by Rex Hazelton
“Wouldn’t it work wonders for our relationship if we fought side-by-side in the coming battle?” The Plagean king’s smile neither left his face nor reached up to touch his eyes. “Devoting ourselves to protecting one another can only draw us closer. Shedding blood together will make us brothers indeed. I’m sure of this.” Then amazingly the king’s smile finally reached up and touched his eyes as he held out a hand to Bardensen as a sign that the offer had been extended to Shomeron’s king.
“Shomeron is positioned on the southern flank, while Plagea is on the north,” Bardensen said with a measure of concern over what he could be getting himself into.
“There’s no need for you to worry about the logistics of having to unexpectedly move your warriors. I’ll move mine. Having more of our forces near the Thrall Mountains where the Hall of Voyd stands wouldn’t hurt.”
Looking to Goldan for input and seeing that the general was leaving the decision in the Shomeronian King’s hands, Bardensen cleared his throat and said, “I accept your offer. Come join us on the southern flank and be glad you are closer to the Hall of Voyd than you once were, though that may cost you dearly in the shed blood you spoken of.
“Sir,” with the reservations Bardensen kept out of his voice, the king declared, “I pledge Shomeron’s strength to your defense.”
“And I pledge Plagea’s might to yours.”
Observing the two sovereigns go to one another, Shaw’s unease gew as he watched the two men clasp hands. I’ll be on the southern flank too, he promised himself. With only fifty Tsadal warriors at his command, and each with a mount, he was given leeway to fight where he thought he was needed most.
Feeling Shaw’s steel-gray eyes boring into him, Claude turned to look at the bothersome Tsadal whose interest in the king had become more of a threat since Sandyl failed to deal with him properly, a failure that, no doubt, had cost the king’s missing henchman his life. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. Claude turned his gaze back to Bardensen while his thoughts remained on the Tsadal as he devised plans to deal with the man. He had time to do this since the strategies he would use to deal with Bardensen had been finalized long ago.
Looking at Way’Gar, Shaw took solace knowing the Bro’Noon would be positioned on the southern flank too. Having gotten to know the hunchman chieftain, he was confident that he could count on the Bro’Noon for help if he needed them. The irony that he trusted the beast-men, who used to raid the Tsadal Valley, more than the human he cast his eye upon was not lost on him.
****
“Father,” J’Aryl said as he looked across the landscape in front of him, “there it is.”
“There what is?” Jeaf replied with a question.
“The battlefield you knew you’d see one day. The place the Hammer of Power has been steering you toward since you were my age.” J’Aryl took a moment to look at the armies that stretched out before him. “How do you feel about it?”
“Son, asking me how I feel these days is a dangerous thing to do.” Jeaf wondered how a place of impending death could look so colorful. The weather continued to be clear. The temperature was comfortable. The greens, blues, oranges, yellows, reds, purples, silvers, golds and so on vibrantly reflected the sunshine that bathed the armies and the fields they settled into with its radiance. The light reflecting off of the sea of polished armor- be it bronze, iron, star’s blood, or boiled leather dyed to taste- gave the camps a faint glistening appearance.
How could the harbingers of slaughter be so pleasing to the eye? It doesn’t make sense and is a horrible waste… well… of everything, Jeaf surmised before he added, “With the turmoil that I can’t shake out of my mind, I feel disconnected from all that is happening around me like I’m living in a dream. I resent that so many are waiting for me to do something to save them when I don’t know what to do to save myself or my wife. I’m enraged that your mother has had Crooked Finger stuck into her again. I’m confused and uncertain of my ability to do the things I want to do.”
Jeaf laughed at his answer. “How’s that for a good morning to you too? I don’t know… I guess I could say I’m scared. But what has fear to do with anything? We do what we can? If we’re fortunate, we do it well.”
