by Rex Hazelton
Adding insult to injury, isn't he a Woodswane? And hasn't he tried to gain the kings' favor? To what end?Surely, you can see it's just as the Lord of Regret has said, the Woodswane want to get rid of our sovereign lords just like they got rid of Cane. Men! Don't let his plan work! Join Koyer, resist the Hammer Bearer and save your kings.”
These words and the accusations made against the Tayn'waeh and Woodswane aroused the Nyeg Warlers' suspicious natures. Developed over the centuries, cultivated by Ab'Don's magic, mistrusting others had become a habit that was hard to break and the more so with Koyer and Laviathon's spell clouding their minds. If something wasn't done soon, the Nyeg Warlers would be left helplessly divided and easy pickings for the cruel Ar Warlers.
In the midst of the dizzying chaos, just before the seams of sanity burst, Alynd stepped forward. Reaching into his leather pouch, he took out one of Andara's tears and threw it into the air, shouting, “Let memory return and fear and confusion go!” It wasn't the Bard of Nyeg Warl who cried aloud; this time, it was Mystlnor the Elf-Man who gave the command.
The essence the Elf-Man's magic burst upon the golden orb, exciting it to send out a pulse of pure amber light that countered Koyer's sorcery. For a brief time, sanity was restored. But the combined magic of the evil cretchym and the sea serpent was too much for Mystlnor to hold off for long.
The magic exploding out of the orb blinded Koyer, sending him to his knees, cursing. Wrapping his wings about himself, he shielded his blood-red eyes from the goodness dwelling in the sphere's emanations. Enraged by the Elf-Man's attempt to undo his spell, Koyer shook off the magic washing over him and resorted to using threats. “If you'll not extend the hand of friendship to me, then I'll thrust the spear and sword at you and stab them into your hearts!”
Sensing the change in Koyer's strategy, the crafty reptile conjured up scenes of warfare and projected them upon his vapors. Warriors watched in horror as they witnessed their own deaths and the plundering of their families. Fear gripped them as they saw their comrades fragment into rival kingdoms that attacked one another in a great slaughter. Hundreds of troops were devoured by Laviathon's fire. A deadly armada of winged-creatures rained down upon them. Black monsters crawled out from the Wyne River, latching horrible tooth-filled mouths onto the Nyeg Warlers' chests, sucking out their blood, leaving them pale and forsaken by life. And finally, an icy silence overwhelmed the battlefield as the grief stricken Hammer Bearer was seen falling upon his own sword, shouting out his crime as he did, “It's all my fault!”
Terror rippled across the Crescent Plains, driving kings and commanders to feverishly assemble their armies to face the treachery they feared would soon arrive, though they couldn't say for certain where it would come from.Shields were raised, spears lowered. Each realm got ready to defend itself from those who, just a few minutes before, were accepted as brothers.
Captains of hundreds and commanders of thousands, cracking under the pressure that the evil vapors placed upon them, began frantically shouting out: “We've been deceived! We've fallen into a trap! Trust only your own people! Strike any not wearing your own colors!”
A maelstrom of skirmishes erupted on the plains. At first, the battle moved in a slow swirling motion. Confused Nyeg Warlers halfheartedly fought one another, hoping that someone would awaken them from the tragic nightmare they had been sucked into. The evil cretchym and the terrible lizard's combined sorcery was pulling the warriors into a gravity well of fear and despair. Soon, tighter eddies of heated fighting erupted at the center of this galaxy of pain.
Koyer's disgusting laughter crackled through the mesmerizing mists. Like the branches of a huge lightning bolt illuminates a thunder cloud, his vile jubilation exploded across the field of battle, over-and-over-again, magnifying the barbaric chaos raging upon the plains.
Yet, in the midst of this a chant was heard, one that grew until it drowned out the clamor of war: “No more! Not today! Not tomorrow! Not ever!”
The sound throbbed through the evil smoke, rising and falling like ocean waves. The magic filling the words was so compelling that the combatants eventually stopped fighting. Lowering their weapons, the Nyeg Warlers tried to locate the chanting's author.
