by Rex Hazelton
Hearing the ruckus coming out of the rocky gorge, Ab’Don banked the blazing worm he flew on so that the cretchym could see the hand he lifted up to stop them. Those winged-demons who inherited their father’s yellow hair were the first to recognize that their progenitor didn’t want them following him. These were soon shepherding the rest of the flock of mutants back to their holes.
A group of overly excited cretchym broke free from their more intelligent brothers’ prodding. Not certain what they should do once Ab’Don turned them away, these burned up the energy the Sorcerer’s dramatic exit from the Hall of Voyd had ignited in them by flitting about in the sky above the gorge. It would be some time before they cooled down and made their way back to their lairs.
Satisfied the cretchym were obeying him, Ab’Don pulled the sinewy, winged worm’s head to the left and reclaimed the direction he had been going. North by northeast, he was racing off to Chylgroyd’s Keep and the enclave of Hag who watched over the Hammer of Power and the imprisoned man the Nyeg Warler’s claimed was the Hammer Bearer- Jeaf Oakenfel. The dark wizards had sent a message, saying the keep was under attack. The Sorcerer knew the cretchym would be of little value to him in a conflict that was taking place in a stronghold filled with tunnels. In that place, the advantage of having wings would be lost.
Though this was one of the reasons Ab’Don turned the cretchym back, it wasn’t the main one. In truth, the Sorcerer was confident in his own ability to deal with those troubling Chylgroyd’s Keep without having the cretchym come along The Hag, Malamor, and Orskovyts that were stationed there would provide the Sorcerer with ample muscle, magic, and weaponry to quell the foolish raid. In fact, he was excited by the thought that those stationed at the keep would be relegated to the role of spectators as he put on a show of power that no one else in the warl could match.
Immersed in self-absorbed revelry, the cretchym were all but forgotten as Ab’Don spurred the fiery worm on to greater speed. The chance to practice magic he would use in the coming battle with Nyeg Warl was heating his blood up in a way that hadn’t happened for some time. All the while, the memory of the debacle at the Temple of the Oak Tree flitted about inside his head like it was a mosquito that wanted to sting his brain.
After failing to chase the noisome recollection off, Ab’Don spurred the fiery worm on to even greater speed. Burn the Hammer Bearer to ashes and the intruders he was certain were set on freeing him.
“We need to go now.” Horbyn stepped away from the rock he had been hiding behind.
Looking up at the cretchym that flew erratically about, Kaylan said, “Won’t we be spotted?”
“It can’t be helped,” Horbyn’s big, watery eyes scanned the sky as he rubbed his salt and pepper-colored beard with one of his large hands. After pulling out a candle that was as gray as his robes were, the wizard added, “Risks have to be taken, though the ones we’ll now take are less dangerous with the Sorcerer gone.
“It seems your brothers are doing their part in Chylgroyd’s Keep. They’ve drawn Ab’Don away. Now it’s our turn. With everybody’s attention focused on the problem the Sorcerer is on his way to solve, we need to take advantage of the opportunity that lies before us.”
“An opportunity that includes entering the School of the Hag just as the wizards have been awakened from their sleep by an alarm that is sounding in Chylgroyd’s Keep.” Travyn’s expression was half way between a sneer and a sardonic small as he shook his head over this.
Lamarik’s disapproving eyes bore into Travyn. Fear was unacceptable, especially in one she had an agreement with. But Travyn wasn’t afraid. He was simply stating the obvious. Getting their hands on Crooked Finger wasn’t going to be easy.
Once Travyn placed his hand on the side of Lamarik’s face, mistaking her look for one of concern, and said, Don’t worry, the Neflin relaxed.
“Lamarik,” Kaylan said to comfort the female, “I’ll look after him.”
“You better,” the Neflin’s smile wasn‘t a pleasant one.
“Come,” Horbyn strode off toward the path that would take them down into the gorge.
