Vlad'War's Anvil

by Rex Hazelton

  A man wearing a white robe, whose hem contained a multitude of colors representing the various clans, and whose hood was the color of orange flames, conducted the ceremony. Once he spoke a Word of Power, igniting the candles that were arranged atop the dais, Ay'Roan recognized he was Ar Warl's version of a Candle Maker. Though limited in the amount of magic he could expend, for Ab'Don would have hunted him down if he dared to learn too much about the mystical arts, the potential was there, a potential that Bacchanor had been nurturing during his time in Ar Warl.

  Secretly training those who displayed an ability to call upon the Warl's Magic, though they were not permitted to do so to any real degree because the Sorcerer would sense the release of power, the group of men and women he had found were like soldiers who used sticks to learn how to fight with swords. When the time was right, they would be given steel. But as things stood, it might only be within a space of a moon or two before they're supernatural abilities would be needed on the field of battle. Still, as brief as their experience with wielding real magic was, it was better than having none at all.

  In concert with the candle flames that burst to life as they heard the Word of Power being invoked, the mists covering the village parted to let the stars witness the proceedings. With Davyn and his wife standing behind their daughter and Mar’Gul and J'Aryl standing behind Ay'Roan, the proverbial knott was tied as the two completed the ceremonial part of becoming husband and wife.

  With the cloth that had been symbollically wound about their wrists as a sign of their union still in place, Ay'Roan led his bride off to a tent that had been erected to be their temporary home. Normally, a husband would build a permanent dwelling he would take his bride to, but the timing of the union didn’t allow Ay'Roan to do this. Still, he helped erect the tent as the groom was expected to do, though his brief participation was only ceremonial in nature.

  Ay'Roan and Deyvara looked at each other as the crowd watched them pass through the guantlet that was created as they parted to let the couple through. Nervous smiles showed on their faces. The firtive glances they cast the villagers way only heightened their anxiety. Then, before they knew they had walked as far as they had, they reached the village's edge and the tent that awaited them. A moment later, the tent flap was pulled back by an attendant and the couple entered their home.

  Simultaneouly letting out a breath of relief over being away from the crowd, the sounds of quiet laughter and whispered words let the two know that they had not truly escaped.

  "Quiet!" Davyn's husky voice was heard above the rustling whispers. "If anyone makes a jest at my daughter's expense, they'll have to answer to me."

  "Shut up yourself." A woman's breathy voice was heard. "If I recall correctly, you're wit was in full force on my daughter's wedding night."

  This must've been true, for Davyn didn't offer a reply. Still, the big man's presence kept the crowd from turning rowdy. But it didn't chase them away.

  Shrugging her shoulders as she looked at Ay'Roan, whose face was lit by the orange light coming from a brazier that sat in the middle of the room, Deyvara turned her back to her husband. Taking a moment to take in a deep breath, Ay'Roan reached out and began untying the laces that held the dress in place. Once he was done, Deyvara took off the ring of flowers from her head and sat them down by the tent's flap. Then she stood and let the green garment fall off her body. Still in her small clothes, Deyvara reached out and lifted Ay'Roan's tunic over his head as he bent forward and extended his arms to help. Then she unstrapped his leggings and let them fall. Without a moment's hesitation, she took his small clothes off and studied his body, satisfied with what she saw. Ay'Roan didn't know what he would have done if she had frowned. Deyvara pulled her small clothes over her head, slowly, letting Ay'Roan study her as thoroughly as she had studied him. And what he saw caught his breath.

  By all that is holy, Ay'Roan thought, the Ar's not as bad a place as the Nyeg thinks it is. No wonder, Bacchanor chose to stay.

  Deyvara was truly a wonder to behold. Though a huntress by vocation, she was womanly in form. With perfectly proportioned legs, arms, and torso, her other attributes were equally agreeable, so much so, Ay'Roan forgot the words Bacchanor suggested he say to put his bride at ease. The swath of delicate freckles that lay upon Deyvara's shoulders made Ay'Roan think of the cinnamon he had seen the bakers sprinkle on the magnificent confections they brought into the feasts he attended in the Eagle King's Great Hall.

