Battle of Nyeg Warl

by Rex Hazelton

  Relaxing his posture, assuming a dignified air, the Dalnostronor Chieftain bowed. “My Lady,” his voice eloquently intoned, “will you do us the honor of fulfilling prophecy?”

  The star-filled sky bent low; the night wind ceased blowing; the forest creatures got as close as they safely could; the Forest People got closer still, all waiting to hear her sing.

  Seeing the longing in the eyes of those who had suffered so much, Muriel wept, and as she wept, the tortured faces of those she had lived with in Schmar's foreboding cave came flooding back to mind, fueling her with a passion that invoked the Warl's Magic. Unrestrained in its response, it hit her body with a force that snapped her head backwards and she began to sing the Song of Breaking, involuntarily, her lungs and vocal chords responding to orders that came from deep within her, in that place that lies beyond the conscious mind.

  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!

  Now that the day of darkness is over,

  And the father's love has brought me to the light.

  Now all chains will be broken,

  And Parm Warl will come to make things right.

  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!

  The power of prophecy being fulfilled compelled the Forest People to press into the Bowl of Redemption. Emboldened by the magic coursing through her body, Muriel lowered her head to look upon the expectant faces of the multiplied thousands pouring into that hallowed place, everyone intently listening to her beautiful voice sing the words that they had been waiting to hear all the days of their lives.

  The earth trembled beneath Muriel's feet until the ground cracked open and a stone rose up beneath her feet. Thrusting skyward, the stone soon became a pillar that forced its way through the grass-covered turf, lifting the Prophetess higher-and-higher until she stood well above her companions' heads.

  “Shai'el!” Jubalamor shouted excitedly, as he proclaimed the name that prophecy ascribed to this miraculous event, an event that the prognosticators said would precede the unrestrained display of the Warl's Magic manifested through human vessels.

  The pinnacle of stone continued lifting the Prophetess higher still, high above the tops of the trees before it finally ceased growing. From her vantage point, Muriel could see how thousands more, many of whom wept while others were filled with laughter, gathered in the nearby woods, each responding differently to the song's magic.

  How many has evil touched? And as she pondered this dreadful thought, the Prophetess found that she could see all the way across Nyeg Warl's vast expanse, to wherever those caught in Zarantha's dour grip were being roused back to sanity.

  Soon those, who had their bondage broken as she sang atop Shai'el, joined the others, who had been freed when the she first sang the Song of Breaking, in their inexplicable march towards the Crescent Plain, the place where war was being waged. And as the Prophetess watched these thousands wind their way along Nyeg Warl's roads, like salmon migrating up a host of rivers and streams, she saw the top of the sun's fiery sphere rise above the distant horizon, painting the landscape in resplendent color as it did

  The dawn's radiant light, heralding the new day, was greeted with a shout the likes of which Nyeg Warl had never heard before. So great was the magic filled cry that the armies gathered on the Crescent Plains were awakened that morning by the sound of what they thought was distant thunder.

  When the shout subsided, the Forest People began to sing the Song of Life. In reality, it was more of a creed set to music than a mellodic construction. With a militant cadence, the horsemen made one declaration after the other, hitting their swords against their shields to keep beat. Both the sorrow and joy characterizing life were embraced in verse, as well as toil and rest, war and peace, birth and death. The song's words were not sugar-coated, they spoke the truth of reality, a reality worth experiencing, one who's potential surpassed its pitfalls.

  Then all at once, the warriors dropped their weapons and placed their hands on their hearts. The song had changed. Its beat slowed. A sweet melody now emerged. The Forest People began to give thanks for family and friendships, thanks for the ability to reason and create, thanks for the beasts of the field, the birds of the air and for the beauty of nature, thanks for strength to work and for time to play, thanks for food and drink. On-and-on it went, cheering the heart, lightening each one's burdens. So great was the litany of good things that were carried on the wings of sweet melody, the memory of the bitter things that were found in the first part of the song, dimmed in comparison. And as they sang, the frosty dew covering the ground gave off a golden glow until the icy droplets took on seed-like form.

