Vlad'War's Anvil

by Rex Hazelton

  And what was the greater good? It was anything that advanced Ab'Don's cause and helped him gain the prize that would make his dreams come true- MAGIC! But it wasn't the run of the mill variety he longed for. It was the kind of magic that the Nameless Evil doled out to him for doing the foul deeds he was known for doing. With it, the Sorcerer was unstoppable. Add the Hammer of Power to the mix and he'd be invincible. And on the day he wielded both powers, he could free himself from the only weakness he possessed, the deplorable dependency he had on the Nameless Evil's good graces. That's why Ab'Don wanted to apprehend Jeaf Oakenfel, to force him reveal the secret to unleashing the hammer's power. That's why he rode his white stallion so swiftly, driving the tormented beast on to Mishal Parm and the date he had with destiny.

  "The Hag looked like a troupe of scarecrows as we rode behind the Sorcerer with our black robes flapping in the wind created by the speed that we were traveling." Horbyn's eyes looked upward like he was examining a picture he was trying to describe with his words. "The Malamor cavalry, thundering behind us as we crossed Gore's Gap and the flat grasslands that lay there, was a throbbing sea of bronze and red. One thousand burnished bronze breastplates bore the insignia of the red sun that the Sorcerer had adopted as his empire's symbol. Red like blood. For the Sorcerer was wont to say, Life is in the blood, and taking life opens the door to magic.

  "A large race, long red or blond hair streamed out from under the bronze helmets they wore. Green and blue eyes, guarded by flanged nose guards, barely blinked as the dust the Hag mounts threw up into the air buffeted them. Red capes waved behind them."

  The poetic way the wizard presented his story revealed his fondness for the bards that circulated throughout Ar Warl.

  "As far as I was concerned," Horbyn looked at the brothers to make certain they were paying attention to the point he was making, "the wind that blew into our faces was the Wind of Change that would affect me as much as it would my master that I hated so. For we were on our way to meet the man who had defeated Ab'Don in a battle he was loath to talk about. And whenever the Sorcerer did mention the fight, it was clear that he avoided details that would embarrass him.

  “Most of what Ab'Don said centered on the iron branch he created with his sorcery that was thrust into the Prophetess' heart, the talisman he named Crooked Finger that is now locked up in the Hall of Voyd. This, he boasted, was the whole reason why he had risked going to Nyeg Warl with so few Hag with him. It was the means, he explained, to control your mother and the inimitable magic she wielded. With it, he would also nullify the Hammer Bearer who loved her so."

  Lowering his head, Horbyn took a moment to gather his thoughts. Once he was ready, his large, moist, gray eyes looked up. His head followed their lead. "You know, Ab'Don only brought me along to befriend your father encase that ploy was needed to help him get what he wanted. Knowing the rumors that said the Hammer Bearer possessed profound Powers of Intuition, he thought Jeaf would sense my love for the Healing Arts and a bond of sorts might be forged that could be used to get Jeaf to divulge information that would crack the shell of secrecy that surrounded the Hammer of Power's magic.

  "Little did he know," Horbyn looked pleased with himself as he spoke, "that I was the one who made certain this notion was included in the deliberations the Sorcerer had with the Hag as they made plans to capture the Hammer Bearer, for I was determined to meet the man who bested Ab'Don in a fight that took place on the other side of the Breach Sea.

  "Equally as important, I wanted to meet someone who carried Andara's Tears, since my constant search for knowledge about Healing Magic led me to conclude he had some of these in his possession. Accurately guessing why your father had gone to Cara Lorn wasn't difficult for someone like me.

  "The cretchym that met us, at the place where Sky Master's pine forests plunged into the grasslands covering Gore's Gap, was as tall as a man but thinner in build. Hornet's wings sprung out of its back. Dark eyes, as big as pomegranates and with as many sections, bulged out of a head with a wide crown and narrow chin. Because of the loose tunic the creature was wearing, I couldn't determine if it had a stinger or not. I could see the wild, blond hair the cretchym had that was exactly like its creator's own. For as I'm certain you know, Ab'Don fashioned the cretchym with magic that only he knows how to wield and is not reticent to use. Magic of Making is what Ab'Don calls it. Melding his essence together with the winged creatures he finds so fascinating, the Sorcerer has fathered a mutant race that exhibits his worst tendendcies.

