Crooked Finger and the Warl of the Dead

by Rex Hazelton

  "You shouldn't have joked about taking the bracelets off my dead body." Fendyl’s smile was so subtle, Bowdyn would have missed it if not for the twinkle in the Magicker’s eyes

  "Oh, stop it Old Man. You got your revenge." If possible, the highwayman's green eyes got greener, his hair rose a bit on his head, and a snarling sound was heard deep in his throat as the elixir took affect.

  "Alright." Findyl had a good chuckle over his mean-spirited humor. "The potion might stop your heart if you stood still. But with all the energy we used up running here and the amount we'll expend in the fight that's ahead of us, I don't think you're in any danger. Leastwise, not from the chata you swallowed. The Shadowman is another matter. With the snarl I heard coming from your throat, I'd say the potion's already giving you the kick in the pants you'll need to fight the fire-blasted assassin.

  Taking a moment longer to dig through his satchel, Findyl slowly lifted his head and frowned at Bowdyn before saying, "Quit looking at my bracelets and let's go!"

  As the two men leapt out of the night-shrouded forest, Bowdyn was heard saying, " Ashes, Old Man, I ain't looking at your bracelets."

  The first order of business was to stop Kroyn from completing the spell he was trying to cast on Peyt. Bowdyn did this by ramming his sword into Kroyn's side as he charged past the white-skin on his way to confront the Shadowman who was getting ready for his attack.

  While Bowdyn was busy drawing attention to himself, Findyl quietly used his short sword to cut the leather strap holding Peyt's arms over the bronze basin used to collect his blood. As the tavern owner’s body rocked back and forth like he was a cowbell tied to the tree, Findyl kicked the basin over to empty its contents. Then he turned to face the wraiths. When casting a spell, it was important that the practitioner of the supernatural did so with a precision commensurate to the magic being invoked. With the Spell of the White Hand successfully thwarted by the basin being knocked aside, it was time to fight.

  Before the white-skin boy could reach him, Findyl struck his bracelets together sending forth a burst of light that hid him as he fled for the cover of the trees. With his cloudy looking eyes blinded for the briefest of moments, the boy was soon chasing the old man again.

  To Findyl's chagrin, the child caught up with him before he had time to reach the clearing's edge. But just as tiny white hands reached out for him, Findyl faded into nothingness. This didn't stop the child from running off into the woods to make certain the old man hadn't concealed himself with an Illusion of Invisibility.

  Indeed, the Magic of Illusion had been used, but not in the way the white-skin boy thought. Rising from the ground where his cloak hid him, Findyl placed a small, rune-covered sack he had taken out of his ever-present satchel on the ground and turned to cut Peyt's body down. When the wraiths ran at Findyl, a violent wind erupted from the sack and drove the howling spectres back. Continuing to blow, it held the ghostly, flailing throng at bay.

  With the wraiths left contending with the magical wind, Findyl lowered Peyt to the ground and forced a vial of chata-enhanced potion down his throat after he made certain the tavern owner was still breathing. "Don't die on me," the magicker shouted as he hammered his fists into Peyt's chest to accelerate the stimulant's affects.

  Coughing, Peyt looked about dazed and weakened by his ordeal. Worse than that, his skin had lost much of its color. His eyes were dull looking like he was fighting off a severe sickness. Some of the hair growing about his ears had turned white. But after he coughed again, he hissed out, "Ashes Findyl, let's get out of here." And as he spoke, the haze covering his eyes diminished, but not entirely.

  "Let me bandage your arms first," Findyl said as he reached into his satchel. At the same time, he looked to see how Bowdyn was doing.

  The Shadowman was the first to draw blood. Fortunately, the cut on Bowdyn's right shoulder didn't affect his ability to wield his sword. Whether that was because the cut was superficial or the potion he drank enabled him to ignore the injury, it was hard to tell. What was easy to see, was how surprised the Shadowman was that his tactic didn't work. Normally the move was the first step the assassin took to dispatch his foe. Except in very rare cases, the Shadowmen's enhanced speed and strength made a quick victory inevitable. Bowdyn's capacity to shrug off the slashing cut he sustained, placed the fight into the rare cases category.