In due course, the maestro was found.It was none other than the Forest People, those who had been Koyer's captives. Knowing the ugly reality of his molestations, first hand, they were declaring how they would never let anything like that happen again. Because of their regrettable experiences, and empowered by the glory of Dawn's Treasure, Laviathon's vapors had little affect on them. Horrified by the prospect of civil war sweeping across the plains, the Forest People resolved to meld their magic together and use it like a hand that would slap the Nyeg Warlers out of the spell of hysteria that held them in its relentless grip. As far as these outcasts were concerned, those who had suffered so much rejection from their own families, it was high time that brother stop fighting brother. So they shouted, “No more! Not today! Not tomorrow! Not ever!”
Finally, their voices rose to a crescendo before plunging, like a magical battering ram, into the gates of power guarding the source of Koyer's evil sorcery. Time-and-again it struck, the foul laughter-filled vapors dimming with each assault. But, try as it might, the chant could not entirely break the cretchym's magic. Though the force of the Forest people's words restrained the struggle, at least for a time, once each wave of power passed, the civil war quickly regained momentum
Jubalamor, whose steed stood beside Lightning, the great horse Muriel rode, realized that Mystlnor and the Forest People's magic was failing to overcome the power that Koyer's magical speech held over the Nyeg Warlers. Knowing the Lord of Regret would soon order his foul army to attack their splintered forces and by this act conquer Nyeg Warl, the commander of the Forest People shouted, “Sing, My Lady! Sing the Song of Breaking!”
Unbeknownst to Jubalamor, Laviathon's smoke had targeted Muriel in a more specific way. Thrusting a vein of pure evil at her mind, the vapor's power warred with the virtue residing in Dawn's Treasure, sending the Prophetess into an abyss of illusion, one where Schmar's grotesque presence was seen moving among Ar Warl's hordes. In-and-out, disappearing and reappearing as he went, the beast weaved his way through the cruel warriors, creeping closer all of the time, bringing dread and doubt with him.
“Muriel!” Schmar's watery voice called out to her from somewhere to her left.
“I'm over here!” This time his voice was heard off to her right.
Once Jubalamor shouted another time, the Prophetess was temporarily shaken out of her trance. In a moment of clarity, she looked upon the tragic battle swirling before her eyes. But the moment soon passed and Muriel was drawn back into the illusion's grasp.
“I told you that you could never escape me!” This time the little fat man looked out from behind one of the tall Malamor, chuckling over the delightful game he was playing.
Determined, Jubalamor would not be dissuaded from his goal. Incessantly pleading, he induced Muriel to return from the spell's dark depths.
Valiantly resisting, flickering in-and-out of the enchantment like a candle flame struggling to remain lit, Muriel searched the evil fog for Jeaf's form. In time, she found her love slumped in his saddle beside her.
“Help me!” she implored, sounding like one who was drugged.
But Jeaf had fallen into his own trance, the same one he experienced on the roof of his parent's cottage, one that the Warl's Magic authored and not the evil serpent's spell.
Like that afternoon, long ago, he was standing in front of a dirt hill peppered with holes of various sizes. Looking into the dark portals, he relived the odious work of pulling each filthy stench ridden creature that hid in its lair. At the last, the mouth of the largest of these black pits loomed right in front of him, and as he peered into its foreboding, foul smelling darkness, a voice spoke out of the sky.
“Jeaf… will you go inside and challenge the beast!”
Without hesitating, the young Woodswa
ne replied, “My Lord, you know I will.”
But before he had time to take one step, the voice shouted, “Then strike your hammer, Fane J'Shrym!”
Staggered by the voice's power, Jeaf fell to his knees in front of the gaping hole. Unsheathing the magical weapon, he lifted Vlad'War's Child high overhead.
Koyer, sensing the mystical emanations proceeding from the trance that did not originate from his own magic, clapped his hands together releasing his spirit from his body. Passing into the Nether Realm, that place where magic resides, the Lord of Regret's spirit slid across the top of Laviathon's evil vapors like a sled racing over a snow-covered hill. Plunging towards the source of the disturbing magic, he soon realized that Jeaf was responsible for the formidable power surge. His red, hate-filled eyes quickly scanned the Hammer Bearer's vision, trying to ascertain what was happening. Overhearing what was to him a muffled voice directing Jeaf to strike the dreaded hammer, the evil cretchym frantically interjected the power of his own voice into the young Woodswane's prophetic experience. “If you've struck it amiss one of the first three times and choose to strike it a fourth, all the good fashioned by the former strokes will be undone and the end will be worse for you and all you love!”
