Vlad'War's Anvil

by Rex Hazelton

  But before Kaylan had time to sort hings out, Horbyn's renewed cries focused his attention on the task at hand.

  Having succeeded in destroying the dangerous dragon, Scytholar was busy trying to kill Horbyn. Once he removed the gray Hag from the fight, he could turn his full attention on the two perplexing young men.

  Though Horbyn had time to use his candle's flame to construct a better defense this time around, the battle had already depleted his magic to a point that he would soon be overwhelmed by a Hag that proved to be clearly his better. This was Scytholar's home and the seat of his power. Here, in this part of the Thrall Mountisns, the limits of his might were greatly expanded.

  The same could not be said about Horbyn. He was facing a foe who controlled the high ground so to speak. In fact, in this place where the Hag was amassing a horde of half human, half hunchman hybrids who would fight for his master, Scytholar was able to tap into Horbyn's magic and use it as fuel that made certain his massive, fiery hand remained fully energized. Ironically enough, not only was the Hag threatening to crush Horbyn, he was using the very magic the hapless wizard called upon to defend himself as a source of power to ensure the gray wizard’s defenses would ultimately fail.

  Not knowing what else to do, for the remaining Thrall Giant stood guard over Scytholar as he completed his foul deed, Kaylan lifted his shining blue blade up to the storm cloud and shouted, "Give me your fire as you gave it to my brother!"

  Seeing what Kaylan was doing, Travyn followed his brother's lead. And when he did, two lightning bolts heeded their calls. Streaking to meet the uplifted weapons, the blinding bolts of energy swept down the blades and swirled about the two men's bodies as they awaited further orders. Once the shining blue steel was pointed at the Thrall Giant, the erraticalling swirling bolts of lightning leapt onto the blades and out beyond their sharp ends where they melded into a single, larger bolt of lightning that shot into the giant's gut, out the small of his back, and into Scytholar's black-robed form. With a defeaning sound of thunder filling the turbulent stream bed and the surrounding area, the Hag was thrown through the air and into the waiting branches of a nearby tree that immideiatley burst into flames.

  At the same time the Thrall Giant slumped to the ground, A'Kadar stepped out of the forest where he and Dog had been hunting for food. Drawn to the sounds of battle, A'Kadar gathered his strength to join the fight when Dog whined like a hound who heard his master's whistle but was unable to heed the call. Moaning at the massive hound, A'Kadar called for his friend to follow him before he sparng into action. When Dog's whining turned to barking, the great cat knew that wouldn't happen. When Dog swung around and headed off into the woods away from the chaotic noise that A'Kadar was drawn to, the moan cat let out a pathetic cry that his desre to follow the huge hound had force out of him. But he couldn't abandon Lamarik when he saw she was in trouble.

  Giving off a terrible moan-filled scream when A'Kadar saw Lamarik's plight, the massive animal attacked the hybrids who were tormenting the Neflin with their blades and boasts of what they would do to her once she was subdued.

  In no time, the beast-men quickly learned they had made a mistake to target Lamarik. As it turned out, she was not the easy prey they thought she would be, for a fur-covered monster did her bidding, and what she wanted the giant cat to do right now was to destroy her assailants. Amidst the growling, moaning, and snarling that filled the rain-soaked air, the hybrids' flesh was torn apart by a creature that was too fast and too strong for them to handle given the advantage of surprise A'Kadar had on his side. More than one of the hunchmen fell before the Neflin's swift blades.

  Once the slaughter was over, the rain suddenly ceased, the howling wind fell to a strong breeze, and the last of the hybrid's bodies were thrown off the top of the short cliffwall where they had been standing. These were killed by the hunchmen who detested the creatures Scytholar had engineered using their flesh. With the Hag now dead, the hunchman gave in to the desire to cleanse the clans from the taint Scytholar had fouled them with.

  Sniffing the air as the the passing storm continued down the mountainside, the hunchmen nodded their heads and folded their arms across their chests while still holding onto their jagged-edged swords. After a few moments of snarling whispering, the beast-men went stone quiet while their large eyes looked to Travyn for a response.

