Vlad'War's Anvil

by Rex Hazelton

  A thinly populated forest that looked like stubble on a man's unshaven face, swept beneath the rocky heights. The forest thickened as it continued westward. Travyn, Kaylan, and the others who had used the sparse growth to hide their movements from the scant population that lived on the mountains' upper slopes, were glad they had reached the deepening woods. Still, potential danger lurked nearby in an ancient tower people called the Sorcerer's Keep. Thinking it was wise to avoid contact with humans for as long as possible, especially since a moan cat traveled with them, they were forced to risk detection from anyone who was stationed in the keep that was perched above them.

  Sitting on a rocky promintory, the keep was built long before Ab'Don came to power by wizards who wanted to study the stars in isolation. Later, it was used as a watch tower in times of conflict. Mostly it was uninhabited. Mostly. At times, it was used for shelter by travelers who had taken paths few traversed, travelers who wanted to avoid contact with others as much as Travyn, Kaylan and their companions did.

  Passing beneath the Sorcerer's Keep under the cover of night, Horbyn hurried those he guided along, fearful of whom or what may be lurking in the solitary stone tower that looked down upon them from its rocky perch. Thinking he had seen a light flare up in one of the keep's windows, the wizard urged them to move faster.

  Though the illumination vanished so quickly that Horbyn wondered if he were imagining things, his experiences in Ar Warl had taught him to not discount his suspicions or, for that matter, premonitions.

  Catching the urgency in Horbyn's promptings, Kaylan, Travyn, and Lamarik looked up at the tower with eyes that wouldn't miss anything alarming. Not fooled by the dark windows that made the keep look like a blind man standing atop the promintory, motionless in a way the sightless were when they were focusing their attention on listening, they hurried along, patting their mounts shoulders to keep them quiet as they did. Lamarik reached down and kneeded A'Kadar's fur once he let out plaintiff cry in response the tension he felt. Siding up to the huge moan cat, Dog, in an effort to help the Neflin quiet the beast, reassuringly pressed up against A'Kadar as they picked up the pace.

  Thankfully, the trees increasing numbers kept them, for the most part, hidden from sight. Still, the ominous tower poked its head up when they passed through the few openings that appeared in the leafy barrier that lay between the passing company and the keep.

  In spite of the protection the trees' provided, Horbyn drove his charges on to put greater distance between them and the Sorcerer's Keep. It was well past midnight before he thought it was safe enough to stop. Even then the wizard made certain a stream's steep bank, that seasonal flood waters had cut out of an adjacent rise, was between the company of travelers and the tower they had left far behind before camp was made. Here, on an expanse of small rounded stones, a fire was built to warm the meal they had delayed in eating.

  Though the campfire, kept small to avoid unwanted attention, was positioned close to the embankment, it still cast large shadows on the precipitous wall past flood waters had carved out. No more than head high, the angular barrier proved adroit at catching any light, shadow, and sound that might try to slip over its upper edge and glide off into the forest that separated the travelers from the distant keep. The babbling stream that flowed through a narrow channel twenty paces away from the rise aided the wall's efforts.

  Since the embankment was located at a bend in the stream, the fire was well hidden from sight. All and all, it was a good place to set up camp. Only an unexpected thunderstorm's heavy downpour would challenge this appraisal. The eroded cliffwall proved that this was true.

  Dog and A'Kadar had already gone off to hunt together. As unlikely a team as one could imagine, the hound and moan cat clearly enjoyed their relationship. No doubt the magic Dog possessed had made this possible; that, and A'Kadar's commitment to the Neflin who encouraged the huge beast to follow the canine's lead. Working in tandem, the two large animals not only fed themselves, but had provided meat for the others to eat. In fact, the brace of rabbits that Lamarik now turned on a spit she had arranged over the lively little fire were gifts the beasts had provided the past afternoon.

  Breaking away from the others, who were leading their horses along on foot to give them needed rest, Dog and A'Kadar went on a short foray knowing they could easily catch up with the pedestrian group. And sure enough, not long afterwards the two returned with the rabbits held loosely in their powerful jaws.

