Crooked Finger and the Warl of the Dead

by Rex Hazelton

  Racing to Jeaf before the Evil One could start hacking away at the fallen Hammer Bearer with the fraethym sword it wielded, Vlad’War’s Child slammed into Jeaf’s hand, forcing it to grab hold of its handle. Once this was done, the Hammer of Power went to work chasing the fraethym defilement out of the Jeaf and the rest of the Fane J’Shrym’s minds by drawing on the remnant of Andara’s Healing Magic that resided inside the Hammer Bearer.

  Having seen what was happening, Grour Blood heeded Muriel’s request to bring her close enough to the fight so that she could sing a Healing Song over her husband. Alynd, who was standing on Tor Blood’s back, followed behind sending out a cloud of amber light filled with Healing Magic as he breathed over the golden sphere he held in the palm of his open hand.

  Shaking his head to drive away the last of the confusion the memories of being tortured had cast into his mind, Jeaf rose to his feet as he continued to gather his wits and turned to look at his wife as she sang. After taking a moment to enjoy Muriel’s singing and to bask in the healing power it brought with it, the Hammer Bearer turned to locate his foe. When he saw the Evil One transform his flaming sword into one made of gleaming steel, Jeaf knew the weapon would be able to inflict more than mental anguish now. The blade’s sharp edge made this apparent.

  Recognizing the dynamics of the battle had changed with the sword’s transformation, Jeaf charged at the Evil One determined to strike him so quickly and so often, that Not-Ab’Don wouldn’t have room nor time to swing the imposing weapon with its full might gathered behind the blow.

  Reaching the fiend quicker than he expected, Jeaf used his shoulder instead of the Hammer of Power to knock the Evil One backwards toward the Voyd Gorge where the sagging Hall of Voyd lay. Following behind as Not-Ab’Don flew through the air, Jeaf rammed his shoulder into his foe again as it tried to stumble to its feet once it hit the ground. Flying through the air again, the Evil One hit the gorge with such force, it brought the cliffs down beneath shoulders that were broad enough to hit both sides of the ravine simultaneously. At the same time the Evil One’s arm landed on the depleted hall and sucked its remaining life into its body making it even larger. Amazingly enough the river bed that encircled the island had very few boulders fall into it. Somehow the giant had been able to absorb the shattered stone into its body.

  Rising up enough to get to its feet under itself, feeling the growth that had happened, Not-Ab’Don charged at Jeaf and hit him with its own mountainous shoulder, sending the Hammer Bearer flying into the Thrall Mountain foothills where his gigantic body crushed hundred of trees beneath his bulk, trees that were absorbed into his body like the Evil One had done with the Hall of Voyd.

  This was a reoccurring pattern: The behemoths were knocked to the ground, magic was absorbed, and their size increased, Jeaf, by infusing nature directly into his body, the Evil One, by being fed by the Hag roots that reached up and latched onto him like sinewy leeches regurgitating their stomach’s contents into its body until the fiend broke the tie by rising to its feet.

  An exchange of blows followed where the Hammer of Power and fraethym sword took turns blocking each other. Taking advantage of the stalemate, Jeaf steered the fight deeper into the Thrall Mountians and away from the armies that had broken off concerted fighting to await the outcome of the death match. In time, the two giants disappeared behind one of the lower peaks that was barely tall enough to hide them. For a long span of time, only the sounds of mountains being torn apart by the two colossuses that were thrown into their sides as they fought were heard.

  When one of the peaks broke apart and fell on the huge combatants that had crushed its base with their incredible bulk, the onlookers knew the destruction that was left in the warring giant’s wake would be beyond their mind’s ability to grasp. When two new peaks rose up in the Thrall Mountain heights, those whose tops looked like the Hammer Bearer and Ab’Don’s bloody heads, it was apparent that the two were continuing to grow as they fought.

  When Not-Ab’Don appeared, looking like a mountain was rushing towards them, the rebels thought the Hammer Bearer had put the Evil One to flight. But that wasn’t what was happening. To correct their errant thinking, the Oakenfel brothers, flying before the fast giant on the backs of the griffin that had enabled them to witness the fight, started throwing lightning bolts at the rebel’s feet, scattering the warriors in every which direction save toward the oncoming colossus.

