by Rex Hazelton
Seeing a jagged-edged sword laying nearby, Fyreed leapt for the weapon. Just as he reached it, the hunchman's blade that had been digging into his chest struck his back. Though drawing blood, it did little else.
Following a barrel role, the undaunted Bjork was up on his feet and moving towards his enemy. But before he got there, a scrawny little kid grabbed the hunchman's ankles. Like the two other young men, the boy was transformed by the Bjork's selfless boldness, his altruistic act. Whether a remnant of Vlad'War's power he invested in his hammer initiated this change, or an endowment of magic dispensed from Wygean's hand in answer to Fyreed's plea was responsible, no one would ever know for certain. But whatever it was, the remolding of the boys' spirits couldn't have happened unless the substance needed for the transformation was found somewhere deep inside them, a substance that Schmar had not yet stolen.
A slobber-glutted growl passed by quivering lips as the beast lifted its horrible blade to dispatch the nuisance clinging to its legs. But before it could kill its little tormentor, the young man, who was armed with the hammer, brought his weapon down on the hunchman's sword arm, knocking the blade to the floor. This gave Fyreed he needed. Grabbing the hunchman by its bone-littered mane, he pulled the beast-man's head back and ran his jagged blade across the neck he had exposed, just above where its tooth-laden necklace lay, the one flaunting the creature's past conquests.
After making certain the hunchmen was indeed dead, Fyreed and the twins turned to confront other would-be assailants and remained standing guard over the rest of the children. The scrawny little kid stood beside them, holding a hunchman's jagged blade in his frail hands, and as they stood, the Battle of the Cave of Forgetfulness raged on.
Bear, whose strength was greatly increased by the hammer's power, stood with his tree trunk legs spread apart. Swinging his iron-studded club, over-and-over again, he sent crumpled bodies flying through the air like fur tossed around in a cat fight. His club moved so quickly, that even when the blue light was gone, no one was able to get close enough to use their weapon against him. The arrows that struck him had no more of an affect than thistles scratching a pant leg.
“Ya stinkin monsters, it's times t'get a tastes of your own medicines!” Dark recollections of his tormenting stay in Schmar's lair fueled Bear's rage, driving him on in his killing spree. Fueled by memories of chains the hunters once used to control him with and the huge, steel irons that dug into his ankles and wrists, the giant swung his club with the fury of one who was trying to escape captivity. “Damns ya for whats ya dids t'me n m'friends!” The memory of whips biting his flesh made the young giant roar as he dealt out his fury, a roar that frightened the children Fyreed was faithfully protecting. Recollections of friends being cut with knives and burned with the edges of swords, glowing as hot as the fires they had been sitting in, played out in his brain, driving him on in his quest for retribution.
Though the much of Schmar's army had been dispatched by the magical hammer's initial onslaught, hundreds of dreaded warriors remained in the fight. In time, some of them got past the giant's iron-studded club, the weapon that bashed their comrades' heads, crushing them like they were rotten tomatoes being thrown against a stone wall.
One of these, a hunchmen, leapt at Bear's throat, grabbing onto the locks falling from his huge round head, and began cutting through the leather necking the young giant had put on for battle. Growling and snapping, the frenzied beast pulled his jagged blade back-and-forth in a saw-like motion, hoping to reach the giant's neck so he could sever an artery or cut through the wind pipe.
Returning the favor, Bear reached back and grabbed the hunchman by his hairy mane. As the man-beast was pulled over the young giant's head, it stabbed at his eyes, hoping to cut into the soft tissue. But he missed his target, leaving a shallow cut running down Bear's nose.
Shaking his head, aware of what the hunchmen was trying to do, the young giant threw the creature to the ground and stomped on it like it was no more than a cockroach. As he did this, a handful of river-children rushed upon him and tried to sink their teeth into his flesh. Kicking his leg, he threw several of them into the air just before he swung his club, catching them in flight, crushing them like grapes in a winepress. Those that were able to maintain their hold on the giant were soon smashed against his legs, squashed like so many doomed mosquitoes that were unable to dodge the huge hand that rushed at them.
