Vlad'War's Anvil

by Rex Hazelton

  The Sorcerer's desire for vengeance was the reason that the roads the Oakenfel brothers traveled on while in the Warl of the Brie'Shen were overgrown by the unrestrained forest and the village they entered was abandoned to decay. No one was left to tend to them. All that survived the purge were far away living in hiding.

  Driven to find a way to survive in the most inhospitable locations found in Ar Warl , where Ab'Don's agents were loathe to go becuase of there remoteness, the Brie'Shen had become more dangerous than ever. Entering the canyons and craggy heights of both the Black and Great Ral Mountains, where the outlaws were holed up, was risky business even for the Hag.

  With so little ariable land at their disposal, the Brie'Shen survived by raiding the nearest lowlands where they took enough food to feed themselves, but not so much that they made it impossible for the farms they regularly preyed on to turn a profit.

  On the other hand, the Neflin withdrew into the forest depths when the raiders came to exact the Sorcerer's punishment on them. Too swift, at home in the greenwood that was a haven to countless generations of their kind, the Lorn Elves easily evaded the brunt of the attacks only to return to rebuild their homes once the Sorcerer's exapserated minions gave up the chase.

  Though Ab'Don's attempt to eradicate the troublesome Brie'Shen had failed, his attacks had husbanded a root of bitterness that wound its way into the depths of the outlaws' psyches to become an anger that could barely be contained. And above all else, the name Jeaf Oakenfel threatened to unleash the beast, for the Brie'Shen were unable to separate him from their present sorrows. In their minds, they were one and the same. If he was indeed the Hammer Bearer of Prophecy, the good he was supposed bring to the Ar was something the Brie'Shen came to doubt would ever be theirs. Many cynically thought the only role the Brie'Shen had in the prophetic scheme of things was to be the eggs Jeaf Oaknefel would break to make the omlette others would gain nourishment from so they would have strength to continue the fight against the Sorcerer. To the Brie'Shen, Jeaf's presence was viewed as a bad omen. What would they think of his four sons' arrival?

  "Jeaf Oakenfel is held prisoner in Chylgroyd's Keep, east of the Bjornsulgard Mountains," Horbyn answered Mar’Gul's question in calm, even tones, aware that his presence would be unsettling to many.

  "And we're to believe this rebel Hag?" The man, who Travyn had wondered if he was Aeroth or not, asked as he swung his eyes to look Horbyn over with the same alarming interest he had shown the Nyeg Warler.

  "The Warl's Magic works in unexpected ways," Baccahnor smiled disarmingly as he spoke, hoping to ameliorate the situation.

  "I've told you the history that my predicessor had with this man." Mar’Gul was not only a commanding figure, something her days as a highwayman had perfected, she was beautiful too, in spite of the faded scars that lined her face.

  "If you recall cousin, the Hag attacked the Brie'Shen."

  "If it makes any difference," Horbyn quietly added, "I wasn't with the Hag who assaulted you."

  "But you would have been, if your Master gave you the order."

  "At that time, I would have had no other choice but to obey him as you've said. But he's never been my Master, not the monster who had my mother murdered. And now that I've thrown my lot in with the Oakenfel's, a fact he'll discover soon enough, I would not obey his slightest command though I would lose my life for so doing. It's time the Sorcerer pays for my mother's murder and for all the other killings he's responsible for. And I believe the Hammer Bearer offers us the best chance of collecting that debt."

  "You expect me to believe this?" The man's eyes grew darker than before. "What if you're a spy?"

  "The Four Winds have arrived, looking for their father, and I know where he can be found. Go ahead and disregard the information I've provided and take the Oakenfels to your hideout where you can grow old together trying to discover what I've already told you."

  "We can trust him." Kaylan looked at the humans and Neflin that turned their attention his way before providing the answer they were waiting for. "Andara's Tear responds to his call. It would not do so if he was a spy as you fear."

  Two pairs of dark eyes locked on to each other, though Kaylan's hair was the color of sweet honey and the man's hair was as black as a raven's feathers.

  Silence ruled until the man said, "Show me."Horbyn looked to Mar’Gul for direction. After she caught Dog's coal black eyes, for the great hound who lay at her feet softly growling, she lifted her head and nodded to the wizard.

