by Rex Hazelton
Not being able to budge one of the blocks by himself, Horbyn guessed that the portion of found in both the brothers and in the anvil itself was helping the young men do whatever it could be reunited.
"The anvil knows you're here," the wizard explained why he wasn't able to do much in the way of lending a hand. “If I don’t miss my guess, it’s helping you lift the stones. But the same can't be said for me."
If the truth were told, the wizard was offended by the anvil's slight. He wasn't used to being marginalized when it came to using magic. Though he lacked the Hag's lust for inflicting pain and for gaining the power and influence that came from doing their unseemly deeds, he wasn't lacking in magical abilities. If this weren't true, the Hag would have already taken his life for the litany of things they thought were peculiar about him. An amiable bookworm had no place in their dark community. But one who could wield magic as expertly as Horbyn would be tolerated, though with lingering misgivings.
Sitting in an impromptu but impressive enclosure the brothers had constructed as they took the stone blocks off of Vlad'War's Anvil and rearranged them, one that hid the men, the horses that now included the wizard's mount, and their new campsite from sight, Horbyn said, "You'll need to change your names. Though few people could connect the dots, so to speak, and figure out who you really are, those few are the ones you want to keep in the dark. So I suggest you change your names."
The previous night had ended with the brothers agreeing to accept Horbyn's proposition. Nothing else was said. No further information was exchanged, including the brothers names. To suggest that they be changed could be mistaken for a ploy used to have them revealed. Not wanting the brother's to think this, Horbyn pointed at the biggest of the young men as he continued.
"With your size, and the seafarer's braids I see you wearing, I'd say you're Ay'Roan. If you uncovered your neck, I have no doubt that a tattoo of a hammer would be found there, though I couldn't say if it would be red or blue in color."
Pointing at the young man with the black, wavy hair, he added, "It's said that the youngest brother looks most like his mother. From the descriptions I've heard given of the Prophetess, I see that that is true. You must be J'Aryl."
Lowering his head and not pointing at the young man with the wide-brimmed hat, for it was not wise to look an angry dog in the eyes, the wizard nodded in the young man's direction and said, "You must be Travyn."
"And what do you know about me you arrogant ass?" Travyn challenged the presumptuous stranger.
"I know that you are predictably unpredictable, that you rebel against authority, and that you're dangerous." Then letting a smile cross his face, for he wouldn't let this pup think he was intimidated by him, Horbyn added, "But that could be said about half of the people living in Ar Warl. So, I would imagine, you'll have no problems fitting in here."
"What about me, Old Man?" Kaylan's face didn't give any clue to what he was thinking.
The wizard's smile took on a soft aspect as he said, "I doubt that you would fit in well anywhere in the Warl of Man, Kaylan. From what I hear said, you're a bit odd like me. Not really the rebel your brother is, you're someone who chooses to travel down roads less used."
Letting his smile broaden, Horbyn went on to say, "I hope to talk to you at length about the elves of Forest Deep, your friend Mystlnor the Elf-Man, and the Warl of the Waterkynd. For like you, I long for more."
"If we accept your proposition and survive the tests that lie before us, including the war that will break out when the Nyeg and the Ar collide, I'll gladly tell you about the things I've experienced, if you'll do the same. But I'll not say a word about the waterkynd unless they give me leave to do so."
"What names do you think we should use while we're in Ar Warl," J'Aryl asked in a matter-of-fact tone. He wasn't surprised the Hag knew so much about them with their parents being who they were. After all, know your enemy was one of the first tenets of warfare.
"I think you should use variations of your own names. Then you would have a readymade excuse if you unconsciously replied to someone who was trying to trick you into confirming their suspicions about you by calling out your real names."
"Go on." it made sense to J'Aryl that someone from Ar Warl would do the choosing.
"You should go by Ryl, Ay'Roan should go by Roan, Kaylan can be called Kay, and Travyn, with his black hat and all, can be called Ravyn."
