls of men and women the Thieves had captured for their master, called Schu’Tan, the Evil One was certain that its dark infection was firmly fixed in the hammer's essential make-up. As a result, the ancient thing wasn't surprised when the silver talisman made its way to the Hall of Voyd. Since the Evil One was now its true master, it was only logical that the hammer found its way to the man who was the conduit for the ancient entity’s dark influence to enter the Warl of the Living.
Ab'Don rode on a horse as white as he believed his heart was, for the Sorcerer deceived himself into believing he could do no wrong, that all his actions were uniquely righteous in spite of their obvious ugliness. And how was he able to pull this deception off? Because he believed he was the focal point of all prophecy, the culmination of all that the seers foresaw; Shloman the Great’s rightful heir and much more. If he was the one that the magical forces of the warl had chosen to be the fulfillment of all their inscrutable designs, and their selection was, no doubt, based on the superiorty of his inherent nature, how could his view of things be in err? How could his choices be anything but the right ones? Even the lives he took to meet the Nameless Evil's demands, the women he and his men violated because his unseen benefactor required it of them, the suffering the Hag distributed throughout his realm as they played the part the ancient entity demanded they play was all a sacrifice that needed to be made for the greater good.