Vlad'War's Anvil

by Rex Hazelton

  They're family, Lamarik thought, though she didn't think of them as brothers.

  Lamarik had been alone too long, and she knew it. Now that would end. In the presence of those she was certain could help free her father and sister's spirits, Lamarik reckoned she would never be alone again. And in that moment, though she hadn't had the time or opportunity to get to know them, the bond Lamarik felt she had with the twins crystallized.

  As Lamarik studied the two men who stood at the edge of the Lorn Fast Swamp, while she tried to disentangle the emotions that were broiling up in her, she caught a peculiar scent coming off Kaylan. Though she didn't know what it was, Lamarik was acutely aware that it was different from anything she had encountered before, and in the time she spent in the Lorn Fast Swamp, she had encountered more things than any other Neflin had, things that had changed her in ways that worried Mar’Gul.

  Little did Lamarik realize that she was sensing the influence the Warl of the Waterkynd had on Kaylan and the love he had for Lylah. Unable to define what her acute ability to discern things that her natural senses couldn't, Lamarik brushed up against something that was beyond her experience to comprehend, something wonderfully foreign that told her Kaylan belonged to another. That's when she turned her attention to Travyn. And, lo and behold, of the two brothers, he was the one to return to the swamp.

  Aiming her arrow at Travyn's chest, Lamarik's long ears stood rigid as she said, "If you'll promise to stay, I'll put my weapon away."

  She's trying to prevent me from escaping, Travyn thought as his eyes narrowed. He didn't like it when people tried to control him, even someone as exotically appealing as Lamarik was.

  Deciding not take offense at the Neflin's hubris, Travyn took a deep breath and let his muscles relax before saying, "How long would you like me to stay?" After all he was in no hurry to leave the female who might know things about the Lorn Fast Swamp and the secrets it held that could help him reach Dragon's Tooth.

  "Long enough for us to talk."

  "We're talking now."

  "No we're not." Lamarik kept her bow lifted as she spoke. "Not in the way I want to talk, not as friends."

  Shrugging his shoulders in mock surrender, Travyn added the obvious, "If you know me like you say you do, you'll realize that I can't stay long."

  "But you can stay long enough."

  "Long enough for what?"

  "Long enough for us to come to an iabout our fathers."

  "My father is the reason why I must go." Travyn was intrigued by the direction the conversation was going, it felt dangerous and he liked danger as long as the risk that came with it was worth the reward.

  "I know. But you must promise not to leave until, as I've told you, we've had time to talk."

  "I'll promise that I'll listen to what you have to say, but I can't say whether we'll come to an agreement or not." Travyn reached up and rubbed his chin before adding, "Put down your weapon and I promise I'll stay."

  Chapter 21: A Hut in the Swamp

  Leaving his horse behind, confident that the magic he used to icrease its vigor for the journey would keep it from wandering off until the trip was over, Travyn had to hurry to keep up with the swift Neflin who led him deeper into the swamp. Moving with a fluid motion that displayed her feminine form, Lamarik lept lightly along. Trailing in her lovely wake, Travyn was mesmorized by the Neflin's long legs and shapely hips as she leapt on top of a fallen log that served as a bridge used to cross over a channel filled with dark water. When Lamarik turned to encourage him to follow, her breasts pressed up against her roughly sewn clothes in a way that made Travyn swallow hard. The smile that sprang to Lamarik's face, when she saw the pronounced blinking that accompanied the swallowing, made Travyn slip when he landed on the log she was crossing. Luckily, it was wide enough for him to regain his balance before he fell into the foul water that snaked beneath him.

  Shaking himself, Travyn tried to keep his attention focused on the path Lamarik was leading him along encase he had to find his way out of the swamp without her help. Though he was certain the Neflin was Kotalik's daughter, he was unsure about everything else. Could someone who lived in a swamp where the Lorn Wraiths ruled be trusted? Had Lamarik made other agreements that kept her safe in a place that had taken so many others' lives? Travyn didn't want this to be true. He wanted Lamarik to be the person she seemed to be. And as his thoughts went back to her, so did his eyes.