Using his fist as much as he used his club, Bear worked to clear a space around himself so that he could freely swing his weapon two-handed and unrestrained like a horse's tail swatting flies that troubled it.
Grour Blood and Bacchanor, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, shredded flesh as easily as a cook cuts up the produce they plan to throw into a stew. Because of the sheer imbalance of numbers, the river-children got some licks in, but their blades drew precious little blood from the big cats' hides. The swords that inadvertently struck the swift moving paws, for the griffin's claws were too quick for Schmar's warriors to accurately target, were rudely turned back by the thick calluses covering them.
Shaking his massive head, Grour Blood tossed the river-children about, those that dared to lay hold of his heavy mane. Biting into chest and neck alike, Bacchanor followed the dictates of the feline instincts that came along with his transformation.
Leaping into the air, after a flurry of destruction was dealt to one part of Schmar's forces, using their wings' wide expanse to move about, the griffin plunged into a new section of warriors, moving so quickly the enemy couldn't put up a good defense. In tandem, the two big cats descended together. Landing near one another, they shredded everything that lay between them before, once again, leaping back into the air to seek out fresh meat.
Filled with the blue light's magic, the mighty griffin and the indomitable giant advanced over the growing piles of dead bodies.
While the three champions were struggling against the evil legion, Alynd was busy fighting the hunchmen who survived Arachnamor's attack, minus the four that made the mistake of attacking Fyreed and the one who had leapt on Bear's back. Like the others, the Elf-Man's powers were greatly increased by the hammer's magic, so much so that when he hit the savage brood with his N'Rah, he crushed their rib cages and the organs they shielded. In this way, Alynd was able to keep the frenzied pack at bay.
Manic, from a large dose of chata beans, the hunchmen continued to charge in spite of their brothers' deaths. Jagged-edged swords slashed through the air, jaws snapped, and blood flowed. But not one drop came from the Elf-Man. His long-knife was too fast, his speed unmatched.
Angered at his brethren's impotence in the face of the fleet Elf-Man, the captain of the hunchmen stepped out before the lithely built warrior determined to put an end to the struggle and kill their swift foe.
With his wide-brimmed hat resting low on his forehead, the Elf-Man's eyes flashed blue light brighter than the magical illumination that once surrounded him. And in a momentary blur of motion, moving at the same time the snarling captain attacked, Alynd whipped around, pulling his long-knife along with him. After completing his maneuver, the Elf-Man stood, with one hand resting on his hip, watching the startled hunchman, whose attack had been interrupted by the speeding knife.
Blinking like one does when they've been stumped by a question, growling between clenched teeth, blood trickled out from the corner of the beast's snout. Then the hunchman's upper torso fell sideways to the ground. The lower half of its body soon followed.
****
Plummeting through the swirling water that ripped at his face and pulled his limbs askew, Jeaf searched the frothing depths for his love. Time-and-again he was hurled against stone as if he were a wooden spoon hitting the side of a pot it was stirring. The continual buffeting magnified his concern. Did the hammer's magic reach out to Muriel? Jeaf wondered. If left on her own, she could be beaten senseless.
The young Woodswane stopped short of finishing his line of thinking. He didn't want to consider the worst, not when he felt
the hammer's magic coursing through his body.
Then, as if by a miracle, Jeaf's hand touched soft flesh and gripped it with all his strength. Muriel's body was lodged on top of a shelf of stone, held in place by the water's incessant suction. Pulling himself close, the young Woodswane's heart leapt when he felt her arms move in an attempt to push herself free from the wall.
She's still alive, e thought. But this fact concluded less than half of the battle. Now that I've found her, what am I to do?
With his lungs burning from the lack of oxygen, the Hammer Bearer searched his mind for a solution. But before he could decide his course of action, a crushing blow hit his side. Peering through the raging water, illuminated by the remnant of the hammer's magical light, Jeaf saw a huge black creature rushing at him just before he felt another blow rock his body. Not aware that it was Schmar who was attacking him, he instinctively thrust his hand, the one that had absorbed the hammer, towards the side of the pit. Probing for a crack to hold, the young Woodswane was surprised when his fingers sank into the stone as if it were no more than soft clay. Anchored, with Muriel being held between his chest and the wall, Jeaf withdrew his sword and stabbed at the black thing, whose arms were reaching past him, grasping for Muriel, wanting to hold her down until the swirling water drowned her.