  Seeing what the hunchmen had done, Travyn wiped his sword's blade across his thigh and then sheathed it. After Kaylan and Lamarik did the same thing, the hunchmen sheathed their weapons before crossing their arms over their chests once again. In the beast-man's warl, this particular posture denoted guarded peace. By assuming this stance, the hunchmen were sending a message that said they had no wish to fight, but would do so if threatened. The fact they remained atop the rise- keeping the short, steep drop between them and the company of strangers- spoke of the uncertainty they felt. Not fleeing meant they were intrigued by the human who spoke in the ancient tongue their kind still used in their secret rituals. Only the most trusted outsider would be given knowledge of their revered language.

  "My name is Ravyn." Travyn was careful to not show his teeth as he spoke. "I'm an adopted son of the Bro'Noon who live in Nyeg Warl. I am a brother to Ilya'Gar, the son of Loda'Gar, the Bro'Noon cheiftain."

  "Ravyn Bro'Noon, Storm Master. My name is Arga'Dyne. I’m the leader of the Broyn'Dar who call the Thrall Mountains home." A particularly large hunchman had spoken, one who had numerous scars showing through the hair covering the powerful shoulders and arms his leather vest didn't hide. His snout-shaped mouth was streaked with the red and blue paint his kind put on before a fight. Though he wore leather pants, Arga'Dyne didn't bother with shoes since winter was long past, leaving his claw-tipped toes visible.

  "We believe you," the hunchman said with a deep, gutteral voice as he looked at the other beast-men for any sign of dissent. "Though our Nyeg Warl kin are strangers to us, the name Bro'Noon is still remembered."

  Being careful to hide his own teeth, only the tips of two long canine teeth were visible as he spoke. The multiple necklaces, filled with teeth, said he was a great warrior. The way he hid his teeth, showed he was a wise one too since it was folly to fight someone who might become a friend, especially if that someone had the ability to command lightning.

  "We also believe you because you had the courage to admit you are from Nyeg Warl. Only one who is not right in the head would say such a thing in Ar Warl if it was not true. Now that your head is no longer hidden by the hat you wear, I san see that it is not deformed; nor do you move in the strange way the insane do."

  The other hunchmen laughed in the gruff way beast-men did as the snarling whispering returned. Not only was Arga'Dyne a fierce fighter, he also possessed the kind of dry wit that the hunchmen loved. This, among other attributes, made him the kind of leader that others willingly followed.

  "Though we honor you for your bravery, Storm Master, we think the truth you told is mixed with lies." The hunchman's lips quivered a he spoke, either because of the effects of the chata beans he had recently ingested, or because he was angry that a powerful warrior likeTravyn would stoop to using falsehoods.

  "Yes," Travyn held the hunchmen with his unflinching gaze that was accentuated by the rings of amber light it bore, "you have judged correctly. We have lied to you, but not to gain an advantage in battle. We told half-truths to keep from having to fight. Though, as you have learned, we are not afraid to do so. Now that the fighting we wanted to avoid is over, I will lie no longer; nor will I remain silent when doing so might be the wiser course of action."

  "Then tell us the truth, so we may decide whether an adopted son of the Bro'Noon is worthy to be called friend."

  This was the moment Travyn was waiting for. It was the reason why he had decided to shed light on so much truth. Having lived with hunchmen as long as he had, he knew they wouldn’t readily follow Ab'Don. Only the prospect of plunder could cause the beast-men to submit to human leadership; either that, or th
e fear of annihilation. And if the reason for their capitulation was the later, the hunchman would be predisposed to cast their lot in with anyone who could pull the shadow of death off of them.

  Taking a calculated risk that might bring Ar Warl's hunchmen into Nyeg Warl's fold when the inevitable day of battle arrived, Travyn went on to explain how Nyeg Warlers have come to the Ar to free the Hammer Bearer and the hammer he wields. He was careful to make certain that Arga'Dyne knew that the name he was using, Rayvn, was one of many he was called by, for he didn't want to lie to the hunchman whose powers of reasoning were not totally clouded by the drug he was addicted to, a drug that increased the risk Travyn was taking.

  He went on to tell how they were, indeed, on their way to the Hall of Voyd where they planned on stealing a thing of value that would help the Nyeg Warlers free the Hammer Bearer.

