Vlad'War's Anvil

by Rex Hazelton

  “But you helped him, you fire-blasted muck worm.” Travyn was angry that the men were refusing to fight. He didn’t mind killing, but killing unarmed men didn’t sit well with him.

  “Aye,” Harlan chimed in with a tremulous voice. “Me and Doeg did. But we’re sorry for it and won't ever do the likes of it again. I swear. Do as Doeg said, beat us. We won’t fight back. We deserve as much. But no more.”

  “You don’t have the time for this,” Rolf stepped towards Travyn as he spoke, disgusted by the pathetic display the two ruffians were putting on. Insincerity was something the Candle Maker couldn't stomach, and the two men's groveling demeanor was clearly disingenuous. Rolf had not doubts that they were sorry for getting caught for their foul deed, but not for doing it. Nevertheless, he added, “The matters I speak of include things about your father.”

  That did it. The mention of Travyn's father broke his fixation on the two men. Now, there was a chance that no more killing would take place.

  “Has there been word of him?” The light in Travyn's dimmed at the thought of his father while he turned to look at the Candle Maker.

  “Much has happened that you need to know about.” Rolf relaxed a bit as he felt the tension lessen its grip on the room. “But I’m not the one who should be telling you this. Your mother awaits.”

  “Don’t worry about these cowards,” Seraph Blood growled out his words repulsed by the men who had beaten Quinn. “We know their names and what they look. The Blood will make certain that every kingdom in Nyeg Warl knows this and all they have done. Before we're through, there won't be a place left that'll stomach even the slightest wrong they’ll do. And if they do worse, the Blood will deal with them. Come Travyn, don't worry about these marked men anymore, I’m here to take you to your mother.”

  “What about Stewart?" Travyn said as he lowered his leaf-blade. "He has our mounts."

  “Don’t worry about him.” Rolf had visibly relaxed when he realized further bloodshed had been averted. “Tell me where he is and I’ll accompany him back to Eagle’s Vale.”

  After picking up the hat that had fallen to the roughwood floor, and taking a moment to look at Darwyn Sledge’s lifeless body, Travyn turned to the tavern owner who had followed the serving girl out of the kitchen. A mountain of a man, carrying a cudgel of his own that was worn by use, was close behind them.

  “Take it.” Travyn pointed at his winnings from the game aptly called Dead by Morning, “And give those who lost their coin in the game, half of it back. Give Sledge’s men money enough so that they can get away from here without being tempted to rob anyone. Take the rest yourself for the trouble I’ve caused you, and as payment for taking the trash out.” Travyn pointed at the dead man this time. “All I want is what I brought with me. I didn’t come here to gamble.”

  Travyn, Ilya'Gar, and Seraph Blood stood near the door talking as Rolf, the big-boned serving girl, and the kitchen help went about gathering the coin that had been tossed about in the deadly fracas. On occasion, the hunchman looked over at Doeg and Harlan who sat at a corner table waiting to be dismissed, hoping the promise of coin was not a ruse, slumped in resignation over an uncertain fate. Ilya'Gar stood with his long arms crossed over his chest as he took the men in with his eyes and nose, memorizing both their faces and scent, for his kind was as unforgiving as Travyn was. And his anger was unaffected by the mention of Travyn's father.

  In the end, the two ruffians rode out of The Cut with enough coin to see them on their way. Having given a pledge to forsake their former lives, Harlan and Doeg fully meant to keep their word, though they had never done so before. Rolf, riding Sledge’s horse, was on his way to meet Stewart and accompany him home. Travyn and Ilya'Gar were rising up into the night sky astride two griffin that, if one didn't know better, looked like they were chasing the moon that had withdrawn from The Cut to a safer distance in the silvery sky above. Seated on the two winged-lions that had come to fetch them, for Sorol Blood had stayed ouside of the tavern as matters were settled, they were off to the Eyrie of the Eagle and to the meeting Muriel Oakenfel had summoned them to attend.