With a sudden violent jerk, Schmar quickly withdrew. Hovering above the couple, black liquid streamed out of his head, swirling down into the tempestuous vortex. Opening his round mouth, filled with hundreds of spike-like teeth many times larger than those the river-children possessed, Schmar grabbed the Hammer Bearer and bit at his neck, wanting to cut his arteries open and drink his life's blood. But the skin was too tough. Vlad'War's Magic had seen to that. The cruel teeth did less then scratch Jeaf. Frustrated by his failure to rip the young Woodswane's throat and shoulder open and still losing blood, Schmar shot upward towards the water's surface.
Free from further attack, Jeaf bent his efforts to pull the two of them out of the pit. Having put his weapon away, he used his sword arm to hold on to Muriel while he gripped the wall with his other arm. Drawing his hand out of the stone, he thrust it higher up and closer to safety, sinking his fingers back into the rock before the whirlpool could pull him down again. But the progress he made was small. Each time he reached up, no matter how quickly, the swirling water pulled him down, so much so, that when he regripped the wall, his hand was not much higher than it once was.
Feeling Muriel going limp, Jeaf's throbbing lungs told him he would soon join her in unconsciousness. So, drawing the Prophetess near to himself, he kissed her one last time. And in that magic moment, an intense white light bolted out of Muriel's ring and into the hammer's fading blue illumination. An eruption of vivid clarity followed. So clear, in fact, that every crevice cutting its way along the pit's side, every irregularity in the stone, every bubble being sucked down into the warl's belly could now be easily seen.
Bathed in lucid illumination, Jeaf watched the Hammer of Power's form emerge from his forearm; the silvery head rose above the hand that grasped its handle; the name of power still clinging to his flesh, made certain he would not lose his grip. Then it started pulling them up towards the whirlpool's surface. Simultaneously, Muriel's ring lifted her arm above her head as it helped the hammer do its work, tugging her along. Steadily they climbed, resisting the unrelenting suction that tried to pull them downward into the dark depths. In time, strong hands clasped the two by an arm and hoisted them out from the hissing water's savage inhalation.
Freed from the whirlpool's ferocious suction, Vlad'War's Child settled back into the Hammer Bearer's flesh as easily as a fish, having lept above a pond's surface, slips back into the water.
Jeaf and Muriel gasped in the stench-filled atmosphere, thinking they had not smelled something so sweet in all of their lives. The air, rushing into the young Woodswane's lungs, chased the oxygen deprived wooziness away. A smile crossed his beleaguered face when he saw the Elf-Man gazing at him.
Turning to lift Muriel to her unsteady feet, Jeaf asked, “Are you all right?”
“Yes. I think I'll be fine. Just give me a few moments to regain my strength.” The barrage of memories had abated during her struggle with the whirlpool.
Still holding her in his arms, the Hammer Bearer assayed their position: dead hunchmen and mounds of slain river-children littered the cold stone floor; sounds made by Bacchanor, Bear and Grour Blood as they continued fighting the remnants of Schmar's army filled his ears; near the cavern's wall, at the place where the holes were located, Fyreed stood ready to protect the children standing there; the hunchmen, frustrated by Alynd's speed, were turning their attention to the Bjork and those gathered behind him; several of the children, brandishing weapons in their hands, joined Fyreed in facing the approaching threat.
“Alynd!” Jeaf's voice was filled with concern for his friend.
“I know.” The Elf-Man's blue eyes flashed light as he surveyed the developing situation. “I'll go help Fyreed. You must turn your attention to Schmar. Kill him and we may be able to end the battle before the children are hurt!”
Searching the cavern, Jeaf finally spotted the Lord of Forgetfulness. The young Woodswane's Powers of Intuition told him who the black monster was, the beast whose hulking form was slumped over his throne, a deep gash running along the side of his face, an ear dangling from a thin strip of flesh.