  Having witnessed how the men had compelled the storm to do their bidding, Arga'Dyne didn't press for the valued objects identity. In his thinking, it had to be another weapon that the three wizards and the Neflin coveted.

  "Storm Master, you will fail." Arga'Dyne said in a matter of fact tone. "The Hall of Voyd does not suffer thieves well. And when they catch you, all your bolts of lightning will do is draw attention to your death, so those who visit taverns will have a story to tell that will keep them entertained for a while.

  "The Sorcerer lives in that place. And so do hundreds of Hag. Not just one." The hunchman turned to the tree that continued to burn with Scyhtolar's remains held in its grasp. "But if you're destined to kill a few Hag before you die, me and my brothers are glad that you began with the one hanging in the tree."

  The other beast-men growled as they showed their fangs and snorted at the one whose dark magic had polluted the hunchmen clans.

  "If by chance you survive your foolish quest," Arga'Dyne added with his deep, gutteral voice, "you and your friends will not be harmed by the Broyn'Dar when you retrun. Still, keep your teeth clean."

  The hunchman cheiftain used an idiom in parting that said, though he'd rather not kill Travyn and take his teeth, he would do just that if pressed to.

  "Arga'Dyne, keep your teeth clean too," Travyn replied as the amber rings of light he held in his eyes glowed like fire. "But what of these?" he added as he pointed to the hybrid hunchmen the cheiftain had killed. "Will you take their teeth?"

  "NO!" Arga'Dyn drew his lips back to show his teeth as he growled out the word. "Their teeth are rotten. You take them if you want. For in truth, our part in their deaths was small. It was the storm that killed them."

  Then Arga'Dyne took a long look at the strangers, and the great beast that stood in their midst, before turning and disappearing in the rain-soaked greenwood.

  Chapter 28: Chylgroyd's Keep

  It had taken more days than expected for Ay'Roan, J'Aryl, and those who had volunteered to help them rescue their father to make their way from the Great Ral Mountains, across the L'Dar Plains, and into the eastern end of the Nordoc Mountains where they planned to launch their assault on Chylgroyd's Keep. Moving in groups of no larger than four or five Fane J'shrym and Neflin together, the raiders stayed spaced far enough apart to keep suspicious minds from recognizing the purposeful migration for what it was.

  Night was the preferred time to travel, though some movement took place during the day to make things appear as normal as possible. Campfires were kept to a minimum and were only allowed to burn long enough to warm up a simple meal.

  Spred out over a wide stretch of land, those with horses took a longer route to meet at the rallying point. Groups comprised exclusively of swift Neflin took the next longest pathways. Groups that were predominantly Fane J'Shrym took the more direct routes.

  All in all, this tactic seemed to work. At times, cretchym were seen flying past. Few of these circled overhead or dropped lower to get a better look at a particular group. In the end, more than five hundred Fane J'Shrym and Neflin had gathered in the tree covered slopes overlooking Chylgroyd's Keep.

  Heaviness lay on the ready warriors as news of Bacchanor's battle at Mishal Parm circulated through their ranks. Since Bala rejoined Mar’Gul on the day the plan to reach Chylgroyd's Keep was put into motion, most were not apprised of her harrowing escape from the swarm of cretchym Ab'Don sent to spy on the abandoned city where an unrecognized form of magic had recently been practiced, nor had they heard about the explosion the diminuitive cretchym saw as she fled from her captors, an explosion that Bacchanor must have been responsible for; whose incredible power he couldn't have possibly escaped, surrounded as he was by the troupe of dangerous Hag he was battling.

  Still, in times of war, casualties were to be expected. But Bacchanor was a greater loss than most. His robust demeanor, and the magic he wielded, made him a force of nature. Because of his inherent charisma, his presence was like the arrival of the warm sun after a cold night. He was a friend to all. And all who knew him loved him. The Brown Wizard exuded the kind of strength that made those near him think things would be all right as long as he was around. Now he was gone. And the hope that he would bring the Nyeg's magic back to the Ar with him was gone.