Looking from J’Aryl to his other three sons and the females they loved- to Lamarik, Lylah, and Deyvara- he added, “On the other hand, I’m glad to be here, to finally reach the place that I knew Muriel and I were always headed towards. It gives me hope to know that I’m where I’m supposed to be, though, for the life of me, I don’t know how to do the things I want to do the most: To kill the Sorcerer and get your mother to safety. But I guess I don’t need to know what to do as much as I need to be willing to try. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself, I’ve always been willing to try no matter if the trying led to things both good and bad.”
“You’ll not try alone.” Tavyn had kept his head down like he was embarrased by his father’s display of weakness. But when he lifted his face up to speak, the amber light radiating out of the rings in his eyes, once his hat’s brim rose high enough for the other to see them, was too bright to be anything but resolve.
“Aye, Father,” Ay’Roan stood with his arms crossed over his chest as he looked out at the armies, “you’ll not try alone.”
Kaylan nodded his head at his father and said, “Aye,” before he turned and whispered something into the waterkynd’s ear that stood beside him looking like a feminine-shaped pillar of vapor.
“Come.” Jeaf called his children to huddle about him so he could tell them the story about the first time he met their mother back on Vestylkynd’s walls so long ago. Afterwards he thanked the Singer for letting him meet Muriel and for the sons they had together.
Seeing that their family time was over, those waiting lower on the hillside they stood on walked up to join them: Ilya’Gar, Grour Blood, Vlad’Aeroth, Leolynn, Kolosha, Dandaryll, Bacchanor, Pearl, Bala, leaders of the Candle Wielders, and a collection of captains were numbered among them.
“It’s shaped like a broad plate of shallow bowl,” Bacchanor made an observation of the terrain the Voyd River ran through. “Except for the thorny brush that grows closer to the Hall of Voyd, it’s all farmland with a few trees growing on the fields’ edges. I guess dark wizards have to eat too,” he said as he forced a wry smile to appear on his face.
“With the way those fields are being trampled underfoot, the Hag better enjoy the food they have, because the fall harvest doesn’t promise to be a good one,” Vlad’Aeroth frowned as he spoke.
“Fighting will take place on both sides of the river, since there are roads there that lead to the Hall of Voyd,” Ay’Roan pointed this out to the others as he spoke.
“That means, there’ll be three battlefields,” Bacchanor explained, “two on either side of the Voyd River before us and a third on the plains north of Malam. The One Who Is Not Ab’Don won’t give up Malam like he did the other cities our Nyeg Warl brothers have come against.”
“The land before us that slopes away to meet the Voyd River will be the site of the heaviest fighting,” Pearl’s ethereal voice intoned. “The Sorcerer knows where the Hammer Bearer is, I assure you. His every thought will be on Jeaf until he has destroyed him and the threat he poses. He’ll turn the rest of the fighting over to his commanders, though, I dare say, he gave them the plans they’ll implement.
“The Prophetess is the key to the Sorcerer’s strategies. The entity that possesses the Sorcerer’s body revealed that when he had Ab’Don wrap her up and sent into the shadows found in the Warl of the Dead. Since that day, a fundamental change has taken place in the Warl of the Living’s relationship to the place where the deceased go to. Me being here is proof of this, as well as the spirits of Lamarik’s father and sister.” Pearl nodded at Janalik and Kotalik, who looked like they were standing behind Lamarik when, in fact, their feet weren’t touching the ground, before she added, “What this means, none knows for sure but the Nameless Evil who is now clothed in
human flesh.”
“My grandmother, Elamor, has sent word that she and Dolfon are bringing a company of Candle Warriors here for the very reason my aunt just explained,” Travyn added. “With the sea of people that has fallen beneath the Spell of the White Hand positioned between us and the Hall of Voyd as they are, we’ll need their help.
“Grour Blood and his kin are coming with them,” Kaylan explained. “If the heaviest fighting is going to take place here, we’ll not be without weapons, that’s for sure.”
