by Rex Hazelton
“Phelp,” Hartshyll's face, in spite of Alynd and Bacchanor's magic, bore a lingering remnant of the wear and tear his incarceration had inflicted upon him, “if your rescue attempt had not come when it did, you wouldn't have found us in our cells. Only the day before, Koyer came to us, mocking our impotence to resist him. Since our usefulness was coming to an end, he said he was going to move us into the dungeons where he had a present waiting for us, one that would cure us of our homesickness.”
“He planned to induct you into his White Guard.” Alynd joined the conversation as he approached the brothers.
“White Guard?” Hartshyll inquired.
“Yes. They're Koyer's personal bodyguard,” Alynd explained as the others gathered to hear what he had to say about the infamous gang. “Those who, in centuries past, tried to eradicate Koyers foul presence from the Isle of Regret, fell prey to his cunning and are now numbered among this foul group, including some of Nyeg Warl's kings and the officers who served them.”
“How did Koyer convince them to join him?” Hartshyll quizzed the Elf-Man.
“By giving them the same gift he was about to give you.” Alynd's eyes flashed blue beneath his wide-brimmed hat as he spoke.
“What gift is that?”
“The gift of unending existence.”
“Eternal life?”
“No… not life.” Alynd frowned. “Only unending existence sustained by the magic that Ab'Don wields, a portion of which he doled out to Koyer. With their blood ritually drained from their bodies, the White Guard is doomed to spend their pitiful days in abject slavery, blindly serving the Sorcerer whose dark power animates them.”
“So Koyer was going to drain our blood?”
“Yes!”
“Then, under the spell of his magic, we would have been forced into his service?” Hartshyll's mouth went suddenly dry.
“Yes, that was the fate Koyer had planned for you. It would have been exhilarating for him to pit brother against brother. When Nyeg Warl crosses swords with the Armies of Regret, we would have had to fight you.” Alynd patted Hartshyll on the shoulder as he added, “Under his spell, you would have murdered your family without the slightest hesitation or remorse.”
The griffin spent the remains of the day resting after they had eaten large portions of dried fish the men provided them. Gathering their strength for the coming night, the raiders tried to get some sleep while Alynd and Phelp told the royal heirs all that had happened since their abduction. Hectyr heir to the throne of the Cassians, Dominon heir to the throne of the Froms, and Bardensen heir to the Shomeronian throne, stood aghast when they heard that their fathers' realms had fallen beneath Koyer's cruel sword. After hearing the sum of the nightmarish news, each sought a place where they could be alone with their troubled thoughts.
Darkness began covering the warl, a darkness that felt like it had ten thousand pairs of eyes hiding in wait for them to show themselves, when Bacchanor transformed into a buck and picked his way up the mountainside to get a view of what lay about them. In time, he returned to report that he hadn't seen anything unusual. So, the men remounted the courageous griffin who leapt effortlessly into the air and renewed their flight to freedom.
Hugging the tree tops, the powerful griffin wound their way unerringly through the mountain passes. The moon, looking like a thin slice of melon, was suspended high above the snowless peaks. Everyone was grateful their journey had not been complicated by the inclement weather that was the norm for the rest of Nyeg Warl. In fact, the Verdant Mountains looked like winter hadn't even touched them.
The trip through the mountains took much longer than it should have because of the winding route the griffin took to avoid detection. Long past midnight, the powerful winged-lions emerged from the higher peaks and swooped down towards the western foothills.
When the stars, like burned out candles, were being extinguished at dawn's appearing, the winged-cavalry galloped across the sky, charging westward toward Plagea, the home of Romome the Wolf King. But just before they reached the High Plain's southern reaches, the griffin flew head long into a half dozen cretchym who instantly sounded their black bugles.
Seeing their foes before them, Grour Blood growled out an order and the griffin immediately changed formation to one that gave the men, who were armed with bows and arrows, a clear shot at the enemy without being in danger of hitting one another.
