Vlad'War's Anvil

by Rex Hazelton

  Areas of hard-packed dirt that were so dense that they kept the grass from gaining a footheld, all shaped like they were the foundations to structures that once stood there, verified this assumption.

  With the campsite set up close to the well, the brothers spent the night speculating about what had happened to the Warl of the Brie'Shen. Horbyn, feigning fatigue, didn't join the discussion. Occasionally he searched the tree tops where an intermittent, soft buzzing sound was heard. The quite that surrounded the men in the empty forest was only matched by the hush that had blanketed Mishal Parm. With this thought in mind, conversation came to an end and an uneasy sleep followed. As usual, only two brothers took their rest at a time while the other two stood watch.

  Chapter 18: Mar’Gul

  Two days and a second abandoned village later, they stumbled upon a beehive-shaped hut. The shapes of bowed saplings, all with their branches stripped away, could be seen beneath the mud and tree bark that covered the hut's exterior. Reaching up from the ground where they were securely anchored until they came together at a ring of wood that served as a smoke hole, the tappering poles functioned as the structure's skeleton. Hundreds of thin vines, interwoven between the rib-like poles, provided the backing that the mud clung to.

  At last the brothers found something that said people still lived in this part of Ar Warl.

  Then a large, gray, wire-haired hound stepped around one side of the hut. Its twin stepped around the other side. Each had eyes as black as coal.

  Faced with the twin hounds that were as big as ponies, the men reached for their swords. As they did, the leather flap that served as the hut's door was pushed back and a woman dressed in black leather stepped outside. With a face and nose that were on the narrow side, she was both lovely and dangerous looking all at the same time. Wearing her auburn-colored hair in a long, heavy braid that fell over the back of a waist-length, black leather coat, the woman’s eyes looked like polished emeralds.

  Armed only with a long knife, that was thrust into the wide, black leather belt she wore, the woman placed both fists on her hips as she considered the men with eyes that missed little. Flanking her on either side, the impassive hounds looked at the men with eyes as dark as a moonless night.

  "Dog, what do we have here?" The woman looked at the animal that stood at her right hand before continuing. "Are these the men you've been following?" Looking at the hound like she expected him to answer her, the woman paused before nodding her head and offering another question. "You say you saw them leaving Mishal Parm?"

  "She's reading the fire-blasted dog's mind," Travyn snarled out his observation to the others.

  Before anyone had time to reply, a high-pitched buzzing sound was heard in the air above a moment before a creature, that was obviously some sort of cretchym, landed at the top of the mud hut with its wings still beating like it was ready to fly off in a moment's notice. Holding onto one of the poles that swirled about the smoke hole, the diminutive creature's skin was green in color. Large, dark, almond-shaped eyes sat in a face that was eerily human. The cretchym's form was disturbingly feminine: disturbing because the thing was clearly not human; feminine for all the usual reasons. The soft brown leather boots and leggings the cretchym wore, along with a yellow shirt and brown vest didn't diminish the femine ambience the creature exuded; nor did the slender-bladed sword the creature carried at its hip.

  Once the cretchym's wings stopped beating, they were seen to be nearly transparent with green veins running through them. Blond hair framed a face that had a look of concern on it. Full lips, dark as the creature's eyes, tightened as the cretchym focused its attention on the men.

  A lilting voice, high as a young child’s, was heard. "I've followed them ever since they left Gore's Gap and entered the forest. There's only these five... and no more."

  "Thank you, Bala," the woman said as she turned and looked at the cretchym who stood on top of the hut with wings rigidly extended like the creature was ready to take to the air at a moment's notice.

  "Bala?" Travyn looked at Kaylan as he repeated the name in a whisper. It was a name he had heard before when his father told the tale of his quest to find Andara's Tears.

  Horbyn, who couldn't understand why the brothers were so interested in the cretchym's name, thought he better say something. After all, he was the expert on Ar Warlers and the dangers their ilk presented. "As you can see by my robes, I'm a Hag. So I suggest you cast away any thought of causing trouble." The wizard searched the surrounding greenwood for signs of others who may be laying in wait as he spoke.