  Dawn's Treasure lay on the ground like a thin layer of snow that morning as the golden light the seeds cast forth washed over the multitudes with its healing bath. Then, after harvesting the seed, the Forest People went about administering the magical ointment onto the skin of those who followed the Company of the Hammer out from Schmar's evil den. Others gathered the golden seeds into vessels they brought with them for the occasion.

  After Grour blood flew up to retrieve Muriel from off the pillar of stone, the Forest People came and rubbed the golden seeds into her skin. Transforming into a magical ointment as it touched the warmth of her flesh, Dawn's Treasure was absorbed by her body and the remnants of the shame and fear Schmar's evil spell had cast upon her vanished.

  Once the Forest People finished administering the medicinal magic, Jeaf and Muriel were given horses to ride, twins named Lightning and Thunder. Muriel rode Lightning. Jeaf rode Thunder. The horses, whose mother was called Storm and whose sire Whirlwind, were as white as Stromane's cliffs. They were the last of an ancient line of horses that traced their lineage back to Stonebreaker, the stallion who had jumped the Fjorknar Chasm. The rest of the Company were given horses of their own, those they would ride into battle.

  Empowered with Dawn's Treasure and strengthened with the magic that came from singing the Song of Breaking, the Army of the Hammer moved quickly northward, hoping they would come in time to help the Nyeg Warlers who were grievously outnumbered by Koyer's evil hordes.

  Chapter 44: The Final Battle

  Four days of intense fighting left the Nyeg Warlers reeling from the devastating blows Koyer's superior numbers had dealt them. The combined forces that the three kings entrusted to Goldan's leadership fought valiantly; but they were clearly outmatched by the frothing sea of men the Lord of Regret sent into battle. If it were not for the genius of the Tsadal commander's strategies, the armies of the Wolf, Eagle and Bull King would have long ago succumbed to the tidal wave of darkness that broke upon them, time-and-again. With a third of their warriors now journeying towards the great Hall of Death, the kings found that they and their men were standing like an island of light in the midst of an encroaching ocean of darkness.

  Trapped on a large hill, the Nyeg Warlers looked upon their enemy's campfires, that seemed as numerous as stars shining on a moonless night, knowing the approaching day would bring another assault they doubted could be turned back.

  “Where is the Hammer Bearer?” Wombur slammed his gauntlet into his hand as he spoke to the men standing watch over those who were getting some much needed sleep. “If he doesn't come soon, the battle will be lost.”

  “The Candle Makers have lit their candles and are, even now, trying to call him forth.” Romome spoke with the resignation of one who had placed his life into fate's hands. “As for our part in the matter, we can only hope for the best and prepare to give a good account of ourselves at the time of our deaths.”

  “Sire, hope yet lives.” Goldan spoke reassuringly. “Though pummeled to a heap of stone, Wyneskynd's fortress remains unbreached; Aryl Oakenfel and the Woodswane are holding on beneath W
yne Forest's protective covering; and our own cavalry roams free on the Crescent Plains. If each does its job, we can produce sufficient trouble to keep Koyer from concentrating his strength upon a single target. If we put up a good fight, I believe we can survive the coming day.”

  “So, you're saying, we might be able to hold off those stinking bastards for one more day!” Wombur bellowed at Goldan even though the Tsadal commander was not to blame for the predicament they found themselves in. “Well, what if the young Woodswane doesn't show up after tomorrow's gone?”

  “Wombur, my friend, just focus on tomorrow.” Phelp slapped the Bull King's broad back as he spoke. “We'll probably not live through it anyway.”

  “Aren't you the welcome counselor,” mumbling aloud, the frustrated Bull King lowered his head realizing Phelp was only mocking his own attitude, an attitude that Wombur normally found distasteful.

  “Brothers, listen to me.” Phelp's deliberate manner framed his words appropriately. “I sensed the Magic of Hope in the shout that woke us up yesterday morning. And remember the earthquake that came before it”

  “It wasn't a shout,” Wombur scorned Phelp's interpretation of the rumbling noise that had crossed dawn's cloudless skies two days earlier. “It was the sound of thunder coming from some distant storm.”