And just like that, the issue was settled, so quick that Horbyn knew he was gaining a foothold in the brothers' lives; well, maybe a toe hold, yet he wasn't going to complain; and that was his cue to finally tell them what they wanted to know most, the whereabouts of their father. But before he did that, there was one more thing that needed to be done.
Standing and walking between the anvil, the rock it was affixed to, and the fire pit that the brothers would use to make the weapons Horbyn said they needed, the wizard went over to Kaylan and asked for the tear he had given to him when they first met, the orb Jeaf Oakenfel had been using as he worked his craft, the one that was hidden beneath the last of the wax from the Candle Makers' candles the Hammer Bearer had used to protect himself.
Taking the golden sphere that Kaylan had no reservations in giving it up (In fact, Kaylan was interested to see what the wizard was going to do with the tear.) Horbyn laid the orb in his open palm and sent his breath over its surface. The moment he did, the sphere began glowing as it sent out a faint amber light that surrounded his hand.
Laughing so loud he startled the horses that were huddled in one end of the enclosure, causing them to snort over the explosion of sound, Horbyn triumphantly exclaimed, "It's as I thought, Andara's Tears know you're here too."
"What makes you say that?" Seeing the amber glow, Travyn was now just as interested in the wizard's actions as his brother was.
An expression of awe had replaced his initial laughter as Horbyn replied, "The tear has only responded to me once before, when your father was held captive in the field of magic that surrounded him." The wizard pointed to the firepit to indicate where Jeaf had been standing.
The brothers turned to look at the firepit, each envisioning their father suspended in air, arms extended and head bowed; a position Horbyn said he was frozen in when the Hag magic finally collapsed in on him; the same position their mother had seen when she saw her husband in the dream that sent the four of them on their quest.
"The thought that the tear was responding only to the healing impulses inside of me when it first awakened was dispelled when I tried to call on its power in the nearby forest, far from your father's presence," Horbyn explained. "This failure taught me that it wasn't my desire to heal, by itself, that had activated Andara's Tear.
"Later, my guess that Jeaf Oakenfel's proximity was the key that unlocked the door to the tear's magic was proven wrong too. Though I traveled along with his incapacitated body as Ab'Don carried your father to the place where he has kept him held for the past five winters, the tear has never released its power again, no matter how hard I tried to summon it. My final loosely held conjecture, with an emphasis on loosely, centered on the idea that it was Mishal Parm or the anvil itself that was responsible for the revelation was dispelled too, since the tear has remained dormant each time I've returned to this place." Horbyn swept his free hand about to indicate the city that surrounded them.
"Now, in the presence of both Jeaf Oakenfel's sons and the anvil upon which the Hammer of Power was made, the tear comes to life when my breath touches it. This tells me that our agreement is a good one, and that I can trust you to fulfill your part. It also tells me that we have a kinship of heart, or mind, or maybe spirit, I can't say for certain, and that we are all Healers, or could be, if we wanted." Horbyn looked at Travyn as he said this.
"Now that that's settled," Kaylan stood and accepted the tear from Horbyn, "for I read the sign the same way you do, there remains a problem to solve." While holding the sphere between his thumb and forefinger as he turned it about to study the surface that had
returned to its dormant state, Kaylan added, "We have only one tear and there are four us. Wouldn't it be better to make four swords of the kind our father was trying to fashion? Isn't that what you've been hinting at all along?"
"Of course!" Horbyn rubbed his large hands together as he spoke. "It's time we find the other tears since your father had more than one, correct?"
Without waiting for an answer, the wizard exhorted Kaylan into action. "Now it's your turn to breathe on the tear. But when you do, ask the others that are here to reveal themselves, those that your father has hidden."
"Of course... others are here," Kaylan excitedly exclaimed.
Nodding, Horbyn said, "Reach out with your Powers of Intuition and feel their presence."
The brothers quickly complied. Soon, their Powers of Intuition drew their attention toward the angular-shaped, black stone the anvil sat upon.