  As always happened, Lamarik and Horbyn sided up to Kaylan as they settled down to eat. Both she and the wizard found the young man infinitely fascinating. With all the two had gone through in their lives, Lamarik and Horbyn found his esoteric approach to life alluring. When they finally got him to tell them about his life among the Elves of Forest Deep, for Kaylan wasn't given to talking much, the hook was set in the two. From that time to this, both the Neflin and wizard kept working at getting him to lower his usually intractable guard.

  Sensing they were kindred spirits of sorts- the Neflin, who was obsessed with the subject of death, and the erswhile Hag, who dared to defy Ab'Don- Kaylan found himself opening up to them in a way he had only done with Nyeg Warl's elves. That was understandable since Lamarik was an elf herself and Horbyn was the one who shared secrets that enabled the Oakenfel brothers to fashion the magical swords they now carried. But even taking all of this into account, Kayaln was surprised to find himeslf talking about the waterkynd so much, the subject Lamarik was now asking about.

  "Could a waterkynd be in the stream over there?" Though comfortable in Kaylan's presence, Lamarik's ears stood at attention waiting to hear his reply. It was only in Travyn's presence that her long ears would relax; sometimes to the point they would lay back against her head like a dog who was relishing its master's presence. But the independent Neflin was no hound, and she certainly would never suffer having a master.

  "I suppose that's possible." Kaylan said as the gentle sound of moving water stirred up memories of the times he spent with Lylah in the Realm of Vapor. "But I don't sense that's the case. Besides, they've told me that they avoid Ar Warl at all costs. The pollution Ab'Don's sorcery dumped into the water makes visiting this place unbearable to them."

  "You can sense their presence?" Horbyn asked as his large, watery eyes turned form the stream and back to Kaylan. "How's that possible?"

  Shrugging his shoulders, Kaylan replied, "I guess it's an ability I picked up while I was in Mythoria."

  He wouldn't dare say, I was transformed into a waterkynd when I accompanied Lylah to other realms they have access to, let alone say, I'm married to one. Nor would he talk about the Warl of the Waterkynd in any detail. Much of the multi-realmed existence the waterkynd knew would remain veiled in secrecy, though Kaylan did say their reality wasn't limited to the Warl of Man.

  "Is it an ability I can pick up?" Horbyn rubbed his chin as he spoke.

  "With all Mar’Gul has said about you, and with all that happened at Mishal Parm," Kaylan pushed his honey-colored hair out of his eyes, "it wouldn't surprise me."

  A smile of satisfaction traced itself on Horbyn's face, the kind of satisfaction that a skilled craftsman gets when he sees his work is shaping up the way he had expected.

  "What about me?" Lamarik asked as she lifted an eyebrow over Horbyn's smile.

  "Lamarik," Kaylan rubbed his beardless chin and smiled as his gaze slid over to Travyn, "I think you could rope the moon and pull it to the ground if you had a mind to do it."

  Fire-blasted rope, Travyn said to himself as he pondered his brother's smile. Kaylan's really enjoying himself, he added. But Travyn wasn't mad at his brother, since he would do the same thing if the tables were turned. He was mad at himself for allowing feelings for the Neflin to develop. Then he looked at Lamarik and, once again, was captured by her large, dark eyes and that all too white smile that said she knew she had indeed roped the moon and brought it to her feet. And what lovely feet she has, Travyn's reverie continued. And her hair, her skin, her grace
fully long arms that can reach out and touch... her touch, her smell..."

  While Travyn sat apart from the others, wishing his brother and Horbyn weren't there. He settled on listening to the three talk while he studied every nuance of Lamarik's face, the way she moved and the way she laughed. Later, when she Lamarik returned to him, they would talk as they always did, revealing their hearts to one another as best as their peronalities would allow, deepening the bond that drew them together. But unlike Kaylan, Travyn said as little as possible to Horbyn. He didn't trust the man. He wasn't the trusting kind. And the fact the wizard had once been a Hag kept that mistrust firmly rooted in Travyn's thinking.

  While Lamarik and Horbyn were trying to pry more about Mythoria out of Kaylan, the sound of splashing water came from the stream above them. Another louder splash was heard downstream. The source of the noise was hidden by the winding stream bed’s banks.