Jeaf was taken off guard by the intrusion. Not being able to recognize who was speaking, or where the voice was coming from, he answered, “You're right! What if I've erred?”
Seizing his opportunity, Koyer drove the dagger of uncertainty home. “What if you erred!?” he shrieked. “Your motives were impure! Even now they're suspect!”
“ENOUGH!” A magical wind accompanying the thundering voice hit the Lord of Regret with hurricanic force, blowing Koyer's spirit away, sending him tumbling back over the sea serpent's foul vapors.
Racing back to his hideous, leathery shell that served as his body, the panicked stricken cretchym hoped the Singer, for he was certain it was his voice that cast him out of the young Woodswane's trance, would not sever the cord that joined his spirit to his flesh. If this was to happen, Koyer was well-aware he might spend the rest of his days wandering about the warl as a disembodied spirit. Sure, he could reach out and torment people in their dreams, just as he had troubled the Hammer Bearer in his trance, but he wanted more. He wanted to savor the fruits of conquest, to rule over those whose flesh and blood he would use to feed his limitless lusts.
Once he was safely back inside his monstrous black hide, the Lord of Regret snarled, his red tongue falling out over his dagger-like teeth as he did. “The fool, he could have prevented me from reentering my body! But now it's too late! Nyeg Warl's doom is assured!”
With Koyer removed, the voice spoke to the young Woodswane, once more. “Fane J'Shrym, strike the hammer!” The command was spoken with a firmness that would not be denied.
Instantly, the young Woodswane was hurled out of his trance and back to conscious awareness.
Hearing Jubalamor's voice imploring the Prophetess to sing the Song of Breaking, his attention was drawn away from the tragic war broiling in front of him. Feeling Muriel squeezing his hand in a way that was itself a cry for help, he reached out with his Powers of Intuition to see what Muriel was seeing. Alarmed at Schmar's presence, for Laviathon used Muriel's memory of the beast to torment her, Jeaf joined the Forest People's in shouting out, “No more! Not today! Not tomorrow! Not ever!”
Sliding out of his saddle, grim-faced and ready for retribution, the Hammer Bearer stood upon the Crescent Plain's dormant grasses and hoisted his hammer high overhead as he shouted out the Forest People's proclamation. And when he did… time stood still. Fierce amber eyes, sitting below the young Woodswane's furrowed brow, looked out upon the Hammer of Power's magical handiwork. Everything and everyone was frozen in whatever position they were in at the moment he lifted Vlad'War's Child: arrows stopped in mid-flight; spilled blood was suspended in mid-air; warriors looked like twisted statues that a melancholy artist created to convey the feelings of both fury and fear.
All stood still, except Koyer. His connection to Ab'Don's dark powers made him immune to much of the hammer's magic.
Snapping his head around, the Lord of Regret leered at the Hammer Bearer, his eyes filled with both loathing and hatred. Saliva dripped out from the corners of his mouth as he stood to his full height and stretched out his massive wings. Screeching in pitches so high that the human ear could only pick up the lower register, the evil cretchym bolted into the air and raced toward the young Woodswane frantically shouting, “No! No! No! No!”
The blur of black rage sped over the motionless warriors standing in the midst of a thick cloud of vapors, those who had no idea of the drama unfolding overhead.
Hearing Koyer's desperate voice, seeing him flying towards him as if he were an arrow shot from Ab'Don's bow, Jeaf shouted back, “Yes! I will! Today! Tomorrow! And forever!” And as he shouted, the hammer arched through the air and down towards the ground. Looking like a red meteor plummeting toward the battlefield, Vlad'War's Child hit with an ear shattering explosion that set time back in motion.
Unnerved by the deafening eruption, Koyer swerved in his course and headed back over the reanimated battlefield, back to gather his troops and crush whatever resistance was mustered against him.