  That he thought of food as he looked at Deyvara embarrased Ay'Roan. Then his desire grew and the embarrassment left him, for it wasn't food he hungered for, though his mouth still watered.

  He's not bad for a Nyeg Warler, Deyvara told herself as her eyes drank in the masculine shape that stood before her. Then Ay'Roan bent down and kissed her. Gently taking her hand, he led her to the pile of bedding and lowered her down.

  This time it was Deyvara's turn to loose her breath. She had never met a man who made her feel like she was both a little girl and a mature woman all at the same time. His strong hands were comforting. His lips were inviting. His chest was so powerful. The rest of his body did not disappoint. There was no part of her that wanted to resist the advances of the stranger who was overwhelming her with his presence.

  Much Later, Deyvara went over and picked the floral wreath up and opened the tent's flap just enough for her to reach through and toss the ring of flowers outside the tent.

  Laughing, the young women raced foreward to pluck a flower from the wreath that the fastest of them now held. Once they did, the maidens scampered off together, telling the lucky one who she would marry: "He'll be a prince," one said; "You'll live in a castle," another chimed in; "He'll be so handsome, we'll all cry the day you marry him"; "He'll be a great warrior," another one added.

  "But will he love me?" The lucky maiden was heard saying as she put the wreath made of flowerless stems on her head while playing her part in the age-old game.

  "He'll love you more than any man has ever loved his wife," the maidens replied in unison as they hurried off.

  Davyn nodded his head as he looked at his wife who smiled a weary smile that conveyed her happiness over the unexpected event. And she was happy, as happy as anyone could be in Ar Warl when the spectre of war was staring them in the face. At least her daughter would know a man's embrace before the impending doom was upon them. And who knows, if the prophecies proved true, maybe she would get to know her husband better once the fighting was over.

  Looking about with a gaze that told the crowd to follow him, Davyn set off with his arm around his wife. The rest of the villagers did the same thing. Husbands and wives were arm in arm. Many holding each other close as they slowly walked away, whispering secrets into each other's ears that made them smile. Young men looked at the maidens who had stopped in the distance and were now looking back at them.

  Life was reaffirmed this night. Weddings always had a way of doing that in the Fane J'Shrym community. With all they had suffered, with the rejection they faced by the people of the warl who blamed them for failing to keep their fathers' glory alive, and with the Sorcerer's unending malice being hurled at them, a simple thing like a wedding told them they would endure, that their light would not be extinguished.

  ****

  J'Aryl's voice, coming from outside the tent, awakened Ay'Roan from the slumber he had recently succumbed to. With the wonders he had partaken of during the past night, he was surprised to find he had fallen asleep. But a person could endure only so much, and exhaustion had finally overtaken the newlyweds.

  "What is it," Ay'Roan asked with a groggy voice. Then he caught sight of the woman who lay beside him and he was immediately awake, but his attention was not on his brother until he heard J'Aryl say, "Bacchanor is leaving and wants to talk to us before he goes."

  With that said, Ay'Roan leaned over and kissed his bride before rising and putting on his own clothes that had been cleaned and put into the tent before the wedding began. Deyvara followed his example. Her
normal wear was there too. The wedding garments, laying haphazardly about the tent, were left behind.

  "Where is he?" Ay'Roan, leading Deyvara by the hand, spoke as he exited the tent.

  Not forgetting his mother's training, J'Aryl bowed to Deyvara as she slipped through the tent’s opening and said, "Good morning Lady."

  "Good morning, J'Aryl." She smiled in the sunlight that bathed her face with its warmth. Amazingly enough, the mists were sparse that day. Floating about in whispy clouds, they didn’t command the sky that covered Shtytl. "Please call me Deyvara. We're family now."

  Returning the smile, surprised he felt a tinge of jealousy over his brother's fortune, J'Aryl answered his brother's question. "He's in Vlad'Aeroth's home. Come. More than a wedding took place last night."

  In time they were crammed in the Wylder’s home, along with the elders and their wives as Mar’Gul spoke.