  "After an unusually pernicious type of cretchym revolted against his rule, the Sorcerer set the practice aside, though he didn't destroy the vast flock he had already made."

  Running his hand through his beard, Horbyn looked at the four men he was talking to and at the weapons they carried before he added, "From the reports I heard at the School of the Hag, following the fight where Nyeg Warl defeated Koyer and his hosts, I'd say your father and his friends did a good job of thinning out the cretchym. For only a remnant of the once vast flock returned to Ar Warl. Since they lack reproductive organs by design, their numbers have been dwindling ever since. But enough of this brood remains for us to be wary of them. And a rumor has it that the Sorcerer is once again dabbling with the Magic of Making."

  "Why weren't you there?" The amber rings in Travyn's eyes looked like wheel-shaped embers had escaped the fire. Hearing how his father was taken captive didn't sit well with him. Still, as cunning a man as he was- and he was very cunning indeed- Travyn knew the details that Horbyn shared with them might help him and his brothers decide what their next move would be. If those details were true, that is.

  The moon continued to cross the night sky while the wizard told his tale. A cold breeze blew out of Sky Master's dark heights as he said, "Since I waste my time searching for magic that isn't much help in a fight, as my peers think, I'm rarely included whenever a fight breaks out. You see, the Hag consider me to be a bit odd for spending all my time reading books and scrolls that have little to do with magic that can inflict pain on people, the kind of magic my black-robed brothers and sisters pursue so they can elevate their status in the Hag community.

  "But they misjudge me." Hobyn took time to search the star-studded sky like he was looking for the cretchym he had been talking about. "I'm no bookworm." After a congenial chuckle passed his lips, the wizard was quick to correct himself. "Well... I am a bookworm. But that's not all there is to me. I'm no coward. I have ambitions like others do that I would risk death to attain. That's why I'm here."

  "We've guessed as much," Kaylan sat on the ground with his legs crossed, probing the fire's growing number of embers as he did. "Go on with your story."

  After taking time to speculate on how much of his mind the young men's Powers of intuition could reach, Horbyn continued. "Though the cretchym's words were forced out of a mouth so small that a wine bottle cork could have sealed it up tight, I was able to understand the screeching vocalizations.

  "Having followed your father's movements for past five days, for as expected Jeaf Oakenfel had come to Mishal Parm, the creature said that Jeaf had been tirelessly searching through the city for something he must have greatly valued given the feverish effort he expended. Then the cretchym reported that that very evening your father stopped his quest and began working over a block of stone found in the middle of what once must have been a large room, but now looked more like a small corral with the four broken down walls of hewn rock that surrounded it.

  "When Ab'Don asked the cretchym what he had seen your father doing, the creature said that it didn't know, but whatever it was, he was using candles as white as the snow that covers Sky Master's crown.

  "Hearing this, the Sorcerer ordered his men to move forward in haste. He's conjuring up Vlad'War's Magic, was the explanation he gave to those who thought it was better to move more slowly.

  "Once Ab'Don reached the city's edge, he dismounted and turned his steed over to the handlers, admonishing them to keep the horses hidden in
the greenwood. Then he withdrew his sword and moved off into the ruins. The Malamor did the same, fanning out as they did. We Hag pulled out our black candles and followed the Sorcerer, ready to do his bidding.

  "We swept through Mishal Parm's ruins making no more noise than a breeze gusting through the tall grass growing in the cities' open spaces. The sun had dropped below the distant Black Mountains to the west, covering Sky Master's slopes in velvety twilight. The occassional sound of steel inadvertently striking against a broken down wall as a Malamor leapt over or swept around it broke the silence. But the noise was never loud enough to alert your father, who was engrossed in his solitary labors.