Taking hold of Lamarik’s wrist with his massive teeth, A’Kadar held on to the Neflin as Travyn turned to follow the gray wizard. After watching the one she had an agreement with disappear into the gorge, Lamarik looked at her friend with eyes glistening with moisture. To say this was the beginning of tears would be too much. To say the moisture couldn’t turn into tears was saying too little.
Letting out a pathetic moan, A’Kadar dropped her hand and sought refuge from the eyes of the cretchym that flew overhead. After pausing for a final look at the glowing fortress, Lamarik reluctantly followed.
****
The steep trail had hundreds of steps cut into the gorge’s hard rock. The black candle wax, covering the steps like accumulated droppings left by countless roosting birds, was purposely placed there by the Hag who had used their magic to shape the stairs more than four hundred winters earlier. Candles the dark wizards used to conjure up their power only left drippings behind when the Hag wanted them too. The wax normally dissipated along with the magic the candle’s flame dispensed.
The hardened wax that Horbyn, Travyn and Kaylan walked on was an essential component to the wards the dark wizards placed on the trail leading to the Hall of Voyd’s back door. Endowed with the ability to sense those who traversed the rocky way, the path acted like a long, winding tongue that tasted people, beasts, and the magic they possessed as they passed over it. If any of these were foreign to the Hag, the wards would summon the monsters living in the gorge to come and destroy the trespassers. Fortunately, the tiny flame that subtlety swayed atop Horbyn’s gray candle kept the ward from denying them passage. Though the magic that wafted out of the little flame felt peculiar, it was familiar enough to the wards that it kept them from sounding their alarm.
The path the men descended was lit by light coming from the prematurely awakened hall. The moon wasn’t visible inside the deep gorge. Since the shadow Horbyn cast whenever his body was fully exposed to the hall’s illumination was darker than the gray robe he wore, this gave the illusion that his robe was black from a distance. A fortunate illusion indeed. The flame that swayed atop of Horbyn’s candle diverted attention from its color, making it easy for one to assume it was black. Thinking it could be gray was simply out of the question, especially since the wards kept quiet.
With all of this going for them, the three thieves remained unmolested as they wound their way downward towards the river that flowed beneath them. Once the trio was within an easy stone toss from the water‘s edge, and the Hall of Voyd’s distinctive construction rose high above them on the waterway‘s far side, the men heard a scrambling sound coming toward them from upriver. Dulled by the river’s incessant murmur, the sound was hard to define. The men could only tell that the noise was made by multiple creatures.
“No matter what you see,” Horbyn’s jaws clenched as he spoke, “stay on the trail. Death waits for us beyond its boundaries.”
Timed perfectly with the conclusion of the gray wizard‘s warning, a massive insect scrambled into view. Bigger than a large boar, the creature was followed by others of its kind. With pincer-like mandibles that were protruding from their heads, looking like long scythes busy doing their work, the wide bodies they were connected to were covered with yellow hair, the tell-tale sign that Ab’Don had created the monsters. In places where the hair failed to cover the insects’ rounded backs, glossy exoskeletons were visible that looked like the kind cockroaches were sheathed in.
In time, more mutant insects of the same kind came into view, so many, they looked like a stampeding herd of weirdly-shaped cattle.
“If they don’t stop,” with the Hall of Voyd so near, Kaylan resisted shouting, “we’ll be trampled.”
“Pull out your long knives if you must, but keep your candles and swords sheathed,” Horbyn commanded. To call on magic here, on this trail that is the antitheses to the kind the Hag used to c
arve out the stairs, would be suicide.
Looking like the monstrous bugs were dodging an invisible giant who was trying to stomp on them, the insects suddenly scattered. In the area they had vacated, another insect scurried into sight. Looking like a row of wagons were hitched to one another, the thing wound its way through the beetle-like monsters carried on legs too numerous to count. Clearly a centipede was used to make this creature. Much bigger than its prey, the insect clamped onto a yellow-haired bug that scrambled too close to it, winding its huge body around its meal as it did. Other centipede’s appeared as the chaos increased. More prey were subdued. Squeals and near-human-like screams were heard coming out of the melee.
Heedless of the danger the men posed, three of the hair-covered insects rushed forward.
