by Rex Hazelton
Sensing the rectitude sitting in the Commander's heart, the Elf-Man cast off diplomacy. His words, used like a bucket of water, were thrown into Goldan's face in an effort to awaken him from the stupor that he and his people had succumbed to.
Alynd forcefully threw another pine cone into the fire, scattering sparks high into the air, before continuing. “Open your eyes, man! The dark army that prophecy has told us would invade Nyeg Warl at the end of this age has already poured out of the Isle of Regret and has drowned three kingdoms in its this evil flood. And behold,” Alynd lept to his feet as he pointed to Jeaf, “the Hammer Bearer has come… and he is not a Tsadal! What will you do now Commander? You've fought him. You know his strength. You've felt his virtue and have seen Vlad'War's Hammer. Join him in his cause! If you don't… the Lord of Regret will drown you and your tiny kingdom as well.”
“Koyer is on the move?” Goldan leapt to his feet when he heard the foul name that was older than the fear gripping his valley. “War has broken out in Nyeg Warl?”
“Yes, the first battles have already been fought, and Nyeg Warl has, so far, been roundly defeated.” Alynd leapt lightly to his feet. Coming to stand directly in front of the Tsadal commander, as he pressed his point, he chose to approach the man with a boldness that would appeal to the courage residing in him. “We were defeated because we've been separated from each other by an evil magic that has made the kingdoms suspicious of each other. Being isolated from one another has not preserved us… it has guaranteed our doom.”
“Your valley cannot withstand the flood by itself. Though you've refused to build a bridge over the Norstlyk River to keep yourselves separate from those who live on the other side, this won't deter Koyer and his dark minions from invading your land. Don't you see the signs? Even now you hold his lackeys in your dungeons and have slain one of his hunchmen. The evil army that prophecy tells us will seek to plunge Nyeg Warl into an age of darkness and despair is already here! Where Commander, is the Hammer Bearer?”
Asking for Vlad'War's Child, Alynd held it high overhead, allowing the campfire to magnify its glory. Then addressing the full complement of warriors who had been listening intently to the ensuing conversation, he added, “Behold the Hammer of Power has come and, as prophecy has foretold, insurmountable wickedness is invading Nyeg Warl. This past week you were given proof of this. Can't you see? It's already violated your valley.” Reaching down to grasp the young Woodswane and lifting him to his feet, Alynd raised his voice to a shout. “This is the Hammer Bearer, he who has faced Laviathon and made the dragon flee! Don't reject him because he is a Woodswane and not a Tsadal, nor because of his age. Warriors of Nyeg Warl, today prophecy is fulfilled in your sight.”
Lifting Jeaf's arm, Alynd thrust the hammer into his hand before he stepped back to let the young Woodswane stand alone.
Frowning, Goldan came over and stood toe-to-toe with Jeaf. Looking into the young Woodswnae's amber-colored eyes as though he were trying to see into the depths of his soul, the commander searched for something that might tip the balance in his mind, a balance he had used to determine right from wrong a thousand times before. A desire to challenge Jeaf to prove the hammer was indeed the one Vlad'War had forged, waned when he recalled the magic he felt in Alynd's singing, a magic that was pure to its core, something he believed could be trusted.
Indeed, these are strange days, he thought.
Jeaf didn't waste the moment. Returning the probing gaze, he was surprised by a vision that pushed its way into his thoughts, one where the young Woodswane saw a lion facing down a pack of savage hounds wearing red, spike-studded collars. Their master, standing behind the evil pack, reminded him of the night Koyer stood outside his own home, so long ago. Jeaf watched the lion shredding and tearing the hunting dogs to pieces until the beast transformed and Goldan, who continued lashing out at the dogs with his sharp sword, stood where the lion once did.
When the vision faded, Jeaf reached out and grasped Goldan's hand with his own.
The courageous warrior didn't resist this overture. A feeling, welling up in his heart, had brought hope that the young Woodswane may indeed be the Hammer Bearer. Giving Jeaf's hand a squeeze of acknowledgment before losing his grip, Goldan instructed his men to bring a rock over for the young Woodswane to sit on. Then he and his men gathered around, to hear the story of how the hammer had come into his possession and to hear about his battle with the serpent Laviathon.