  “What storm?” Phelp replied before finishing the things he was trying to say. “Magic ripples through the atmosphere and we think it comes from some unseen rogue cloud. Well, if it is a storm, I'd wager my kingdom that the Hammer Bearer is riding at its head.”

  Wombur, weary of battle, slowly shook his head as he looked at the warriors standing around the campfire. “Well, I guess that's a wager you've already made.”

  ****

  Koyer, surrounded by his commanders, sat within his dark pavilion tearing at the big chunk of bloody pig's meat that lay before him. Spewing out his words and shreds of swine flesh all at the same time, the Lord of Regret voiced his objections. “You try my patience! I told you before, I won't send for the cretchym until it's absolutely necessary!” Koyer didn't want to bring in Ab'Don's children lest Ar Warl's Lord got too much credit for the victory he was sure was at hand. He wanted to show his master that he could win the battle on his own merits, thinking that by doing this he would be given more authority and gain more renown in Ab'Don's growing empire.

  “But Master,” the beetle-like Fontyroey tried to get his brother cretchym to see his point of view, “the earthquake and the thunder are evil portents that warn us of things we must be prepared to face. Could you not feel the magic?”

  “Yes, I felt what you felt!” Koyer's irritation was now evident.

  “Then by all means let me call for the cretchym!”

  The memory of the power the Lord of Regret sensed hidden within the disturbing signs, forced him to capitulate to the persistent bug. “Have it your way… you coward! Go get your family.”

  “They're your family too, Master.”

  “Go, before I tire of eating pig and look for different meat to sate my hunger with.”

  “Master,” Fontyroey, who didn't want to irritate his dangerous sibling, folded his multiple arms against his hard breastplate, bowing circumspectly,“I'll leave immediately.”

  “It won't matter anyway.” Koyer's rapacious mouth sneered as he vowed to have the battle settled before the cretchym could arrive.

  ****

  Zhan adjusted the wrapping covering the cut on his left forearm as he worried over his son and the city's defenses that protected him. The fearless Tayn'waeh, studying Feryl and Rhombar's grim faces, said, “Men are plugging up the hole the Clay Giants opened up in the wall; others are hunting down the hunchmen that slipped through the gap they made.” The chieftain shuddered as he thought about the things the hunchmen would do to an unsuspecting victim. Looking at the fires raging throughout the city, images of slouching shadows came to mind spurring Zhan to say, “We must send reinforcements to help dig out the foul creatures before they do harm!”

  Feryl looked at the massive mound of clay-like flesh laying before him. “We were lucky only two giants got through.”

  The burned, flaky flesh covering the behemoth gave evidence to the way it was killed. The Nyeg Warlers were quick to learn that these particular giants, born and raised in the Clay Swamp, were susceptible to fire. Having come from the wet regions, the massive beasts needed a great deal of moisture to survive. Since the war separated them from the nourishing environment the swamp provided them, the giants become dangerously vulnerable to dehydration. Frequent visits to the Wyne River kept them from having to leave the battlefield and return home. But even these forays could not fully satisfy their need for moisture.

  Taking advantage of this weakness, the Nyeg Warlers assaulted the dangerous giants with fire. Cuts that the monsters sustained-by sword, stone or arrow helped speed up the dehydration process. But stopping them was no easy task. More than fifty warriors were killed before they were eventually felled by a barrage of steel and flame.

  The fierce resistance that these two mounds of clay-like flesh put up showed in the commanders' somber glances. Thoughts of what a score of these monsters could do, if they were able to get inside the stone battlements, etched deeper lines of concern in their faces.

  Looking at the huge, malleable giant, trying to discern leg from arm and foot from head, Zhan posed a question: “How much longer can we hold out?”

  “I don't know what the future holds!” Baryk, the Bjork King, spoke as he and his son joined the other commanders in studying the monsters laying at their feet. “But I promise you, the city won't fall!”