  Recognizing what was happening, Dolfon shouted, “RUN!”

  Lowen, Ilya’Gar, and Ramskynd were soon shouting the same thing. A moment later a hundred voices joined the chorus. Two moments later, a thousand more had joined in. The Evil One wasn’t fleeing as many hoped; instead, the fiend was bringing the fight to a place that would distract the Hammer Bearer, a place where it could crush those Jeaf loved beneath feet as long as an arrow could fly.

  When what looked like a second mountain peak appeared behind the Evil One, swinging the Hammer of Power as it came, those that had the temerity to slow their flight down enough to turn to see what was happening saw Jeaf slam Vlad’War’s enraged Child into Not-Ab’Don’s back. The horrible noise of a silver hammer head, bigger than the island the Hall of Voyd once stood upon, hitting the star’s blood armor, covering the Sorcerer’s torso, sounded like the warl was literally being torn apart. The noise was so deafening that the desperate rebels cried out in fear as they scattered before the approaching mountains made of flesh and bone. Even the thunderhead seemed to recoil from the sound.

  Falling across the Thrall Mountains’ foothills as the Hammer of Power drove Not-Ab’Don to the ground, horribly scarring the terrain as it did, the Evil One’s bulk sent an earthquake-like shock wave across the lowlands where the rebels were seen making a mad dash for freedom.

  Seeing the Hammer Bearer leap on the Evil One’s back, adding to the quake’s strength as he pinned the foul entity to the ground, Bacchanor, in griffin form, caught up with the brothers and told them a plan he thought could save the rebels from certain death once the fight reached the erstwhile battlefield, death that Jeaf would unwittingly contribute to as he struggled to save his friends lives.

  When Bacchanor was done explaining the extraordinary strategy Mar’Gul helped him devise, the griffin carrying Travyn, Kaylan, J’Aryl and Ay’Roan took off in opposite directions from one another. At the same time, Bala, who had gone to get Muriel and Grour Blood at Mar’Gul’s behest, came flying up to the Brown Wizard. Once the Prophetess arrived, each was told the part they would play in the daring scheme.

  Once they left, Bacchanor spoke to the Elf-Man who arrived on a griffin’s back as the bold plans were being laid out. “Get out one of your spheres. Jeaf won’t be able to keep the fire-blasted Sorcerer down for long.”

  As the brothers took up positions above the colossuses, Bacchanor and Alynd placed themselves between the Evil One and the fleeing rebels. If the trap the Oakenfels were setting wasn’t completed in time, Alynd would use Ankara’s tear’s violent potential to slow Not-Ab’Don down, violence that could only be used against the violent. If the snare was completed in time, the Elf-Man would use the tears magic to make certain the mountainous giant fell into the trap.

  Travyn, summoning lightning from the thunderhead above him, passed the bolt of energy onto Kaylan while a second radiant shaft struck his sword and he repeated the act. Kaylan passed what was turning out to be a continuous bolt of lightning onto Ay’Roan, who passed it on to J’Aryl. who sent it back to Travyn, who added the old energy to the new, completing a circuit that continued to grow in power and brightness as the lightning bolts were melded together. In time, only the tips of the griffin’s wings and the ends of their tails could be seen reaching beyond the nearly blinding light.

  Sensing the thunderhead had expended the energy it had stored up and wouldn’t be able to add any more for a while as it regathered its strength, Muriel shouted to her friend, “Grour Blood, it’s time.”

  “Are you sure about this, Little Sister?” the mass
ive griffin intoned with his rumbling voice.

  “I’m sure of only one thing, if we don’t act now the rebel and Nyeg Warlers will be slaughtered.”

  “Aye, Little Sister, I believe you’re right.” And with that said, Grour Blood spred his massive wings and flew straight for the shaft of unrelenting energy the brothers controlled with the magic ensconced in their swords.