  Bringing his Hag affiliation up was calculated to give him the upper hand with Ab'Don's agents since that's who those in front of them had to be with the cretchym numbered among them. Except... he had never seen one of the mutants that looked so distinctly female before. What this meant, he couldn't guess, nor could he account for the brothers' interest in the cretchym's name. Instead of being on their guard, the young men were whispering among themselves like school children who had lost interest in the day's lessons.

  Nonetheless, Horbyn would stick to the script that a life living in Sorcerer's warl had written. It was important that this woman (Whose black leather garments was the kind that Shadowmen wore, Ab'Don's judges that roved about the realm dispensing his kind of lop-sided justice) and her cretchym friend were put on notice that he and his companions wouldn’t be trifled with.

  In Ar Warl, if you didn't stand your ground, you'd soon have no ground to stand on. But the standing had to be done wtih a certain amount of sagacity. Impugning another's honor would guarantee that a fight would take place. A growl or a snarl or two was thing that was called for to show one was willing to defend themselves. Then move on, quickly before things escalated. To violate the rules of the dance that conveyed each party's willingness to fight, without actually doing so, would invariably end with someone dying. Flex your muscles, bare your fangs and claws, then leave. Never lock eyes for too long with those you confront.

  "You say you're a Hag?" The woman carefully appraised the man as she spoke. "How is it that your robes are gray and not black? Have your garments grown old like you?” Chuckling over the thing she was about to say, the woman added, “The last time we met, Horbyn, you're hair was as black as a raven's feathers."

  "My Lady," Horbyn, undone by what he had just heard wasn't certain how to address a woman wearing pants, "you have me at a disadvantage, for I don't recall having met you before."

  "Yes, the advantage is mine." A shaft of sunlight, piercing through the heavy canopy of leaves spreading over them, gave the woman's green eyes a wickedly mirthful aspect as she added, "Though, in truth, we've never actually met. Still, the memory of a conversation that took place long ago stirs in my mind."

  Tapping Horbyn on the shoulder with his words, Kaylan entered the dance by asking the woman a question. "Have you heard of someone called the Black Pearl?"

  The woman smiled mischievously but didn't immediately respond to the question. The massive, wire-haired hound, standing to her right, whined.

  Having been told the story of their father's first trip to Ar Warl, for as many times as they had while they were growing up, the brothers were quickly putting the puzzle pieces together. Then as each nodded to Kaylan, encouraging him to go on, he followed his first question with another one. "Have you heard of Mar’Gul?"

  The woman's mischievous smile took on the same touch of wicked mirth Horbyn had seen the sunlight draw out of her eyes. "I know them both quite well, since, as I can see you've already guessed, I am both of them wrapped up in one."

  The hound to her right whined louder.

  "And what would you have us call you?" Kaylan was excited to meet Mar’Gul.

  This had been part of the plan all along. But there were issues that had to be addressed if the meeting was going to be a good one, family issues. The stance each would take toward the history the brothers and woman shared had to reach an acceptable equilibrium.

  "You may call me Mar'
Gul, though your father could call me sister, and your grandfather, daughter."

  Horbyn was floored by the implications of what he heard. Somehow, Mar’Gul and he Oakenfel men were related to each other. But this young woman couldn't be Mar’Gul, could she? When Mar’Gul came to him, all those many winters ago, she was old beyond belief. And her face was horribly scarred. Though this woman had scars on her face, they were not horrible, nor did they distract from her inherent loveliness. And why was she so young? Then there was the business about nevering having met, but still having memories of talking together.

  "If our father could call you Sister," Kaylan said as he bowed his head to pay his respects to the woman, "then we may decide to call you Aunt if you will let us."

  Nodding her head as a wry smile appeared on her face, Mar’Gul took time to appraise the young men before her just as she had done to Horbyn. "So, Jeaf told you about his bastard sister, did he?"

  "In detail and with pride," Kaylan quickly answered.

  "And if anyone other than yourself calls you a bastard," the rings of amber light in Travyn's eyes flashed forth as he tapped the hilt of his sword, "they'll have to answer to us for their mistake. You are no such thing since your father loved your mother, and in love you were conceived; so says our father and his mother too."