With long knives at the ready, the brothers were surprised when the massive bugs were brought up short by an invisible barrier the wards had erected to protect the trail while Hag were using it.
One of the insects slid down the invisible obstacle, looking like it was being cooked in a skillet as its dead body pressed up against the Hag construction. Another was lifted up and tossed on its back by the force of colliding with the enchanted impediment. The third, trying to scramble over the magic that protected the path, was quickly devoured by Hag sorcery. The centipede-like thing that had been chasing them avoided the barrier as it wrapped itself around the monster that had been thrown onto its back. As close as it had gotten, the men could see how really big it was. The image of wagons hitched together was indeed appropriate.
A shadow that crossed over the men turned their gaze to the sky above the river where they saw a cretchym fluttering motionlessly in mid-air as it intently looked at them and the writhing insects. Hair longer than women wear, fell down from a narrow head that looked like it had been pressed in a vice. A torso consisting of two large oval-shaped parts joined together by a short, narrow tube hung below the strange head. Human skin covered the winged-demon’s unusually long, lean arms, its thumbs, and the two elongated fingers found on each of its hands. Its legs, just as slender and long, were encased in a black exoskeleton. So too were the feet that had three toes matching the fingers in length.
Held aloft by four wings that worked in tandem, the creature’s eerily human face looked puzzled as it studied the men. Its yellow eyes blinked as it tried to comprehend what it was seeing. It had never seen a Hag wearing a gray robe before. Its close proximity allowed the thing to make the correct assessment. Then it lifted up into the air and flew off to the Hall of Voyd.
“Should we be worried?” Kaylan spoke as he watched the cretchym disappear into the Hall of Voyd’s collection of buildings and the tangle of magically engineered cables that held them together.
“I’m certain the cretchym will report to the Hag.” Horbyn turned to Kaylan after studying the island. “But I think a description of the insects fighting will be given as much attention as the account of the three of us. If we’re lucky, we’ll be nothing more than an addendum to the battle’s narrative. Regardless, I don’t think the Hag will pay much heed to the cretchym’s report with the Sorcerer exiting the Hall of Voyd the way he did. The focus of their thoughts are surely elsewhere.”
“Let’s hope you’re right,” Travyn wasn’t convinced their presence on the trail would get lost in the shuffle.
While the centipede-monsters finished their meal, the men worked their way down to the river’s edge where a boat was tied to a narrow dock. Shallow and long, it sat empty.
Before the brothers could set foot on the wooden walkway, Horbyn stopped them. “Wait until you’re invited,” he intoned with a sense of breathy urgency.
Hearing this, Kaylan and Travyn began looking about for the one who would extend them an invitation.
Filled with swiftly moving water, the river emptied out of a large whirlpool that butted up against the island’s end nearest to the mountain heights. Here the waterway divided into two channels, one that swept past the dock they were standing before, and another that ran on the other side of the Hall of Voyd and the tangled complex covering the island. A series of waterfalls were visible higher up in the gorge. But the rocky shoreline was bare. No one was around. And there really wasn’t any place to hide.
“Is someone supposed to meet us?” Kaylan asked as he continued searching.
“Aye,” Horbyn replied, “the Ferryman.”
“Where is this ferryman… hiding under the peer?” Travyn’s sarcastic streak had gotten the better of him.
“He’s there in the boat.” Horbyn’s large, watery eyes focused on the craft that was tied up to the narrow dock. “He just hasn’t showed himself yet.”
With that said, the wizard spoke to the boat. “Will you give us passage over the river?”
As soon as Horbyn finished, a shadow appeared in the vessel‘s far end. As it deepened, a hooded figure was seen seated inside it. Long, pale looking hands, extending beyond prodigious sleeves, pushed off of knees hidden beneath the folds of a black robe. Groaning under the burden of having to lift his own weight, the Ferryman stood. Feet as bony and pale as his hands were could be seen below the Ferryman’s robe’s hem. Only unbroken darkness could be seen inside the garment’s wide hood.
