Vlad'War's Anvil

by Rex Hazelton

  After that, all he would have to do is show up later on and tell the brothers a tragic story of how Ab’Don had killed his daughter in one of his fits of rage.

  “We’ll rescue my daughter,” Horbyn said with forced conviction as he fleshed out the scheme he had been devising in his mind.

  Though he had become good at lying to the Hag who never really accepted him as one of their own, Horbyn found that it was hard to be false with those he found to be true. He lied to the Hag to avoid the rancor that would be heaped upon him if they realized how truly dissimilar he was to them. The brothers, on the other hand, were different. Horbyn not only liked their apparent lack of guile, something that was a hallmark of those who belonged to the Hag community, he felt a kinship with the young men that was based on the shared sufferings both of their mothers had experienced. In his mind, he believed he wouldn’t be so different from them if he had been raised in Nyeg Warl.

  “First we need to get our hands on Crooked Finger since its magic could help us save Shanym.” Horbyn’s eyes shifted from one brother to the other as he kept track of their reaction to his words. “Numbered among the Hag who serve Ab’Don, and possessing a measure of the dark magic he used to make the talisman he thrust through your mother’s heart, I can use Crooked Finger’s power to free my daughter.”

  Horbyn’s eyes retained an icy facet as he spoke. Their former watery aspect had not returned, nor had his robe’s blackness diminished. As disconcerting as this was, the idea that the wizard wanted to take the lead in apprehending Crooked Finger troubled the brothers even more, though the proposed purpose for this made sense.

  “Either Kaylan or I will take charge of Crooked Finger.” Despite Travyn’s broad-brimmed hat casting a concealing shade over his frowning face, rings of amber light flared up in the shadow. “Having been in our mother’s womb when Ab’Don rammed Crooked Finger into her heart, as you say, we have as much a chance of using its power as you do.”

  “Don’t be a fool boy!” Horbyn’s jaw clenched as he turned to see if Kaylan was in agreement with his brother. What he saw made his frown deepen. “The darkness that I sense in you is not great enough to control a talisman shaped by the Sorcerer’s own hand.”

  “So you think.” The light in Travyn’s eyes intensified as he spoke. “Let me remind you that the Evil One, who resides in the Warl of the Dead, touched me when I was inside my mother’s womb.” After a sneer appeared on his face, Travyn added, “I’m sure he tainted me with enough darkness to awaken Crooked Finger’s power.”

  “And once you awaken it, what then?” If possible, Horbyn’s robes became darker as he spoke. His gray eyes darkened too. “Will you be able to control it? Or will it take control of you like it did your mother?”

  “Horbyn,” Kaylan’s voice was firm but controlled, “you‘ve come for your daughter, not Crooked Finger. She should be your chief concern. Leave the talisman to us.”

  “But don’t you see, Crooked Finger can help me save her.”

  “Why do you bring this up now? You should have told us of your plan to use Crooked Finger to rescue Shanym long before today. We could have settled all of this earlier.” Kaylan studied Horbyn with a critical eye. What’s happening here, he wondered?

  “I didn’t think of this before.” A touch of frenzy touched the wizard’s reply. “But now it seems so clear to me.”

  “It’s clear to you now that your robes are black as a moonless night?” Travyn’s insinuation was obvious.

  “Do you fear me now that my robes have darkened?” Horbyn didn’t try to assuage the brother’s concerns.

  “Do you blame us?” Kaylan said as his hand involuntarily reached for his sword’s hilt.

  Seeing Kaylan’s hand going for his weapon, Horbyn squinted in thought. The respect the wizard had developed for the young man forced him to get a hold of himself and reflect on the moment. Looking at the black candle he had put on a stand to light the room like it was the first time he had noticed its change in color, Horbyn blinked and the slightest touch of moisture returned to his eyes. Then he looked down at his black robes and the moisture in his eyes increased. “You’re right to be concerned,” he admitted with a sigh. “Renewing the vows that tie me to this place and to the one who rules here has changed me, but not so much that you should fear me. I’m still in control of myself. And I still need your help to save Shanym.”