  Not aware of how quick he was moving, since his actions were relative to the one he was battling, Bowdyn took advantage of the Shadowman's amazement by countering with a thrust that sent his blade sliding across the assassin's ribs. Before the steel could gain deeper purchase, the Shadowman rammed his elbow into Bowdyn's sword arm and broke away from the fight.

  Stepping back, the two men briefly examined their wounds before continuing the struggle. At the same time, the Shadowman took a moment to reevaluate his foe. This was no ordinary duel. Drawing on his experience of sparing with other Shadowmen, he approached Bowdyn like he was facing a peer. Thrust, parry, slash, feint, and slash again, the swordsmen ground away at each other, though to say they were grinding away seems out of place at the speed they were fighting.

  Though buttressed by the potion he had ingested, Bowdyn's quickness was less than the Shadowman's, his strength was not as great. The outcome of this was, he was absorbing more punishment. Blood soon seeped out of wounds sustained in both his upper and lower body. Bruises was showing up on his face where the Shadowman had struck him with the pommel of his sword.

  When the two men's hand guards locked, the difference in strength became abundantly clear as the Shadowman bent Bowdyn backwards. The degree of disparity was highlighted when Bowdyn grabbed hold of the assassin's wrist and failed to keep the dagger the Shadowman had withdrawn from his belt with his free hand from inching toward his side.

  Recognizing the fight was about to end, Bowdyn searched the clearing to see how Findyl was faring. To his astonishment, the wraiths were being held at bay by gale force winds erupting from a tiny gyrating pouch that flopped around like a fish had been thrown on the ground. He was relieved to see Findyl had freed Peyt and was helping the large man stumble toward the greenwood that lay in Bridgewater's direction. He frowned when he saw Kroyn go to deal with the troublesome pouch. Not a drop of blood could be seen where Bowdyn had run him through.

  "Run," the highwayman shouted. "I'll slow them down." Not expecting to escape the Shadowman's dagger, Bowdyn planned on fighting to the end, an end he would delay for as long as he could. I hope you've got more tricks up your sleeve Old Man. I'll not slow them down for long.

  Then he looked at Felicynt, who returned his gaze with disinterested eyes.

  Seeing Peyt stop and take Findyl's short sword from him, Bowdyn shouted again. "No."

  He shouted louder when he saw the tavern owner stumble in his direction. "Run Peyt. Get out of here. You can't help me."

  Seeing the huge man lurching toward him, the Shadowman drove Bowdyn to his knees before lifting his dagger to his throat.

  This brought Peyt up short, though it didn't lessen the anger burning in his eyes. Findyl was busy rummaging through the large satchel he carried.

  A step away from the small pouch that frantically squirmed on the ground before him, Kroyn stopped and addressed the magicker. "Findyl, unless you take your hand out of that bag of yours, Sisra will slit your companion's throat." Having been turned into a white-skin after Bowdyn's last visit to Bridgewater, Kroyn didn't fully realize who Bowdyn was since he couldn't piece the applicable remnants of his memories together in time to figure this out.

  Though Kroyn’s awareness of himself had not been expunged by the spell that had been cast over him, the magic employed had subjected his will to the Sorcerer’s own, so much so, his personality was altered in a way that kept him from acting as he once did. It was true that all the things making Kroyn who he previously was were still present. Since he was no longer the captain of his own ship, so to speak, none of this hardly mattered. He owed his life to the spell’s power now his blo
od had been drained out of him, a spell that had taken over all the bodily functions, including his powers of reasoning, and connected his mind to his master’s in a way that enabled the Sorcerer to access its workings whenever he wanted to.

  Looking to Bowdyn, Findyl pulled his hand out of his satchel.

  Pleased with his compliance, Kroyn lifted a hand to silence the wraiths' howling before he continued. "I've underestimated your abilities. I thought fertility potions, for both beasts and plants, was the limit of your magical abilities. Seeing you weave Spells of Illusion and manipulate the elements with your magic calls for a more thorough examination of your skills.