The frantic buglers sounded out over-and-over again as the griffin bore down on them. Jubilant over their discovery, the cretchym didn't realize the danger they were in. Four of them felt the bite of an arrow and toppled toward the ground before the remaining two dove in a effort to escape their peril. Without a word being said, the griffin that were unburdened by human cargo folded their wings against their sides and sped downward into the fading darkness. The predators had now become the prey.
In time, they returned. Their claws, dripping with repugnant smelling liquid, gave proof of the cretchyms' fate. During their fight, they had seen others approaching. Hearing this news, Jeaf turned to find a dark cloud, smaller than yesterdays but many times larger than what they could successfully handle, chasing them. In the distance, it looked like a swarm of mosquitoes. But he knew better. And with that thought still lingering in his mind, Jeaf felt Grour Blood's muscles flex as he quickly picked up his pace. At first, the griffin didn't use all their great speed. They would save that for a dash to the finish line, later in the race.
The High Plains flashed below them and the mountains tops, now tinged with pink and violet light, quickly receded behind them. A line of white, seen in the distance, stretched out before them. This marked the beginning of Ab'Don's winter, a place where brown grasslands were covered with an ever-increasing blanket of snow. And all the while, the sinister cloud crept dangerously close.
The presence of snow meant that Plagea, the Wolf King's realm, was not far away.
The speed they were now traveling gave the eastern reaches of the approaching Cragmar Mountains the illusion that they were rising out of the ground like a grumpy badger emerging from its burrow. This marked the center of the Romome's realm.
Jeaf, after making sure Manaleyous was secure, took his bow from his back and nocked an arrow to its taught string, readying himself for the impending fight. In the meantime, the winged-lions rearranged themselves into a battle formation that prevented any of the griffin from being unduly exposed to harm.
With the foothills where Plagea laid coming into sight, the powerful griffin bowed their necks, extending themselves to the limits. Swifter than a falcon can fly, moving in an all-out sprint, the great cats dashed through the cold morning air. All the while, Koyer's gruesome horde snapped at their heels like a pack of hunting dogs. But if the cloud of cretchym resembled a pack of snarling hounds, their prey did not resemble a timid fox. The winged-demons were playing with fire that would surely burn them before they could complete their evil deed.
The fastest of the cretchym were moving up on the company of griffin, who labored under the weight of the men and supplies they dutifully carried, even as the first rays of sunlight reflected off of Plagea's battlements. The fortress was now near at hand.
This initial group of cretchym consisted of a score of odious creatures that had two pair of wings each, making them look like giant dragon flies. Jeaf, who had battled one of these foul things on his journey to Thundyrkynd, knew how dangerous they could be.
The wildly manic expressions showing on the cretchyms' faces were as much a reflection of their lust for blood, as it was their desire for glory. To them, the thrill of the kill was its own reward. So onward they pressed, hoping to gain the prize. Arrows, as sharp as razors, greeted their arrival. Rushing upon them with deadly accuracy, the projectiles would not only rob them of the bragging rights they had hoped to gain by making the first kill, but they would also put an end to their pitiful lives.
Confusion shot through the initial wave of cretchym. The inerrant arrows that decimated their ranks, forced
them to retreat to the safety of the larger deadly cloud. Once they had fallen back into ranks, they continued the pursuit, but at a speed that was no faster than their brethren could fly. This allowed the griffin to cover a large portion of precious ground.
Not long afterwards, in full daylight, the desperate company was streaking over the main road leading to the fortress. The few peasants that remained outside of the citadel, alerted by the huge shadows, passing overhead, fled in terror at the sight they saw. Plagea's indomitable walls were now close enough that the raiders could hear trumpets sounding above the fortress' heavy stone walls.
Jeaf, who could see hundreds of men armed with bows and arrows manning the parapets, hoped Prince Phelp's couriers had faithfully carried his message to the Wolf King. If they had failed, the young Woodswane knew the company of griffin, fleeing before the cretchym like a flock of sea gulls driven before a storm, could easily be mistaken for being a part of the storm itself. Jeaf looked around and thought he could read the same concern on Goldan and Fyreed's faces, as well. But, with the deadly cloud of cretchym now breathing down their necks, the raiders hadn't any other choice but to push into the fortress.
