by Rex Hazelton
Once the Ar Warlers, for that is who the stranger thought they were, reached Ay'Roan and set up a wall of defense around him, The Watcher, now filled with the vigor the drink had given him, lifted his voice above the sound of the ruckus and shouted, "ENOUGH! We neither have the time or energy for this."
Switching to a language rich with throaty, guttural inflection, The Watcher dispensed orders to his servants. When he was done, the mass of little people hurried over to their master. A sound like rocks were sliding down the sand dunes accompanied the retreating horde. And as they gathered around their master, the shadow filling the narrow valley joined them along with the mesmerizing campfire that was lost in the coalescing darkness that absorbed the little people along with it.
In time, The Watcher was cloaked in inky blackness that blotted out everything except for his youthful looking face. "A kindness for a kindness," he said with a touch of congeniality that showed he wasn't troubled by the loss of his servants. "I let you drink from the spring and I... let's say... drank as well."
Studying the Oakenfels, and the fiery shields they held, with brilliant green eyes that looked both menacing and inquisitive, The Watcher added, "A deal is a deal. Now if you'll let me depart in peace, I'll let you do the same. And if our paths ever cross again, I promise you that I’ll not aske for another drink. You've already given me what I need, and much more than what you would guess."
Pausing like he was taking time to make a decision, The Watcher added, "I have heard the wind speaking about Sky Master. It told me that the great mountain longs for the Four Winds to blow upon its slopes. But the winds are not wind as one might expect. No. They are men. And here before me stands four men."
After sighing, a subtle smile crossed the tall stranger's face as he added, "Isn't it interesting how fate directs our steps, for I know more about you than you may wish me to, and I know even more now that I've tasted your blood."
Pausing for effect, the Watcher concluded by saying, "The spring is yours. If you let me leave unmolested, I promise that I will not return to this place. So, if we are in agreement, I'll bid you farewell."
With that spoken, The Watcher's face was swallowed up by the darkness he was cloaked in except for his eyes that continued to watch the Oakenfels with pupils now elongated. Then the darkness drew quickly together until it became a heavy rope whose coils fell upon the sand below. Still, the green eyes remained, glowing with equal portions of curiosity and malice. Only it was evident that they now sat in a viper's up-lifted head that was as wide as the trough-like track that led the brothers to The Watcher.
With its head weaving from side-to-side, the black serpent's unblinking green eyes took the four men in for one last time. Then it lowered itself into the pile of heavy coils before it unwound itself and slithered over the nearest dune; a feat that took some time to accomplish due to the snake's massive size. And as it passed from sight a gust of wind blew back over the sand-covered rise carrying words with it. "A kindness for a kindness," it said.
Dissolving their fiery shields, the Oakenfels ordered their candle's to keep guard as they tended to Ay'Roan's wounds. Seeing he was still alive and not in danger of dying, J'Aryl and Travyn went over to the horses that had awakened once the serpent left. All were standing except for the pack horse that could only lift its head in its weakened state.
After a more thorough examination of their brother and the animals, it was apparent to all that they would not be leaving the spring any time soon. The losses sustained from the blood-letting had to be regained. Strength had to be renewed. Vitality restored. And that wouldn't happen in a day. Though the delay would use up their food stores, the journey could be completed with water alone.
In the days that followed, Travyn and J'Aryl became quite good at trapping creatures that came to the spring for water, rodents mostly that frantically jumped about to escape the traps they fell into. These provided enough protein to ward off the depravations true hunger brought with it. The horses were fed rations that were harvested from the grasses that grew around the grotto’s mouth.
In an ironic twist following their encounter with The Watcher, a handful of serpents provided the most substantial fare. A reminder of the dangerous stranger, the meals consisting of snake meat were accompanied with a wariness that kept everyone's eyes searching the horizon for signs of unnatural darkness or the form of the giant snake The Watcher had assumed for his visit to Ar Warl.