  Standing up to his full height, for he was a tall man, Horbyn reached into the sleeve of a robe, that grew more gray by the day, and extracted a small golden sphere. Holding it on a hand whose palm was open, the wizard breathed across the orb and sent a cloud of magical amber light wafting the man's way.

  When it swept over him, his eyes grew large and his clenched jaws relaxed for a moment, but only for a moment. After pursing his lips in thought, he finally said, "All right Hag, you've passed the first test. So, for now, we'll listen to your plan. But be warned, other tests will come. After all, we live in Ar Warl, not some fairytale warl like the Nyeg where heroes are above suspicion. And as you for you four," the man adressed the brothers,"you'll have to prove yourselves too, since the last time we helped your family, the Brie'Shen suffered terribly for what many of our kin think was misguided generosity. I won't let that happen again, not without you receiving worse than what is given to us. I swear this before all who are here."

  The Brie'Shen that sat beside the man said "Aye" loud enough to make certain the Oakenfels understood this was a threat that would be carried out. Having descended from the Fane J'Shrym who everyone despised for letting the Age of Star's Blood die, and now being driven into hiding by those who hated the Brie'Shen name they had concealed themselves behind for so long, the outlaws had no other course but to chose, for now at least, to cling to the waning hope that the prophecies of the Hammer Bearer were true. But if they caught the slightest hint that this was a fool's bet, the disreputed race would put an end to the source of their disappointment and stoically return to the task of surviving in a warl that had little room for them.

  "I understand everyone's posturing." It was J'Aryl who spoke up. "And I'm sorry for the horrors that have befallen Ar Warl. But the fact remains, a war is coming. The very earthquake that decimated Lan'Fon tells us that. For the shakings will not cease until the Nyeg and Ar complete their journey back to the place where an ancient magic separated the two. And on that day, a war of unparalleled magnitude will erupt."

  Bacchanor was amazed at how much J'Aryl looked like his mother: his skin and hair color were a perfect match to hers; his build was a masculine counterpart to Muriel's own; his eyes looked like the way her's did in the Battle of Decision- clear, decisive, without a trace of fear.

  After the Battle of Cave of Forgetfulness, where Muriel had slain Schmar, the shadow his abuse had cast over her was driven away by the light of her triumph. No longer was she unsure of herself. No longer did she wonder if she deserved a place in the Warl of Man. No longer did she see herself as a victim. She had lost her innocence to sadistic men and pitiless monsters, and found hope for her future when she discovered courage to sing the Song of Breaking that shattered the dark spell that had imprisoned her.

  Because she was willing to face the demon and take back all he had stolen from her, Muriel's children partook of the fruit of her triumph.

  "The question at hand is not if you will fight or not," J'Aryl looked about, challenging the others to say otherwise, "but who's side you will fight on, the Hammer Bearer's or the Sorcerer's. If Ab'Don wins the war, that will soon draw all of us into its grasp, there'll not be a place far enough from the Sorcerer where people can safetly hide. And hope that his reign might end will utterly perish."

  "He's right." One of the men threw his hood off of his head, revealing a face that was the human counterpart to a predatory bird. An aquiline nose sat beneath penetrating yellow-colored eyes that blinked in raptor-like
rythm. His pouting lips belied a mouth that was on the small side. Hair, as yellow as his eyes, rose in spikes that could have been mistaken for feathers from a distance.

  Horbyn sucked in air as he saw the face of the one he hated so- the Sorcerer who had murdered his mother.

  "Once my father conquers the Nyeg, he'll thoroughly clean rabble like the Brie'Shen, who some say carry the blood of the Fane J'shrym in their veins, out of his realm. He'll have Mar’Gul put to death and extinguish the light that Andara's Tears emit. No longer fearing that the expenditure of magic needed to do this would leave him vulnerable to his enemies, the perpetual twilight that engulfs the Ar's soul will turn to darkest night as he does what he has long wanted to do. For I assure you, my father has not done his worst yet. The remnant of Vlad'War and Andara's magic has not allowed him to, nor the threat that Nyeg Warl poses to his dominion with its Candle Makers and now the arrival of the Prophetess."