  “What's your boast based on?” Rhombar's deep voice bellowed.

  “Have you seen the Hammer Bearer?” Baryk cast a knowing look at Leyert who had wrestled with the young Woodswane during the Feast of Autumn's Glory.

  “No… I haven't.”

  “Well, we have! And I 'd swear by Wygean's Hammer, he'll not let that fire-blasted Koyer gain the prize he so ardently lusts after!”

  ****

  Sitting up against a tree trunk, Aryl Oakenfel's anxious thoughts waged war against the sleep he so desperately needed. Holed-up in the Wyne Forest in a place that reached far into the Crescent Plains, within a trumpet's blast of the Bull King's fortress and bordering the nearby river, he and the rest of the Woodswane waited for the coming day.

  As Aryl's mount nibbled on spring's early shoots, those that were struggling to push their way past the dormant blades of grass, a large white-faced owl swooped down and lit upon the horse's strong back. Startled by the sound of fluttering wings, the wary Woodswane jumped to his feet after grabbing his sword. Seeing the raptor atop his startled mount, he let out a deep breath and relaxed, that is, until the bird's shape began to change. Renewing his grip on his weapon, Aryl got ready for a fight.

  Larger-and-larger, the white-faced owl grew until it had taken on human form. Once the magic completed its work, Bacchanor leapt lightly off of the surprised horse's back. “Sir, stay your hand! It's Bacchanor the wizard, your son's friend. I bring you news of him.”

  “Jeaf sent you?”

  “It is as you say.”

  “Where is he? Is he all right?”

  “Sir, he is fine. Even now he approaches your camp at the head of an army of determined warriors.” As the two men spoke, the first sounds of horses and steel could be heard wafting out of the surrounding forest. “Please send word to your men. Tell them that reinforcements have come lest they strike a blow against a friend. Also, instruct them to keep as silent as possible so that Koyer's forces may remain ignorant of our arrival. If we are successful in this, when the fighting is renewed, the advantage of surprise will be on our side.”

  ****

  Hugging Jeaf, Aryl lifted him off his feet just like he had done a thousand times before. After releasing him, he turned and gave Muriel a hug of her own, but without lifting her from the ground. Then holding her at arm's length he exclaimed, “You've sung the Song of Breaking!
I see it on your face!”

  “Yes!”

  “And Schmar... what of him?”

  “He's dead.” Muriel held her head high as she gave the report.

  “Now if the same thing can happen to Koyer, Nyeg Warl would be free.” Having said this, Aryl turned back to his son. “Where did you find this army?”

  “Father, it found me. Let me introduce you to Jubalamor, leader of the Forest People.”

  “Forest People?” Aryl smiled as he shook Jubalamor's hand. “Of course… why didn't I expect you to show up? I should have known having a chance to fight the Lord of Regret would interest you. So, what's the plan?” Aryl placed his hands on Jubalamor and Jeaf's shoulders as he smiled and nodded at the rest of the Company of the Hammer.

  ****

  Brakor's hate-filled eyes searched the dark heights above as he moved his foul band of Cragmar Giants toward the hill where Goldan and the army of the three kings were dug in. “Find the Eagle, Wolf and Bull and kill them. Fight only those that attack you and none other, not until you have completed your mission.” The company of giants shook their heads in acknowledgment of their leader's orders. “I want to be able to present the kings' heads to Koyer before the end of the day. If we can do this, the Lord of Regret has promised to give us Eagle's Vale. No longer will the giants go skulking about in the Cragmar Mountains. Today is our coming out party.”

  ****

  The first hints of gray heralded the approaching dawn. Candle Makers standing under Wyne Forest's canopy, made green by the number of evergreens growing there, behind Wyneskynd's stubborn walls, and alongside the three kings, lit their candles as they called on the Warl's Magic. The sound of warriors stirring swept over the Crescent Plains: steel hitting steel, the creaking of leather, horses snorting and tossing their heads as saddles were thrown on their backs, and shouting commanders calling their men into formation.