Concern for the horses proved to be the tipping point that made them renew their journey. Unable to digest the meager portions of protein the resourceful men procured, the Oakenfels needed to find food the horses could eat since the animals had already consumed all of the grass that grew near the spring.
No longer having the protection of the shade cast by the rock the spring was found in, the company began their trek at night. During the day they used their swords and cloaks to make tents that covered most of their bodies and the horses' heads. At these times, using a touch of magic that a brief use of their candles provided, the Oakenfels put the beasts into a deep sleep. This state kept the horses cool enough to survive the day's heat, that and the ample amounts of water they gave them each morning to make up for the rigorous trek they made each night. Still, even with all of this being done, their journey through the Madara Desert needed to be completed as quickly as possible. And as luck would have it, after a handful of brutal days, the sand gave way to arid grassland that the Oakenfels' hungry mounts fed on with grateful enthusiasm. And as the grass became more abundant, the temperature changed with it since the brothers were transitioning out of the desert lowland.
In time, they were able to look back and see that the desert was now well below them. Though they couldn't see the Madara Spike that lay beyond the arid expanse, they could see the black stretch of shattered rocks that was the beginning of the Stone Desert, off to their left as they faced south to gaze on the waterless warl they had escaped. To the North, Sky Master looked like a thunderhead rising above the landscape.
The advent of the grassland promised that more water would soon be found with Kaylan's help. Food the men could eat would be easily acquired with the trapping skills the Oakenfels had honed in their stay at the spring.
With man and beast fed, and with waterskins filled, the company of rescuers aimed their horses' noses at the purple behemoth that rose up in front of them and spurred their mounts on to a pace that would bring them to Mishal Parm as quickly as possible. Thankfully, the pack animal, unburdened except for the few waterskins it had been asked to carry, was well enough to keep up with the other horses.
Chapter 15: Mishal Parm
Emerging from underneath the boughs of a pine forest, the Oakenfels entered a broad field that spread out on Sky Master's lower slopes. This was Mishal Parm, the erstwhile home of Shloman the Great and the heart out of which the Age of Star's Blood’s life flowed. More importantly to the Oakenfels, it was the birth place of the Hammer of Power whose disappearance had prompted their father to come to Ar Warl to retrieve it.
Along with the tall, succulent grass that grew there, stone outcroppings appeared. But these weren’t like those found in the distant Madara Desert. These were manmade, comprised of blocks that maintained a semblance of their former structured shapes. Right angles were in abundance, though sharp corners had become rounded by exposure to the elements over the hundreds of winters that had passed since they were hewn. On closer examination, the lower floors of what were once impressive multi-storied buildings could be seen rising out of the vast field. The layout of the city could be discerned. Its network of streets understood. It was almost like the city's foundation was left unmolested for the time when a king would come to rebuild the once great place; a king who would usher in the glorious Age of Parm Warl that the seers said was destined to appear.
Of course few believed this today. Ab'Don was chiefest among the doubters since he adamantly claimed he was the embodiment of all that the prophecies portended, that he was a spiritual Fan
e J'Shrym who ruled over spiritual Mishal Parm, and that all the foretellings pointed to him as the one who would usher in the Age of Parm Warl. As far as the part the Hammer Bearer would play to ensure the glorious age would arrive, wasn't he the Chosen One and not the insidious usurper who lived in Nyeg Warl, for he had a hammer of his own, ensconced safely in the Hall of Voyd, one he periodically brought out to display its magical properties and give proof to his claims.
With all Ab'Don had done, with all the kingdoms he had conquered, and with all the magic he had learned to use as the Nameless Evil's willing pupil, one last thing needed to be accomplished, one last mountain had to be climbed. And the mountain's name was Nyeg Warl. The Sorcerer had to conquer the rebel stronghold if he was to actually become all he claimed to be.
