Vlad'War's Anvil

by Rex Hazelton

  Since infidelity ultimately hurt a tribe by weakening its structure, such was not tolerated. Marriage was honored, though it was not unusual for a hunchman to have more than one wife that necessity had them assume. Having more females in a tribe than males led to this practice. Taking a dead relative's wife, to ensure their children would be cared for, was another reason this might happen. Other than that, fidelity was strictly adhered to. This made Ilya'Gar the perfect companion for Travyn as he wrestled with yearnings that were common to young humans. But his hunchman friend was now in the Nyeg, not the Ar.

  With Lamarik kissing his cheek and running her hand down his body, Travyn's wrestling with his urges continued. Not only was he going to break the promise to his mother, he was going to do it with a Neflin. What he knew of the Nyeg Warl's elves, they viewed intimacy as a mating ritual that bound a male and female together for life. Their commitment to such unions was at least as strong as the hunchmen's, and there wasn't one recorded incident of rape among the forest folk. Though sex was joyously and freely partaken of, it was never pursued in a casual relationship or used soley for recreational purposes. This gave Travyn pause. What was this elf doing? Was this her way of sealing her agreement? An elf from Forest Deep would never do such a thing. Then he looked into Lamarik's large dark eyes and was drawn into their depths where his feeble internal battle was washed away. Reason ceased. His mind shut off, except to record the experience, and his body took over.

  Though Lamarik was more than ten summers older than Travyn, her Neflin longevity made the two a good physical match. In their respective races, both were still considered to be youthful. Both were inexperienced. Both were willing in a manner that drove away any limitations that self-consciousness might place on them.

  Being risk takers at heart led to an abandonment that belied their inexperience. And in time, they came to know each other very well: each contour of the other's body, the nuances of where the other liked to be touched, the playful humor each enjoyed that seemed incongruous with their normal reserved demeanors.

  In the eye of the storm that had so thoroughly swept the two up, the place of calm that gave a brief reprieve from the tempest that engulfed them, Lamarik confided, "I've never been with a male before."

  Looking into the depths of the dark eyes that gazed intently at him, Travyn replied. "Nor have I been with a female before."

  Hearing this, Lamarik's smile returned in full force and her long ears went rigid as she lifted herself onto Travyn. A moment later, her ears layed back. And just like that, the storm returned with renewed fury. On and on it went, until it spent itself and a tranquil aftermath filled the darkened room.

  Rubbing Travyn’s back, tracing the intricate pattern of scars found there, Lamarik asked, “What are these?”

  “They’re scars left from the time I went through the Bonding Ritual with my best friend, Ilya’Gar. He’s the son of Loda’Gar the Bro’Noon chieftain.”

  “Bro’noon?”

  “People call them hunchmen.”

  Lamarik’s ears went rigid at the name. Ar Warl had hunchmen too. Alarmed by what she knew about them, she asked, “What’s a Bonding Ritual?”

  “Ilya’Gar and I are now brothers. The scars you’re touching were once deep cuts that sent our blood flowing over each other. Now we are one blood.”

  “But you don’t have an agreement with him as binding as ours?” Lamarik hadn’t thought she’d have to share Travyn’s affections with another. Most certainly not with a hunchman. In the Ar, the beast-men were considered to be the least of the intelligent creatures. They were things that noblemen hunted for sport. Their reputation for savagery isolated them further.

  “He and I have no agreement. We’re brothers.” Travyn chuckled at the thought that Lamarik was thinking they were more than that. Neflin, he mused, what am I getting myself into.

  Kissing Lamarik with a tenderness that those who knew him wouldn't think he was capable of, Travyn said, "I must go now."

  "Then we have an agreement," Lamarik asked after returning the kiss and drawing her head back to get a good look at his face.

  "Don't be absurd." Incredulous that Lamarik thought she still had to ask this question after all that had happened, Travyn snorted out his words as he reached for his clothes. "Of course we have an agreement."

  "Then I'll go with you."

