by Rex Hazelton
Even the stones have memories, Jeaf surmised. And in that moment, he understood that Muriel was motivated by more than the need to help Nyeg Warl repulse the Army of Regret's invasion, she was also being moved by the need for revenge, a desire to exact justice in a place that had none.
Schmar swung his weapon with all his might, sending the Rod of Dominion flying through the air towards the couple. Guided by a magical spell, the massive rod swept downward, adjusting to its intended targets' movements as it did: left a little, then right a hair, back and forth it went as it homed in on its prey who was trying to dodge it.
Bits of rock flew into the air as the huge blade struck the cave's floor, sending Jeaf and Muriel tumbling off in different directions. The weapon had missed its mark, a fact that was reflected in Schmar's twisted countenance. In all the times he had used the Rod of Dominion, this had never happened. The hammer's magic was proving to be more troublesome than the beast anticipated.
Going with the flow of inertia, her strength enhanced by Vlad'War's touch, Muriel sprang to her feet and charged the beast whose gaze was fixed on the Hammer Bearer. Lifting her stone knife, she slammed it into Schmar's foot that was as flat and wide as a table's top.
AAAARRRRGH! The beast groaned in discomfort over the stone shard that had struck him. Then he moaned again when Muriel pulled the knife out, recoiled, and thrust it back in- this time using both of her hands.
Jerking his leg like he had stepped on a hot coal, Schmar tossed the young woman through the air screaming, sending her crashing to the ground, stunned and on the verge of unconsciousness. If it weren't for the hammer's magic, Muriel could have been killed or crippled by the fall. As it was, she was effectively removed from the fight, at least for the time being. And Schmar knew it.
Setting his sights back on the Hammer Bearer, the beast took one long stride before swinging his weapon, a loud WHOOOOSH accompanying the speeding rod.
Back on his feet, Jeaf growled when he saw Muriel laying on the ground. Turning to meet the Rod of Dominion with his sword, his anger inflamed the hammer's magic. Sparks flew and a ringing sound of metal-meeting-metal shot through the dirty orange-colored air, drowning out all other noise in the moment it did. The young Woodswane, with the help of Vlad'War's power, had deflected the wheel-shaped blade's flight, sending it careening to the floor where it dug up more stone.
Seeing his blade could be so easily deflected, Schmar allowed the rod to slip through his grasp until the iron spike-covered ball was farther from his hands and in position to strike at the Hammer Bearer. With a loud grunt, the huge beast swung his weapon again. The ball of spikes fell like a boulder dislodged by a rock slide, one that plunged over the edge of a cliff, going faster-and-faster the further it fell.
Bracing himself to absorb the blow, as Aryl had taught him, Jeaf lifted his weapon. BBBRAAANG! The metal ball drove the Hammer Bearer's razor-sharp sword toward his head, shoving it at his skull. If not for the magic running up his arm and out into his blade, Jeaf would have been smashed like jam smeared over a piece of toast. As it was, his feet were driven into the stone floor, leaving prints that were a hand's breadth deep, sending cracks running out in every direction. But he remained intact, his sword stopping precariously short of cutting into his head; the ball's spikes jutting even closer.
HRRRUUUMPH! A metal-studded club clobbered Schmar in the small of his back. Bear was on the attack, drawn to the struggle by harrowing sounds of magic striking against magic. “Takes that ya worm,” Bear shouted as he hit the beast again, causing Schmar to howl in pain.
Now the giant played the part of the half-pint. Standing just slightly higher than what one might guess was Schmar's waist- for the beast's torso was unusually long, long like a dog, or better yet, a weasel that was black, slimy, and gigantic- Bear was the runt in the fight. It was a strange twist of roles that would certainly prove to be a fatal one if it were not for the hammer's magic coursing through his heavy body. Though over-matched in size, Vlad'War's touch gave the young giant a chance, maybe not to win, but at least to survive the monster's reprisal.
“Burn you to ashes, you whelp!” Schmar roared as he swung the Rod of Dominion at Bear.
