Vlad'War's Anvil

by Rex Hazelton

  Stepping into the brillance that engulfed the old Nelfin's lifeless form, Horbyn shouted with a terrifying voice that commanded the Warl of the Dead to give up the elf's spirit. Then, acting like he expected his first order to be obeyed, he went on to command the female’s spirit to return to the fleshly case it had slipped out of.

  But nothing happened.

  "AGAIN!" Horbyn ordered the Oakenfel's to repeat their actions with a voice that echoed throughout the greenwood.

  Once more, the forest blazed with light as Horbyn repeated his command.

  Still nothing happened.

  "Touch her flesh with your swords." He added a new wrinkle to his labors. "Pierce it if you have to," he shouted as sweat, the ceaseless efforts squeezed out of his body, ran down his face.

  As before, nothing happened when the explosion of light hit the old woman's body, nor did Horbyn's ranting make one bit of difference; nor the sobbing that followed.

  In the end, after Andara's Magic had waned and night was allowed to assert its dominance over Lan'Fon, the Neflin quietly dispersed; the woman's family claimed her body; Mar’Gul and Bacchanor went over to console Horbyn; and the Oakenfels came together to share the things they had learned about the magic that dwelt in their swords.

  Kolosha soon joined the brothers who gladly welcomed him into their company.

  Acquainted with a warriors' ways that guided the life he lived in Ar Warl prior to the fateful meeting in Cara Lorn, and one who had Andara's prized tear in his possession, who better to contibute insight to the ensuing discussion, that focused on the paradoxical weapons the Oakenfels forged on top of Vlad'War's Anvil back in Mishal Parm, than Kolosha.

  The days that followed the deadly earthquake gave the Oakenfels a welcome respite from their quest, though a Neflin village was far from an ideal place to find repose. Here, even the bonds of friendship might not keep a Neflin from spilling another's blood. Nevertheless, the delay was a necessary part of a strategy to help the brothers reach their father. Neflin were sent out to discover the safest route through the Great Ral Mountains' western slopes. In addition, scouting parties that had been sent out before the earthquake struck might return during the strategic pause carrying information that was pertinent to the brothers' quest to reach Chylgroyd’s Keep. .

  Though elves were never above treachery, especially when it came to dealing with outsiders, the Neflin's hatred of the Sorcerer, who had made their lives a living nightmare, made it a good bet the Nyeg Warlers wouldn't be betrayed. Mar’Gul's support guaranteed that the bet was a good one. Kolosha's history with the Hammer Bearer made it a sure thing, or at least as sure as the fickle Neflin would allow it to be. Bacchanor, being friends with the brothers, added to the already mounting odds that the Oakenfels would be safe in Lan’Fon, for the Neflin loved the irrepresible wiazrd who made his home among the Lorn Elves for longer than the Oakenfel brothers had been alive.

  Chapter 20: Lamarik

  The village of Lan'Fon was a far cry from the pristine elf-city of Mystlkynd that was firmly esconced in Forest Deep. Though both were located in a greenwood, one in the Nyeg and the other in the Ar, Lan'Fon's untamed appeal was besmeared by the grimy fallout that accompanied the dark magic Ab'Don habitually practiced. Instead of looking like an extension of the Lorn Forest's verdant glory, though this too was muted by the filth the Sorcerer's wicked pursuits threw into the air, Lan'Fon's appearance was more akin to the gray fungus that was the main staple of the Neflin diet. In fact, the mud-covered huts, plastered against the trunks of trees large enough to support the crude dwellings, could have been mistaken for fungus growing on an arbor's rough bark if viewed from afar.

  This same grime made the Neflin's garments look old and worn, even when they were newly made. Intricate in design, hinting at the artistic sensibilities that the fallen race once had, the leather clothing was fashioned with serpentine-shaped strips that were expertly sewn together to emulate flowing water. This was true for pants, jerkins, and tunics alike. The woolen cloaks they wore bore expertly-crafted stitchings of leaves that spoke of the love the elves had for the forest they lived in. Unfortunately the red, orange, brown, yellow, and various shades of green dye that were used to give the leaves a seasonal aspect, were as muted as the leathers they wore. Elven knives and swords, that were fastidiously tended to with the whet stones each carried, were just as dull in appearance as the garments. Beams of sunlight, that reached the surface of the sharpened steel, made little difference.