Shuffling along the length of the craft that refused to sway in spite of his imposing size, for the stranger had to be head and shoulders taller than Horbyn, the Ferryman moved steadily toward the front of the boat where he groaned again as he stepped up onto the narrow peer. Turning to face the men, he reached out a long, bony finger and beckoned them forward.
“Stay behind me,” Horbyn instructed the brothers as he went to meet the Ferryman. “And whatever you do, don’t speak.”
With his back to the river, the light radiating out of the Hall of Voyd did little to help reveal the Ferryman’s countenance. Thus the brothers lacked the cues that a facial expression would provide. Adding insult to injury, the ambient evil surrounding the island was so profound that it nullified their Powers of Intuition. As a result, Kaylan and Travyn had no idea what to expect from the Ferryman. Had he called them closer to strike them down? Would the narrow dock they walked on lift off its moorings and wrap them up like it was one of the giant centipede creatures they had seen? Since Horbyn seemed to think this wouldn’t happen, the brothers decided to set their disconcerting thoughts aside.
Reaching his hand out with its palm aimed down, the Ferryman’s voice sounded old and tired as he said, “Show me your Power.”
As big as Horbyn was, he looked like a child whose father was inspecting his hands to make certain they had been properly washed for dinner.
“My Power is yours to examine.” The gray wizard lifted the candle he carried until its flame touched the Ferryman’s palm.
Lowering his head in concentration, the Ferryman gave a delighted moan as he said, “Your flame warms my cold hand, but its Power has grown weak. If it was diminished any more, I wouldn’t grant you passage to the Hall of Voyd. Why has your Power weakened?”
“I’ve been away from the Hall of Voyd for far too long,” Horbyn explained. “I need the Fellowship of Darkness my brothers can give me. Then I can rejoin those who revel in dispensing pain so that my Power can be renewed. I have grown soft since last I ran with the Dogs of Despair. I must taste blood again so that my strength can return.”
“Good.” The Ferryman nodded his hooded head in approval of Horbyn’s desire to engage in the rituals the Hag used to fill themselves with their dark magic. “Then I will give you passage to the Hall of Voyd, but those who are with you are another matter. Who are they?”
The Ferryman’s fingers slowly moved up and down as he absorbed the flame’s magic. Forced into servitude that had lasted for more than three-hundred long winters, the curse that kept the Ferryman in bondage required he feed on Hag Power to maintain the strength he needed to complete his tasks. It was at these moments, when the candle’s flame caressed the palm of his hand, that he felt most alive. Warmed by Horbyn’s candle, the
Ferryman wanted the wizard to be a satisfied customer who would desire to use the Ferryman‘s services again, thus, ensuring he would be fed once more. Still, as one of the Hall of Voyd’s gatekeepers, he had an obligation to know the identities of those who sought passage to the Sorcerer’s stronghold.
“Can’t you feel the magic they possess? Hmmmm.” The Ferryman pulled his hand away from the candle’s flame as he assessed the two strangers. “I sense a distasteful emanation coming from them. …Should I be concerned? Your weakness and their foulness makes me wonder.”
The moment Horbyn had been dreading had arrived. All was now balanced on a knife’s edge. What was said next would determine if the quest would continue or not, since they couldn’t cross the river without the Ferryman’s help. “You’re right. Their magic is crude and bent in a direction a Hag would never go. But the school will set them on the right path.”
Hiding the brothers’ apparent gifts would raise more suspicion than throwing the shutters open to let others get a look at what was inside the house. So, Horbyn stated the obvious, though he avoided giving any details.
“They’re recruits?” The Ferryman lowered his hand halfway back to the flame he longed to embrace again.
“If I don’t miss my guess,” Horbyn smiled a crooked smile that was in keeping with the ploy he was using, “they’ll make a fine pair of Hag if they pass the tests that await them. And once they do, I’m sure they’ll return and pay the debt they’ll owe you for giving them passage.”
Lowering his hand the rest of the way to the flame, the Ferryman said, “Very good. But let me draw on your candle’s magic a little while longer before we depart.