Vlad'War's Anvil

by Rex Hazelton

  The Ferryman uttered sounds that normally were aroused while enjoying a delicious meal as the candle‘s flame spread across his palm. Taking a break from his time of ecstasy, the tall man glanced over his shoulder at the Hall of Voyd‘s unusual activity that was noticeably slowing down. Fewer lights could be seen as many of the Hag returned to their rooms and the sleep that had been disrupted by their Master‘s untimely exit.

  Not permitted to surpass a prescribed time for feeding from a single candle, lest the Ferryman inadvertently harm the Hag who was asking for passage, the tall man withdrew his hand and sighed as he concluded, “We better be going. The sun will be up soon and my services will be in greater demand.”

  After situating his passengers in his long, narrow craft, the Ferryman went to stand at the place where he had originally been seated. Once there, he gave a warning to Kaylan and Travyn, who he thought were recruits: “Don’t touch the water. And whatever you do, don’t fall overboard or I’ll never get repaid for my kindness.”

  With that said, the Ferryman turned to face the island and the boat moved away from the dock without any visible help from an oar, sail, or pole. Looking like a carved bowhead on a great sea-going vessel, the Ferryman stood statue still as the craft quietly slipped over the river’s surface.

  After gazing into the river for a time, Kaylan pointed at the water and said, “What’s that?”

  Rings of amber light appeared as Travyn replied. “Ashes! There are people down there!”

  “Indeed there are,” Horbyn explained as he looked at the throng anchored to the river’s bottom. Though the night darkened the water, the faint greenish glow that emanated from the bodies made them look like blades of seaweed that jostled about in the erratic current flowing out of the whirlpool spinning about at the island‘s southern end. Arms loosely swaying above their heads accentuated this impression.

  “Why are they there?” Kaylan was repulsed by the sight. “And what keeps the river from carrying them away?”

  “The Sorcerer has cast an enchantment over the water that surrounds the Hall of Voyd, making it impossible for anyone but the Ferrymen to cross the river. That‘s what accounts for the glow emanating from those below.”

  “There’s more than one Ferryman?” Travyn asked as he searched the depths.

  “Four doors. Four Ferrymen. There are also two bridges that cross the rivers where they meet north of the island. But we can’t see them from here.”

  “Did those people fall into the water?” Travyn leaned away from the boat’s edge as he spoke.

  “Some did. All who fall into the grasp of the enchantment that fills the river will never rise. That’s why the Ferryman gave us a warning. He doesn’t want to lose anyone who can repay him with the warmth of a candle’s flame for ferrying them across the river.”

  “So he wants to save us from drowning?”

  “You wouldn’t drown. And none that you see are dead.”

  “They’re alive?” Kaylan considered diving into the water to save the poor people. His relationship to the Mythorians took his fear of water away no matter how deep and cold it was or how strong its current might be. He doubted an enchantment cast over a body of water would affect the waterkynd. And he was married to one.

  Lylah called their union Coming Together. Since Kaylan had entered the Realm of Vapor, where his transition from the Warl of Man forced him to undergo the same transformation the waterkynd experienced when they changed realms, he suspected he might be immune to the spell the Sorcerer cast over the river. But now wasn’t the time to find out if this was true, not when Horbyn’s daughter needed rescuing and Crooked Finger remained in Ab’Don’s control.

  “Yes.” Horbyn’s reply shook Kaylan out of his reverie. “The enchantment keeps them alive”

  “But why do such a thing!?” Travyn angrily inquired.

  “Originally Ab’Don cast his spell on the river to create an impassable mote around the Hall of Voyd back in the days of his conquest. Afterward, he took people from every kingdom and tribe that he subdued and threw them in the river where he held them as hostages to ensure those he had defeated would obey him.

  “You see, children of kings stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the offspring of noblemen who had sworn allegiance to them in the days they warred against the Sorcerer. Men and women of influence were forced to join them. A strategic portion of commoners were added to the growing multitude.