  Catching himself as his words rolled freely from his mouth, words choked with the sour ruminations that filled his mind for as long as he could remember, the man said. "My name is Dandaryll. I'm Ab'Don's bastard son and not he himself."

  He finished with a wry chuckle over Horbyn mistaking him for the Sorcerer. After all, he had the misfortune of looking like the Sorcerer. All of Ab'Don's children did, though none, except Dandaryll, had lived long enough to reach maturity. The others were slain long before this could happen.

  Since the Sorcerer planned on living forever, his present longevity proving the point, he had no need for an heir. And he certainly didn't want anyone with blood that gave them a claim to his throne pumping through their veins. Only Isham, his aunt and lover, had been permitted to live. All other relatives had been disposed of long ago, ususally in the most painful ways. For how dare they think they could carry even a trace of what makes Ab’Don so glorious inside their pitiful selves.

  As it so happened, Dandaryll's mother lived after the Sorcerer raped her. Her beauty, that had drawn his unwanted attention, led to the violation. Dropping his hands from Dandaryll's mother's throat when he thought her murder was complete, Ab'Don didn't see the light come back into the young woman's eyes as he turned to leave the scene of his crime.

  Once she reaized she was with child, not blaming the child for what had happened to her, Dandaryll's mother went to stay with relatives who lived in a village that Ab'Don had never visited, a place where he didn't have opportunity to rape anyone. There, her child's lineage wouldn't be easily traced. The only fear was that her son's appearance would be too much like Ab'Don's as he grew.

  Using dye, she hid his hair color. Making him wear a hood at all times, she hid his eyes and the finely-honed features that would have been easily recognized by anyone who had seen the Sorcerer in person.

  This had worked well until a Shadowman came to the romote village in pursuit of an outlaw who had been holed up in the area. Seeing the lad's hood fall off his head as he played with the other young people living in the village, recognizing what the faint stains on the skin at the edges of Dandaryll's scalp were, he went to the boy's mother to find out who he was.

  Afraid that something like this might one day happen, Dandaryll's mother poured a small vile of poison she always carried with her into the pitcher of water she offered to pour the dangerous stranger a drink from. This was a desperate act indeed since the Shadowmen were masters at dealing with treachery, though they were usually the ones to dispense the bitter deeds. And it shouldn't have worked. But the Shadowman, who was numbered among the throng of black leather-clad assassins Ab'Don used to keep order in his realm, was caught up in the woman's beauty, a beauty that had not faded since the day it had made her a target for rape. And in a moment of weakness, taken back by the woman's captivating loveliness, he took hold of the cup of death so his fingers could brush against the graceful hand that offered it to him and took a drink. Shortly afterwards, the plans he had been making to take more than a drink from the woman were cut short as he quickly slipped into neverending slumber and slumped lifelessly in his chair.

  Fleeing for a second time, Dandaryll's mother ascended into the Great Ral Mountains heights with her son in tow. There, though she knew the odds were against them, she and her son would try to survive on their own. Since she had killed a Shadowman, and knew others would follow to try to solve the mystery of his disappearance, she felt she had no other choice. With Dandaryll looking more like his father each day, being isolated was the only hope he had of staying alive.

  That's when luck finally found Dandaryll and his mother since the barren heights she had retreated to were not uninhabited, refugees from a purge the Sorcerer had ordered to be carried out against the Brie'Shen were present. In time, Dandaryll's mother met the outlawed people that were her neighbors in the mountain hideout, and a friendship was formed. When each came to know the other's story, the relationship deepened.

  Fortunately, the Brie'Shen didn't kill Dandaryll off hand. Instead, they pitied him for who his father was. Later, their pity turned to admiration when they discovered the depth of the hatred he bore for the one who tried to kill his mother, a hatred that sealed their friendship. In time, Dandaryll was accepted as one of the Brie'Shen's own. After all, both he and the clansmen had lineages they wanted to keep concealed.

  "Don't fear, My Good Hag or whatever you are, I'm just the bastard son of the one who murdered your mother. And if my father knew of my existence, he would have me join her in the Warl of the Dead as soon as possible."