  Ay'Roan, J'Aryl, and Kaylan said Aye together to emphasis their brother's declaration.

  Though the pain she carried since childhood had been greatly diminished by a combination of Andara's Magic that now dwelt in her and having seen her mother and birth father show deep affection for one another on her trip to the Warl of the Dead, it was not totally gone. Bacchanor said the pain would make her a better Healer. And it did. It also gave her less patience for fools who would ridicule others for things they had no control of.

  "Thanks for the offer. But no one other than myself would dare call me that," Mar’Gul added, the smile now gone from her face.

  "Auntie, that's what you should call her," Bala chimed in from atop Mar’Gul's hut as her wings fluttered in excitement over the wit she was displaying. "But is it Auntie Mar'Gul or Auntie Black Pearl, that’s the question, isn't it?"

  "Mar'Gul will do for friends and enemies alike. The days of being called Black Pearl are long gone. But I must admit, I like what you boys have said so far. It would have been awkward to work with you otherwise, and I'm here to do just that."

  Pausing to look at the two wire-haired hounds and then at Bala, she added, "We're here, all of us, to give you our help. Without it, your father will never be set free."

  Dropping her hands, Mar’Gul turned and lifted the thick leather flap that served as the hut's door. "Follow me," she said over shoulder. "Dog will take care of your horses."

  Dismounting and letting the horses' reins fall to the ground, the brothers nodded at Dog, knowing he was much more than what he appeared to be. Glancing at the other hound, the four took a guess at who they were looking at, but they didn't share their thoughts with Horbyn. If their aunt wasn't going to divulge the canine's identity, neither would they. Mar’Gul was aware of who Horbyn was- and obviously trusted him to some degree because he was being allowed into her hut with them- still, she chose to keep her cards close to her vest regarding her companions.

  Horbyn, who had heard stories about Dog- though the hound wasn't with Mar’Gul when they first met- relinquished his mount as easily as the brothers had theirs since his apprehension wasn’t over his horse, it was over things he couldn't feel.

  It wasn't that the wizard was surprised that the woman had showed up, since she was the one who had spoken to him about the Four Winds blowing on Sky Master's heights in the first place, it was how she showed up that took him off guard. It had the appearance of a coincidence. For they weren't following a map or even directions someone had given them as they traveled along. But Horbyn knew it wasn't by happenstance that they arrived at this exact location. Magic was at work here that he hadn't been aware of. This was unacceptable. If his plans were to come to fruition, he couldn't be subject to things out of his control.

  Just as the brothers had expected, given how many times their father had described the inside of Mar’Gul's hut to them, a bowl-shaped indention sat at the center of the cobblestone-covered floor. This was used for Flying, a lost art that only Mar’Gul still knew how to do. Was this why they were here? Was their aunt going to transport them to another location in Ar Warl using this unusual form of magic?

  Two beds and a large mat that Dog slept on were positioned near the hut's interior walls. Three braziers, filled with lively fires, were spaced about the round-shaped room. Shelves stocked with food stuffs were seen. Bottles filled with dead insects, herbs, powders, and the like were present. Mar’Gul used these to aid her in her work as a Healer.

  "Please be seated in the bowl." Mar’Gul indicated the scoop-shaped indention in the floor.

  "Are you taking us Flying?" Kaylan looked excitedly about. Memorizing all he saw, he hoped to one day be able to master the inscrutable art.

  Horbyn was doing the same thing. Discovering the secret to Flying would be a windfall of immense proportions. It would further distance him from the Hag who didn't have this kind of magic at their disposal.

  "Yes." Mar’Gul looked at Kaylan approvingly. "Flying is what we're about to do."

  One of the more complicated forms of magic, the knowledge of Flying vanished with the demise of the Age of Star's Blood. The danger intrinsic to this method of transportation was the reason why the patterns needed to activate Flying were lost to memory. Too many had died when the magic they wove unraveld while Flying was attempted. Over time, only Mar’Gul- and those who assumed her mantle- retained the knowledge of this illusive and dangerous system of magic.