  “Once the generation the hostages belonged to passed away, Ab’Don kept the captives to remind their descendents of just how ruthless he could be if they were foolish enough to rebel against him.”

  “Can they see us as we pass overhead?” Travyn had to know.

  “I‘m not certain. They could be asleep or they might be awake. But if they are, I doubt if their senses are intact after all they‘ve had to endure. At least, I hope they’re not.”

  “They’re like our father.” Kaylan spoke his fear. “They’re imprisoned by magic that keeps them alive while preventing them from being the people they once were.”

  Aware of the Sorcerer’s ability to dismantle the mental state of any he set his eye on, Horbyn didn’t reply. Nor did Travyn add anything to what his brother said. With Jeaf brought to mind, each was left wondering what was happening in Chylgroyd’s Keep where Ay’Roan and J’Aryl’s attempt to rescue their father had drawn the Sorcerer away from the Hall of Voyd.

  The boat gently bumping against a dock made out of stone brought everyone’s attention back to the task at hand. Without his passengers knowing it, the boat’s captain had turned the long, narrow craft around and was now standing at the end of the vessel farthest from shore. Without a word said, the Ferryman sat down in the same hunched over position that the men had first seen him in. Then the robe-draped figure simply vanished like he had been a shadow cast by a passing cloud.

  The boat didn’t move in the least as the men stepped onto the stone dock. Not a ripple could be seen in the water the vessel touched. It was like the craft and the peer were both made out of rock.

  Threads of magical excretions, as thick as a man’s thumb, were strewn across the dock. Those many times thicker spread across the rocks that lay between the hall’s battlements and the river’s edge. Extending out from the fortress wall that encircled the islands lower reaches, these acted like roots that anchored the complex in place. But there was more to them than this.

  Resembling veins that rise up on a person’s neck and arms as they lift a heavy weight, the cords were in keeping with the Hall of Voyd’s organic character; and like veins, the tube-shaped extensions poured the Sorcerer’s spell out into Ar Warl. At the same time, the cords sucked in the life force that made living things spring into existence. Out went the darkness. In came the food it fed upon.

  To expand Ab’Don’s influence, the Hall of Voyd had been sending cords throughout Ar Warl since the day he came into power. Always wanting more, never satisfied with what he possessed, the Sorcerer had the Hag continually extending the reach of the magical protrusions until, if one had a bird’s eye view of Ar Warl and the ability to see the myriad of rope-like extensions that laced their way through the ground below, the Hall of Voyd would look like a heart attached to an elaborate network of veins and arteries.

  A third image that stood alongside that of roots and veins was webbing. Not only did the cables spread the Sorcerer’s influence out into the realm he ruled over and, in turn, sucked up the nourishment that was found there, they also acted like a spider’s web that detects movement. In this case, the movement was the use of anything supernatural.

  Able to feel the magic that flowed out of the Hall of Voyd through the crystallized veins, Kaylan and Travyn were sure, as near as they were to the island stronghold, their magic potential could be felt. At least this is what Horbyn told them. That’s why he concocted the story about the brothers that he told the Ferryman, a story he would need to use again if he was confronted by the Hag.

  Just like the rocky stairs the men descend
ed to reach the river, black candle wax lay underfoot. But where it coated most of the steps, here it was splattered about like the Hag had used their candles to fling it on the path that led to the Hall of Voyd. While the Sorcerer’s magic’s soot-liked discharge dirtied the trail, the candle’s black drippings were distinctly darker. With the same wax coating the edges of the round-shaped opening that appeared at the end of the path the men were using, an opening that led into the School of the Hag, it made the portal look like a blackened eye socket stuck in the base of the battlements spreading out before them.

  The opening lacked a door. It didn’t need one. Few things wanted to enter the Hall of Voyd. And those that did, did so without planning to do harm to either the stronghold or its inhabitants. The Sorcerer’s ubiquitous magic would easily detect such intentions. That’s why Horbyn instructed the brothers to focus their thinking on thievery alone. To steal a candle, a robe, a short sword, or any number of things would be considered an innocent passtime in a place where men’s souls were sought after. An assassin would be easily identified and apprehended, whereas, a thief might be overlooked.