Not one to shrink from a fight, the young giant swung his huge metal-studded club on a trajectory that would intercept the larger weapon in its flight. CCCRAAACK! The rod and club collided like the walls of a fortress falling in on itself. CCCRAAACK! CCCRAAACK! CCCRAAACK! The weapons met again-and-again. Bear stubbornly refused to withdraw, though he stumbled backward with each resounding blow; the massive beast strode confidently forward with each swing of his rod.
YOOOWWW! Schmar screamed in searing pain. Slumping to one knee he turned to swat at the Hammer Bearer. With the beast absorbed in his bid to kill the young giant, Jeaf had slipped up close to the monster who was more than four times his height and cut through the tendons running behind his ankle, hobbling him in the process.
Seeing the door of opportunity open, Bear stepped forward and struck Schmar on the back of his sagging head, the metal studs on his club cutting at the black slimy flesh that lay there, its weight stressing the beast's skull. But even with the hammer's magic buttressing the blow, it did not kill him. Wounded and now on the defensive, Schmar hobbled to a nearby wall, hoping to use it to protect his back from further attack. But he could not move fast enough. The Hammer Bearer was on him, cutting at the tendons running up his good leg, a leg that wasn't good for long.
Possessing healing powers that needed time to work, Schmar decided to do something desperate that, if it worked, would ensure victory. “CURSE YOU!” The words the beast cast into the air, like they were a net thrown at an animal he wanted to catch, were no idle threat. Buffeting the young Woodswane, the magic infested speech clutched at his soul. Instead, it caught hold of Vlad'War's Magic. Grappling together, the wizards' powers began a tug-of-war match, each trying to throttle the other, trying to squeeze the life out of their rival.
Feeling like he was being torn apart, Jeaf screamed as a furious war jostled about inside of him. His own inherent magic, a magic that he would learn to harness in the coming summers, was the only thing that prevented this from happening. Fortunately, the pain lessened when the Hammer of Power began to emerge from his skin... Out it came, covering his fist with silver and star's blood, lining his knuckles with rubies, embracing his forearm with silvery letters that spelled out a name of power. This time, unlike before, the hammer arrived enveloped in swirling orange gases, the embodiment of Schmar's cruel magic. Up, up the hammer rose until Jeaf held its wooden handle in his hand, but only for a moment, the hammer was too painful to touch, the warring magic had made it so.
With one mighty tug, the orange gas divested the young Woodswane of his charge, Vlad'War's Child, and he was no longer the Hammer Bearer, not now, not as the magic fought, maybe never again if Schmar won. And as the hammer was lifted into the air, surrounded by a manic, orange cloud, its magic was ripped out of Jeaf's companions, leaving them with only their own abilities to protect them.
Schmar's act was indeed a desperate one, for he too was left without his powers, save his ever-present bile, having sent its sum-total to attack the Hammer Bearer. If he could destroy Vlad'War's Child, the beast could gather his strength and effortlessly finish off his unprotected foes. His supreme confidence in his ability to wreck the hammer's magic had led him to do this. His crippled legs encouraged his decision. But until the hammer was destroyed, he was left as the others were and his size began to diminish accordingly. To protect himself, Schmar threw up a river of mesmerizing vomit that surrounded him like a slippery moat filled with the Spell of Forgetfulness.
Looking like a bat flying erratically about the cavern's expanse, the gas-shrouded hammer jerked and twirled furiously. A loud throbbing noise followed that sounded like a deafening heart beat was accompanying the warring magic's struggle for supremacy. After a few moments, a blinding burst of blue light shot out of the hammer and dispersed the orange gas into shreds o
f wiggly vapor.
Quickly regathering itself like it was a flock of wispy birds falling into formation, the gas flew back at Vlad'War's Child. But before the gas reached the hammer, the tight-knit swarm transformed into a brilliant orange-colored snake that began constricting the hammer, squeezing it so hard that loud groaning noises rumbled out of the mountain's dense core.
The hunchmen, sensing the change in the air that the battling magic had created, mounted a ruthless assault on Alynd, Fyreed and those they protected. Their acute instincts told them that their foes were bereft of the hammer's power and were now vulnerable to a mass attack. Seeing visions of teeth-filled necklaces hanging from their necks, macabre trophies they would take once the children were massacred, the man-beasts rushed forward.