  Dispensing his winnings as he had, Travyn made certain the stories that would be told about this night wouldn’t include rumors of murder. As it turned out, only Sledge had died. Everyone else came out ahead of where they were when the fighting began.

  Chapter 7: J'Aryl

  Though smaller than a leopard, the juga was no less dangerous than its larger cousin. Speed made up for its size. Yellow fur, mottled with irregular black patches, replicating the shadows cast by leaves populating the jungle's dense canopy overhead, covered the lethal feline's back. Leaping from one branch to another, making no more noise than the occasional ray of sunlight that fell upon its back, the cat had no trouble tracking the human who moved swiftly across the jungle floor below.

  The man knew the juga was hunting him. And he didn't care. In fact, he was hoping the cat was closing in on him because he had set a trap for it, a trap that would be sprung if the predator kept following him. Still no snare was fool proof. And the juga didn't lack abilities that could easily frustrate the human's plans.

  Though the juga's back didn't reach to the human's knees, the cat was equipped with claws sharp enough to shred flesh as easily as they dug into the tree bark it raced across, claws that were connected to a dense skeletal structure wrapped in bands of overlapping muscles. Lightning quick, the juga was deadly. Few things in the jungle could survive its attack, and none that did were left unscathed. Yet, with all this understood, the human still chose to play a game he had little chance of winning.

  Huffing in excitement between snarls, the juga laughed over the clear advantage it had over its prey. At home in the tangle of vegetation that grew on the island, the cat's knowledge of the place was extensive. For example, it knew which trees to avoid because of the vipers that lived in them; it knew where the giant gorba pigs nested and the location of the trails their massive bodies had created as they bore their way through the thick underbrush, and it knew the territorial boundaries that the apes guarded so fiercely.

  Did the human know these things? No! The jungle wasn't his home. He was a creature of the wildwood where pines, fir trees, oaks and aspens grew. Somehow the juga was aware of this, that's why the magnificent cat was confident it would win the tense game they were playing.

  Glancing over his shoulder, the human smiled when he caught sight of the juga moving silently overhead. Just a little farther and I'll have you Spots, he thought as he took time to enjoy the name he had given the feline who moved quickly towards him. Spots was the name of one of the house cats that kept the rodent population at the School of the Sword and the Song in check. The memory the name conjured up was not lost on the man, so he added, My clever friend, you'll soon discover that I'm no mouse and that brains can make up for slowness of foot.

  But the man wasn't slow as humans measured things. The amazingly swift juga just made it seem that way

  Wavy, black hair was buffeted by the increasing wind that passed through it as the man picked up his pace. He smiled again when he saw that the juga was matching his speed. Dressed in tan-colored, light weight clothing made from expertly woven cottolyne fibers that provided the human with the airy fabric needed in the humid island's warm climate, the man moved effortlessly along. The light weight sandals he wore aided his movements.

  When the man broke out into all out sprint, the juga marveled at the human's athleticism. A prize worth catching, the cat thought or something close to this. A more accurate interpretation might be: A catch worth sinking my teeth into. And with that decided, the juga laughed again in its huffing way as it leapt after its unarmed prey, for the human didn't carry any weapons.

  Surprisingly enough, the man kept ahead of the juga because his path was straighter than the one the cat took. Going where the huge tree branches permitted, the juga wound its way along the arboreal highway that twisted left and right and dropped and rose as the cat jumped from one branc
h to another.

  He's making a break for the clearing, the juga decided. If he reaches the forest on the other side, the game will be lost. So, he jumped to the ground and sped after the man, determined to catch him before he escaped.

  Hearing the sound the juga made as it streaked through the lush undergrowth, a sound no louder than what a human makes when slipping out from under blankets covering a winter's bed, the man smiled again, a smile less confident looking then it once was because the juga had covered more ground than he expected, and in a shorter span of time. Then the smile vanished all together, for the moment of truth had come. The juga's nearby panting told him that.