  Stretching out over her friend’s heavy mane as Grour Blood fluttered before the river of lightning, Muriel reached out with Crooked Finger until it touched the flowing energy that was being passed between her sons. Instantly, the part of the thunderhead that could be seen through the square-shaped stream of illumination disappeared and was replaced by a cobalt-colored sky that had a hint of flashing lights off to one side, lights that changed hues with each flash.

  Looking up, Bacchanor shouted, “All is ready, Alynd.”

  “Not quite,” the Elf-Man replied as he watched the Evil One push the Hammer Bearer away with a shove of its feet and stand up before Jeaf could latch onto it again.

  Lifting its gaze back to the fleeing rebels, the Evil One was surprised to see the fire-blasted elf was standing on the back of griffin facing the fiend once again. Confident his size could withstand the explosion of magic the elf would unleash, Not-Ab’Don moved forward swinging his gigantic steel sword at his miniscule foe as he went.

  True to its expectation, the elf shouted a war cry across an outstretched hand that held a tiny golden sphere in its upturned palm. The moment the elven battle cry touched the sphere, it exploded outward toward the Evil One with a burst of magic nearly as large as the giant itself. Surviving the explosion that would have torn it apart if it was the size of the black dragon like it once was, the Evil One stumbled backwards.

  Startled by how much pain it felt, Not-Ab’Don hesitated a moment before it gathered itself and got ready to charge forward, a moment that gave Jeaf the opportunity he needed to strike another blow with the Hammer of Power, a blow that didn’t come when he saw the cobalt blue sky inside the massive radiant square his sons had fashioned with their magical swords. Instead, he clamped his arms around the Evil One and held him as tight as he could for as long as possible as he watched the brilliant portal descend on the two of them.

  Releasing the magic they had conjured up with their swords, the brothers watched the picture frame-like construction fall towards the place where the mountainous Evil One stood, struggling to break the Hammer Bearer’s grip. Gaining speed as it went, the radiant square slipped around the giants and slammed into the mud that sprouted succulent grass on impact. While the portal made with lightning vanished, the grass spred out until it had become a vast plain. The thunderhead disappeared too. The colbalt blue sky had taken its place entirely. A massive mountain, topped with billowing clouds filled with flashes of colorful light, nearly spanned the horizon in front of the giants. The chasm that ran along the mountain’s edge stretched out to their left and passed them until it ran into a cliff-face that was part of the barrier that separated the Warl of the Dead from the Warl of the Living. The chasm that had a river of molten lava flowing in its depths was called Gulf Fix. The incomplete bridge that reached out over its expanse and the black mountain that rose on the chasm’s far side were the Evil One’s own. The shadows that covered the treacherous terrain that lay beyond the black mountain marked the dark realm the foul entity ruled over.

  Taking this all in with Ab’Don’s raptor yellow eyes, the Evil One shouted out with excitement. “Fool Oakenfels, you’ve given me what I’ve always wanted but hadn’t attained yet: You’ve transported me across Gulf Fix.”

  To save the lives of the rebels, a risk had to be taken to ensure their safety. So, Muriel and her sons used their magic to open a door to carry the fight into the Warl of the Dead where no one was in danger of being killed for obvious reasons.

  The Eivl One’s words had succinctly explained the risk: It had reached the place where it could finally attack the Mountain of Song it so longed to conquer. But attacking was different than conquering; and that’s what Bacchanor and Mar’Gul counted on when they came up with their plan. It was clear that the war had already seen that the Warl of the Living and the Warl of the Dead were joined together in a way that made both places potential battlefields it would be fought on. By bringing the Evil One to this place, they had shortened the timetable that would inevitably see the ancient entity reach the very spot they now stood on. They had hastened the advent of the Day of Reckoning, as it would likely be called; but by doing so, they hoped the Evil One would be unprepared for its arrival.

  That didn’t seem to be the case when Not-Ab’Don shook the Hammer Bearer off and turned to give the black mountain that was a poor replica of the Mountain of Song a command. “Come to me!” the fiend shouted as it stretched out its arms and becknowed its creation to itself.

  Now that he had reached the grassy plains that stretched out before the Mountain of Song, Gulf Fix’s restraining magic was compromised and the greedy shadows that covered the Evil One’s dour realm flooded toward the light it wanted to submerge beneath its gloom. As the darkness swept over the black mountain, while hurrying off to be with its master, pieces of the mountain, looking like sand blown over a desert landscape, were carried along by the darkness that wrapped itself around the Evil One, increasing its size as it fed the mountain to its master.