Stretching his flattened palm out with the tear on top of it, Kaylan breathed over the orb and said, "Show us your family."
Instantly the sphere came to life and covered Kaylan's hand and arm up to the elbow with a field of amber light. Then the luminous cloud rose up before Kaylan's face looking like it was seeking confirmation of what it heard. Seeing the young man nod his head, the glowing cloud turned and floated over to the anvil and the stone it sat upon, enlarging as it went. In time, the field of misty illumination enveloped both the anvil and stone. When it did, points of light appeared on the black rock, making the stone look like the moon does when seen through a thin layer of cloud. There were ten, no... twelve in number. Then all but four of these blinked off. These four continued to glow as the brother's came over and felt the stone's surface where the emanations originated.
Taking out their long knives, the four young men scrapped away bits of the black rock that fell to the ground where they transformed back into pieces of white wax. After the time needed to complete the surgery, four tears were extracted from the stone that had held them in safe keeping.
Lifting the tears up to get a better look at them, the brothers' eyes were filled with the same awe that Horbyn had earlier displayed when each emitted its own field of amber light. Then the luminous fields merged into single cloud that included the gray wizard within its parameters. It was then that Horbyn's proposal was accepted without reservation and the agreement they made was sealed in the presence of two witnesses, each represented by the magic they had left in a warl they had once lived in, Vlad'War and Andara.
While the agreement was being made, a sound like a rock had fallen to the ground was heard coming from the anvil’s direction. When the five men turned to see what had made the noise, they saw a blackmsith’s hammer and pair of tongs laying on the ground at the base of the rock the anvil stood on. An indention that the hammer would have fit in perfectly, if it was placed there, appeared in the black rocks side.
“Vlad’War’s Magic summons us,” Horbyn looked at the brothers knowing that they agreed with him.
Not wanting to waste time, Travyn pocketed the tear he had found as its light abated. Sliding his sword out of its sheath, he layed the blade's hilt against the black rock the anvil sat upon and its point against a flat stone he plucked up from the ground. Then he lifted his foot and stomped on the blade, shattering it on impact. Travyn did this knowing that the one who had made the sword- his grandfather, Aryl Oakenfel- wouldn't mind his masterful creation being abused so, not when his son and grandsons would benefit from its ruin.
While placing the swords' shards, four pieces in all, on top of the anvil, he growled out an order: "Build the fire." Then he picked up the blacksmith's hammer and weighed it in his hands. This was a tool his father had taught him and his brothers how to use during the long hours they spent learning the craft that their grandfather, Aryl Oakenfel, was famous for.
If the magic they were about to use would create a weapon, he was determined to be the first to have one in hand. And before long, Travyn was pulling the last of the shards out of the super-heated coals that had done their work, for the broken section of blade was glowing with the same yellowish-orange radiance that the coals were.
After laying the shard next to the others like it was a puzzle piece, he handed the tongs to his brother and took a sharpened long knife in exchange. Then with one swift move, he cut across his forearm, sending a stream of blood onto the shards and across the anvil's flat surface. Feeling the effects of the profuse blood lose, for Travyn had cut himself too deeply, he withdrew the tear he had placed into his coat's pocket. Shaking his head as a wave of wooziness swept over him, he unfolded his hand and blew across the golden sphere before dropping it, and the sphere of misty amber light it exuded, at the juncture where the four shards met.
Two things happened after the tear was in place: Travyn's wound was healed and the portion of blood that had fallen off the anvil and onto the black stone was drawn back up to the blade it was meant to bathe.
Taking up the hammer he had earlier weighed in his hands, Travyn looked at the pink scar on his forearm, then at each of his brothers, and finally at Horbyn before he said, "Wizard, you better be right about this."
Before Horbyn had time to reply, Travyn swung the hammer down on the shards that kept glowing as brightly as they did when they were first pulled from the pile of searing hot embers. In like fashion, the blood refused to dry out, though the hot steel should have already cooked it.