  Like their possessions, the Neflin soul was no less besmeared by the Sorcerer's foul influence. Once a noble race that exulted in the strength of the wilderness and the freedom living there brought with it, the Neflin were bowed beneath the weight that a warl ruled by darkness had heaped on them. In time the struggle to survive in a kingdom where wanton violence and treachery were rewarded took its toll on the Lorn Elves, to the point that they became nearly as violent and treacherous as the One they despised for subjecting them to his base ways.

  Walking through Lan'Fon, Travyn passed Neflin who were busy at work either hollowing out the fallen trees' massive trunks or harvesting their branches. Guided by their affection for the greenwood, the Neflin rarely cut down trees, and none that were mature, but the boon tragedy had bequethed to them couldn't be allowed to go to waste, not in the warl of lack they lived in.

  Fettered by Ab'Don's disfavor, the Neflin's existence was a struggle for survival. And they would have lost the never ending battle if it wasn't for the Sky Stones they mined in the Great Ral Mountains, though what they did to locate the extremely rare stones wasn't mining in the traditional sense. Divining would be a better description. And even this wasn't precisely what they did. In fact, they found the stones by using their nearly dormant elvish senses. Like swine that were used to find certain kinds of mushrooms, using an acute olfactory system to uncover the hidden delicacies, the Neflin were drawn to the Sky Stones by something akin to the sense of smell, but was, in truth, the last vistages of the particular kind of Powers of Intuition their kind once had, those that humans didn't possess.

  Using their large, almond-shaped eyes, adept at seeing the nocturnal warl that emerged when the cover of night blanketed the forest, the Neflin were able to locate the Sky Stones that awakened in the darkness like some flowers do. This was an oddity since the gems were mineral and not alive the way plants and animals were. Nevertheless, every so often after night had fallen, one or two of the gems would release a demure glow that was as blue as a cloudless sky.

  Like the etheral flash of a firefy, the stone's light blinked on for a moment before fading away. Unlike the firefly, the gems gave off a single flash that didn't return in the predictable way the flying insects announced their fluttering presence. Numerous nights, moons, summers, or even entire elven lifetimes might pass by before a particular stone revealed itself again.

  That's where the Neflin's atrophied Powers of intuition came into play. With the faintest of hunches drawing an elf up into the Great Ral Mountains' rocky heights, something akin to a whispering voice saying, "I'm hear." Or at least that's how the Neflin explained what happened when they were drawn to the rare gems. Pushed for more details, they would confess that it wasn't an actual voice they heard before the frustration of not being able to explain the experience drove them to silence.

  Over a single solar cycle, from one winter to the next, a half dozen Sky Stones might be found in this way. Sold or bartered away on Ar Warl's black market, the proceeds were enough to suppliment the resources the Neflin communities needed to survive in the harsh conditions they lived in.

  Those that found the Sky Stones gained celebrity among the Lorn Elves. Normally exhibiting a selfish dog-eat-dog attitdue, the Neflin, who were fortunate enough to find the insuprable gems, inexplicably passed on the chance of becoming personally wealthy for the good of their own kind. The few, and history records it was only a few, who refused to share their riches didn't live long enough to enjoy their windfall, for greed bred greed, a
nd the sharp edge of a long knife resolves all matters. Passing from one Neflin to another, the Sky Stone became a curse to those who claimed the gem as their own. But it became a mark of distinction for those who feed their brothers and sisters with the proceeds gained from bartering the stones.

  To survive in Ar Warl, especially if you lived anywhere in the wilderness that stretched across its outer reaches, a people had to be two things- resilient and resourceful. The Neflin were both of these things. Their resilence was displayed in the immediate and vigorous way they began cleaning up after the earthquake. Their resourcefulness was seen in the ingenious ways they utilized the giant trees that had fallen inside Lan'Fon: branches were being cut into pieces that could be used for weapons, furniture, wagons, and firewood; the tree trunks were being hollowed out to provide shelter for those who had their homes destroyed in the earthquakes deadly tumult.