A wind, gusting about Jeaf's head, grew in strength until it became a gale that chased Laviathon's breath off the plains. Blue light, unfazed by the torrential wind, surged out of the hammer and embraced the one who summoned it, surrounding him in magical illumination.
Drawn by the sound of the incredible thunder clap, the kings turned and looked at the young Woodswane who was lifting the Hammer of Power up from the ground. And as they did, they saw the hammer's metallic head, looking like melting ice, run over Jeaf's hand and into gooves that were intricately carved into the wooden handle, grooves that spelled out a Name of Power. A moment later, the silvery name slid off the handle and onto the young Woodswane's forearm. The bulk of the hammer's head, following close behind, dropped over his fist. Rubies came to rest on his knuckles. Then to the sovereigns' utter astonishment, the Hammer of Power was completely absorbed into Jeaf's flesh, and as it disappeared, the mystical blue light that clothed the Hammer Bearer shot out tendrils of like-colored lightning that struck them in the chest. Then gathering into pools of brilliant illumination, a sheet blue light burst out from the kings in every direction and over the troops they led.
Vlad'War's luminous bath restored sanity as quickly as a sleeper is awakened by a bucket of water that has been thrown on them. The civil war ended! But before the Nyeg Warlers had time to regroup, Koyer ordered his hordes to attack.
“The fire-blasted Hammer Bearer? I don't care if it's the Singer himself, I'll have my victory!” Koyer's red eyes glowed with infinite hatred as he shouted at his generals. “We outnumber the Nyeg Warlers! Don't hesitate! Attack! Attack! Attack!” The evil cretchym spread out his huge wings and tilted his head back as he roared his displeasure, sending the Archan cowering from their enraged leader. Jerking his snarling face down to look at the commanders, he reiterated his orders. “Attack the flock of sheep the Hammer Bearer is dumbly leading to the butcher... DO IT NOW!”
Koyer's magic inundated his commanders with power that multiplied their evil propensities and sent them forth determined to end the war that very day.
Charging forward, thirty thousand Archan moved against the Nyeg Warlers like a mudslide rampaging down a steep mountainside; twenty thousand tall Malamor followed in support of their shorter cousins; a vast panoply of Ar Warlers were spread throughout; thousands of White Guard, lurked on the periphery, looking for an opportunity to strike a decisive blow; hundreds of hunchmen were on the prowl; Hag crept about, ready to unleash their dark powers; a host of giants moved freely through the surging throng as the War of Decision raged white hot on the Crescent Plains.
Weakened by the infighting Koyer's magic had driven them to, the kings' armies began to give way to the avalanche of evil that rushed upon them. Soon, retreat was turned into route unti
l it looked like Koyer's dark army would overcome the Hammer Bearer's magic and crush Nyeg Warl's resistance. Then, when all seemed lost, a starburst of light appeared in the midst of the battle and a most beautiful voice filled the air. It was Muriel singing the Song of Breaking.
Do not rejoice over me my enemy,
Hearing the magical words, the Forest People joined the Prophetess in singing the song.
You who look at innocence with your eye.
As they sang, a swarm of brilliant lights, accompanied by the sound of wind chimes and children laughing, swirled towards the plains, out from Thangmor's heights rising in the south.
Do not rejoice or take pleasure in my fall,
Flowing with the song's melody, the brilliant lights raced onto the field of battle and swirled around the warriors before shooting high up into the sky where they stood looking like a host of stars whose brightness overcame the daylight.
For I will arise!
The remnant of the magic that accompanied Koyer's words, the portion that resisted the hammer's power, was broken by the song's magic. The ancient spell of blindness, woven over hundreds of cold winters, was finally and completely cast off of Nyeg Warl.
Now that the day of darkness is over,
No longer would Ab'Don's lies be humored and the truth bound and gagged.
And the father's love has brought me to the light,
For the first time in centuries, the soot that evil had cast upon the mirror of lucid introspection was removed.
Now all chains will be broken,
Finally, after such a long time, the Nyeg Warlers could see themselves as they really were and could attend to things long neglected and unwisely forsaken.