  The thought that whomever, or whatever, was traveling through the woods might pass by without taking notice of them was quickly forgotten when sounds of splashing water were heard moving toward them from both directions.

  "Get up!" Horbyn ordered the others into action as he took out a gray candle from his cloak's broad sleeve. "Pull out your swords, but leave your candles alone."

  If rumors about magical white candles being used in the very mountains that sheltered the Hall of Voyd got out, the Sorcerer would know that Nyeg Warlers were at hand. Not so if he used his gray candle, for gray was as common as black in the Ar. And a magicker that employed candles like the Hag did wouldn’t sufficiently interest Ab'Don to move into action quickly enough to make a difference to their quest.

  The Sorcerer allowed a smattering of wizards to remain out of his direct control as long as the power they used was not too great. These, with their quaint- as far as Ab'Don was concerned- magical pursuits, only foamented the chaos the Sorcerer fed on. Not allowing the magickers to develop any alliances that would prove too difficult to control, the purveyors of the supernatural were allowed to engage in petty struggles for supremacy. And if the struggles included the promise of enough suffering or death, the Sorcerer might use his own powers to watch the infighting he so loved from afar. This is how he spent most of his sleep-deprived nights. He was a voyeur who was thrilled to eaves-drop on others struggling to survive in a warl he had made so terribly hard to live in.

  That's why he gave the cities under his rule enough autonomy to wage war on each other. The pain and sorrow these conflicts fostered was the stuff his magic thrived on. Besides, the conflicts culled the weak out of the herd he shepherded and produced teeming hordes of battle tested warriors he would one day use to subdue Nyeg Warl.

  That's why an abuse of power was rarely punished, be it a husband brutalizing his wife, an adult making a child their personal plaything, or a lord forcing his way on his servants. Nothing was brought to task unless the sufferer had the power to retaliate. All of this was good for the man that the Nameless Evil gave his magic to since Ab'Don always gained whenever others lost.

  "Put out the fire and acclimate your vision to the dark," Horbyn's hushed tones were filled with urgency.

  Once the fire was out, Travyn did an old trick his father had taught him. Placing a hand over his eyes, he stared into the utter darkness that enveloped them. After a few moments, the hand was removed from his eyes, whose pupils had enlarged at an accelerated rate in the utter darkness that beset them, and Travyn’s night vision was fully in place. Aided by the silvery light cast off by a late rising moon, he was pleased at how well he could see, so well, that a thread of lightning was easily seen through the forest's leafy canopy, marking the place where a thunderhead was forming above the distant, rocky peaks.

  Kaylan had done the same thing. Lamarik's Neflin eyes needed no prompting to adjust to the darkness. Horbyn's vision was magically enhanced by the tiny flame that danced on top of the gray candle he held. He limited its size to keep from impeding the others night vision. At the same time, it served to warn the intruders that they were facing a formidable foe if they came armed with ill-intentions.

  Soon, the splashing was joined by sounds that alerted the awaiting company to others who were moving through the forest that rose above the stream bed's banks; sounds so subtle that if it wasn't a Neflin, a wizard, and two brothers who had inherited abilities from their parents that surpassed those of normal men, the noises wouldn’t have been heard at all, not with the loud splashing that approached them; unabashedly loud splashing that was meant to keep them bottled up in their campsite.

  Not fooled by the sound of sloshing water that was meant to draw his attention away from the greenwood, Travyn picked out a familiar facial structure looking out of a copse of large ferns. An inhuman visage, it belonged to a hunchman whose lips quivered in the manic way that those addicted to chata beans did.

  Having lived so long among Nyeg Warl's hunchmen, Travyn immediately spotted the drug's affects. Though he had never seen a beast-man under chata's influence before, the stories he had heard describing the frenzied-like state the drug drove the hunchmen to, gave him the know-how to make his diagnosis. Lips quivering in an uncontrollable way, eyes dialated beyond normal capacity, foam at the corners of mouth, neck and back hair standing on end, all the outward signs were there. This worried Travyn. Well acquainted with the hunchman's normally volitile nature back in a warl where ingesting the stimulating beans was outlawed, he was sure that trouble was at hand. How could it not be with the drug added to the mix? But just how much trouble would be determined by the creatures who stomped through the stream.