  The moisture returning to Horbyn’s eyes didn’t escape the brothers’ notice.

  Kaylan’s face held an intensity that said the things he was about to say couldn’t be questioned. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Travyn and I will take charge of Crooked Finger once we get out hands on it… not you. If the talisman proves too much for the two of us to control, we’ll let you have a shot at working with the Crooked Finger if it will help us rescue your daughter and get free of this place. But this will only happen if we reach a point where our quest would surely fail if we did otherwise.”

  Having decided to go along with the brothers for the time being, Horbyn nodded his head in agreement. With the issue of how Crooked Finger would be handled being resolved, the men rehearsed the plan they had made long before they set foot on the island where the Hall of Voyd stood.

  “Before we leave,” Horbyn intoned, “I need your assistance to work a little magic that will divert the Hag’s attention from you.” Then he went over and picked up a glossy, black rock he had procured at the edge of the Stone Desert.

  Picking up a pestle and mortar, along with the stone, Horbyn added, “I need you two to grind the rock into flakes that can be mixed in with a resin that will be used to make the shavings cling to your clothing, skin, and hair. Just as the Stone Desert cripples any magic it comes into contact with, the flakes will dissolve any supernatural probing that is sent your way.”

  Chapter 37: A Talisman Called Crooked Finger

  The Stone Desert was an impassable waterless expanse that swept across all of Ar Warl’s eastern reaches. Filled with black shards of glass-like stone, any magic that came into contact with desert quickly dissolved, making it a barrier that neither cretchym nor griffin could fly across since each was made with supernatural means. Nor could Hag and Candle Maker candles remain lit there.

  Disappearing beneath the Largryk Sea in the far south, the rocks made the waters there impossible to navigate through. If a sailor could look through the ever present fog that lay upon the sea like a brooding beast, the stars overhead appeared different from the ones that were seen in the rest of warl‘s sky, making plotting a course out of the question. As history records, many a vessel that braved the fog failed to return. And the tales told by those that were lucky enough to escape the vaporous miasma dissuaded others from repeating their folly.

  The Ice Desert in the north did the work that the strange fog did in the south. What lay beyond these barriers was left to speculation. Many thought the deserts and sea went on forever. The Oakenfel brothers knew otherwise. Their confrontation with the Watcher had taught them this.

  “You want to cover us with flakes of stone that were once part of the Stone Desert? Won’t we be harmed?”

  “It won’t kill you, if that‘s what your worried about. I’m still alive even though I’ve used more fragments of stone than you’ll use to shield yourselves to conceal the work I do in this room from those who would use magic to spy on me. Sprinkling them at the base of the walls that surround us, the chips have proven to be an impenetrable ward against those who want to stop me from practicing Healing Magic.

  “But don’t think we can scoop these up to spare you from the work that lies ahead. Its expedient they stay in place to give us a safe place to retreat to if things go bad.”

  “Ingenious.” Kaylan gave credit where credit was due. “You’ve surrounded yourself with a Stone Desert of sorts.”

  “How much harm came your way when you broke flakes off of the stone?” Travyn needed to know what he was facing. “How did it affect your magic?”

  “You‘ll be alr
ight working with the stone only once. You’re Powers of Intuition will be weakened a little beyond what the Hall of Voyd has already done to them. You’ll have trouble lighting your Candle Maker candles. I can’t say what will happen to the swords you forged on top of Vlad’War’s Anvil. But whatever happens will only be temporary. I’m certain the small amount of flakes that will be used to hide you both won’t have any long term effect on your magical abilities.

  “It‘s a different story with me since I‘ve handle the stone as much as I have. The damage done has increased each time I work with the fragments. It’s to the point that I can‘t help you with your work. If I do, my powers would be taken from me for far too long. I can’t wait for them to return as I have in the past, since we must act quickly if we are to get our hands on Crooked Finger.”

  “You mean, save your daughter don‘t you?” Travyn’s suspicious nature was aroused by the wizard’s omission.