  In spite of all they had said to each other, Travyn hadn't considered this possibility. For the first time that day, a pang of self-consciousness stabbed at him. But the enchanting Neflin, who was getting dressed beside him, wasn't the source of the attack, it came from the realization that he had to face his brothers. As well as they knew him, they might guess what the two had done together; especially Kaylan, who had been with him since the moment they were conceived.

  "But first," Lamarik stood and pulled the roughly-sewn tunic over her head, "I want to see my sister and tell her about my plans."

  "You talk with your sister?" This shouldn't have surprised Travyn since he knew the wraiths, trapped in the swamp, could communicate with the living that dared to tresspass into their dank watery-warl. But he was astonished to think that Lamarik had a relationship with one of the wraiths profound enough for her to want to explain her actions. Indeed, she was unusual, and because of this, unpredictable too.

  "Yes." Lamarik untangled her disheveled hair with a comb made out of bone as she spoke. "In the days following her death, I found her spirit brooding over the surface of the very quicksand that she had drowned in.

  "Though she didn't recognize me at first, for I have learned that death is a disorienting experience, I helped her recover her memories.

  “Confused about who she had been when she was alive, and what she had become now that she was dead, it took a great deal of effort and time to awaken her recollections. Fortunately, she tarried at the place where she had died, since the wraiths that live in Cara Lorn would have kept me from talking to her if she had tried to go straight way to Dragon's Tooth and then on to the Warl of the Dead. If she had done this, the wraiths would have hounded her until she was compelled to join them or be forced into unwilling servitude.

  "This is what I believe has happened to my father since I haven't been able to find his spirit yet. Nor has Janalik had any luck in uncovering his whereabouts. But that's to be expected, since she avoids prolonged contact with the dangerous spectres that guard Cara Lorn. Most of her searching is done from the safety of the fringes of the wraith's activity. By doing this, she has kept herself from becoming a target of interest, while at the same time learning much about the Lorn Fast Wraith's and their ways."

  After placing his flat-brimmed hat on his head, and running his fingers along its wide brim as a final touch, Travyn said, "I don't have much time to wait for you."

  He decided to not try and talk Lamarik out of going with him to Lan'Fon. After all, that was her true home. Whether she would be permitted to accompany him any farther would be decided by the others. And he didn't think this was a likely prospect.

  "I'm not asking you to wait." Lamarik made certain the last of the embers had burned themselves out in the brazier as she removed the cooking pot and gathered the wooden plates and cups that were quickly cleaned in a basen of water that was poured out of a hole found in the floor that was used to get rid of waste of all kinds. "I'll catch up with you later."

  "But you don't have a horse, do you?"

  Looking about her home and nodding her head in satisfaction that everything was in order, Lamarik turned to Travyn, smiled a smile so mesmerizingly beautiful that it made him lose his train of thought, and lightheartedly replied, "Are you afraid I'll take too long to reach Lan'Fon and you'll have to leave me behind?"

  Then the broad smile was replaced with a look that cats get after they've eaten a meal. "Don't fear... that'll never happen."

  The moment Lamarik made her proclamation, the fringes of her dark irises released amber light that emulated Travyn's own. A moment later the glow was gone.


  Travyn lowered his head, so that his hat's brim would covered his squinting eyes, as he tried to sort things out. What have I done? He thought. Feeling like Lamarik had taken something from him, he wondered if there was anything that could undo what had happened. Then lifting his head just enough so that he could see Lamarik's face, her feral beauty hit him like a slap in the face that warned him to leave quickly before he asked the Neflin if he could stay a little longer.

  Lamarik smiled at Travyn as he hungrily gazed at her from the shadow that lay beneath his hat's flat brim. Then she stepped forward and placed a hand on his chest. Feeling his heart beating as strong as it was, her smile broadened as she gently shoved him away and said, "Off with you. We don't have time to do what you're thinking."

  Travyn swallowed hard, stumbled on a skin that caught the heel of his boot as he stepped backwards, and said, "You're right."