  In time, after passing beneath scores of tall salt pines with their round, flat tops made of pine needles and spoke-like branches, after skirting around an array of ponds filled with rancid, debri-choked water, and after brushing past the abrassive, gray-colored razor grass and groves of big-leafed, red swamp ferns, the two reached another fallen log so long that it reached into a huge swamp oak's roots that rose out of a large pool of water.

  Looking like giant spiders legs, the roots held the tree's thick trunk well above the brown water's surface. A tangle of dead branches that filled the spaces between the exposed roots, made the base of the tree look like a nest of some kind.

  Moving along the top of the fallen tree that, once again, served as a bridge leading to the swamp oak, looking past Lamarik's graceful shoulder as he did, Travyn saw a flap of leather that looked like the same type of thing Mar’Gul used as a door to her hut. A moment later, when Lamarik pushed the flap aside, Travyn's notion that this was some sort of a nest was confirmed. This was Lamarik's home whenever she stayed in the swamp.

  Six paces wide, the floor to Lamarik's home was covered with skins taken from the strange creatures living in the swamp. A crocodon hide, laying at the center of the circular-shaped room, was the most conspicuous of these. A brazier, sitting on top of the fire-resistant scaley skin, was mostly used for cooking. The need for heat was not at a premium in the perennially warm swamp. A large pile of furs sat to one side. The black and red pelts of braken foxes were sewn together to make a quilt like blanket. Swamp pigs' hides, with their skirts of long hair that emulated scour moss, were present. These formed a make-shift mattress the fox pelts rested on. An ecclectic collection of furs, taken from smaller animals whose flesh the Neflin must have consumed, were added to the mix. Each was supple, attesting to Lamarik's skill at working with hides.

  The log, that provided access to the dwelling, ran the length of the room and functioned as a central beam beneath the floor it held up. This was held in place by the swamp oak's roots and by a brace of sapplings that were secured to the log with strips of leather used for bindings. The ends of the sapplings were also fastened to the swamp oak's stout roots. Hidden beneath the floor's skins, thick vines were carefully interwoven between the sapplings.

  The same type of vines was worked into the walls. Scour moss, woven into the vines in a way that hid the Neflin's workmanship, gave Lamarik's home its nest-like appearance. Sticks of various sizes were haphazardly interspersed among the scour moss to ensure that passerbyes would think that a wild animal was living in the debri that had been trapped by the swamp oak's sturdy roots.

  Cleverly designed, the circular wall permitted air to pass through and cool the room, while, at the same time, it kept rain water out. Running down the wall's exterior, the rain flowed quickly into the pond without entering the hut-like dwelling.

  The porous wall also allowed the brazier's smoke to escape the dwelling in tendrils so wispy thin that they joined the swamps resident mists without giving the cooking fire away. The flickering light, that escaped the inummerable tiny openings found in the wall, looked like a swarm of fireflies to any onlookers. But without the brazier's fuel being lit, the dwelling was filled with shadow even in day time.

  All in all, the ingenious structure was about as safe as could be expected in a swamp inhabited by dangerous wraiths and deadly beasts.

  "Sit." A mischievous light danced about in Lamarik's large, dark eyes as she added, "Friendships are best begun with a meal, and agreements are best made afterwards."

  As Travyn settled onto a fur, surprised at
how comfortable the floor was as it gently flexed beneath his weight, Lamarik went about lighting a fire in the centrally located brazier whose flickering flames provided an etheral ambiance to the hut's dark enterior. Once this was done, she took an iron pot hanging from the roof and placed it on a spit that sat over the fire. Unhooking a ladle that was dangling alongside other cooking utensils that hung from the arched ceiling, Lamarik went over to a wooden barrel where she removed a lid and scooped up water that was inside. This was poured into the cooking pot. Four times she did this before hanging the ladle on the barrel's side and reaching into a nearby basket. Pulling out the fungus the Neflin loved to eat, this was placed into the quickly heating water. Spices, taken from a smaller basket, were soon added.

  All the while she was cooking, Lamarik smiled and hummed a lovely tune that stirred up a refreshing breeze that filtered through the hut. Or, at least, this seemed to be the case since the breeze would rise and fall along with the tune. Eyes larger than other Neflin had moved from the pot, to Travyn, and back again. Each time they looked at the man, the smile was renewed. Lamarik's long ears no longer stood rigid as they did when she had a bow and arrow in hand. They bent lazily backward in the way a hound's did as they looked at the one who was giving them affection.