  "I was sitting at a table in a tavern in Pea's Valley just like I was the first night I saw Jeaf Oakenfel." The great lady was describing a dream she had as she slept. "It was filled with people huddled nervously over plates filled with shriveled-up vegetables and rotten meat. Moldy bread sat beside the plates. Swarms of rats, black as the shards of rock littering the Stone Desert, sat beside the bread, munching greedly on the pathetic offering. The agitated diners continually swatted the stubborn vermin away so they could pick at the places where the stale bread was free of mold. At the same time, they sorted through the plates of food in search of something edible to stave off their hunger. Firtive glances interrupted their searching as they looked at the tavern's door like they were afraid someone would come into the tavern and take their wretched meal away from them.

  "Not wanting to waste my time with the foul food, or have to contend with the vermin that covered the tables, I settled for a draft of ale that turned out to be as stale as the bread the rats relentlessly attacked.

  "While the sounds of wooden spoons, scraping on plates filled with fetid food they dug through, filled the smoke-filled tavern, the heavy front door swung open and Andara entered the room. With a fist resting on his hip and a hand stroking his long gray beard, the wizard assayed they tavern's interior with a fierce gaze that frightened those nearby. That's when he saw me and disgustedly let out a breath of air.

  "Pearl, Andara's eyes were filled with gold light as he spoke, why are you contending with worms and vermin for the food you eat? The days of picking through rotten meat and bread are at an end. It's time to go get unspoiled food. But it's not here, not in this place where fear rules. Send Baccahnor. He knows where the storehouse is. Have him fetch the sustenance your starving brethren need. Send him today! But don’t wait for Bacchanor's return before going to help the Hammer Bearer, for both tasks are frought with peril.

  "Having said this, Andara grabbed ahold of my drink and lifted it to his nose before he threw the cup to the ground and exclaimed, this putrid stuff won't do anymore. It's time to tap the barrels that have remained untouched for far too long.

  "Then all those in the tavern threw their plates to the ground, cursing the loathsome fare they had been picking through as they did. Pushing the benches, stools, and chairs back, the villagers stood to their feet and stared at me: some looked angry, others impatient, most just stared at me with imploring eyes.

  "Well, what are you waiting for? Andara added with a voice so loud it startled me awake."

  "What does this mean?" Vlad'Aeroth, waiting a moment to make certain his cousin was done, was first to speak.

  "I believe Andara was talking about magic," Mar’Gul explained. "The tavern is Ar Warl. Those that he said were my brethren are the Fane J'Shrym, the Neflin, and any others who oppose Ab'Don. The Sorcerer's intrusion into our lives and his pitiless meddling with the things that sustain it are the worms, rot, and rodents that the diners had to contend with."

  Mar’Gul's eyes blazed with green fire as she explained, "The time when fearing the Sorcerer's reprisals have kept us from delving into the depths of the Warl's Magic has come to an end. The days of dabbling are over. It's time we fed on good meat and bread since we're going to need all the strength we can gather to fight Ab'Don.

  "So, Bacchanor," Mar’Gul's eyes lost none of their intensity as she looked at the man she loved, "go to the storehouse and fetch us the food we need, and while you do, we’ll set off to free Jeaf Oakenfel, as Andara said we must, and the Hammer of Power that only he can wield."

  "And where is this storehouse?" Vlad'Aeroth asked with a frown on his face. The topic of magic had always troubled him. In his thinking, sharp steel was a better option

  "Nyeg Warl," Mar’Gul replied. "The place that was wrenched out of the Sorcerer's grasp during the days of his conquest and kept safely out of his control ever since. The Nyeg, where the pursuit of magic has gone unabated by the powers that be."

  Having already talked with his wife when she awoke from her dream, and having helped her interpret its meaning, Bacchanor was ready to undertake his task. "I'll be on my way once this meeting concludes."

  Flexing his shoulders with a twist of his back like an athlete loosening up for a contest, Bacchanor added. "Andara has encouraged us to cast off the shackles of fear and fully embrace the Warl's Magic. To do this, we need teachers. And it just so happens, Nyeg Warl is full of them."

  "Why have things changed so?" Vlad'Aeroth continued his questioning.

  "The Warl's are about to collide, the Hammer Bearer needs help, who knows for certain." Bacchanor rubbed his thick, curly beard thoughtfully as he added, "Maybe it's because of last night's wedding, when a Nyeg Warler and Ar Warler got married?"