  Astride his mount, passing by the Neflin who were busy at work, Travyn nodded at the few elves who acknowledged him. Though grateful for the Healing Magic he dispensed in the village, the Neflin were a people who rarely showed emotions other than anger. Displays of excitement or joy were reserved for special occassions like the Harvest Feast, a victory after battle, or the finding of an illusive Sky Stone. Then emotions that had been bottled up for far too long gushed forth in a show of such ardor that strangers who saw the display would lay the last of their coin down, betting that it would be impossible for the forest folk to regain the stoic demeanor that was, in truth, their normal expression.

  Then there was nighttime. The Neflin loved it dearly. Its shadowy caress aroused their forgotten selves, awakening primal feelings left unexplained. When the moon was its brightest, the ghost of their former glory touched their shrivelled souls with its fading magic that gave them strength enough to enjoy each other and the greenwood they loved. At times like this, laughter was heard. A crude variation of the wild, unfettered merriment the Neflin displayed in the days before Ab'Don came to power, it was, nevertheless, real laughter that came with the pleasure felt being in the presence of friends and family.

  But even the magic that night brought with it could not entirely curb the anger that now poluted the Neflin soul. As a result, arguing and fighting were as common-place as laughter during their nocturnal revelries.

  Travyn felt comfortable in the presence of the Lorn Elves, though this didn't prevent him from keeping a wary eye open at all times. The ambient sense of danger that filled the air laying

  over the village was something he was drawn to. And why wouldn't he be drawn, seeing he was well aware of his own volitile nature that his upbringing had taught him to mask.

  Only the amber-colored rings, that encircled his otherwise dark brown irises, betrayed this training. Acting like curtainless windows, they let the light of an unquenchable inner fire be seen by those who were in Travyn's presence, a fire that was fueled by the anger that incessantly tried to well up in him.

  Besides his general disposition mirroring the Neflin, his black hair and swarthy complection fit in well with the Lorn Elves. Even his brown leather clothing, and the brass buttons found on his jerkin, that were molded to resemble flames, were in keeping with the clothing the villagers wore. Only the broad, flat-brimmed hat he wore was foreign to elvish aesthetics. If he stilled carrying his elven leaf-blade and his ivory handled long knife, Travyn would easily be mistaken for a Neflin if his ears and eyes were the right shape.

  Riding off into the surrounding greenwood, moving in a northeasterly direction, Travyn was heading for the Lorn Fast Swamp, the place his father had entered in his quest to find Andara's Tears. If he pushed his mount hard enough he could reach the swamp and be back in Lan'Fon before a new day dawned.

  This was the second trip he had made to the foul place. Kaylan was with him on his first visit to the swamp.

  Itching to leave the confines of the Neflin village, he and his brother went on a ride to clear their minds and share their thoughts without others hearing what they said. This was a common practice for the two who shared a bond that only twins know. Traveling much farther than they had intended to, the brothers immediately knew where they were once they reached the swamp. And at the moment they arrived, they realized it wasn't by accident that they had come, though they had not planned on doing so.

  Travyn and Kaylan didn't enter the swamp that day. Instead, they talked about their father's trek through the foul, watery place that led him to the massive stone spire that towered over the haunted city of Cara Lorn, called Dragon's Tooth. Here he found a passageway that led to the Warl of the Dead. Rehearsing the tale of how their father entered the Realm of the Deceased and snatched them and their mother's spirits out of the Nameless Evil's clutches, the twins shared memories they had of the place where the dead were destined to go, memories that few others knew they had.

  It was not unheard of people claiming to have recollections of being inside their mother's womb, but none of these recollections had the clarity that Travyn and Kaylan experienced when their ethereal forms were carried inside their mother's disembodied spirit as she was forcibly taken to the Warl of the Dead. While others had memories of floating in warm liquid, with the rythmic vibrations of a gigantic beating heart washing over them, the twins recalled in detail the torments the Nameless Evil made their mother endure when she was held prisoner in the shadow that covered half of the Warl of the Dead. They even had memories of the Nameless Evil himself- his appearance, the sound of his voice, the stench of his evil presence. They recalled what the Fires of Darkness looked like as the Evil One sent them forth to destroy those who were waiting to oppose him when he finally decided to attack the Mountain of Song. These were the Righteous Dead who stood on the grassy plains on the other side of the gaping Gulf Fix.