Thankfully, the griffin shot over the walls unmolested. The sound of a host of arrows, searing through the air behind them, closed the door of opportunity in the faces of Koyer's winged-horde.
Yet, as the door was being shut, the cretchym tried to jam their foot into the diminishing opening only to have it chopped off. Scores of dying and wounded creatures fell from the sky, littering Plagea's streets. Realizing their chance had been stolen from them, the demonic cloud wheeled about as quickly as a wave rebounds off of a sea wall and flew back eastward until it had vanished from sight.
Prince Phelp took the point and led the others to a courtyard where he knew Romome the Wolf King would be waiting. The mighty beasts, spreading out their wings as wide as they could reach, swept downward like a flock of geese gracefully setting on a placid pond.
Once on the ground, a powerful looking man with a head full of brown, curly hair raced toward Jeaf and Manaleyous. The passionate expression showing on his face let the Hammer Bearer know this was Manaleyous' father, the Wolf King.
Stripping the shining armor off his chest, so that his embrace would be full fleshed and unhindered by the unforgiving metal, the wolf became a lamb. “Manaleyous, My Son!” Pulling his son's weakened body to his own, the two men wept in relief that, at long last, their ordeal had ended.
Chapter 34: On the Way Back
Two days later, Jeaf and the others were soaring along the Cragmar Mountains' northern slopes on their way to the Eyrie of the Eagle. Manaleyous, who had been reunited with his father, was no longer with them, as well as Bardensen. Shomeron's prince had decided to remain in Plagea at the invitation of Manaleyous, who was one of his dearest friends. Logistically, this was a wise move. His presence could boost the morale of the large number of Shomeronian refugees that continued to filter into Plagea, seeking protection from Koyer's evil minions.
For the time being, though Froms and Cassians were numbered among the refugees, Dominon and Hectyr decided to stay with the Hammer Bearer.
Pondering stories he heard about cretchym raids against outlying villages, Jeaf watched the Cragmar's snow-covered foothills slipping beneath him. He was grateful that Romome, who anticipated these attacks, had requested his people find sanctuary behind Plagea's stout walls. As a result, casualties had been low.
Plagea! Could this be Koyer's next target? Jeaf mulled this thought over. After all, it's free Nyeg Warl's outermost kingdom and the one closest to Shomeron.
The only other military options available to the Lord of Regret would be a naval assault on Riverkynd, like the one Ab'Don had tried five centuries before, or a combined naval and ground attack against Wyneskynd, Vineland's capital city. The Eyrie of the Eagle was an unlikely choice. If Koyer were to attack there first, he'd have to worry about the Wolf and the Bull King, including all those that would join them, moving against his flanks.
Reckoning Koyer wouldn't divide his forces, something he'd be forced to do if he were to assault Riverkynd, Jeaf felt either Plagea or Wyneskynd would be the next target. Cognizant of the fact that once Koyer conquers the great city of Wyneskynd, he will have taken control of three of Nyeg Warl's five major ports, Jeaf concluded that this is where the Lord of Regret's thoughts were being focused. Since he had already absorbed Shomeron and Cassiakynd, only the seaports of Riverkynd and Thundyrkynd lay outside of his rule. Thus, the fall of Wyneskynd would effectively cut off Nyeg Warl's northern reaches from the south. If this was to happen, it would prove to be the harbinger of ultimate defeat, heralding the arrival of an abysmal age of darkness.
It was imperative that Plagea, Eagle's Vale, and Vineland unite to meet the evil assault no matter what direction it took. But from all Jeaf had garnered from his conversations with Prince Phelp that was a tall order. Nyeg Warl was filled with an underlying infection of suspicion and fear that would make such an alliance very difficult to come by.