  Through it all, Mar’Gul refused to mourn and didn't accept consolation from those who tried to comfort her. Lately she was acting more like Black Pearl and less like the renowned magi who served both the Neflin and Fane J'Shrym communities alike. Her mood had darkened. Her resolve hardened. Woe to any who would stand in her way. And if she failed to remove the impediment, Bala's sharp blade would see that they were properly dealt with, since the cretchym's mood had grown even darker since Bacchanor made his sacrifice for her. And by all that is holy, Bala swore that his valiant act would not be done in vain.

  Chylgroyd's Keep was located in the Realm of the Orskovyt where Ab'Don allowed King Ragnak to rule in the city of Orskov. The Orskovyt's were the sworn enemies of the Bjork who once lived west of them along the shores of the fjords that spilled out into the cold Nour Sea. As such, they had earned the Sorcerer's trust and gratitude for the part they played in extinguishing the Bjorkian light that once shone on Ar Warl's northern reaches.

  Since they had so thoroughly fallen under Ab'Don's spell, as many Shadowmen came from this realm as they did from the Realm of the Malamor that lay across the Fertyl Plain that separated the two peoples. The proximity of the two realms didn’t create the kind of tension one would expect. Instead, the Orskovyts were satisfied to be the Malamor's little brothers, a relationship that profted them greatly, for everyone knew if you troubled the Orskovyts, you'd have to answer to their big brothers. On the other hand, since the Orskovyt's wanted the Malamors' approval so much, they had become warriors just as skilled and ruthless as their Malamor neighbors were.

  The Sorcerer was proud of his work among the Orskovyt people, where he successfully cultivated a passion for cruelty that was so thoroughly embraced that it was now entrenched in their bloodlines. That's why Ab'Don chose to use Chylgroyd's Keep as a retreat where he stretched the boundaries of the dark magic the Nameless Evil gave him. Employing the most exquisitely wicked techniques, he found that experimenting on the endless supply of victims the Orskovyts provided him was refreshing. It was here in the keep that he made his breakthrough in melding human and hunchman together to make the hybrid beast-men he had commissioned Scytholar to multiply. There were other things that had been made here too, things the warl had not yet seen.

  Situated on a massive outcropping of rock that some said was once the core of an ancient volcano that time had worn away, Chylgroyd's Keep looked like hundreds of octangle-shaped pillars, some thirty paces wide, had been gathered in a bundle and thrust into the ground where the force of the impact secured them for all time. Varied in height, the pillars of stone kept the Keep from achieving any kind of real symmetry. Few of the buildings that were constructed on top of the keep had foundations that were on the same level. The same could be said of the structures’ flat roofs that were topped with crenulated battlements.

  The cracks th
at erosion had widened between the pillars were spanned by hundreds of stone bridges that were needed to get around the place. There were so many bridges, in fact, if a person looked about as they crossed one of these, they could see others walking along on various levels and in varying directions.

  Rooms were chiseled out of the stone itself, along with the endless tunnels that ran through the keep, and the dungeons that were found below. As a result, there was as much of the Keep that was dug into the stone as was built on top of it.

  Access to the Keep was gained at the base of the stone where two large cracks were widened enough to serve as entrances. Other exterior cracks were filled in with large stones that were cut to fit so tight they could not be dislodged. One of the entrances faced to the west, the other to the east. The only other ways one could reach the Keep was by scaling sheer walls of stone or flying in as the cretchym did.

  The Hammer Bearer was being held prisoner somewhere in this labyrinth of stone. Only two things could help the raiders find him in the dizzying array of tunnels. One was the indepth description that Horbyn had provided of Chylgroyd's Keep's inner design. This included his knowledge of the place where Jeaf Oakenfel was once held and still might be. The second thing the raiders were depending on to guide them was the way Vlad'War's Magic responded to itself since it seemed that the magic was aware of itself to the point that deposits of the wizard's power, when in close proximity, were drawn to one another like water flows into the bottom of a bowl. Ay'Roan and J'Aryl were counting on their sword's enchantment to lead them to their father, and where they went, the Fane J'Shrym and Neflin would follow.

  The company of raiders would be divided into three groups: one third would accompany Ay'Roan; another third would follow J'Aryl, and one third, all horsemen, would be positioned near the keep's base to engage the Orskovyt cavalry that was stationed nearby once they were alerted to the attack. The horsemen that Aeroth would command were responsible for keeping the way of escape open.