As each moon passed, the ground quaked as the Nyeg crept towards the Ar. Once the continents collide, the rebels will be forced to fight a fight the Sorcerer was convinced they had no hope of winning. He would be triumphant, of that he was sure. He had paid a great price to guarantee his victory, one the Nameless Evil named, a price that included Ab'Don providing access to his body so the Evil ancient entity could use the Sorcerer's eyes to look into a warl he had been cast out of.
Though the deal he made with the Nameless Evil stood as the pinnacle of all the things he had doe to prepare for the war he would wage against Nyeg Warl, it was not the only thing he did to get ready for the conflict. Dealing with the Mishal Parm question, the place the Oakenfels had just entered, was on the short list of things that he needed to deal with before war was waged.
In the centuries that followed the great city's demise, people from all over the Warl made their way to ruined place to make their homes there. None of these had reputation. Most had only known heartache and failure in their sad lives. That's why they came to Shloman's city. They came hoping that the magic that once lived in Mishal Parm would arouse itself and take pity on them. In time this motley assemblage was given the name Motsha. Though they lacked the ability to rebuild the ruins, they erected tents against what remained of the walls that warring armies, set on fighting one another for a piece of Shloman's dying empire, had torn down and hauled away to build their own fortresses with.
Using every color imaginable, the tent city was a delight to behold by those willing to rub elbows with the gathering of misfits. Eventually the Motsha became a fascination to those who lived in the Warl. They were deemed to be eccentric in the kind of way self-appointed prophets were. And like the loner mystics who wandered about the land, stories began to be told about them; stories that said they knew things normal people didn't, that they were endowed with seer's blood and were able to work magic that no other people in the Warl could work. Eventually, many of the Motsha began to believe the tales, though their impoverished lives proved the otherwise.
And why not believe the tales? The stories said they were special, a people set apart, and who doesn't want to feel special. Once the Motsha got a taste of being important, they wanted more. That's when they made the fatal mistake of claiming to be the descendents of the Fane J'Shrym and that Mishal Parm was rightfully theirs because of this.
Aware of what the Motsha were saying in their pursuit for significance, once Ab'Don rose to power, he set his eye on the colorful tents that covered the ruined city of Mishal Parm and promised that he would, one day, give the deceived people all they deserved, since he wasn't about to stomach any challengers to his claims as Shloman's rightful heir.
When an inimitable magic showed up to divide the Warl and create the Breach Sea that kept Ab'Don from conquering all the kingdoms known to man, he turned his rage on the Motsha and set about killing them all. From that time until this, no one was allowed to inhabit Mishal Parm. It was a city that had failed, and because of that failure, it was left in ruins.
The burden to lead the Warl to greatness was Ab’Don’s alone. Claiming to be Shloman the Great resurrected in spirit, he would succeed where those who once called themselves Fane J'Shrym had failed. No collection of rabble would be allowed to claim this honor, even if they were an eccentric people that few took seriously.
With all the death and ruin that had befallen Mishal Parm, its atmosphere lacked the kind of barrows-like feel that should have clung to the place after all the atrocities that were committed here. To the Oakenfel's, who had inherited their parents' Powers of Intuition, Mishal Parm felt neither good nor evil. Instead, it felt neutral in the kind of way that the land separating to warring armies on the eve of a battle does.
There was nothing noteworthy about Mishal Parm. It was simply there like a rock in a river is there, or a hill is there, or a copse of trees. Who would guess it had any importance at all, or for that matter, any relevance to the present struggles taking place in the Warl of Man. Neither ominous nor comforting, the ruined city stood in silence, the kind of silence that accompanies the mundane.
Now that the young men Nyeg Warl's seers said were the Four Winds who would blow across Sky Master’s face in the days before the coming war had arrived, nothing changed, not the gentle breeze that that blew through the tall grass growing among the ruins, nor the stones now rounded with age, not even the great mountain that looked down on the four brothers like they were ants passing before it. The brothers’ entrance into the Mishal Parm was as unremarkable as the city itself. Still, the search for Vlad’War’s ancient residence would be undertaken.