  The problem with Horbyn’s advice lay in the object the men wanted to steal- Crooked Finger. With the inimitable talisman held in one’s mind, especially if the thought was focused on theft, the Hall of Voyd’s magic might take the trouble to notice.

  After passing through the portal, the men could see that the walls surrounding them looked like massive coils of rope had been wound around a tunnel that was wide enough for ten men to walk abreast of one another. Though the coils continued underfoot, the floor was flat like a giant trawl had been used to smooth out the malleable tubes before they had time to harden on the day the tunnel was made. This made walking easy.

  But before the three men could get too comfortable, the coils moved. Cracks appeared in the floor that aligned with the indentions found between the cords on the walls. Then the cords moved again, so much so, it was clear that they were constricting like the coils of a snake. Continuing to tighten, the cords quickly reduced the size of the passageway the men stumbled through as they struggled to maintain their footing. As fast as the coils were constricting, the three were certain to be crushed before they had time to get clear of the tunnel.

  Falling to one knee to keep his balance as he held his candle aloft, Horbyn shouted out a torrent of words in an indiscernible tongue. Still the tunnel kept constricting, shoving the men against one another. But before Horbyn was knocked to the floor by the press, his gray candle turned black, its flame grew in size and brightness, and the passageway ceased moving.

  Within the burgeoning light’s expanse, Kaylan and Travyn saw that Horbyn’s robes had become as black as his candle. What was happening, they wonder? Had they fallen into a trap the Hag had set for them? Were Horbyn’s true colors, so to speak, coming to light?

  As the brothers reached for their swords, those infused with Vlad’War and Andara’s Magic, to protect themselves if foul play were afoot, the black-robed wizard shouted once again. “Stay your hands, there’s no treachery here.”

  To add proof to what Horbyn had said, his candle’s illumination intensified. As it did, the coils retreated before the advancing brilliance. Before long, the passageway looked as it did when the men first entered. Still, Horbyn’s robe remained as black as his candle was.

  To deal with any concerns the brother’s had the wizard added, “I had to cast a vile spell on myself to counteract what I’m becoming. If I hadn’t done this, the passageway would have crushed us to death. Unlike the Ferryman, this place doesn’t feed on my candle’s flame. Focusing only on my weakened Power, the hall presumed I was an intruder. So, I had to become what I once was to change its mind. Thus, I renewed the vows that I made on the day I became a Hag. And like before… the darkness heeded my call.”

  “Have you changed then?” Kaylan asked.

  “Yes.” Horbyn’s normally watery, gray eyes looked hard as ice. “But I can still be trusted. For the evil I have let embrace me is not aimed at you, and my desire to free my daughter has not lessened. I need you. And I promise that as long as I do… you’ll be safe. Afterwards, maybe my robe will fade again? If it does, it will be better for us all.”

  “Come.” Horbyn turned his icy gaze away from the brothers as he scanned the widening passageway. “Though evil has gained a stronger foothold in me, we are now safer than we were before.”

  Hurrying through the tunnel, with his black robe flapping behind him, Horbyn led the brothers through a warren of hallways that filled the Sorcerer’s stronghold. Different from the round portal that ran through the base of the battlements, the hallways were many times taller than they were wide. Here the cords of magic material looked like two rows of tightly packed tree trunks that leaned toward each other until they met high overhead where they meshed together like interlocking fingers. From the outside, the pillars of material rose above the hallways like spines on a rock lizard‘s back.

  Golden chandeliers hung in places where the larger hallways intersected, so high above the floor that magic had to be used to replace the candles they held. The sooty fallout Ab’Don’s sorcery expelled dulled the precious metal’s sheen. In other places, lanterns hung from golden sconces that had been driven into the walls before they hardened. All were covered in the filthy residue.