  Still troubled by the amber rings of light that had appeared in Lamarik's eyes, Travyn pushed his concern aside and stepped forward to kiss her on her soft, receptive lips one last time. Then he turned and left with the sound of the Neflin's laughter chasing him across the log that acted as a causeway over the pond. With the sun still in the sky, Travyn headed home. Luckily, he remembered the way back to the edge of the swamp, that was closer than he thought it was, and in time, he was back in the saddle and galloping off to Lan'Fon.

  Chapter 22: Dandaryll

  With the help of the magic the sword was endowed with, that gave Travyn's mount stamina well beyond its normal capacity, he reached Lan'Fon before the moon reached its zenith. As expected, the village was still awake, for elves loved the shadowy night, though their extraordinary vision lessened the darkness' potency.

  Communal campfires were in abundance. But the laughter that normally filled the air was lacking. So were the sounds of arguing and chiding that did not lessen the usual buoyant atmosphere. Both quarrelling and mirth were things that accompanied the games the competitive Neflin loved to play after sunset- Role the Bones, Stones, a card game called Dead by Morning, and feat's of dexterity using the throwing knives they carried.

  Though violent exchanges among Ar Warl's elves were far from uncommon, the nightly games rarely led to bloodshed unless the stakes were higher than normal. And that was not the case tonight. In fact, the subdued Lorn Elves were doing little else but conversing quietly with one another. And as Travyn passed by, even that ceased as the Neflin's almond-shaped eyes locked onto him with unexpected interest: jaws clenched as they did; brows furoughed; hands rubbed smooth chins in speculation.

  Leaping up into the towering trees that still stood in the village, the light from the lively fires washed the ancient arbors with a brillance that not only accentuated their stature but hinted at the memories they had of the Neflin's lost glory, since their great age ensured they were present to witness the Lorn Elves de-evolving from being Lord's of the Forest to becoming the disreputable lot they now were.

  Night hid the damage that Ab'Don's magic had inflicted on the old growth forest. The dull hues that replaced the vibrant green color the leaves and pine needles once knew back before the elves fell from grace couldn't be discerned in the dark, nor was the grime that covered everything with a disgusting film of filth easily detected. Bathed in dancing campfire light, the trees regained the promise they had back when the Neflin tended to the forest with the inimitable magic they once possessed. To most, the bonfires were masters of illusions that portended nothing; to others, their brilliant eminations stirred up a longing for the greatness the Neflin had lost, a theme Mar’Gul's prophecies continually spred.

  And as Travyn approached the huts that had been provided for him and his brothers' brief stay in Lan'Fon, the enigmatic woman was addressing a large gathering that was seated around one of the bonfires. Many humans were included with those who listened to Mar’Gul. Were these Brie'Shen, Travyn wondered? The level of deference they gave to his aunt made this likely since she was one of them by blood, the first Mar'Gul not descended from the Neflin race.

  Sensing his brother was near, Kaylan rose so he could be seen above the ring of elves that stood on the periphery of the gathering and beckoned him over.

  Turning his horse over to a young Neflin male, who offered to help the man who had used his Healing Powers to lessen the severity of his father's wounds following the earthquake, Travyn slipped through the gathering and joined his brothers who sat at an angle to the men who had recently entered Lan'fon so he could get a better look at them.

  The strangers, who studied the new arrival with expressionless faces, looked like men who shared Auntie Pearl's bloodline. This is what the Oakenfel brothers playfully called Mar’Gul when others couldn't hear. Not missing the humorous side of the woman in black being their aunt, the brothers had fun speculating on what it would have been like if she was around to babyset them when they were little boys. The private moniker they gave her was used to bond their emotions to their father's half-sister.

  Oval-shaped faces with angular noses, the men were a comely group. Green eyes, like those Aunt Pearl had, and amber ones, like their father had, predominated. Hair that ran the gamut from honey-color to dark brown fell upon their shoulders.

  Only one had black hair that dropped to his shoulders in loose curls that made his skin look paler than it really was. Eyes, so brown they bordered on black, set him farther apart from his kinsman. Taking an intense interest in Travyn, the man sized him up like a dog that recognized competition. The handles of twin swords, rising above his shoulders out of sheaths that were strapped to his back, showed the man was not lacking teeth.