  Straining to reach a patch of thick underbrush he had been heading for, the man's jaw muscles tightened just before he jumped into the bushes and disappeared from sight. A moment later the juga arrived at the brush and took them with a single graceful leap, sure that the man would be his once it landed on the far side of the span of undergrowth. But to the juga's surprise, once the jump was completed, the man was nowhere to be seen. Only an empty clearing lay before the cat as it slid to a stop. Turning its head, first this way and then that way, the cat huffed again. But this time the sound came from frustration, for the human had done the inexplicable, he had vanished in a moment's time... unless he had never left the brush. But before the juga could turn to see if this was so, the cat was tackled from behind.

  Rolling into the clearing, held fast in the man's grasp, the juga let out a high-pitched scream of aggravation as it tried to shake the man off. Too strong to be held even by the stoutest human, the juga twisted around in the man's grasp and batted him in the face with one of his forepaws, four quick times.

  "Hey Spots," the amused human shouted, "that hurt!

  But if this were really true, the man wouldn't have been able to say so. The juga's extended claws would have made sure of that. But at the moment, the cat's claws were tucked safely away in its paws. Laughter followed as the man reached for the juga's stomach and began tickling it mercilessly after the cat batted him twice more in the face.

  After the jungle cat extracted itself from the awkward entanglement, the man triumphantly shouted, "I won!"

  Lowering its head, the juga snorted its displeasure as it turned to face the human who still sat on the ground. A moan escaped from the juga's throat as it finally conceded the man's victory. A moment later, with hurt feelings quickly forgotten, the magnificent creature arched its back as it pushed up against the human's shoulder in a show of affection.

  Rubbing the juga's back as he stood, the man laughed again. The juga let a low growling sound escape from its throat, delighted with the attention his friend was liberally doling out.

  The little game the human and cat played was a daily ritual that, over time, had gained a following. Apes made up the larger part of the audience. Even now they were hooting it up in the trees that surrounded the clearing. Wild pigs snorted and squeeled their pleasure over an unarmed human besting a cunning juga that they normally would be running from.

  Because of things like this game, the Island of Stromane was considered to be a strange place. Some people thought it strange and wonderful. Others considered it strange and unpredictable. Thus it was dangerous. Most thought it best to avoid Stromane and and the winged-lions who lived there. Since no one was permitted to come to the island uninvited anyway, the humans' ruminations were of little consequence.

  The magic that emanated from the Community of Blood was responsible for Stromane being a place that was truly set apart. Because of the particular way the Warl's Magic had created the griffin, it gave them a profound sway over the island that granted the winged-lions the ability to alter the natural order of things for reasons they thought important. And to the griffin way of thinking, Muriel Blood and her children were important. That's why animals that normally feared one another set aside their instincts whenever the Prophetess and her children were around. And their intellect would increase at the same time, so they could commune with those who dispensed the magic the winged-lions' had given them. Since Muriel and her cubs had been adopted into the Community of Blood, it was only reasonable that griffin magic would be their's too.

  Following their encounters, after Muriel and her children returned to the crystalline cliffs where the Blood had built their nests, nature's demand for balance would be reactivated. But not in the same way as it was found in the rest of the warl. No animal ever killed out of a need for mindless slaughter. They killed only to abate their hunger and feed their children. Not to satisfy a violent impulse. If hunger was not an issue, and all bellies were full, the various animals inhabiting the tropical island were perfectly safe in each other's presence.

  It was the griffin's peace that allowed the juga and human to become friends. The same peace drew the apes, pigs, and deer to watch the unfolding game with a measure of interest and delight.

  As the human continued to pet the juga, both were entertained as they watched the mixed audience re-enact the game's conclusion. The apes that dropped to the ground out of the trees where they were perched playfully tackled and batted one another about, mimicking the juga's benign retaliation against the man. Pigs bowled each other over as they squealed over the fun they were having. One of the apes tackled a pig. Another tried to tackle one of the tiny deer that inhabited the island but failed. The deer was too quick, the ape too clumsy.