  The firelight playing across Dandaryll's face gave him a sinister aspect. Or, maybe, it was simply revealing features that Ar Warl had come to associate with wickedness. Regardless, Horbyn was unsettled by the man's appearance.

  "Strange bedfellows," Horbyn said as he calmed himself by running his hand through his salt and pepper-colored hair.

  "Indeed," Dandaryll added. "I never dreamed that I would think of partnering with a Hag."

  "Don't call me a Hag," Horbyn said with a touch of rancor, "and I won't call you Ab'Don's Bastard."

  "Fair enough, Old Man."

  "Horbyn, please."

  "Alright... Horbyn it is." Dandaryll considered the wizard for a time before adding, "Whether it's luck or misfortune that's brought us together is yet to be determined. But from what I'm hearing, we all want to remove the blade the Sorcerer holds to our throats."

  Turning his bright yellow eyes on J'Aryl, Dandaryll continued. "If we must posture before one another, let us avoid doing so in a way that keeps us from working together to reach our common goal. In Ar Warl, it's hard to keep from being suspicious of anything that moves. But we mustn't let our fears hamstring us. Then Ab'Don would win. For he is not only my father, he's the father of the fears that prod us into posturing."

  "Still Dandaryll, I'll kill these Nyeg Warlers if they don't keep their end of the bargain it seems we will strike." The man with the twin hilts of the swords he had strapped to his back had spoken. His dark eyes looked like polished stones juxtiposed to his pale skin.

  "Poroth, my friend," Dandaryll looked at the Oakenfels with raptor-like eyes, "then I would help you."

  Bala, who had been petting Dog, drew attention to herself with a flutter of her wings and a loud hurrrumph.

  Taking notice of the cretchym again, for he had watched her in fascination when she flew in to join the gathering, Dandaryll cocked his head sideways as a strange thought struck him: Some would say she's my sister since Ab'Don is as much her father as he is mine. Then he chuckled over the odd notion.

  Mistaking the reason for his wry laughter, Bala squinted, pusrsed her lips, and slowly lifted her wings into a rigid position as she noted Dandaryll's disrespect.

  So his name is Poroth, Travyn surmised as he gazed at the man who he thought was Aeroth. He must be Aeroth's son. The amber rings that sat in his eyes lit up in the shadow his flat-brimmed hat cast as he added to his thoughts. And what of Garyth? Is he still alive?

  The Brie'Shen murmured among themselves as they caught sight
of Travyn's unusual eyes and the light they emitted. Dandaryll's eyes blinked raptor-like. Poroth sneered.

  "My brothers and I will play our part in any plan that is made as long as it doesn't keep us from helping our father." Ay'Roan squared his broad shoulders. "And once he's freed, if we can free him, we won't run off to leave you to deal with the consequences of our actions. How could we when the Hammer of Power came to Ar Warl of its own accord. And I don't think it plans on leaving anytime soon, not if the magic Vlad'War endowed it with has any say in the matter. And where it goes, we'll follow even if it leads us straight to the Hall of Voyd."

  "You'll swear to this?" Poroth asked Ay'Roan.

  "I swear it on the name of my father, Jeaf Oakenfel, the one Vlad'War has entrusted the care of his child to."

  "Then we will help you." Poroth stood as he spoke. The rest of the Brie'shen followed his lead as the bargain was struck. "And we'll fight to the death.'

  "To the death," Ay'Roan replied as his brothers stood beside him, "or until the Sorcerer has been beaten."

  "To the death," Travyn growled out.

  "To victory," J'Aryl added.

  "To freedom," Kaylan said while a far away look crept into his eyes as memories of Lylah and the Warl of Vapor came to mind.

  "Well," Bacchanor slapped his thigh before he stood. "now that’s over, bring on the food and drink so we'll have strength to make our plans."

  And with that said, the Neflin hosts brought in the victuals and drink the Brown Wizard had asked for. But instead of diving into the feast's offerings like the others did, Bacchanor took up a lute and strolled about playing a tune that warmed the heart and stirred the imagination. Soon, Neflin musicians joined the wizard to help him dispense his magic.