Seeing Jeaf's approach, Schmar hurled his bile at the Hammer Bearer. But before it hit its target, the vomit was consumed by Vlad'War's Magic as if it were no more than a spray of water hitting a hot skillet.
With the griffin flying about the cavern attacking his thinning army at will, with Bear's indomitable club bashing swaths of river-children and Fyreed and Alynd holding the hunchmen at bay, Schmar knew he had to act quickly to save himself and the kingdom he ruled. So, he extended his full might. Dredging up every ounce of magic older than what even Ab'Don knew, the beast readied himself to confront his foe who wielded the wizard's hammer.
With each step Jeaf took towards Schmar, the beast grew in size. The cavern's light glowed brightly as the Lord of Forgetfulness inhaled the orange-colored air. He was ingesting the rock's strength, tapping into the mountain's might. And as he did he continued to grow until he was twice Bear's height.
Satisfied that he was ready to challenge the Hammer of Power's might, Schmar stepped to the wall decorated with Arachnamor's web-covered trophies and picked up a massive weapon he used to keep his minions in line, to subdue the insubordinate. With a steel blade half of a cart's wheel in size and shape on one end and an iron ball covered with spikes on the other, enhanced with a spell that guided its flight whenever it was set upon an enemy, Schmar had used it to thwart an open rebellion and several lesser uprisings that had threatened his supremacy over his dark realm.
In the first and greatest insurrection, led by Snarsh his firstborn, Schmar had slain a thousand river-children in one day, cutting them down like they were stalks of corn, smashing them into oblivion so that there was nothing left to bury or burn. Only a thorough mopping of the cavern's floor was needed to clean up the mess.
Snarsh, having grown nearly as big as Schmar, thoroughly trained in his father's ways and taught the secrets of his magic, made the mistake of believing that he could supplant his progenitor. And he was almost right in assuming this was possible, but not quite. The old beast had kept something in reserve, a bit of magic he didn't entrust to his foul son, something that proved Snarsh's undoing and all who followed him. The Rod of Dominion- as the Lord of Forgetfulness liked to call his magical weapon- was the difference, the thing that tipped the scale away from Snarsh's bid for power. Not having been taught how to tap into the mountain's strength, the mutinous river-child eventually fell before his father.
After this, the beast was careful not to share so much of his dark knowledge with his children. Nevertheless, possessing their father's evil nature, the river-children were prone to rebel, to bite-at-the-bit so to speak. So, from
time-to-time, Schmar was forced to draw on the mountain's power and crush the voices of discontent, brutally silencing their call for change. Lacking Snarsh's understanding of their father's secrets, the beast had to slay only a score or two of his ill-equipped children to squelch their feeble insurrections.
What is this? Seeing Schmar's transformation, Jeaf wondered if fighting the beast on his native soil, the very place his magic sprang from, was too great of a disadvantage. Maybe they should run for it, now that the evil army had all but been negated by the hammer's magic. Wouldn't it be wise to escape while they were certain they could? After all, Schmar was now so large he couldn't possibly fit through the tight spots in the tunnel that led away from the Cave of Forgetfulness, those Bear was hardly able to.
Looking at Muriel, who was gasping at the sight of the massive beast striding towards them, the young Woodswane knew that this was not possible, they could not leave until their job was done, not until Muriel had learned the Song of Breaking, a song whose magic the Nyeg Warlers needed to defeat Koyer and his hordes. They had to stay and fight no matter what price was paid, no matter who was left alive to walk out of this regrettable hole in the ground and back into the light of day.
Catching Muriel's return glance, sensing her resolve, Jeaf knew they were of one mind on this matter. Seeing her lifting her stone knife, pulling it behind her ear, getting ready to strike the Lord of Forgetfulness, the Hammer Bearer marveled at her bravery. But he also realized that if she were to run now, she might have to run for the rest of her life. Muriel had to face him today, the beast who ruled over her memories.
And as he thought these thoughts, his Powers of Intuition caught sight of a shadow on the wall that rose up behind Schmar's loathsome altar, just below the menagerie of webbed-covered bodies Arachnamor had strung up in her own honor, a shadow of the beast holding up a little baby in his arms, a baby who reached out for help that would not come.