by Rex Hazelton
Like the fraethym before him, the Sorcerer was drawn to Crooked Finger. Everything else was forgotten: the Hag, Horbyn and the young man who struggled to free his magical sword.
Having seen Ab’Don being possessed by the Nameless Evil once before, Horbyn knew exactly who he was looking at. “Stay your hand lad.” His words were hissed. “Death has entered the room. Watch before you act or both you and your brother will be lost.”
Reaching into the maelstrom that wound about Kaylan, the Sorcerer took hold of Crooked Finger and pulled it out of the flames. Laughing in joy over the treasure he held, The One Who Was Not Ab'Don waved the fraethym away. Surrounding the master they had served first in the Warl of the Dead and now in the Warl of the Living, the foul flames became a ring of fire that encircled both the Sorcerer and Kaylan.
“I know you,” The One Who Was Not Ab'Don said. “We met at the foot of the mountain I’ve built before the chasm that divides the Warl of the Dead asunder. I know your mother better than you since you were hidden inside her. I know her fears.”
The Evil One was referring to the time when he held Muriel’s spirit captive in the Warl of the Dead. She was pregnant at the time, carrying the twins inside her. Though Kaylan and Travyn’s spirits were there too, their lack of life experiences gave the Nameless Evil nothing his foul magic could use to torture their minds with. But this was not the case with their mother who had the misfortune of spending her childhood as a prisoner in the defilement that filled The Cave of Forgetfulness. Because of this, the height, breadth, and width of the suffering the Nameless Evil put her through was unimaginable. But he wasn’t able to break her since Jeaf Oakenfel came to her rescue before that could happen.
“She fears her children are destined to share her pain. And right she is.” With that said, the Sorcerer stepped forward and thrust Crooked Finger into Kaylan’s heart.
Kaylan screamed. His body slumped. But he didn’t fall to the ground for the talisman kept him standing.
Then The One Who Was Not Ab'Don took three of the fraethym and reworked their shapes into the form of a fiery tree. Laughing, the Sorcerer lifted Kaylan up, using only one hand to do so, and stuck his limp body on the tree. “And her fears will destroy her and the hope of all who dare to oppose me.”
“Let me go!” Travyn spat out through clenched teeth when he failed to break the hold Horbyn's magic had on his sword. If it wasn’t for the spectacle that was taking place in the Hall of Voyd, the rings of amber light in Travyn’s eyes would have drawn attention. But with the fraethym putting on a show, and Ab’Don radiating a strange presence, the Hag didn’t notice the alarming display.
“Let you die is more like it,” Horbyn’s hiss turned into a growl. “You can’t help your brother now. If you get yourself killed, you never will. And dead you’ll be, for Ab’Don has already used Crooked Finger on your brother. He doesn’t need another Oakenfel. But if you escape… you can sort things out and help Kaylan later.”
“There won’t be a later. Ab’Don’s killing him.” Travyn wrestled his knife away from Horbyn’s restraining grasp and pressed its point against the wizard’s stomach.
“Think! He’s hanging on a tree like your mother did in the Temple of the Oak Tree and she wasn’t dead. Neither is Kaylan. But he has been taken captive and so will we if we don’t leave now.
“And if you can hear what I say, that’s not Ab’Don you’re looking at. It’s the Evil One who rules over the shadow that longs to engulf the Warl of the Dead. The man is gone. Another has taken the Sorcerer‘s place. I can sense this. So can the Hag.
“The dreadful thing that has happened to your brother has opened a door of opportunity for us to escape through, if we leave now. The Hag will be too busy adjusting to their new reality to care about us. And the entity that has taken control of Ab’Don’s body seems to be focused on Kaylan and Crooked Finger. Draw your sword and die.”
Removing the fiery tether he had used to keep Travyn from unsheathing his blade, Horbyn stepped back from the long knife that was still pointed at his stomach, turned, and fled.
Looking back at Kaylan’s limp form hanging from a tree made of fire, remembering the story that described how Ab’Don hung his mother on a tree made of iron, Travyn knew Horbyn was right. His brother wasn’t dead. He was a prisoner. And if Travyn withdrew his sword without Kaylan there to back him up, he would likely be killed. So, he turned and followed Horbyn before he was out of sight.