  "What about our horses?" Ay'Roan, aware of what was about to happen, judged that the horses couldn't be taken along as they went Flying, not when the bowl they sat in barely held the seven of them, including Bala who cocked her head to one side as she listened to each speaker.

  "As I already explained," Mar’Gul said with a matter-of-fact tone, "Dog will take care of the horses. Even now, he's leading them to the Warl of the Neflin where will soon be going."

  "Aye." The thick leather flap that served as the hut's door was pushed abruptly aside by a man who interrupted the conversation with a flair that made his intrusion totally acceptable. "I passed Dog on my way here." Brown, curly hair covered the man's head. A beard just as thick covered his chin and jawline. The intrusion of gray hair was minimal in both places. Dressed as a woodsman, the man swung a large satchel off his shoulder and into the middle of the bowl as he sat down beside the others and added, "He had the horses moving along at good clip. So, we better be off if we're going to beat Dog there."

  Horbyn looked distressed over the new arrival. Another variable had been added to the list of things the wizard needed to control.

  On the other hand, the young men's eyes grew wide with wonder as they looked at the man. Their mouths fell open. For this was one of their father's most cherished friends.

  Taking the brothers in with one all consuming glance, the irrepressible persona he exuded led to a profoundly simple greeting. "How you boy's doing," he asked with a smile. Then before the Oakenfels had time to reply, he added, "You've come looking for your father, have you? Well, that doesn't surprise me with all I've heard about you."

  "Bacchanor?" Ay'Roan looked like a child who had just been given a birthday present. Here was someone he had always wanted to meet, someone who had a zeal for life to match his own, the Brown Wizard, whose specialty was the Magic of Friendship and Shape-Shifting.

  "Of course I'm Bacchanor. Who else would I be?" The man heartily replied before adding, "You're a big fellow, do you know that?"

  Bacchanor, who was no slouch himself, was impressed with Ay'Roan's size. Though he was nearly a head shorter than the young man he was talking to, his shoulders were just as powerful. His fearlessness in battle was just as great. "You must be Ay'Roan. And by th
e looks of you, it's easy to see that Jeaf's your father."

  "By all that is holy," Bacchanor's reddish-brown eyes danced with delight as he turned to look at J'Aryl, "by the looks of you, it's no doubt who your mother is." Of all the boys, J'Aryl looked most like Muriel, though his hair, black as her's, was filled with curls that lay lightly on his head.

  "How is Muriel," the wizard asked.

  "She's as well as a woman can be who has been without her husband for so long." J'Aryl's speaking voice had his mother's timber in it, though it was deeper. Then laughing over his good fortune, J'Aryl added, "She said we would meet you, Bacchanor, if you were still alive. And I must say, the way you burst into the hut was spot on with the description she gave of you. Now all that's needed to complete the picture is a flagon of ale and music."

  "Well, if Muriel said 'a flagon' then I'd have to say her memories of me are fading." Laughing louder than J'Aryl did, laughter that was so infectious even Horbyn found himself chuckling though he had no idea what was so funny, the wizard added, "My boy, a single flagon will never do."

  "And you must be Kaylan." Bacchanor nodded at the brother who was wondering if magic was at work to make him enjoy this type of levity more than he normally did. "I hear you have fondness for water."

  Instead of being offended by the remark, Kaylan, never one to be flippant, was surprised to hear himself say, "More than you know, Old Man."

  "Good. Good." Bacchanor was pleased by Kaylan's reply like the young man had passed a test the wizard had given him.

  "And the one with the unusual eyes has to be Travyn," Bacchanor said with a wry grin. "A perfect blend of both his parents, I would say."

  Smiling a smile as mischievous as the one Mar’Gul had earlier rendered, Travyn answered with a jibe of his own. "My eyes may be unusual, but at least I don't have fleas."

  Silence followed as everyone turned to Horbyn to see if he understood what Travyn's jest meant. When he looked about confused by the attention everyone was giving him and said, "WHAT?" The hut errupted with laughter that caught Horbyn up in its throes, though, for the life of him, he didn't know why. He even found himself laughing at the little green cretchym who was giggling and pointing at him like he was the butt of some joke.