Try as they might, the Oakenfels couldn't identify any place that might have been wizard’s home in the vast expanse of ruins. Though the written language the Nyeg Warler's used was not significantly different from that which was employed in the inimitable wizard's time, none of the buildings had the name of Vlad'War enscribed upon them.
Stones, situated beside gaps in the walls that were once doorways, had the names of the families who lived there etched on their surface. Barely legible by reason of erosion, many of these still remained. None proved interesting. With all the wealth and power the owners once had, time proved to be greater, for it had erased them from memory. Only the histories of a few of the most notable persons had escaped time's relentless purge.
As the brothers continued their search- unsure of what they were looking for, hoping they would recognize it when it was found- they saw signs of recent activity. Rings of stones used to hold campfires were plentiful, though it was impossible to determine how long it had been since any of them had been used. The ragged remains of an occassional abandoned tent were interspersed throughout the city.
Unable to thoroughly examine the expansive ruins, the brothers set up camp for the night confident that they were most likely alone in Mishal Parm. And if they weren’t, there were no bands of highwaymen or patrols answering to Ab’Don in the city. If there were, the tall grass that continued to wave about in the persistent breeze would have showed signs of their passing.
With the memory of The Watcher still fresh in their minds, the brothers planned to take turns guarding the camp during the coming night since a snake in the grass would be hard to spot in this place, even a snake as huge as the one they encountered in the Madara Desert. Also, they agreed to never go out alone: two would work together to set their traps; two would gather wood; none would go far to relieve themselves. After all, this was Ar Warl. Who knew what dangers lurked nearby?
As the sun set, its fading radiance shone on a wide cliff that rose high above Mishal Parm in the east. This was the place where the stones used to construct the great city were quarried. Since the quarry was located above the building site, the hewn stones were easier to transport to the places where they were needed.
Once Mishal Parm reached its zenith, the quarry was used to provide protection from any enemy that sought to attack the city from the mountain heights. A great trench was dug along the base of the stone wall, so that if an invasion force had the audacity to repel down the manmade cliff, they would soon discover that Mishal Parm's walls rose high above them, since the pit placed the city on higher ground.
B
esides this, catapults could not be easily set up on the steep mountain side to rain their deadly payloads down upon the city. To the contrary, the steep slope exposed enemies to Mishal Parm's own war machines. Also, the distance between the city's defenses and the towering stone wall made using arrows impractical. All in all, it was a clever design.
As the sun continued its descent, the stone wall changed colors in accordance with the angle of the light that splashed upon it. At first it had a pale aspect like the color of sand on a sea shore. Then it turned brown, slowly. A reddish hue soon intermingled with the brown before the stone wall took on purple overtones. As the fiery orbed dipped below the western horizon where the eastern end of the Black Mountians were seen in the distance, the purple deepened into darkness and all was lost in the moonless night: the green pine forest, the snow-covered mountain peak, and the once deep blue sky. In the course of time, the wash of emerging stars outlined Sky Master's impressive height, reminding the brothers just how large the mountain really was.
The campfire was burning low. Only a pile of embers' orange glow was left to illuminate Travyn and Kaylan's faces as they talked together in low tones, making plans for the following day. Both agreed it was best to start their search for Vlad'War's home on higher ground, a place where the renowned had most likely lived when the city was thriving. From there they would work their way down the sloping field of ruins until all of Mishal Parm had been covered.
The present conversation centered on the part the Candle Maker's wares would play in their efforts to discover the place that could hold clues to their father's whereabouts. Admonished to never use the candles' power in Ar Warl unless forced to do so, the twins were debating whether that time had already come. Without the talismans' help, how else would they find the dead wizard's home? And even if they found his abode, how would they uncover the signs that would lead them to their father? Magic didn’t give up its secrets easily, unless other magic was used to force the issue by unlocking the proverbial door the desired knowledge was hidden behind.