  “I've also been told that you're a gossipmonger; gathering strange tales wherever you go. If that's true, then I'm sure you've heard rumors about people like me." Kroyn looked at the back of his hand. "Whiteskins, isn't that what you call us? And what do your friends think of us? Do they think we’re no longer who we once were? Do they think we’re possessed?"

  Kroyn laughed at this. "If that’s also true, who's behind the possessions, the Hag, Ab'Don, something worse? Come on... cat got your tongue?

  "Findyl, you look like a smart man. I would think you've guessed it's something worse. And you'd be right. My brethren and I owe our origins to one who was dead but now lives, whose magic surpasses any previously seen in the warl as much as a father's strength is greater than his infant son's, and whose hunger will consume all he beholds. You'd be wise to give him your allegiance. To do otherwise would be both foolish and futile. Come to the Hall of Voyd and meet your master. Bow before him and be blessed. What you see taking place in Bridgewater is only the beginning. It is but a weak foreshadowing of what is to come."

  "What if I refuse your invitation?" Findyl frowned at the cavalier way the white-skin was speaking.

  Kroyn laughed again. "What if an ant defies the foot that is descending upon it? Your days of doing whatever you want are over. Go to the Hall of Voyd and join your master's ranks. There’s a war to be fought. There’s glory to be gained. Come and share in the fruits of victory that will be heaped upon the faithful. But only you can go. The others must stay here. I'm not done with them."

  Two things happened when Kroyn finished speaking: first, Kroyn turned and stepped on the pouch that kept the wraiths in check; and second, three horses burst into the clearing.

  Earlier, Findyl had mistaken the pale-colored animal for being a white-skin who was following them out of Bridgewater. But instead of it being an enemy who was tailing them, it turned out to be the horse Bowdyn's brother, Jayk, rode on.

  It seems that Teadra took it upon herself to go and tell Jayk what was happening. And as always, he was quick to defend Bridgewater's citizens. Having his brother added to the mix only increased his fervor.

  Going to help Bowdyn first, who was on the verge of having his throat slit, Jayk steered the horse he rode, and the two he was leading, into the Shadowman, sending him tumbling out of the clearing and into the surrounding trees. Releasing one of the mounts for his brother to ride, Jayk threw the reins of the other horse he was leading to Peyt before he charged at Kroyn and drove him to the ground with the broad-chested gelding he was seated on. For good measure, he let his horse trample on the white-skin to make sure he was down.

  Before Kroyn had time to regain his footing, the wraiths swept toward Jayk, tearing at him and his mount with sharp fangs and claws once they reached him. Undeterred by the spectres' furious assault, the gelding muscled his way through the rabid throng and across the clearing where the others were waiting: Findyl and Peyt seated on one horse and Bowdyn, who had lifted a surprisingly willing Felicynt up on the powerful animal’s back before he seated himself behind her, on the other.

  After seeing the Shadowman return to the clearing with the white-skin child in tow, Jayk and his companions fled. Off they went, three horses and five riders amidst a cloud of thrashing wraiths.

  Looking over his shoulders, Findyl saw Kroyn stand up and spread his arms apart before clapping his hands together. The sharp sound that was made, snuffed out the campfire and sent the wraiths into a frenzy.

  Though fundamentally ethereal, the curse keeping the wraiths bound to the Warl of the Living gave them a measure of substance that enabled them to inflict injury on the corporeal humans they longed to feed on. Teeth left bite marks, claws cut flesh, and hands grabbed. All these things were being done to the fleeing prey.

  Conversely, the portion of substance the wraiths were granted made them vulnerable to physical reprisals, though such retaliations couldn't take the lives they no longer had, nor could it end their existence. But they could be battered about and badly cut if the ones doing the buffeting were skilled enough, cuts that were quick to heal. Battle-tested as they were, Peyt, Bowdyn, and Jayk gave as good as they were getting. The only difference being, they shed blood from wounds that wouldn't heal right away, while the wraiths rebounded from the blows they were dealt like little had happened.

  Findyl, on the other hand, held a blue stone in his hand that gave off a pulse of light that sent the wraith nearest him flying off into the night sky. "Go back to Cara Lorn," the magicker shouted as he wielded the stone's power. Whether the stone’s magic was strong enough to send the wraiths back to the place they came form or not, wasn’t important. The fact the stone could diminish the numbers of those attacking the magicker and his friends, even if it was only for a short time, made it an extremely valuable weapon to have.