  All the while they talked about the Warl of the Dead, the twins found that they had to fight off a desire to seek out Dragon's Tooth and return to the place where the dead now dwelt.

  Frightened by how strong the pull was, afraid that if they didn't leave they would forget the peril their father faced and succumb to the overwhelming urge, Travyn and Kaylan fled from the swamp, confused by what had happened to them.

  When they returned to Lan'Fon and told the others about their experience, Bacchanor said that the pull they felt was only to be expected since their spirits had gone to a warl that wasn't accustomed to releasing those it had welcomed into its embrace.

  "You're children of both the Warl of the Living and the Dead," the Brown Wizard explained his theory. "Those of us who accompanied your father into the Realm of the Deceased when he went to rescue your mother, were fully formed. Thus, we are only children of the place where we were conceived, the Warl of the Living that singularly influenced the shaping of our essence. You, on the other hand, were touched by two warls in the crucial, earliest stages of both your physical and spiritual development, though you were in one of the two warls for only short time."

  Having traveled through the varied realms that the waterkynd lived in, Kaylan accepted this explanation and used it to fight off the persistent desire to return to the Lorn Swamp.

  Lacking the experiences his brother had while traveling with Lylah in the Warl of the Waterkynd, and not used to denying himself things he desired, Travyn gave into the unwarly tug and headed off for the swamp that surrounded Dragon's Tooth and the haunted city where it stood.

  Pulling out the sword he carried, Travyn blew across the steel where Vlad'War's and Andara's magic had been melded together. Instantly, an amber-colored mist rose up from the blade that bathed both horse and rider in its rejuvenating magic. Infused with Andara's power, the animal took off in a gallop that it maintained throughout the morning and into the afternoon until it reached the outskirts of the Lorn Swamp, a feat that would have killed the beast without magic's help.

  Here the swamp was surrounded by a swath of densely packed trees, growing so uniformly close to one another a person might think they had been planted with a design in mind that would either ke
ep tresspasers out of the swamp or keep the dank water-laden warl, and the foul things that dwelt there, from spilling beyond its borders. Here Travyn slipped out of his saddle and stepped into the trees. Hidden in the shadows cast by the tight knit canopy of leaves, he studied the swamp and the troubling feelings it had given rise to.

  The outer edge of the barrier made of roots, tree trunks, and branches was populated with the oaks, elms, ash, pines, and firs that were common to the Lorn Forest. The inner edge was filled with the arbors found only in the swamp: salt pines and swamp oaks being the most noticeable. Here, in the midst of the strange trees that lined the inner portion of the barrier, the dank warl of the Lorn Fast Swamp, riddled with channels and pools filled with water and rotting vegetation, began and stretched across a vast expanse that lay between the Lorn Forest, the Thrall Highlands, and the Great Ral Mountains.

  Travyn peered out into the swamp with eyes that were busy memorizing all they were seeing. Here the humidity was already unpleasant, when a handful of paces behind him it had been comfortable. It was like the dense swath of trees was the lip of a cup filled with noisome, warm liquid gorged with decomposing vegetation.

  With beads of sweat welling up on his face, Travyn wondered if the humidity and heat continued to increase the farther one went into the swamp. But of all the things that passed through his mind, the most persisting thought centered on Dragon's Tooth and the cave that led to the Warl of the Dead. A feeling, that he guessed must be like the migratory urge that some fish and fowl had, drew him back to ruminating on the massive, black pinnacle of stone and all that its presence portended. After a time, he decided he had to go see Dragon's Tooth, but not today, not with Ab'Don still holding his father prisoner.

  I'll go later, Travyn said to himself as he gazed out into the watery warl that sat in silence before him. And once I do, I'll... Then he stopped to consider the feelings of determination he had, though he couldn't say what he was determined about.