  “Don’t insult me boy.” Horbyn lifted his voice in anger over his mistake, not over Travyn’s supposed offense. Still the emotion could be used to hide the truth. “I can think of little else except rescuing her. That’s why I’m focusing on Crooked Finger as much as I am. Without it, any hope of saving Shanym would be forfeited.”

  “What happened to you the first time you broke the stone?” Since Kaylan didn’t share Travyn’s suspicions, he directed the conversation back to the issue at hand.

  Glad that the conversation had turned away from his fictitious daughter, Horbyn replied, “As my words implied, my ability to use magic left me for a short time.”

  “For how long?’

  “You should regain most of your abilities by the time we reach Crooked Finger.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “At least you’ll have made it to the talisman safely.” A wry smile crossed Horbyn’s face.

  “Then you’ll just have to trust me to free it from the Sorcerer’s grasp.”

  “And I suppose,” Horbyn’s earlier emotional outburst didn’t alleviate Travyn’s concerns, “you’ll have to carry it since you’ll be the only one who can use its power?”

  “If your ability to use magic hasn’t returned by then…yes, of course.”

  “What do you think of that Brother?” Rings of amber light shone in the shadow Travyn’s hat cast over his face.

  “I don’t think Horbyn is purposely trying to disarm us so he can take Crooked Finger for himself, if that’s what you mean. How would that help his daughter? And he’s smart enough to know that he needs us to control Crooked Finger. After all, the blasted thing didn’t pierce his mother’s heart.”

  Horbyn’s eyes shone like polished steel when Kaylan spoke of their mothers. His might not be a prophetess like Muriel was, but he loved her every bit as much as the Oakenfel brothers loved their own.

  “Horbyn got us past the Ferryman. He‘ll get us to his daughter too.” Kaylan looked at the wizard who was harder to read ever since he renewed his vows. “A Hag candle got us over the river. The Stone Desert will see we reach Crooked Finger. And if fate is smiling on us, the talisman will help us free Shanym and get all of us safely out of this place.”

  With that said, the brothers began the arduous task of breaking fragments from the stone.

  Travyn didn’t engage in the work as enthusiastically as Kaylan did. How could he, when he wondered if Horbyn’s purpose in this was to strip away their ability to use magic. He had always felt there was something amiss with Horbyn. But to this point, Travyn hadn’t been able to put his finger on exactly what that was.

  ****

  The work of breaking flakes off of the mother stone was laborious since magic couldn’t be used to calf the initial fragments and then reduce these to even smaller chips. Persistent brute force had to be employed that ate up valuable time.

  When the brothers finally finished the task the wizard had given them to do, morning had passed. Still Horbyn was convinced that they had time to retrieve Crooked Finger and free his daughter before the Sorcerer returned to the Hall of Voyd. If luck was with them, Ab’Don would stay at Chylgroyd’s Keep long enough to deal with the aftermath of the attempt to rescue the Hammer Bearer, no matter if it succeeded or not.

  After the flakes of stone were sprinkled over the brothers’ bodies, Horbyn explained the route the three of them would take to reach the Hall of Voyd and Crooked Finger. As the wizard pointed out the windows that messenger birds once used to pass in and out of the large room back when it was a rookery, Travyn and Kaylan were unsettled by the fact that their Powers of Intuition could no longer pick up any trace of Horbyn’s thoughts or emotions. Though this had never been easy to do, and it had become much tougher inside the Hag stronghold, it was now an impossible feat. Breaking off flakes from the glossy black stone that once lay in the Stone Desert, indeed, had taken a toll on their powers. But as disconcerting as this was, it sparked hope that the fragments of rock would actually shield them from Hag scrutiny.

  After Horbyn described the layout of the buildings they were looking at, the men left the workroom and made their way out of the tower. To avoid suspicion, Horbyn marched the men down commonly used corridors. Moving through the shadows would only draw attention from those lurking there. In the Warl of the Hag a furtive glance got a stare in return, whispered words opened ears, and passing through seldom used corridors drew scrutiny.