****
“Goldan,” a familiar voice spoke to the Commander of Nyeg Warl’s armies as he slept, a voice that sounded like it came from far away, but, in fact, came from the middle of the room where the Tsadal was sleeping in his tent. “Goldan,” the voice came again, “wake up. I have something to tell you, something of the greatest urgency.”
Though Goldan shifted his weight in bed, he didn’t wake up until the voice said his name another time. When he did rouse himself, he looked at the cot where his wife still slep before speaking to the guard outside his tent. “Randyl, did you call me?”
When the guard informed the commander that he hadn’t, Goldan was about to lay back down until he heard his name spoken with a voice that sounded like wind blowing through a tree. Looking about the dark room, his gaze passed a form that, to his surprise, was standing right in front of him, a form like a woman would have if its edges were more distinct.
“I’ve heard that wraiths move freely in Ar Warl these days. Is that what you are?” After silence followed while the form remained motionless, Goldan added, “Have you come to cast a spell of fear on me so that my thoughts will fail me when I need them most in the days ahead?”
“No,” the voice sounded like some one was whispering in the corner of the room this time, “I’ve come to talk to you about my husband.”
Frowning as he lifted himself up on one elbow, he asked, “Muriel, is that you?” With the voice being as familiar as it was, Goldan had figured out whose it was. “Has the Sorcerer gone ahead and killed you and you now wish to speak parting words to a friend as you head for the Warl of the Dead? Should I wake up Truamor?”
“I’m not dead, though I suppose you could say I’m a wraith of sorts, if by that you mean I’m a disembodied spirit. But don’t wake up my cousin, I’ve come to speak with you and have little enough time to say what I want to tell you without having to speak to Truamor.””
“I don’t understand how you’re here without being dead,” Goldan admitted, and as he did, he thought he caught a glimpse of Muriel’s face in the form that remained in front of him.
“My body’s still on the iron tree that stands in the Hall of Voyd as you’ve probably heard rumors about, rumors that are true. Unexpectedly, I have discovered my spirit is free to roam if I’m careful and don’t let the fraethym who stand watch over the tree I’m hanging on and see me coming and going as I’ve learned to do.”
“How’s that possible?”
“I think the talisman that the one who possesses Ab’Don’s body placed into my heart has given me the ability to do so. Because its there, I can leave my body for periods of time without fearing that my spirit will be cut off from its home in the Warl of the Living. Practicing doing this as much as it’s safe to do without getting caught, I’ve learned to extend the time I can stay out of my body before being drawn back again, to the point I was finally able to come to you.”
“How were you able to find me?”
“I just followed the scent that the Hammer of Power placed on you when you took Vlad’War’s Child out of Torcanor’s hand when he tried to have Jeaf burned to death in Credylnor.”
“I’m not the only one with the scent.”
“You’re the only one with the scent who has enough authority to do what needs to be done.”
“What needs to be done?”
“You must abandon Malam and go to Jeaf as quickly as you can. The real danger doesn’t lie here. It’scoming out of the east. Malam has only enough warriors in it to keep you occupied while the larger army sweeps in a wide arch behind Jeaf and my sons to catch them in a trap that will bring the lion share of Ar Warl’s warriors down upon their heads. If you don’t have Nyeg Warl’s armies march straightway to my husband’s defense, the battle will be over sooner than you can imagine. Goldan, you most go and protect the rebel’s flank.”
“Muriel, how do you know this?”
“By prowling around the Hall of Voyd like a wraith would do, I’ve heard and seen much. Trust me, you must go as soon as you can.”
“Do I note a touch of humor in your words? Saying you’re prowling around like a wraith seems like a bit of an overstatement, though the imagery is rather vivid.”
“I must confess, the thought that I can go around haunting a building like the apparitions in the stories told to children has its amusing aspects. But I assure you, levity and I have been strangers for some time now.”
“Muriel, you should know that nearly half of Nyeg Warl’s forces have already left to take up positions west of the Hall of Voyd.”