Something wonderful transpired that night between Goldan, the warriors and Jeaf. Not given to philosophy or books, these were men of action, and, as such, they somehow knew there was a chance the young Woodswane could be the one. The fact that he was not a Tsadal challenged only their belief system, not their hearts. Later, when Alynd recited the litany of prophecies that spoke of the Hammer Bearer, the warriors felt as if they had blinders removed from their eyes, allowing them to clearly see the simple message the ancient oracles had conveyed.
Chapter 26: The Grand Inquisitor
“Heretic!” Trycanor shouted, his black robe flailing about in response to his waving arms.
Two days later Jeaf found himself standing alone and sopping wet in a circular room called the Hall of Light, a room that housed Credylnor's Council of Elders. Two-hundred men, who had come to judge the usurper, were seated high above the limestone ring where Jeaf now stood, in ascending rows of oak benches. Wearing heavy black robes that signified their status in the Tsadal community, each held a white staff topped with a ball of pure star's blood. The chamber's walls rose chimney-like far above the elders' hooded heads. A plate of clear crystal sat at the roof's zenith, letting a single shaft of light into the room. Torches provided the rest of the illumination.
Goldan, who angrily played with the hammer that had been placed in his protective care, was seated with two of his officers in an area reserved for guests and witnesses. The king and queen, those who Creydlnor's history had relegated to the status of figureheads, sat across from Goldan perched on a dais that lent the assembly a sense of legitimacy.
Three days earlier, on the morning following his capture, Jeaf and the Tsadal warriors awakened to find Alynd and the two elven horses missing. After a cursory search failed to turn up the minstrel, the company of warriors took Jeaf and headed for Creydlnor. After all, he was the one who they were most interested in.
Later the next day, they entered a city that was infinitely tidy, a place where each home was an exact duplicate of the others. The wooden shingles that arched all the way down to the ground, made the dwellings look like bee hives. This was true, even at the back of the homes. The only exception to this, were the flat fronts made of blue-painted timbers. Jeaf saw hundreds of these homes dispersed among the ancient trees growing in the Valley of the Tsadal.The Styndg River, which flowed through the middle of the city, had many bridges spanning its width. A limestone castle sat in the middle of the river. It rested upon a towering heap of rubble that marked the deaths of cultures far older than the one presently occupying its crest. The river, encircling the castle, acted as a natural moat.
Once Jeaf crossed a bridge that led up through a gate standing within the castle's impressively thick walls, he was brought before Trycanor, the High Elder and Grand Inquisitor. After the High Elder heard a brief report, he summarily ordered the young Woodswane to be taken to the dungeons laying beneath the Hall of Light. He spent the remainder of the day questioning Goldan and his men in greater depth.
Chained to the wall of a small damp room, Jeaf found himself in the company of three Soldiers of Truth who had been arrested the previous week. These were tethered to the opposite wall. The milky-white faces, carefully studying the young Woodswane, let him know that the Isle of Regret's icy fingers were busy scouring the most remote corners of the warl in their efforts to find him. Though Jeaf longed for Alynd's reassuring company while he stared at those who would have slit his throat given half the chance, he didn't fault his friend for disappearing. He had come to know the Elf-Man well enough to
realize his actions were well thought out and would eventually rebound to his benefit.
“Well if it isn't Jeaf Oakenfel!” one of the white-skinned soldiers finally offered. “I see we've both been caught in the same web.” The soldier's breathy laugh filled the dungeon with a stench that, after it clawed its way through the damp air to reach Jeaf, made him gag. “If we'd known how onerous the Tsadal were, we would've hired them to find you and put a stop to your growing fantasies.”
A serpent-shaped darkness, coiling about the man, spoke out of his mouth. The young Woodswane rubbed his eyes, hardly believing what he was seeing. Unbeknownst to him, his Powers of Intuition had increased during his stay in Mystlkynd, giving him new abilities.