  "How more than a thousand warriors could move so quietly was not hard to guess with the Sorcerer and the Hag numbered among them. For the local fireflies weren't the only source of light seen dancing through Mishal Parm's darkening streets. The flames from the Hag's candles were there too, though kept to a low glow to not attract attention. Using our powers to muffle the sound that so many men on the move would normally make, Hag magic was already at work."

  "Horbyn," Ay'Roan's resonant voice was heard as he pulled on one of the thin braids that fell down the side of his head while he asked a question he had been pondering, "why weren't there any white-skins with you?"

  The unexpected inquiry took a moment to register in Horbyn's mind before he replied, "You're referring to those who have fallen under the Spell of the White Hand... correct?"

  "I've heard it called that," Ay'Roan quit pulling on his braid once his ruminations were out in the open. "From what I've heard, they were a nearly unstoppable force during the war most call the Battle of Decision and some the Battle of Nyeg Warl. Why weren't they with you when you came for our father?"

  To initiate the Spell of the White Hand, it was necessary to drain a victim's blood out of their body and replace it with an outworking of dark magic that would continue to do the job the precious fluid once did. In the end, the victim became an extension of the life of the person who cast the dour spell over them. Only the vaguest of recollections remained from the hapless person's former identity, and those were skewed by the evil influence that had taken control of them.

  Bloodless, with their skin made pale because of this, these unwilling servants were almost impossible to destroy. Swords, lances, and arrows were useless against the white-skinned fiends. Only mutilating or crushing their bodies beyond repair, cutting their heads off, or burning them to ashes could end their fetid lives. Added to this, breaking the urns that held their drained blood would also put an end to their regrettable existence. That's why the receptacles were stored in caches located in remote locations known only to the wielders of this insidious form of dark magic.

  During the Battle of Decision, Ab'Don's general, Koyer by name, had thousands of these white-skinned monsters under his control. The Evil Cretchym, for that is what Koyer was, had made this dangerous host in G'Lude, a fortress that stood on the Isle of Regret in the days of the war. Carefully assembled over hundreds of winters that led up to the fateful battle, the white-fiends nearly gave their master a quick victory over Nyeg Warl's grossly over-matched forces.

  But then, the Prophetess and the Hammer Bearer showed up on the field of battle to turn the tide against Koyer.

  In a desperate act that was meant to wrench victory out of the Nyeg Warler's hands, the Lord of Regret drew the magic out of the vast white-skinned host that savagely fought for him, to gorge himself with its might. And as he did, those under the Spell of the White Hand, lacking the magic that had kept their bodies unnaturally alive, fell to the ground like so many sacks of lifeless grain. Even this power surge wasn't enough help Koyer defeat the Hammer of Power's magic. In the end, the Lord of Regret was slain when the Prophetess thrust her sword through his chest.

  "The use of the Spell of the White Hand is restricted in Ar Warl," Horbyn replied. Privy to the historical records that documented the war that Ab'Don was loath to talk about, the wizard could see why the Nyeg Warlers would ask such a question. While he waited for Ay'Roan to ask for a fuller explanation, Horbyn was deciding how much he would tell the sons of Hammer Bearer, for he knew much or, it might be correctly said, he had guessed much.

  "Restricted," Ay'Roan's predictable response arrived as Horbyn had expected, "how?"

  A wry smile crossed the wizard's face as he took time to scratch his beard while he pretended to be weighing out his next words. But he wasn't. Horbyn had already decided to give a thorough answer in an attempt to gain more trust from the men whose help he needed, an answer that Ab'Don would have quickly killed him for if he learned that Horbyn had given it.

  "If the Sorcerer knew that I had told you what I'm about to say, my life wouldn't be worth a handful of dried up thistles." Horbyn was setting the table for what was coming. "But I'm going to tell you something about the Sorcerer that he will never say about himself, something that can be used against him. It can also be used against me if I ever betray you. Tell any of Ab'Don's people that I told you this and I'm dead. Since I need your help, I feel I have no choice but to take this risk."