Lacking the hammer's help, Alynd was not as fast as before, but he was still faster than the chata-driven fiends. Ducking and leaping as the fight dictated, the Elf-Man moved among the advancing hunchmen cutting at their flesh with his long-knife, knocking the wind out of those that he could, using his N'Rah. Fyreed's blade, looking like sparkling starlight, slashed through the air, attending Alynd's defense.
The first hunchman to get past the duo felt the Bjork's hammer, now held in one of the twin's hands, fall upon his back while a jagged blade, wielded by the other twin, was thrust into its gut. The next to pass was confronted by a frail boy who clumsily swung a sword at it.
Knocking the weapon out of the boy's hand, the hunchmen fell upon the child and sank its fangs into his neck. But before he had bitten too deep, the twins were on him, bashing and cutting as they came. After a flurry of motion, the second man-beast was killed.
Three more hunchmen got through: one was confronted by the twins; the other two grabbed a child each. Getting a good grip on the disheveled hair growing on the young heads, the man-beasts lifted their jagged swords up to the children's fleshy throats. But before they could cut an artery or slash a windpipe, a roar interrupted their murderous actions, announcing their deaths at the paws of two mighty griffin.
Joining the fray, Bacchanor and Grour Blood lessened the hunchmen's chances of slaughtering the children and getting the trophies they so dearly coveted. Nevertheless, they could not stop all of them. Soon, children fell wounded in the fight. Some, who had been slain, were being dragged off towards the dark holes lining the cavern's wall. There the man-beasts could, unhindered by the constraints of battle, extract the teeth they would place on their foul necklaces. So far, the list of wounded and dead was a short one, but unless help came that wouldn't remain the case.
Taking note of the ensuing battle- watching the surviving river-children rushing to join the hunchmen in what promised, by their lust-filled estimation, to be a successful attack- Bear, Jeaf, and Muriel, who had regained her wits and strength, moved against the beast. Remembering that Alynd told them Schmar's death could save the children, they charged forward until they ran upon the Bile-Of-Forgetfulness. Struggling to keep their balance on the vomit's slimy surface, a surface that proved to be as slippery as ice, a feeling of numbness began to seep up through the soles of their feet. Working through their legs, the sensation moved quickly up towards their bodies, slowing their progress, interrupting their brain's connection with their muscles.
In time, their resolve began disintegrating as the memory of why they were there started to fade. Bear fell to the ground, shaking his head, trying not to succumb to the beast's putrid bile's magic. Once another burst of blue light filled the air, Jeaf looked up at the hammer and watched shreds of orange light regather, those that had been blasted about the cavern by the magical pulse and fall upon the hammer once again. More than anything, he wished he held the hammer in his hand; but he couldn't remember exactly why. Muriel stiffened as a dull glaze crept over her eyes, one that would not let her see what was happening about her. But before it had slid completely in place, the Prophetess blinked when she saw a shadow appear on the stone wall, a shadow of a child struggling to free itself from the beast's grasps.
NOOOOOOO! She shouted, her head snapping backward, her face turning to where the heavens must be, high above the mountain that rose above her and a song, flowing intuitively out of her heart, was sung. It was the Song of Breaking that had been sleeping in the deepest part of her soul, but had now awakened.
Do not rejoice over me my enemy,
You who look at innocence with your eye.
Do not rejoice or take pleasure in my fall,
For I will arise!
Over-and-over-again, the Prophetess sang the magical verse whose melody melted the bile she stood upon and cleared her mind and the minds of all who were so affected, a song whose magic terrified those with evil in their heart: hunchmen and river-children ran about clutching their hands over their ears; hunters fell to the ground in pain and the gaseous snake that clung to the hammer loosed its grip and darted to the ground, slipping into a crack that lay nearby, fleeing from a power greater then itself. Most notable of all, Schmar slunk off to his throne, whimpering, while the hammer flew back into the young Woodswane's hand where it was quickly reabsorbed into his flesh.