  A bellowing snort announced a massive Thrall Giant that came into sight as he rounded the corner. As big as Travyn's godfather Beryl was, a Cragmar Giant who people called Bear, the creature's thick shoulder muscles made him look like he had no neck even though one was present. The shock of hair that fell down the giant's back added to the illusion. Short barrel-like legs held up a torso that was four times their length. Arms that were a good fit for the elongated torso were as well-muscled as the shoulders were. With knuckles, on hands as big as bread baskets, hanging as low as they were to the ground, it was no surprise to see the metal-studded club the giant carried was being dragged through the water like it was a large sack of potatos.

  A second bellowing snort announced the arrival of another Thrall Giant who looked like the first one's twin. Snarling, snapping noises, rising out of the surrounding greenwood, accompanied the threatening snorts as more than a scores worth of hunchmen stepped into view. Each brandished jagged-edged swords. Necklaces, filled with teeth, a tooth per victim, taken as trophies from the kills the hunchmen had made, clacked together as the beast-men slipped out of the forest. Copious numbers of long canine teeth that were once esconced inside other hunchmen's snout-like mouths, were found among these. An equal number of human teeth hung besides these, as well as teeth taken from almost every large creature living in Ar Warl. A huge Thrall giant's tooth was most conspicuous among the dour enamel-laden retinue.

  More than a dozen hunchmen, who had a more human-like appearance, were taller than the others, less hairy, more flat-faced, with canine teeth that were twice as big as a man's, but half the size of a normal beast-man's. Because of the lack of hair, these wore clothes that added to their near-human appearance. But they weren't human, nor were they fully beast-men. They were a hybrid that dark magic had created. And the next one to come into sight was the purveyor of the sorcerous power that was responsible bringing the strange beings into existence.

  A man dressed in black leathers, with a silk cape the same color flowing behind him as he strode past the Thrall Giant standing guard upstream, was followed by a black-robed Hag. This was the one who wielded the magic used to create the nearly human hunchmen. Assigned to produce hybrids who possessed all of the beast-men's strength, speed, and savagery minus their unruley, often chaotic natures, the Hag had been building an army to help the Sorcerer subdue the Nyeg when the warls finally collided.

  Anoth
er bolt of lightning flashed over the distant peaks. A gentle breeze followed that was noticeably cooler than the air it chased off.

  The man dressed in black leather was undoubtedly a Shadowman- one of Ab'Don's agents sent out into the Ar to be both judge and executioner. The ebony scabbard that hung from an equally dark belt held a razor-sharp blade that was infused with the Nameless Evil's magic that ordinary iron and steel could never hope to withstand. Tall as most Malamor were, the Shadowman surveyed the company he approached with the confidence of a farmer who knew the sheep he was about to slaughter had no chance against him. With blond hair, fair-complected, and blue eyes that looked silver in the moonlight, the Shadowman comported himself with an arrogance that was in line with his station in life.

  Effortlessly floating behind the Shadowman in a way that made one wonder if the wizard's robe-covered feet ever touched the ground, the Hag had a black candle in hand whose flame burned exponentially brighter than Horbyn's did. Yellow points of light, that betrayed the location of the Hag's eyes, gave the only evidence that the robe's shadow-filled hood was not empty. If it wasn't for the hand that held the black candle, the Hag could have been mistaken for a spectre, especially in the night's half-light that panted everything with ethereal brush strokes.

  Scanning the company of travelers, the Hag's eyes missed nothing. Every detail they saw was quickly assigned a meaning. The gray wizard, the Neflin, the two young men, the fact that there were only three horses tethered when there were four riders, the weapons that were being carried, and the purposely small campfire- all of these things were considered. Most of all, the Hag took note of the ambient magic he felt, using an ability to discern the presence of the supernatural that Ab'Don had given his servant so that he could safeguard the operation the Sorcerer had entrusted to his care. This ability was confined to this region of the Thrall Mountains where the Hag was busy amassing magically-engineered warriors the Sorcerer would use to subdue Nyeg Warl. In another setting, the dark wizard might not have been able to detect the magical potential he now faced.