  Chapter 25: Laviathon’s Revenge

  “What just happened?” Dolfon cried out to Elamor. The Master Candle Warrior’s breath was taken away whent the two mountainous giants simply vanished while the Oakenfels could still be seen flying above the starlting phenomenon. “Did Muriel and the boys have something to do with this?”

  “My guess is: Yes.” The Candle Master replied to her unofficial general. Being historically pacifists, the benevolent order of wizards hadn’t taken time to formally include the Candle Warriors in their organizational structure. “Gather your warriors and ask the griffin to come too. If I venture another guess, I’d say the battle isn’t over; but we’ll do little good running around looking like insects trying to keep from being crushed under foot. We need to be ready when they come back.”

  “Come back from where?” Dolfon was taller than Elamor and younger. But no matter the differences, the Master Candle Maker was just as vibrant and alert, though her fighting skills lagged behind the woman who brought her warrior ways to the School of the Candle.

  “Having witnessed Grour Blood carrying Muriel to the stream of lightning my grandsons had formed with their swords and seeing it fall to the ground once she reached out and touched the flow, I’d say she transported the fight to the Warl of the Dead in an attempt to send the evil thing that has taken possession of Ab’Don’s body back to its prison.”

  “If it’s as your say, why was the sky so strikingly blue and not shrouded in darkness like I’ve heard the place the Evil One comes from described?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I want the Candle Warriors mounted on the griffin. I don’t think Muriel sent her husband to a place he can’t return from. When he does come back, I want to be ready to do more than just scuff up the soles of the Sorcerer’s boots if the thing follows him.”

  Dolfon enlisted two griffin to help complete the task Elamor had given her: one, who was asked to gather the rest of the Community of Blood; the other, who took her to round up the Candle Warriors.

  This left Elamor with a hand full of Candle Makers she used as couriers to go around and encourage the rest of their order to take advantage of the unexpected lull in the battle and renew their efforts to heal those in need. Once the messengers were gone, Elamor was left alone with her attendants, surveying the sky where Muriel and her sons were meeting together beneath the greenish-black canopy the thunderhead cast over them. Bacchanor and Alynd were there too, as were a company of ice dragons whose imposing size nearly hid her loved ones from sight.

  She’s up to something, Elamor put her hands on her hips as she tried to guess what was being said. W
ith the time constraints that are on us all, for desperate measures are taken when delaying to act would prove fatal, I doubt Muriel or the boys will report to me. But Bacchanor will. I’m sure of that.

  Though the thunderhead waited patiently above, the rest of sky was rain-washed clean. The only exception was a patch of fog that had crept out of the river back when it still had water in it and onto the battlefield. Since the ground was still soft and muddy and would remain so for some time with the deluge that had fallen on it, the fog didn’t seem out of place other than it was the only patch of its kind to be be seen. The premature twilight conditions the towering storm cloud’s shadow created diminished the fog’s strangeness. After all mists and shadows went together.

  Not fog at all, those it touched discovered it had a scent of smoke to it and something else… something briney like the smell emitted by a deep sea. Those sensitive to things supernatural picked up the odor of dark magic folded into the pungent concoction.

  But other things were hidden inside the mass of smoke-like vapor, things with bulbous serpentine bodies and sharp teeth ready to shred and tear any that were foolish enough to let the fog envelop them. The creator of the strange cloud slithered in the middle of the squirming brood he had sired, making certain the magical vapor discharged from his nostrils was large enough to hide him and his foul family as they crawled across the muddy battlefield.

  Possessing incendiaries he could have used to destroy anyone the cloud engulfed, Laviathon let his vicious children do the killing for the time being. The ruthless slayings left a trail of torn and mangled bodies in the wake of the fog whose supernatural properties kept the screams of the dying from escaping its expanse. With all the mayhem surrounding the frantic flight to get away from the warring mountainous giants, scant attention was paid to the creeping cloud’s lethal tendencies.