  Horbyn's gray eyes took in the men who sat around the campfire in front of him. Were they moved by his admission of vulnerability? It was hard to tell. "The Sorcerer restricts the use of the Spell of the White Hand for two reasons: one, to limit those who might challenge his supremacy if they amassed too much power for themselves, and two, to keep the Nameless Evil he's made his bargain with from getting too great a foot hold in Ar Warl.

  "Since those who fall under the Spell of the White Hand become direct extensions of the one who ensnared them, that person's impact on Ar Warl's affairs is increased proportionally to the number of people their magic allows them to live their life through. That's why few are permitted to know how to enact the spell." Not wanting to say any more about this point, Horbyn added, "Do you follow?"

  Kaylan nodded his head and said, "Go on."

  Travyn narrowed his eyes as he fought the anger that welled up in him whenever he heard how men wanted to control others. Their own lives aren't worth dog's vomit, and they want to tell others what they can and can't do, he thought as his jaw muscles clenched.

  "Let me tell you a story that will help me explain the second reason why the use of the Spell of the White Hand is restricted."

  Kaylan flicked his hand forward like he was sending a child off on an errand, "go on."

  "Having been told that Ab'Don wished to speak to me, something that had only happened twice before, I entered the Hall of Voyd. The Hag named Isham was there and no one else. For some reason, she was the one to speak.

  What do you know about Crooked Finger? She asked.

  "I repeated all that was known about the talisman in the School of the Hag, how it could be used to control the Prophetess whose heart it had once pierced. Then she asked me what I knew about Andara's Tears.

  "As I repeated everything I knew about the wizard whose knowledge of Healing Magic had no rivals, and the tears he shed in Caral Lorn, I was surprised to see how interested Ab'Don was to hear what I had to say since he was the one who had imprisoned Andara in the first place. Then it struck me, the Sorcerer's eyes looked different, foreign like they had been plucked out and replaced with someone else's.

  "Adding this to his unwillingness to speak, I guessed that Ab'Don wasn't the one who was looking at me. As this realization dawned on me, my skin began to crawl. For I swear I was looking into the Nameless Evil's own eyes. What I sensed told me this. The rumors I had heard about how Ab'Don gained the powerful magic he uses increased my suspicions. But they were just rumors for the Sorcerer went to extreme ends to keep them so.

  "Then, after Isham had exhausted her list of questions, and she turned to bow before the Sorcerer, Ab'Don's shoulders slumped. After he coughed a few of times, he lifted his face to Isham and asked, How did it go?

  "Frowning at the Sorcerer with lips pursued, Isham nodded in my direction. Following her gaze, Ab'Don looked startled when he saw me s
tanding there. Then quickly regaining his composure he said, Thank you Horbyn, you're dismissed.

  "As I left, I had the distinct impression he thought I would be gone from the room before he regained control of his faculties."

  "What are you saying," Kaylan's inquisitive mind was working overtime, "Ab'Don was possessed?"

  "I'm saying exactly that."

  Nodding his head, Kaylan added, "We've heard rumors that the dead can see into the Warl of the Living using the Sorcerer's eyes, and that this is a part of the price he pays for the magic that has been given to him."

  "And that is why he restricts the use the Spell of the White Hand, though his benefactor encourages him to use it more. When the Nameless One is given permission to enter his body and look through his eyes, the evil entity, for I believe it is evil, can look through the eyes of all those the Sorcerer has cast this spell over.

  "I believe that Ab'Don fears the Evil One will one day try to take control of these puppets even after the entity has left the his body, by planting his influence in them that will remain active though the Nameless One has returned to the Warl of the Dead. If this were to happen, the fewer vessels the dark entity had access to the better off Ab'Don would be."

  "Alright," J'Aryl sounded impatient, "You've answered Ay'Roan's question about the white skins. Finish telling us how you captured our father."