  To the relief of all, Horbyn’s plan worked. The Hag he passed barely nodded at him and none took a second look at the brothers they thought were his recruits. After all, who would want to have anything to do with men Horbyn took interest in, men who were doubtlessly as inconsequential as he was.

  The greater plan was working too: The raid on Chylgroyd’s Keep had flushed the Sorcerer out of his stronghold and drawn the Hag’s attention away from the Hall of Voyd.

  With the sun rising high in the sky, the lamps that were used for illumination had been extinguished in places where windows allowed sunlight to enter the Sorcerer’s stronghold. Still, with all the foul magic that was used in this place, the light’s strength was less than what it should have been, its brightness was compromised as it passed through the soot-filled the air.

  The closer the three men came to the Hall of Voyd proper, the more gold was in evidence. Ab’Don’s love affair with the precious metal inspired the stronghold’s architects to use it liberally in places where their master frequented. But like the armor the Sorcerer habitually wore, and the sunshine that struggled to illuminate the hallways, it was all besmeared with the soot-like residue that practicing dark magic left in its wake.

  The most blatant use of gold was found in the lanterns lining the hallways. Changing from the ornate but functional forms they once possessed, each was now shaped like one of the cretchym whose grotesque vagaries filled the passageways with a foreboding ambiance.

  As the amount of gold increased, the number of Hag they passed decreased. Prompted to seek out their own workplaces, the dark wizards avoided their master’s throneroom

  Knowing that this would happen, a smile touched the corner of Horbyn’s eyes whose earlier moisture had hardened back into ice. His plan was working. His opportunity to get his hands on Crooked Finger had arrived. And the sons of the Prophetess were here to ensure he could control the talisman found in the shape of a slender, iron branch.

  With Crooked Finger in hand, whose unique relationship to the Warl of the Dead had convinced Horbyn that he would be able to call spirits of the departed back to the Warl of the Living, he would raise his mother from the grave. It would be simple. All he’d have to do is guide her spirit back into the body he kept frozen in a hideaway found in the Ice Desert. Then with all he had learned about Healing Magic over all of the winters that had passed since she had died, Horbyn would heal his mother‘s wounds and awaken her from the sleep of death.

  As Horbyn glanced at the brothers, knowing he would not allow them to keep Crooked Finger as their own, he rationalized his actions away with the thought that even though they wouldn
’t have Crooked Finger in their possession, the brothers would be grateful that Ab’Don no longer controlled the talisman that had hurt their mother. How could such a thing not please them? With this having been done, what did it matter that he would use the talisman to pursue his own interests?

  The closer the three men came to the Hall of Voyd, the more monstrous cretchym were depicted in gold. In time, masses of people, writhing about in anguished pain, were engraved into the walls that separated the lanterns. Many of their hands reached out like they were trying to break free and gain purchase of the hallway. Faces protruded like they were trying to tear through a resisting membrane: eyes wide in terror; mouths filled with silent screams. Children were as numerous as adults.

  Seeing the brothers were captivated by the details the artisans had achieved in their macabre work, Horbyn said, “These are not sculptures. Flesh and blood lie beneath the veneers you see.”

  Hearing this, Kaylan and Travyn averted their eyes from the horror they had been examining. Indeed, this was a cursed place each thought.

  In time, a large double door appeared at the end of the hallway they marched down. This too was covered in gold. A single blood red sun spanned both doors where two black-robed Hag stood guard.

  “We’ve reached the Hall of Voyd,” Horbyn explained with a matter-of-fact voice. Why use a tone that could express the depth of horror that was found inside the place when it wasn’t possible.

  “Is that you, Horbyn?” One of the Hag guards asked.

  Without waiting for an answer, the second Hag added with a tone of voice that sounded like he was addressing a scullery maid who wanted to see what the master chef was doing, “Why are you here?”

  “The Master has asked me to wait in the hall until he returns.”

  “Strange, we weren’t told this.” Neither of the brothers could penetrate the darkness filling the black-robed wizards’ hoods to catch a glimpse of the guards’ faces. “Still, this fit’s the news that says Lord Ab’Don is on his way back.”