Once he was certain that what he saw was indeed there, he watched the man being constricted by the dark intruder. Disgusted and troubled by what he was seeing, the young Woodswane felt a ball of emotion growing inside of him until it exploded out of his mouth in a most amazing proclamation. “Let him go!” As these words ricocheted off of the damp dungeon walls, the man who had been talking cried out in pain while the serpent constricted him more tightly than it had before.
“You stinking bastard, shut your filthy mouth!” the milky-white man blurted out between lips that contorted in torment.
Looking past the man, Jeaf addressed the suffocating darkness. “I can see you, you evil snake... I know you hold this man under the weight of Koyer's spell. Hear me now! I've come to set him free.”
Jeaf watched the shadowy serpent throw the man against the dungeon wall. Writhing about like he was a snake himself, the white-skinned soldier continued spitting out profanities. “You pathetic bastard, who do you think you are?” The man's tongue began flashing in and out of his mouth like he was a serpent tasting the air. “Look around yourself, you insignificant pile of bull-splatter, how are you going to set this man free if you can't even free yourself!” For the first time, the dark entity didn't try to hide behind its host. “What are you going to do, pull out your little hammer and rescue yourself?” The shadow-serpent said this aware that Jeaf's hammer had been taken from him. “Oh, I see… you're not even carrying the hammer with you. Easy come. Easy go. Right?”
“Silence!” the young Woodswane shouted.
Instantly, the man collapsed into unconsciousness. As he hung from the shackles affixed to the prison walls, the other milky-faced soldier huddled up against the stones for protection. The third man, who lacked the distinctive white skin that Koyer's evil guards possessed, looked utterly confused by the drama unfolding before him.
The rest of Jeaf's stay in the dungeon was uneventful since the milky-white soldiers refused to engage him in further conversation for the rest of that day, the subsequent night, and when Goldan's troops came the next morning to take him to the Hall of Light.
****
Jeaf was ushered into a side room adjoining the Hall of Light, called the Baptismal Chamber. Here, converts to the Tsadal philosophy, as well as acolytes, were immersed in the Rite of Baptism that symbolized a major change in the Initiate's life. For the convert it heralded their new identity as a member of the Tsadal community, for the acolyte it marked the end of their childhood and the beginning of their adult life.
Though the chamber was used primarily to initiate those who were willing to embrace the Tsadal way of life, it was- at times- used in a much different way. The water, gathered in a huge basin that could easily hold a dozen people all at once, was also employed in extracting confessions out of any who deviated from the Tsadal path. That's why this bath was given the name Waters of Truth.The elders taught that it had the power to reveal the errant beliefs held by the rebellious and disobedient.
When Jeaf heard this explained, while they were strapping him into the ritual harness used to confine his movements, he ruefully renamed the dreadful bath the “Waters of Intimidation”. Goldan, who asked to witness the trial, stood sullenly by watching his warriors hooking the young man's harness to the rope and pulley system that would be used to immerse him in the bath. Once this was accomplished, Jeaf was hoisted up-side-down over the basin, his head dangling just above the water.
Suspended in midair, the young Woodswane watched Trycanor walking across the ceiling towards a platform overlooking a basin of water resting above Jeaf's head. While he slowly spun around, dangling on a strand of web-like rope, Goldan's troubled countenance came into view. A morbid smile crossed the young Woodswnae's face when he saw the mighty warrior standing on the ceiling with the rest of his troops, as he thought, has the whole warl been turned upside down?
Clearing his throat, Trycanor's august voice began filling the chamber as he studied the hammer that he held in his hands. “Where did you get this?”
Without hesitation, Jeaf told the truth. “I had a dream where a man, calling himself Whistyme, said, 'When death stares you in the eye, fire will reveal the hammer'. The following day, while fighting the dragon Laviathon, I found it caught in the roots of an old oak tree that grew on the banks of the Eyrie River.”
“You lie!” Trycanor shouted as he signaled the warriors to lower Jeaf into the water.
Before he knew what happened, the young Woodswane found himself immersed in the mindless bath. Time passed as slow as a snail creeps along a garden wall. Then just as he felt oxygen depravation's vice-like grip begin to squeeze him, Jeaf was abruptly pulled out of the water only to hear the Chief Elder pontificating.