  "But that's happened before," Vlad'Aeroth's dark eyes narrowed as he tried to sort things out, "when you and Mar’Gul wed."

  "Aye." Bacchanor replied with a smile that was intended for his wife. "But I'm not the Son of the Storm, nor have I been entrusted with the task of gathering the Fane J'Shrym to fight the last battle like Ay'Roan and his brothers have. But I am a shape-shifter who can play the role Andara has asked me to play."

  Looking to Mar’Gul for his cue, for the two of them had spent half the night making plans the dream required, Bacchanor nodded his head in response to his wife's silent prompting and began the startling transformation that was done in public for affect. As the incredulous gathering looked on with slack-jawed amazement, the Brown Wizard's form grew indistinct, like he was being viewed through a pane of glass whose surface rippled with irregularities. The blurring and enlarging of colors that followed made those that were close by retreat to a safe distance so the magical display had room to play itself out. Colors swirled about like they were caught up into a whirlwind. Once the swirling motion ended, the field of blurred hues returned, though the predominant colors were distinctly different. Where the brown of the wizard's garments was once most noticeable, a tawny hue took its place. A moment later, the blurring was replaced with clarity and a winged-lion was seen where a man once stood.

  Gazing at the stunned onlookers with eyes that appeared eerily similar to the ones Bacchanor had when he was in human form, the wizard turned to look at Vlad'Aeroth. "Sir," he said with a deep, rumbling voice that added weight to the words he would say. "Things are changing: a man has become a griffin; the Brie'Shen have become the Fane J'Shrym; fear is being replaced with courage; the days of hiding are coming to an end; magic will return to those who've forgotten how to use it; and Ab'Don's reign will be brought to an end."

  "I get your point." Vlad'Aeroth wasn't the least bit intimidated by the massive beast who took him in with its penetrating gaze. "But I doubt things will unfold as easily as you say."

  Not offended by the reply, Bacchanor laughed with the deep, rumbling laughter that was common to griffin-kind. "I share your doubts Vlad'Aeroth. But I also trust you share my hope."

  As the Fane J'Shrym's Wylder, Aeroth's dark eyes, made even darker by his pale complection, studied those around him knowing his reply would have a profound affect on their resolve. "I must admit, hope has be
en trying to work its way into my mind ever since I first met Jeaf Oakenfel and witnessed the Hammer of Power being absorbed into his arm. Sadly, bitterness over my father's death has kept me from embracing this hope. But the antagonism that once plagued me is gone. Ay'Roan, who I publicly proclaim is a Fane J'Shrym indeed, has seen to that. Now my mind has dropped its guard and hope is winding its way into my stubborn brain. So, My Friend, your trust is not misplaced."

  "Then it is agreed," Bacchanor said with an air of relief, "there is work for each of us to do, and it is high time we shoulder the tasks that have been given to us."

  Not much later a loud roar reverberated through the canyon where Shtytl stood. Busy getting ready to set off on a quest to free the Hammer Bearer, the Fane J'Shrym turned to look at the mighty griffin who flew off into a sky that remained unfettered by the the mists that normally blanketed the mountain heights. He would retrace the route the Oakenfels took to enter Ar Warl. If he was lucky, once he reached the Madara spike, he would find both Bjork and griffin stationed their. Then he could head for the School of the Candle confident his message was being carried to their allies.

  On the way south, Bacchanor promised his wife he would keep an eye out for Bala since their respective errands would bring the two to Mishal Parm at roughly the same time. "Tell her what's happened in Shtytl and have her go share this with the Neflin in Lan'Fon before she returns to me. I don't want you to take time to spred the word. Your mission is too important."

  Chapter 26: Sorcerer's Keep

  The eastern end of the Thrall Mountains were rockier than both the central and western reaches, so much so, it looked like a great fortress of stone sitting on the western horizon to those who were crossing the Thrall Highlands. Towering spires of stone lifted up from a greater mass of rock like watch towers rising above the enormous battlement they sat upon. A huge peak that towered above all of this farther to the west, looked like the ruggedly-constructed castle the fortifications were meant to protect.