Swimming upstream against the black-robed flood that rushed into the Hall of Voyd, Horbyn and Travyn worked their way through a maze of corridors that took them back to the Ferryman. Unlike the rest of the Ar and Nyeg, the buildings in the Sorcerer’s stronghold had not been damaged or even weakened by the quaking that was quickly subsiding. Other than stumbling about, and occasionally bumping into the Hag that pushed them aside as the wizards hurried to the Hall of Voyd and to the One who summoned them, the men made good time as they fled.
With a candle lit, Horbyn led Travyn through the tunnel boring its way through the stronghold’s battlements and on to the stone dock where the Ferryman and his craft waited. With all that had happened, afternoon had passed and evening had arrived filling the gorge with a light whose angle brought out the rust-colored hue found in the gorge’s stones. Black in the morning, brown at noon, and red in the evening, the cliffsides changed colors as the sun rode across the sky.
“Take us across the river,” Horbyn commanded the Ferryman who stood as the men approached.
“Why aren’t you heeding the Sorcerer’s call?” The Ferryman seemed confused that a Hag would neglect to do so.
Sensing the Ferryman’s bewilderment, Horbyn replied, “Are you sure the Sorcerer is the one doing the summoning?” Horbyn was right to guess that the Nameless Evil’s presence would alter the magic Ab’Don normally used to communicate with the community of dark wizards. The Evil One’s power was a spice unfamiliar to the Ferryman‘s palate.
The moment of confusion this caused emboldened Horbyn. “I have my orders.” The wizard’s outward composure hid his anxiety. “Don’t let the strangeness you feel keep you from doing your duty. I am a Hag. My flame is lit. Take me and my charge across the river.”
The odd sensation the Ferryman was feeling was not new to him, but it was something that rarely came. When it did, he had no idea that it accompanied the arrival of the Nameless Evil when it came to possess Ab’Don’s body for the short time the Sorcerer permitted it to. Nor did the Ferryman know that this was the trade that the Sorcerer made to purchase the Evil One’s power, a transaction that traded a limited time of possession for a dose of magic. The Evil One was given a few moments to view with living eyes the warl he had been cast from, and passionately longed to return to, in exchange for giving the Ab’Don a drink from his reservoir of supernatural might.
So it followed that the Ferryman wouldn’t know that the Sorcerer had changed the terms of the agreement he made to gain the magic he needed to stay alive as he lay dying in Chylgroyd’s Keep’s dungeons in the aftermath of his battle with the Hammer Bearer, changes that gave the Nameless Evil the right to keep possession of Ab’Don’s body until it was completely healed. Since the foul entity had no intentions to restore the Sorcerer to health, he had gained more than a foothold in the place he had longed to dominate- the Warl of the Living.
“Things do feel strange,” the Ferryman admitted as he used a hand motion to invite the men aboard the long, narrow craft he stood on. “But there is one thing I know for certain, my appointed task is to ferry Hag across the river. So let’s be off.”
With that said, and after the Ferryman warmed his hands on Horbyn’s candle’s flame, the tall, robed figure took his position at the bow of the boat a moment before the craft began its journey across the river’s quake-troubled waters. Though the river still churned from the passing tempest, the narrow boat moved through the water like a stirring spoon passes smoothly through a pot of boiling liquid.
When the craft reached the halfwa
y point in the crossing, the characteristically silent Ferryman tilted his head like he was listening to something and said, “The Sorcerer has ordered the Hall of Voyd to be shut down. All traffic in and out must immediately cease. Thus, I must take you back.”
“I can’t let you do that,” Horbyn replied as he touched his candle’s flame to the Ferryman’s robe, setting it ablaze. But instead of crying out in pain, the tall figure looked at the growing flames with fascination. He hadn’t been this warm in such a long time, so he took a moment to enjoy the heat before he tried to get past the wizard. It was necessary for him to position himself at what was now the aft of the boat for the craft to change directions. The Ferryman’s location in the vessel determined the direction the river‘s magic took him.