The moment the hammer struck the field of amber light was anticlimactic. Nothing much happened accept that the misty cloud kept the hammer from reaching the broken sword. The sound the hammer made as it struck the field of amber-colored magic was not unlike the thud that would have followed a sack of wheat being struck. This angered Travyn, who swung the hammer harder with each subsequent stroke; the rings of amber light that sat in his eyes flairing up with each blow. Time after time he hit the amber-colored field of light, feeling like a baker punching the dough he was kneading as he did.
In time, Travyn took his hat off; a rare thing indeed. His coat followed. His shirt after that. Thankfully his brothers kept him supplied with drinking water, for perspiration fell profusely off his body as he continued striking his broken sword.
All night long Travyn kept at it, encouraged by the success he was having, as gradual as it was. For the field of magical light, succumbing to the brute force exerted against it, was being hammered into a tighter and tighter shape whose color deepened as it was forced in upon itself.
Taking numerous breaks- for he would not let his brothers help him, it was his weapon after all- Travyn outlasted the long night and the field of amber-colored magic. For as morning approached, the misty cloud, whose color had morphed into a dark reddish-orange hue by this time, fit over the still glowing shards like it was an uncooked pie crust. When the eastern sky bloomed with the first rays of unabated sunlight, for the sun itself was still hidden behind Sky Master's indomitable mass, Travyn swung the hammer again not knowing it was for the last time.
Instead of the now familiar dull thud, the sound of iron striking steal was heard and the broken sword was made instantly whole. And in the moment it was mended, the blood, mist, and tear disappeared. Then the glowing steel cooled.
After uncerimoniously dropping the hammer to the ground, Travyn picked up the restored blade as he stood. With the cool morning air causing steam to rise up from the perspiration still clinging to his body, Travyn marveled at how light the blade felt, he was awestruck by the delicate lines that appeared; lines that were not there before; those only a master craftsman could create given enough time, though the hammer had only touched the sword once.
"There's more to it than beauty," Travyn was unusually animated as he spoke. "It feels almost like the Hammer of Power does, but its magic is different." Laughing as he saw the humor in what he was about to say, Travyn added, "It feels like... well, it feels young, like it's the hammer's infant child, full of promise that its renowned lineage has given it."
Seeing the humor in Travyn's words, Horbyn chimed i
n, "Let's call it Vlad'War's Grandchild."
"That's it," Travyn smiled congenially at the wizard for the first time. "Precisely."
Glad that the long night of struggle was over, relieved that humor had risen to break the tension that was inherent to their quest, Ay'Roan added his own touch of levity. "If Vlad'War is the grandfather, who's the grandmother, Andara?"
"HMMMM," Horbyn smiled as much in relief that the magic he had seen Jeaf Oakenfel try to use worked as he did over Ay'Roan's joke. "Two grandfathers will work, after all, their child isn't human."
After tending to the horses, the men slept most of the day away, but the approaching night was distinctly different from the previous one. Since it was Kaylan's turn to use one of the tears to remake his sword, he chose to wait before he picked up the blacksmith's hammer. Though he had the fire pit lit, the flames were not as hot as Travyn had made it since the amount of wood they fed it was not as much. Sitting calmly with the others, Kaylan spent much of the night talking with Horbyn, asking him a seemingly endless number of questions about the things the wizard knew about the Healing Arts. And true to all he had said about himself, and his acumen in the mystical genre, the wizard didn't disappoint the young man with the answers he gave. The rest of the night the five of them devised tests that might help them discover the extent of the swords' abilities.
When the sky started graying up, Kaylan rose and said, "It's time."
Everything went into motion all at once: The fire's fuel was greatly increased, the long knife that would be used to draw blood was sharpened one last time; the hammer and tongs were placed where they could be easily picked up; a tear was placed on the black stone for the same reason; and Kaylan took out the sword his grandfather had made, for the brothers carried weapons that the Master Sword Maker had fashioned, and broke it into two pieces using the same method Travyn had.