  The fragrance coming from the cooking pot made Travyn's mouth water. Lamarik's strange beauty made his mouth water more. Her feral features made his eyes forget to blink. Her graceful movements made breathing difficult. No woman had made Travyn feel this way, nor any elf maiden in Forest Deep. But this wild, untamed female's presence was so overwhelming that he wondered if the tune she was humming was some kind of incantation used to cast an enchantment over him.

  But when the humming stopped and the breeze with it, Travyn's feelings didn't abate. Instead, he found everything about Lamarik to be wonderful: the way she took out two wooden bowls and filled them with the fragrant fungus; the way she removed berries and nuts from nearby baskets and liberally sprinkled them atop the fleshy food and the broth it gave off; the way she filled wooden cups with water poured out of the ladle she had retrieved; the way she kept smiling; the way she talked; and Lamarik was talking, though it took Travyn a while to break his reverie and listen to what she was saying.

  "Eat,"she said as she smiled and handed Travyn a bowl, spoon, and cup. "A full stomach can be as important as an open ear when important things are discussed."

  As they ate, Travyn asked about the unfinished arrows that sat to one side of the hut: what kind of wood Lamarik used for the shafts; what kind of feathers she used for the fletchings, and about the materials she used for the arrowheads. Was it bone, stone, or did she purchase iron arrowheads when she visited Lan'Fon? After this, he listened intently as Lamarik told him how she had killed the crocodon whose death provided the skin they were sitting on. When the talk turned to Cara Lorn and Dragon's Tooth, Travyn's fixation on everything that was Lamarik- everything she said, no matter what it was, and everyhting she did, even if it was only to refill the cups with water- was finally broken.

  Sensing this, the Neflin went on to explain the agreement she wanted to make with Travyn. "I know your father bested the Lorn Fast Wraiths so he could have time to find Andara's Tears," she began. "Mar’Gul has told me how she and your father, along with Bachannor and Alynd, climbed Dragon's Tooth and entered the Warl of the Dead to rescue you, your brother, and your mother's spirits."

  "As Jeaf Oakenfel's son," Lamarik's smile emitted confidence, the brazier's yellow and orange light that colored her face added to the intensity she exuded,"you must have inherited gifts that give you power over the Lorn Fast Wraiths too."

  Pausing for affect, she added, "Travyn, you and your family possesses magic that can set spirits free. Your father has already done this. You're proof of this."

  "As I've told you," Lamarik's smile disappeared as she went on to say, "my father and sister's spirits are trapped in this foul swamp. I need your help to get them free of this place so they can complete the journey that all the dead must make. So here's my proposition, if you help me do this, I'll promise to do everything in my power to help you rescue your father."

  "You know about my father?"

  "All of the Neflin do," Lamarik reached out and gently placed her hand on top of Travyn's as she spoke, making it difficult for him to breathe once again. "The Sorcerer was careless about hiding the fact that he captured your father, thinking, once Ar Warl discovered the truth about this, it would make the people fear him even more. So, that when the warls collide, they'll follow him into battle without hesitation. For how can the Nyeg withstand the power of the Ar without the Hammer Bearer's magic there to help it?"

  "Do you know where Ab'Don is holding him?"

  "No." Lamarik squeezed Travyn's hand reasuringly. "But I'll help you find him."

  "You won't have to," Travyn replied with unintended brusqueness. A sense of lose swept over him when Lamarik took her hand away, making him wish he hadn't said what he did.

  "You know where the Sorcerer is holding your father?" Lamarik appeared disapppointed that the help she was offering to locate Travyn's father wasn't needed. Still, she was not lacking options, so she said, "Even if this is true, my offer still has value, for I can aid you in other ways. My time spent in the Lorn Fast Swamp has given me knowledge and skills you'll find useful."

  “Lamarik," saying her name left a sweet taste in Travyn's mouth that made him feel tremulous, "I don't doubt that." Passing his tongue between his lips to see if what he was tasting was real or not, he went on to say, "But there's no need to keep bartering for my services. I swear to you here and now, once my father is free, I'll do whatever I can to help your father and sister's spirits reach the Mountain of Song that stands watch over the Warl of the Dead."