  On and on the fight went. When more wraiths joined the battle, those who had been fooled by Findyl's earlier illusion, the battle's intensity was renewed. When Peyt and Findyl's bloodied mount stumbled in the throes of exhaustion, causing the magicker to lose his grip on the stone he held, the chances of making a clean getaway were forfeited.

  But when all seemed lost, the horses and their riders shot out of the forest, covered in lather and sweat the strain of the race had produced, and burst into Chanyn's Vineyard where six mounted men met them.

  Shouting with joy, Jayk greeted the members of the Village Guard who served under his command. Armed with clubs, knives and swords, the men quickly fell into a familiar defensive formation.

  "It seems Teadra has been a busy lady," Bowdyn said to no one in particular.

  The brief but furious contest that followed, ended after the wraiths resumed their previous misty forms and sunk down into the vineyard's soil beneath them. Many of these bore cuts deep enough to kill them if they were still alive. Some had their heads caved in, others lost limbs that turned into mist and melded back into the disappearing wraith’s ethereal body.

  Ab’Don didn't plan on confronting the people living in his realm in a direct fashion. Rather he wanted to gain absolute control of his subjects by stealthily sowing seeds of fear and uncertainty that would grow into weeds sent out to throttle the last semblance of hope. In time, the only real thinking that would be humored in Ar Warl would come from the Sorcerer. The only ambition that would be allowed to exist would be his alone.

  Felicynt was one little piece in the grand plan to take control of the Warl of the Living. By damaging her soul, once she returned home, shame would be cast over the family that failed to protect her. In time, they'd retreat behind walls erected to protect themselves from recriminations coming from those who chose to believe that the family’s flaws were responsible for their sufferings, flaws that they didn’t have. The others had to believe this, to do otherwise meant they were vulnerable too.

  Sadly, those who withdrew from life, as Felicynt’s family would be tempted to do, ended up weakening the community they lived in, making it more susceptible to Ab'Don's schemes.

  ****

  After distancing themselves from the place where the wraiths had disappeared, the villagers dismounted and gave their horses to those who had escaped the forest. Three of them led the wounded and winded animals on foot. Three others road behind these with their weapons drawn and eyes fixed on the vineyard.

  Showing the first signs of awakening
from her stupor, Felicynt clung to Bowdyn so tightly that the wounded man let her continue to ride with him even though she no longer had to.

  Sobered by their experience, each was left with their own thoughts.

  Though Peyt had been freed, no one believed he was saved.

  Saved? Were any of them saved? What if the wraiths came for the tavern owner again? What if they decided to meet Bowdyn out on the road after he left Bridgewater? What would happen to Findyl if he refused to go to the Hall of Voyd? Where could the magicker hide if he didn’t?

  From what Findyl had learned, the whiteskins and wraiths were everywhere. Now that his magical abilities were known, how could he hide from the Hag if they made a concerted effort to find him? He wouldn't be able to use magic again, that was for certain. If he did, Ab'Don would have little trouble locating him. With war on the horizon, the Sorcerer might make it priority to find the magicker even if Findyl didn't use his powers. After all, the Sorcerer needed to gather his strength to defeat Nyeg Warl.

  Not given to depression, Jayk was surprised when it came. Seeing what he was up against, how could he defend Bridgewater from such foes?

  Foes?

  Ab'Don was his Lord, not an enemy to fight. But the Sorcerer had chosen to torment his village like he was a cat playing with a mouse it had cornered. Should he put up with that? How could he resist one so powerful? Worse yet, Jayk knew he and the rest of the guard would eventually be recruited into King Peranth's army when Storch was summoned to help Ar Warl defeat Nyeg Warl. Who would defend the village then? Who would protect his wife and children?

  Crestfallen by his lack of options, Jayk’s dark mood deepened when it occurred to him that tomorrow, Kroyn would most likely be standing on the other side of the road from his shop watching him work. Always watching him... and his wife... and his children.

  Chapter 3: Bro'Noon