Knowing this, Horbyn pointed his candle at the Ferryman, lengthening its shape until it was transformed into a rope that reached out and wound about the hooded man. But the fire that leapt out from the Ferryman’s robes, making him look like a massive wick engulfed in flame, was now so hot, by reason of the river’s magic it fed on, it was melting the waxy tether that held him in place.
“There’s not much time.” Horbyn gritted his teeth as he put all of his strength into restraining the Ferryman in hopes that the boat would complete its crossing before his candle’s power failed. “Travyn, you must listen to me!”
It didn’t take Horbyn long to realize that he and Travyn were doomed once his candle‘s power was spent. On this river, the Ferryman’s magic was too formidable. His control of the vessel was absolute. The river’s magic would keep him from being slain and his boat from being commandeered. Even if he was able to keep the craft going in its present direction and speed, once it reached the dock they were headed towards, the chances of disembarking without the Ferryman stopping them was remote at best. So a decision had to be made.
With Crooked Finger now in the Evil One’s control, Horbyn’s plan to resurrect his mother had been thwarted. But a mother could still be saved… just not his.
“Travyn!” Horbyn said through clenched teeth. “Save the Prophetess. When you do… tell her about me and my mother.”
The Ferryman took a halting step toward Horbyn, then another, while his hands worked at breaking the length of melting candle that wound about him.
“What about Shanym?” Travyn stood and reached for his sword.
“Stay your hand,” Horbyn grunted out his command. “If you call on you sword’s magic, you’ll not only have the Ferryman to contend with, the river will rise up against you, the gorge’s monsters will descend upon you, and the Hag will empty out of the Hall of Voyd to catch you before you have enough time to fight your way to the top of the rocky stairs.
“But you can still do something for me.”
Travyn wasn’t used to feeling helpless. He was ashamed to let the man he’d so denigrated fight for him as he stood idly by.
“Save your mother. If you accomplish that, you’ll will have done what I couldn‘t do for my own.” Horbyn flung most of his candle’s remains at the Ferryman, renewing his foe’s bonds with the wax that flew forward. Only a nub of the black candle was left in his hand. This he quickly handed to Travyn, who was uncomfortably surprised that its flame stayed lit once the candle was in his hand. After all, he wasn’t a Hag.
Relieved of his burden, Horbyn relaxed after doing his best to slow the Ferryman down. “You and I are not so different.” Horbyn said as he nodded at the black candle Travyn held in his tentative hand. “We’ve both been touched by a darkness we hate and have been changed by it. Still, the love we bare for our mothers has kept us from being totally lost. My love for Healing and your love for the rest of your family has also helped. I think we could have been friends in a different time and place. Save your mother.”
With that said, Horbyn clenched his jaw as he stepped toward the Ferryman and wrapped his arms around the massive man. As he did, his black cloak turned gray a split second before the flames were upon him. A moment later, Horbyn threw himself and the Ferryman overboard in a calculated risk that the craft would continue on to the dock that awaited its arrival.
“NOOO!” Travyn shouted out from the shock of witnessing Horbyn’s sacrifice.
As the boat continued moving forward, Travyn watched the Ferryman and Horbyn struggling underwater, though the river’s turbulent surface made this a difficult thing to do. The light of the dying flames, that were failing as the last of the candle’s wax was spent, showed the two wrestling as they drifted downward and downstream, though the later progress was impeded by the Ferryman’s relationship to the river.
Then to Travyn’s horror, he watched as Horbyn went limp and the Ferryman placed his body among the throng that was fastened to the river bottom like he was a long-stemmed flower being added to a ghastly bouquet.
Afterwards, the Ferryman floated to the top of the river where his head turned to face Travyn and the boat he was on. Then the rest of his body rose out of the water until he looked like he did when he stood in the boat; and like the boat, the Ferryman moved across the river’s surface matching the vessel’s speed. As he came, standing upright like he did, not an arm or leg moved. Nor did he utter a word.
Thankfully, the boat reached the dock well ahead of the Ferryman.