  Lamarik's ears went rigid, her eyes grew larger than Travyn thought was possible as she said, "You're willing to do that before I place all of my cards on the table? Why?"

  "I can't say why for certain," Travyn replied as he took his flat-brimmed hat off and sat it on the floor beside him. After rotating his neck like it had a kink that needed to be worked out, he leveled his eyes on Lamarik and added, "There's something about you that I can't explain."

  "Something more than our fathers' shared history?"

  "Yes." Travyn lips parted and his lower jaw slide to the left as he pondered things. After a moment of reflection, he posed a question he had every intention of answering himself. "What is it..." he quietly asked as he looked at the waning fire reflected off of Lamarik's dark eyes.

  "It's death." A demure smile that hinted at the pain Lamarik kept bottled up inside appeared.

  "Death?" The amber rings of light intensified in Travyn's eyes.

  "Yes," Lamarik looked about as she replied. "The Lorn Fast Swamp is filled with its presence. Cara Lorn is bathed in its power. At the heart of all of this is Dragon's Tooth, where a door to the Warl of the Dead stands, a warl you're familiar with."

  The Neflin's eyes narrowed as she added, "This is my home, the place that has nourished my being with its unwarly nature. As a result, I have absorbed its nature and have become its child even as you are a child of the place where you were forced to go while you were in your mother's womb."

  "You're saying this is what's making me readily agree to your offer?"

  "That, and more," A sensual smile appeared on the Neflin's face as she slowly pulled her patchwok tunic over her head and revealed her shapely shoulders and breasts to her stunned guest. A moment later, Lamarik had divested herself of her leggings and soft-leather shoes. Not wearing small clothes, she stood as naked as the day she was born. But as the flickering firelight revealed, she was no infant. She was a Neflin female in her prime.

  Taking Travyn's hand, Lamarik pulled him to his feet, and began undressing him, slowly, so she could thoroughly enjoy unwrapping the gift she was certain fate had given her. His sword and long knife were the first things to go. Brass buttons, molded to look like flames, were unfastened before the co
at was removed and dropped to the floor. A gold-colored silk shirt followed. A black belt, lined with brass coins bearing the image of flames, was soon added to the pile. Brown leather pants were the next to be deposited. Then steering Travyn to the place where she slept, Lamarik gently pushed him down onto his back where she pulled his black leather boots off and tossed them to the side. Finally she slipped off the small clothes, brushing against Travyn's pronounced flesh as she did and lowered herself beside him.

  The whole time this was happening, Travyn remained quiet as he feebly wrestled with a promise he had given to his mother that he would save himself for his wife. The golden band Muriel had given him that day as a sign of the promise, rested heavily on his finger. Though he had broken just about every rule he knew about, and had been a source of consternation to both of his parents with his disorderly behavior, Travyn had kept the promise he had made to his mother. Aware of the kind of abuse she had endured in the Cave of Forgetfulness dour environs, he had honored her request to treat women respectfully. Sure, he had kissed more than a few of them before and had slipped into foreplay on occassion. But this wasn't anything unusual for a young man awakening to his male potential. And he had always kept such behavior to a minimum, to the point he turned down women of the evening who offered discounts for the chance of being the young man's first.

  Travyn's friendship with Ilya'Gar had heldped him keep his promise. Unlike many humans who casually entered into sexual relations, hunchmen viewed intimacy as playing an essential role in helping their race survive in a warl that ill-fit them. Infidelity was not tolerated. Though the males might kill each other for any number of reasons, they would not dishonor their kind by stealing favors from each others' mates. Daughters were also included in their ethos.

  In the time before Way'Gar and Jeaf Oakenfel established the Treaty of Gor'Dar, an accord that ended of the hunchmen's addiction to the stimulating chata beans, the drug-crazed beast-men were known to rape females found in tribes they had an active fued with. On occassion, they would even rape women that would fall into their hands during one of their violent raids. Though the hunchmen were not anatomically different from humans in this regard, not in a way that would make rape impossible, pregnancies never resulted from such violations. But in the days after the treaty was made, and the use of chata beans banned, such things were unheard of.