Sending out tendrils of blue light, Vlad'War's Child strengthened the courageous company. Due to their bravery, it touched the twins and their frail companion too, healing the wound the hunchmen had dealt the boy.
Not long afterwards, the waning battle ended. Those of Schmar's army that didn't flee once Muriel sang were quickly dispatched.
Chapter 41: Muriel's Child
Bacchanor, having taken on his original form, took out his guitar and began singing his customary songs of friendship. The magic he dispensed conjured up another breeze, one filled with the scent of pine and good rich soil, a breeze that rushed to their aid from the outside warl, refreshing the company when it brushed across their faces.
The light of Muriel's ring increased exponentially when the rejuvenating wind touched it, glowing more brightly with each gust, until it engulfed the beautiful woman in multicolored glory. Then, slowly, the ring lifted her hand upward until it slipped off her finger and stood spinning in the air flashing radiant light across her face.
To Jeaf and Alynd's astonishment, a man's voice spoke to her out of the resplendent illumination. “Muriel! I love you!”
The Prophetess first heard this voice on her flight from the odious cavern and, since then, came to recognize that it was her father's. “Daddy, I love you too!” The young woman replied as tears ran down her cheeks.
“My task is done. I've kept my promise,” Laz's voice was heard to say. “I came back for you just like I said I would the day I hid you in the hollowed-out tree. After all the long winters since then, I've finally found you, and now, I've helped you find yourself.” The spinning ring distorted and grew as it exerted all the magic it possessed, until Laz's form stood before his daughter. The handsome, black-haired man stepped forward and pulled his daughter's head onto his shoulder as he sang a verse from a lullaby he used to sing to her when she was a child. After he finished, Laz turned to Jeaf and said, “I've done my job. It's your turn to care for my daughter.”
Then placing Muriel's hand into the young Woodswane's, Laz disappeared leaving the spinning ring twirling magically in the air until its radiance, growing once more, enveloped the young man and woman, and as it did, a chrysilla-like film was stripped from Muriel. The residue of Schmar's bile and the lies that he and Arachnamor told her over all the many winters she was forced to live with them was removed. As the casing split apart and fell to the ground, Muriel lifted her head, revealing how her previous beauty was greatly magnified, her form was shapelier, and she had grown in stature until she was nearly Jeaf's own height.
Once the transformation was complete, the Prophetess heard her father's voice say, “Sing the Song of Breaking, once more!”
So she sang.
Do not rejoice over me my enemy,
You who look at innocence with your eye.
Do not rejoice or take pleasure in my fall,
For I
will arise!
As with all the Warl's Magic, power was not released by words alone, there had to be something more. One could not dumbly rehearse an incantation and expect anything to happen. No! The thing that made the spell work came from inside the person who invoked the magic's power; it was a matter of what was in one's heart, what resonated in their soul. Evil magic was released by an evil heart; good magic was given impetus by a good heart; hope beget power; hate beget might; faith gave birth to glory; greed birthed darkness.
With her voice growing in majesty and power, the illumination of her father's ring mixed with the hammer's renewed light and stretch forth to engulf the others standing in the cave. Many of the children joined in singing the song, and as they did, chrysilla like membranes fell from them, just like the one that fell off Muriel. Amazingly enough, many of the Schmar's prisoners that looked like little girls and boys came forth from their shells as mature men and women. Somehow, the cave's woeful magic had stunted their growth. Numbered among these were the twins who had helped Fyreed fight off the hunchmen.
****
Following the song, the ring gently settled back upon Muriel's finger, the room was, once again, awash in only the hammer's blue light, and the moment of truth had arrived, the moment where the Prophetess would confront her adversary, the dream thief and the heartbreaker.
Muriel, at last filled with the strength of one who is truly free, turned to face Schmar. Once again, a rotund little man, the beast looked plaintively at the woman whose demeanor projected a fierceness he knew could finish the work that the Hammer Bearer's magic began. Fire burned in her eyes and the Warl's Magic burned in her heart. Taking Jeaf's sword, she approached her former tormentor.
Feigning weakness, Schmar tried to stir up feelings of pity in her. Speaking in a little boy's voice, he said, “I love you. Surely you know that?”