“It wasn't Whistyme you saw, but a demon in disguise. He would not have given the true hammer to any other than a Tsadal. Can't you see! You were given this fraudulent hammer as a part of a conspiracy aimed at undermining the Council of Creydlnor's veracity.”
Jeaf's heightened Powers of Intuition told him he was dealing with a man who was not as interested in the truth as much as he was in promoting an agenda, one that put the young Woodswane in great danger since his very presence was a threat to that agenda. The Doctrine of the Hammer Bearer, one of the main tenets on which the Tsadal belief system was based, stated, unequivocally, that the Chosen One would rise out of the Tsadal community. Since this was at the heart of Trycanor's agenda, he had no other option but to prove that Jeaf was an impostor, one whose very presence might produce a chain reaction, bringing other Tsadal assumptions into question. The Grand Inquisitor could not let this happen. So, he was bound and determined to use all means at his disposal to discredit the young Woodswane and remove him from the equation.
Sputtering, trying to clear his mouth from water that streamed down his body on its way back to the huge basin, Jeaf replied, “If it was an evil spirit that gave me this hammer, why are foul creatures like the hunchmen pursuing me, My Lord!? If you want to get rid of me, all you have to do is turn me over to the forces of darkness that are now invading Nyeg Warl and my life would be snuffed out as quickly as a Candle Maker extinguishes a flame.”
Visibly agitated, Trycanor looked down at the hammer he held in his hand as if it were the harbinger of doom. No stranger to magic, the Grand Inquisitor felt the hammer's power rippling over the arm that held it. All who had touched it before him had felt the same thing, from Goldan and his men, to the elders who had passed it among themselves during their pretrial deliberations.
Could this actually be Vlad'War's creation, he asked himself. If it is, how did this boy come to have it?
Then lifting his face, squeezed tight with anger, Trycanor shouted, “Who do you think you are talking so sarcastically to one such as I! Don't you know that I am the High Elder!?” He stuck out his chest as he spoke. “It took me thirty years of intensively studying Nyeg Warl's prophecies, as well as the Book of Discernment, to attain my present office, a position I've held for the past ten summers. Will you instruct me in wisdom? Mind your tongue boy and answer my questions.”
Once the Grand Inquisitor took a deep breath, he continued his interrogation. “Are you Fane J'Shrym?”
“Why would you want to know?” Jeaf inquired.
Enraged that Jeaf didn't give a dire
ct answer, Trycanor signaled for him to be dumped into the water. The Tsadal warriors let him fall back into the bath so quickly Jeaf had to tuck his chin against his chest to keep his head from ramming into the basin's bottom. The blow that this plunge inflicted upon his shoulders forced most of the air out of his lungs, a thing which brought the vice-like pain of oxygen deprivation more quickly than before.
Peering up at the distorted figures standing over him, Jeaf thought Goldan and Trycanor looked like they were arguing.
Inevitably, the young Woodswane's body began to spasm as it cried out for air that wasn't there. A lightheaded sensation gave warning that he would pass out if he weren't soon pulled from the water: his ears filled with ringing; his thoughts began swimming dizzily in his brain; his ability to reason was slipping away like sands in an hour glass when he finally heard Goldan's voice exhorting him to breath.
The Tsadal commander feared Trycanor held Jeaf under so long that he had succumbed to drowning. But in a moment's time, Goldan's fears were relieved when he heard the young Woodswane let out a a loud gasp before frantically inhaling sweet oxygen.
“I protest!” The Commander sternly rebuked the Grand Inquisitor. “The Waters of Truth can only be used to reveal motives and thoughts, it isn't supposed to be used as an instrument of execution. You are bound to follow protocol! Drowning those you question is not permitted.”
“Sir, you don't want me as your enemy.” Supremely confident, Trycanor didn't hesitate to threaten the revered commander.
Smirking as he turned from the commander, the Grand Inquisitor addressed his young adversary who was desperately trying to regain his wits after his brush with death. “If you must know, the only Fane J'Shrym in Nyeg Warl live in our valley. For one can't be such without having been converted to our ways. Those who claim to be from the natural bloodline are an affront to this noble doctrine.