“So, I’ve heard the cretchym tell the Sorcerer.” This time Muriel’s voice came and went like it was a hummingbird flitting about Golden’s head in search of nectar. “But that’s good. There are two roads that lead to the Hall of Voyd, one on each side of the Voyd River. Those that have already left can keep enough of the Sorcerer’s warriors occupied guarding the western road to make their placement worthwhile.
“But know this: The Evil One fears the Hammer Bearer and his Fane J’Shrym kin can counteract its plans to abuse the magic given to me as the Prophetess of Promise more than it fears elves, wizards, and all of Nyeg Warl’s armies combined. Driven to distraction by this concern, the fiend is devouring everything written about Shloman the Great’s offspring. Vlad’War is of special interest since he forged the talisman that the Hammer Bearer now wields. The Sorcerer sees the wizard as his true enemy. The fact that Vlad’War is dead doesn’t dissuade a being who has ruled over the shadows found in the Warl of the Dead from coming to this conclusion.
“Goldan, I believe the one inside Ab’Don’s body plans on using me to open a doorway that the dark army waiting in those shadows can use to enter the Warl of the Living. If it’s successful, the warriors you’ll come up against will be replete with evil dead.”
“That’s the conclusion Elamor has come to, a conclusion she has already shared with the kings.”
“Good. Good.” Muriel’ spirit spoke with youthful exuberance after hearing this. “Let me add that Vlad’War’s prophetic giftings enabled him to see the day we live in from afar. That’s why he made the Hammer of Power: To protect the Prophetess’ magic that is destined be used to usher in the Age of Parm Warl from being abused by evil powers. The Sorcerer now knows this. That’s why the one who possesses Ab’Don’s body is extending its full might in Jeaf’s direction, to destroy those who can keep it from twisting my magic to its own use.”
After pausing to digest the things he had heard, Goldan asked, “Will you go to Jeaf?”
“If I can. But all the eyes that are on him, including the Sorcerer’s, I don’t think I would be able to reach him without being caught. Then I couldn’t come to you again. When you see them, tell Jeaf and my sons that I love them.”
Then the shape began to drift toward the tent’s opening. Hesitating beside Truamor’s cot where she remained sleeping, Muriel said, “Farewell friend, give your wife my love too. My body is pulling on me too hard for me to stay any longer.”
With that said, the shape that had been standing in front of Goldan swept out the tent’s door, faintly rustling the lose flap as it went.
“Randyl,” Goldan shouted, “Wake up the camp-messengers. We have work to do.”
Chapter 19: Treachery
The Battle of Ar Warl began with an act of treachery. If the Nyeg Warlers had lived in the Ar as they grew up, this wouldn’t have been surprising. But even with King Claude of Plagea and King Bardensen of Shomer
on disliking each other as much as they did, none from the Nyeg thought they would turn on each other, not when the Sorcerer’s armies were so close by, none, that is, except a single Tsadal warrior named Shaw who had command of the smallest cavalry on the battlefield. But then the unimaginable happened, Credylnor went to war.
Five-hundred Tsadal horsemen came thundering across the Sybel Plain. Moving much faster than the larger southern army that was laden-down with foot soldiers, the Tsadal swept past the Nyeg Warlers who looked on with slack-jawed amazement at a people who thought their prophetic importance surpassed anyone else’s but had come to join forces with Nyeg Warl’s armies as they marched into Ar Warl. Where they came from was not in debate; why they had come was another matter. Credylnor’s elders had stedfastly maintained that the Hammer Bearer had to come from their bloodline, a position they never deviated from even after Goldan ignored their directives and accepted the offer to become Commander of Nyeg Warl’s combined forces, and by doing this, acknowledged Jeaf Oakenfel as the Hammer Bearer of Promise.
“I know your father,” Alynd’s eyes flashed blue light as he spoke to Beryl, the Tsadal who was responsible for putting the unusual expedition together. “I know your namesake too.”