After disembarking as quickly as he could, afraid the vessel might try to keep him from doing so, Travyn ran for the stairs that would take him out of the gorge. With little of Horbyn’s candle left, he sped up the rocky path hoping he would reach the gorge’s top before the flickering flame went out and the Hag magic that was protecting him went with it. If this happened, the wards the Hag put on the stairs would sound their alarm and the cretchym that guarded the cliffside would quickly overwhelm him. In this case, he doubted that the measure of Vlad’War and Andara’s Magic that resided in his sword could help him turn them back soon enough to keep the Hag from catching up with him.
Fortunately for Travyn, with all that was going on- the quake and the Hall of Voyd’s unusual response to Ab’Don’s return- the monsters that lived in the holes that dotted the nearby cliffsides stayed in the safety of their lairs waiting for the stairs wards to call them once they were needed. The cretchym that did venture forth, for how could the ground’s shaking threaten them once they were airborne, flew through the rust-colored sky that spread over the Hall of Voyd, looking like scavengers circling a meal. And all eyes were on that meal, not the path Travyn was using to escape.
Moving along as quickly as he could, both surprised and troubled that a Hag candle would do his bidding, Travyn wrestled with the thoughts that assailed his mind. Am I now alone, he wondered?
Then he laughed a horrible laugh over the irony that he had come to Ar Warl to free his father only to have his brother taken captive instead. And what of J’Aryl and Ay’Roan? He questioned. Are they dead? Is my father still a prisoner? This seemed most likely to have happened with the way the Sorcerer returned to the Hall of Voyd in force. He didn’t act like one who had just tasted defeat. The Brie’Shen, the Neflin, my brothers… have they all been slaughtered? Am I alone in a warl I know so little about?
Then Travyn heard a pathetic moaning sound coming from the cliff top above, and he watched as a woman appeared at the place where the plaintive noise had come from. A great cat that soon sided up to the woman brought a smile to Travyn’s weary face. Lamarik, he thought as he continued to climb.
Navigating the last of the stone steps, Travyn was broadsided by a very un-Neflin like hug from Lamarik who couldn’t contain herself as the one she had an agreement with stepped off the warded pathway. A commensurate kiss followed before Lamarik pushed Travyn to arms’ length so she could examine him for signs of injury.
Seeing the dying flame that sat atop a coin-shaped piece of gray wax, Lamarik frowned and her long ears went rigid before she began questioning the man she loved. “Where’s Kaylan? Does he have Crooked Finger?”
The Neflin looked down the trail trying to catch sight of Travyn’s brother. “And
why are you holding Horbyn’s candle?”
“All has gone awry.” Even with Lamarik‘s large almond-shaped eyes imploring him, that‘s the most he could say for the time being. “We need to get as far away from this place as we can. The others are lost.”
Looking down at the river where he saw the Ferryman steering the long, lean craft up against the stone dock closest to the Hall of the Voyd, he added. “Hag and cretchym will soon be coming for us. We need to run.”
Then he held the Hall of Voyd with eyes filled with rings of amber fire in them. “I’ll be back!” But he knew he couldn’t do this until he gathered help. He needed to find his family members who survived the assault on Chylgroyd’s Keep and then make plans. And if none were alive, he would return by himself. He had no other choice in the matter with Kaylan being held prisoner there.
Looking back at the river, the brim of Travyn’s hat cast a shadow over his frowning face, accentuating the rings of amber light found there. The undulating water took on an orange hue as it reflected the light cast from a sun that was already dipping toward the western horizon. Horbyn was down there, somewhere beneath the river’s shimmering orange skin.
With the wizard’s final words reverberating in Travyn’s mind, it was strange that the ones that impacted him most were, “We could have been friends.” And like a friend would do, Travyn found himself responding to Horbyn‘s last request. “I won’t forget,” he quietly promised. “And I swear, the Prophetess will be told about you and your mother.”
Taking Lamarik’s hand in his own, Travyn looked at the swarthy skin covering her graceful fingers and lifted them to his lips to lightly kiss them. Then he dropped the flameless fragment of gray wax that he held in his other hand and ran his fingers through the Neflin’s tousled hair, causing her ears to lay back against her head as he did. Then he reached over and scratched A’Kadar behind one ear.