  A shadow that swept over the animals' heads caused them to cease their play. A moment later a griffin settled onto the ground with its wings spread wide to slow its descent. Once the winged-lion landed, more creatures entered the clearing to greet their benefactor, for the griffin were guardians who kept the island safe from outsiders. In time, a menagerie of Stromane's creatures pressed closer to the winged-lion who graciously lowered his massive head to nuzzle those who sought to rub up against him in a show of affection: squirrels, juga, pigs, deer, apes, rodents of a variety, lemurs, and a diverse collection of reptiles were numbered among these.

  Even though Nazar Blood took time to greet the enthralled throng, the griffin's words were less than heartfelt. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. It was clear something was bothering him in a way that was keeping him from fully partaking in an experience he normally enjoyed. The Blood had strong emotional ties to those who lived under their protection on their island home.

  "What's wrong," J'Aryl asked after sensing the winged-lion's somber mood.

  Nazar Blood's normally bright yellow eyes were made murky by the dark thoughts that hid behind them, thoughts stewing in an anger the griffin seemed barely able to control. "There's more wrong than I can tell you here," Nazar Blood replied as the hair on his back stood up.

  Finally picking up on their benefactor's mood, once he snorted over the anger his words had made him to feel, the creatures that were moving toward Nazar Blood stopped in their tracks. Many took a step backwards.

  Seeing the animals react to his uncharacteristic behavior, the griffin thought he should explain. "My friends," he began, "the Community of Blood has suffered a grievous loss, one that I'm not free to discuss until after the Elders meet later today. But be comforted... the loss poses no threat to you, nor does it portend that danger is coming your way."

  After glancing at the man with a look that would have frightened him if he didn't know Nazar Blood so well, the griffin added, "You all need to go now. J'Aryl and I have business to attend to."

  Once the griffin dismissed the gathering, and the creatures slipped back into the jungle, the level of intelligence that was given to them by being near the winged-lion, and his human friend, waned. In time they weren't able to understand intelligent speech, at least not to the degree possible when graced with the full force of griffin magic. The unspoken truce that existed between species was evaporating. Even Spots was returning to his former feral state, though his continued contact with the human, for they had played their game many times before, had a residual affect that only time would disclose. The Laws of Nature took over again.
The griffin's enchantment had ended. And all was as it once was before J'Aryl came to play with Spots.

  "Nazar Blood," J'Aryl asked, "what loss?"

  Grimacing over the pain he felt, the griffin replied, "Two more cubs have been wounded. Another has gone missing. And the sea beneath our cliffs is stained red with blood."

  "Ashes!" J'Aryl cursed as the realization of what had happened hit him, the monster that has been preying on the pride had struck again.

  ****

  While Nazar Blood launched himself off the ground and climbed above the lush, verdant tree tops, J'Aryl felt the thrill of riding on a powerful griffin's back, a thrill whose excitement was only diminished by the tragic news the winged-lion brought with him. Nazar Blood had a special place in J'Aryl's heart. For he was one of two young griffin who went out of their way to befriend his mother more than twenty-five summers before, back when Nazar Blood was no more than a cub Muriel nick-named Mittens because of the white fur covering his forepaws. The other young griffin was a lioness named Shar Blood.

  Rising above the trees, some of which were draped in vines that hung beneath the upper branches, Nazar Blood and J'Aryl were joined by a host of birds that were pulled along by the griffin's magic. A variety of parrots of different sizes and color flew along with red-billed woodpeckers, yellow-billed darts, green swallows, glossy black tick birds, silver falcons and two giant cartar eagles that preyed on the host of marsupials that populated the island of Stromane.

  Over time, the birds fell away in an orderly fashion: the slower parrots were the first to give up the chase; then the flitting birds veered off; once the cartar eagles, whose brown wings were fringed with snow white feathers and whose white tufted heads sent a stripe of the same color down their backs and onto the fringes of their tail feathers, wheeled about and headed for their stick-laden nests, only the silver falcons remained. Shaped like arrowheads, because their wings were angled back in an inverted V, the falcons easily kept up with the speeding griffin. Silver in name only, most were gray in color; others were a dusty-red; some, who were white, had gray or dusty-red heads and stripes of the same color on their wings. Eventually, even the falcons turned back, weaving around each other in a display of agility as they did.