  Is this Aeroth, Travyn wondered, the one who had threatened to kill his father so long ago? But it can't be. He's too young. Still this train of thought made Travyn ponder what he and his brothers would face when dealing with the Brie'Shen if Garyth had died from the wounds their grandfather inflicted on Aeroth's father in a duel Aryl was forced to fight.

  Back when Aryl had guided his son, Alynd, and Bacchanor into the Warl of the Brie'Shen during Jeaf's quest to find Andara's Tears, Garyth had invoked the right of Crul'Nocht so he could avenge his niece, Sari, whom he wrongly accused Aryl of raping.

  Having died, while giving birth to a child who had grown up to become Mar’Gul who was now speaking, Sari was responsible for initiating a night of intimacy that surprised Aryl who thought he only loved his best friend like a sister. The way he responded to Sari's advances said otherwise, confusing him about their relationship. But before he could sort out his feelings, Aryl carried out long made plans to escape the Ar and make his way to the Nyeg.

  Knowing Aryl was leaving the following morning, Sari did what she had done without the slightest hesitation or hint of regret, because she loved Aryl deeply. Aryl, on the other hand, was clueless to Sari's true feelings, though they were apparent to many others.

  Hiding the identity of the man who had impregnated her, and then dying while giving birth to his child, Sari was not around to tell Garyth the whole story as she had planned to. Left to his own imagination, though Sari stedfastly denied she had been raped, her older brother came to conclusions that led to the death match that had taken Aryl's life. This same duel ushered Garyth to death's door, and if he was to pass through it, Aeroth promised that he would kill Jeaf for the crime his father was accused of.

  This was no idle threat, for Aeroth was renowned for his skill in fighting. As a result of his ability, the twin swords he carried were given the name Death Blades by those in the Brie'Shen community who had seen them at work. And now one who fit Aeroth's description was staring straight at Travyn.

  Thumbing his leaf blade's handle, Travyn was not one bit bothered by the threatening gaze. Fighting for his grandfather's honor wouldn't be a problem.

  If Travyn had known it, the blood feud that existed between the Wyldestones and Wyldwises, the two Brie'Shen clans Aryl and Sari belonged to that were at odds with one another because of the bitterness surrounding the accusation of rape, was not the only
thing he had to worry about. In fact, when Pearl became Mar’Gul, the feud all but ended when she stedfastly told the others how Aryl and Sari showed affection for each other when they met on the grassy plains spreading out across the Warl of the Dead. Telling her kinsman how she heard Sari confess that she was the one who initiated the time of intimacy that led to her conception and would do so again given the same circumstances, might have squelched the animosity completely if not for the evil Ab'Don brought down upon Brie'Shen community's head.

  When the Sorcerer figured out that a Brie'Shen had helped Jeaf Oakenfel enter Cara Lorn, and then gain access to the Between Warl that ties the Warl of the Living and the Dead together, he sent his cruel minions forth to meet out judgement on them. His rage was fueled by a rumor that said the new Mar'Gul was a Brie'Shen and not a Neflin as usual. Keeping his eye on the ebb and flow of alliances that formed in Ar Warl, permitting only those that would further his dark machinations, the Sorcerer didn't like the idea that the Neflin might be allied to the Brie'Shen. This sent a portion of his retribution the Lorn Elves' way for accepting the outsider as one of their own. A nagging suspicion that a residue of Fane J'Shrym blood was hidden somewhwere in the Brie'Shen clans, made certain that his attacks were unusually savage, even by his own violent standards.

  In the end, the Brie'Shen were attacked with a fury that laid waste to their villages. If it wasn't for Mar’Gul's timely warnings, the slaughter might have been complete. Instead her foretellings sent the Brie'Shen fleeing deep into the wilds to escape the doom that approached them under Ab'Don's guidance. Still, women and children were violated and murdered in the most insidious ways. The elderly were treated no less cruelly.