How this came to be is not an easy matter to decipher. But what was becoming painfully clear to the young Woodswane was that the Lord of Regret and his agents, such as the Society of Truth, were busy adding fuel to dissension's destructive fire. Prince Phelp explained that these flames had grown to the point that given enough time war would have broken out among the kings themselves. This would have effectively done most of Koyer's dirty work for him. If this had happened, all he would have to do was stroll forth and gather up the shattered pieces of a once glorious land.
The emergence of the Hammer Bearer had short changed this strategy, making it necessary for the Lord of Regret to make his move earlier than he wanted. Still, the prince feared that the suspicion already existing between the kings was formidable enough to curtail the cooperation needed to foil Koyer's plans. Given the short time separating them from war, Phelp doubted that even the power of prophecy being fulfilled could unite the squabbling kingdoms.
With this thought troubling his mind, Jeaf reached down and touched the Hammer of Power, the burden that lay upon his thigh and Vlad'War's Child, wondering what part he would play in the unfolding drama.
****
Having passed over the Eyrie River, the company of griffin was soaring above River Road, the same road Jeaf and Alynd had fled along so many moons earlier. Like a dog pulling an old bone out of the ground, the memory of the fierce battle they fought that night dug up recollections of Grog's milky-white face. Jeaf shuddered when he recalled how little of an effect his sword had on the bloodless monster, even though it had cut through his guts. He now knew that this was because the odious creature was the product of Koyer's dark magic, a member of the infamous White Guard, and someone who would have killed him if Bear, the ragamuffin giant and his huge metal-studded club hadn't intervened. Jeaf let out a disdainful chuckle as he thought how the Society of Truth explained away Grog's milky-white complexion, teaching their followers that his whiteness was a byproduct of the level of righteousness he had attained, something the others needed to aspire to.
A sudden updraft startled the young Woodswane out of his reverie, throwing him back into the present. The wind, climbing the face of the Eyrie of the Eagle, lifted he and Grour Blood up like they were no more than a piece of paper being tossed about in a whirlwind, and in a few moments time, all were circling high above the magnificent fortress castle like they were a flock of sea gulls soaring over a great ship.
At Prince Phelp's behest, Tor Blood was the first to break ranks and drop down towards a large courtyard where the Eagle King and a large entourage of warriors awaited. This meeting had been arranged by messengers that left Vestylkynd in the days before the raiders departed on their daring mission. One-by-one, the others followed until they had all alighted in the courtyard, looking like giant butterflies landing on the lawn. The king, who was wearing a splendid white robe trimmed with luminous golden fabric, hurried over to help his eldest son Hartshyll dismoun
t. The others, having slid to the ground, stood beside the noble griffin watching the family reunion.
Prince Phelp had just joined the affair when a sudden movement among the warriors, who were assembled in the courtyard, caught Jeaf's eye. Scanning the area, he was horrified to see that more than a score of the Soldiers of Truth stood in a concentrated group amidst the Eagle King's Elite Guard. The sense of foreboding, sweeping over the young Woodswane like an icy wind, reached a crescendo when he saw Grog standing at the forefront of the pool of milky-white warriors.
Trying to read their minds, Jeaf picked up thoughts passing overhead, thoughts that came from somewhere beyond the royal courtyard, those that were filled with searing malice. A magic surrounded these thoughts, folding them in a blanket of protection that prevented the young Woodswane from deciphering their message. But the magic was not strong enough to keep him from guessing who they were intended for. The tilt of Grog's head, like he was a dog listening to his master voice, gave this away.
But before Jeaf had time to do anything, the tall man's head straightened. Then lifting his hand ever so slightly, he let it drop. This was the signal that sent his men charging toward the unsuspecting king and his sons.
“To arms!” the young Woodswane shouted out as he withdrew his sword and rushed forward to meet the assassins head on. Goldan, who had reacted as quickly as Jeaf, was beside his friend with his own weapon poised for battle. Fearlessly plunging into the teeth of the treacherous attack, the brilliant swordsmen went to work. Flashing through the afternoon air like a swarm of wasps, their sharp blades were intent on stinging the intruders as often and as quickly as they could. A deafening ringing of steel biting steel filled the courtyard as the unexpected battle ensued.