  Though the hallways were meant to impress those that had the misfortune of visiting this place, the ubiquitous soot elicited the feeling of one passing through a collection of interconnecting chimneys that had toppled to the ground, beautifully constructed chimneys that led to a blazing fire big enough to emit the filthy discharge that besmeared their vastness, a fire that visitors had no wish to see.

  The windows that appeared in the sides of the hallways were arched in a similar way. Hurrying along, the men could see buildings that appeared beyond the panes of glass filling the openings. The cables of magical excretion that were strung about, the sharp angles that rose above the connecting passageways, and the cocoon-like shapes of the buildings themselves seemed more a nest for insects than a domicile of an emperor and his court.

  The largest of the buildings was the Hall of Voyd proper. Being much bigger than any other structure, the topes of the interlocking beams of magic material used to make it looked like a great, spindly creature was trying to break out of an egg that a colossal insect had affixed to the top of the island. Surely that was where Crooked Finger was held. But Horbyn led the brothers another way.

  Entering hallways whose plainness spoke of their utilitarian purpose, countless doors could be seen lining the corridors. These were the Hag’s personal quarters.

  Climbing steps that ran upwards through one of the strongholds many towers, Horbyn led the men to a door that sat at the top of the stairway, the only door found in the tower. The wizard’s workroom and living quarters lay beyond. Once a rookery, the Hag’s advances in magic had made the need for winged-messengers of the kind that were once housed here obsolete. So, the order of dark wizards let Horbyn claim the place as is own. Since the Healing Magic he dabbled in was disrespected so by the violent Hag, they were glad that the remote location kept Horbyn at arms-length in a tower none needed to enter.

  Fortunately, this made Horbyn’s workplace a comparatively safe place in the midst of a Hag storm. As a result of this, even though currents of dark magic swirled across the island, the men could talk one last time before they plunged back into the tempest.

  With windows facing in every direction that once let the messenger birds return to their roosts, the men could see a host of lights that marked the places where the Hag were using their magical candles to aid their master who had flown off on the back of a winged-worm made of blazing fire. There were far fewer now than when the men had embarked on the ferry.

  Looking out a window that faced towards the island’s interior, Travyn used one finger to push the brim of his hat up as he said, “So that’s the Hall of Voyd?” With all of the towers that rose up around the massive edi
fice, Travyn thought the design was meant to look like a crown had been placed on top of the island.

  After walking around the circular room so he could survey the rest of the island, Travyn asked, “Where are they holding your daughter?”

  “She’s in the dungeons beneath the Hall,” Horbyn replied without a hint of emotion.

  The network of dungeons were more extensive then the buildings that could be seen above ground. Excavated with Hag magic, the dark wizards had transformed the stone they mined into the magical material they used to make the Hall of Voyd and the tendrils of sorcery that burrowed their way into the rest of Ar Warl. Thus, there was an unequal correlation between the size of structures that were seen above ground and the dungeons that lay beneath them.

  “Don’t think of going after her first.” Horbyn was aware that his daughter’s story had struck a chord with the young man. Maybe it was because Travyn’s mother had been held as Schmar’s prisoner for most of her youth that made him unwilling to stand by while another shared a similar fate.

  Since Horbyn‘s daughter was a myth the wizard had fabricated to get the bothers to help him steal Crooked Finger, the reason for Travyn’s interest in her didn‘t really matter. What did matter was keeping the brother’s attention focused on Crooked Finger. Then, once they had the talisman in hand, he would concoct a pretext for having to get Travyn and Kaylan out of the Hall of Voyd without taking time to search for his daughter.

  Maybe Horbyn would say the emanations Crooked Finger was giving off with the brothers in such close proximity to the talisman that had once pierced their mother’s heart had grown so strong that the Hag would detect their presence long before they had time to rescue his daughter. Insisting the wisest course of action would be to get the young men out of the Hall of Voyd, Horbyn would add that he’d sneak back into the hall by himself and, in the midst of the confusion accompanying the discovery that Crooked Finger had been stolen, spirit his child away while the Hag’s attention was focused on the magic emanating from the fleeing brothers and the powerful talisman they carried with them.