Vlad'War's Anvil

by Rex Hazelton

  This established a pattern that repeated itself as J'Aryl and the Neflin scrambled to find empty passageways they could use to work their way to the Hall of the Moon where Horbyn last saw the Hammer Bearer. Not to be outdone, Mar’Gul scrambled up and down the ropes as fast as the Neflin did.

  Seeing what the raiders were doing to avoid an all-out battle, the Orskovyt commanders changed tactics to intercept the intruders. Reckoning that the the Neflin must be attempting to reach the Hammer Bearer, either to kill him so Ab'Don couldn't unlock the secrets to Vlad'War's Magic or to steal the Hammer of Power for themselves, the Orskovyts began anticipating the intruders' movements and positioned themselves in the labrynth-like tunnels in a way that would funnel the raiders to a place where they could force them to fight.

  Once this strategy was implimented, messengers were sent to the Malamor commanders so they could have their men join the ambush. The appointed place was a large room where six tunnels intersected that had space enough for hundreds of warriors to move about in the way a battle required. Here the Malamor would crush the intruders in a vice that would squeeze in on them from five different directions. And if this press, bristling with razor-sharp steel, failed to finish off the raiders, Hag would arrive to subdue the foolish strangers in a way that prisoners could be taken for interrogation. Afterwards, the captives would be sacrificed to the Nameless Evil whose magic the Hag depended on to expand their dark powers.

  Yet, this strategy had a measure of risk tied to it since the huge intersection was not far from the Hall of the Moon. If there was a miscaclulation on the commanders' part, the intruders could reach the place, though their numbers would be drastically reduced before they did. Still, for this to happen, the raiders would have to possess greater magic than what the Hag sensed they had. In their estimation this removed the risk entirely.

  "They're boxing us in." Leolynn angrily surmised as he gazed at the Orsksovyt warriors who watched the Neflin from the array of bridges they stood on. Since those who guarded the keep's interior were not armed with bows and arrows their leaders thought weren’t needed in this winding maze of tunnels, the two factions could look at one another for as long as they wanted to without fear of attack unless the Neflin put an arrow to a bowstring and sent it across the chasm separating them.

  "We have no choice but to take what they're giving us," J'Aryl concluded as he looked down at the line of blue light that rose out of the mouth of the sheath his sword lay in. "And later, they might find we'll take more than they thought we could."

  If not for Andara and Vlad'War's Magic being present, trying to free the Hammer Bearer was, without a doubt, a fool's errand. Will a herd of deer bound into the wolves’den? But with Vlad'War's power on hand, the wolves would quickly learn that the deer's antlers were much longer and sharper than expected, and that the battle they had so eagerly anticipated might not go as planned. Still, if the pack was large enough, the herd was doomed.

  So, onward the Neflin charged into the tunnel that opened up for them like it was a game bag’s mouth. Off into the dark, the swift forest dwellers ran. For no illumination other than the amber glow sitting in Mar’Gul's hand could be seen. That was until a brilliant blue light announced that J'Aryl had unsheathed his sword. The blade's brightness let everyone know that the Hammer of Power was near.

  Like wind blowing through the trees, the Neflin slipped through the tunnel. Filled with the vitality of the greenwood, the Lorn Elves moved with the resolve of a thirsty root boring its way through a crack running through stone. Moving as gracefully as the creatures they shared their forest home with, the Neflin brought the vibrancy of the greenwood into a place that reeked of death.

  Though they couldn't see the moon or stars that sat in the night sky above Chylgroyd's Keep, the Lorn Elves carried the ambiance that such a sight illicited along with them into this place filled with murky shadows, whose legacy was pain and suffering. And like a wind, spiced with the scent of spruce and fern, the Neflin flowed into the massive room that was filled with guards ready to cut the forest race down: the Orskovyt’s with their bald heads and top notches and the Malamor with their bronze breastplates and the images of a blazing sun that were hammered into them. Unlike the Orskovyt’s, who had dark hair, the Malamor had long blonde hair falling below the bronze helmets they wore.

  As the Neflin wind blew into the room, a scent as foul as an unemptied chamber pot greeted the wind and full battle finally broke out. And as the frenzied fighting ensued, the stars were cast down to the cool stone floor, bereft of the the lives they so cherished. One after the other, the graceful, dark-skinned elves were felled by Orskovyt and Malamor steel.

  Many who died had been healed by the Oakenfel brothers' magic following the great earthquake that had devastated the village of Lan'Fon. Then J'Aryl had used his sword, blessed with Andara's healing power, to mend the bodies broken in the tumult. Now he used his blade, whose steel was equally infused with Vlad'War's Magic, to avenge the deaths of the one's he had earlier restored.

  Wadding past the fallen Neflin, J'Aryl swung his shinning weapon with a savagery that matched his anger. The blades that rose up to meet his were cleaved apart as easily as an ax splits kindling for a fireplace.

  After leaping among the Orskovyt and Malamor to dispense a dose of retribution for their fallen brothers, the Neflin withdrew at Mar’Gul's behest and went to protect J'Aryl's flanks as he fought those who stood in front of him. The son of the Hammer Bearer was the point of the attack; his magical sword was the raiders' secret weapon. He couldn't fall... for if he did, the Neflin would most certainly be overrun, even though the high price of defeating the swift elves would be paid for in Orskovyt and Malamor blood.

  The Neflin archers emptied their quivers as they shot their arrows into the advancing hordes that continued to pour out of the tunnels that intersected in the large room where the feverish battle was being fought. J'Aryl swung his flashing blue sword with rythmic precision as he and the Lorn Elves pushed toward the passageway that the increasing blue illumination told them would take them to the Hall of the Moon. Mar’Gul cast her anesthetizing spell on the guards who were nearest to her, sending them stumbling backwards, shaking their heads to regather their failing wits. Bala flew overhead, for the room had a high domed ceiling, diving down to stab her slender, needle-sharp blade into the unsuspecting guards' necks, usually at places where they were successfully impeding the raiders' progress.

  Once J'Aryl reached the center of the room, as expected, he and the others were quickly surrounded by a press of guards whose numbers were continually being replenished as the keep sent all of its resources to fight off the infection found in its tunnels. Once this happened, the raiders' advance was halted. As their numbers dwindled, the hope of success was whittled away.

  Fighting for as long and hard as he had, J'Aryl was finally wearying. Born with a level of stamina that was in keeping with an innate potential for taping into things magical, a potential buttressed by the touch of Vlad'War's power his parents had passed on to him at the moment of his conception, to say J'Aryl was growing weary was saying alot. But with so many guards pouring into the room, it was inevitable that his powers would fade with the enormous demands their unnending numbers placed upon him.

  Fifty Neflin had fallen. More would follow in spite of the carnage J'Aryl left in his wake. As an Orskovyt blade found Leolynn's shoulder and Mar’Gul was struck on the head by another sword, sending her reeling to the ground, J'Aryl reached out with his mind in search of his brother.

  You must save our father, J'Aryl projected his thoughts through the keep in an attempt to speak to Ay'Roan who possessed the gift of Mind Ciphering like all the Oakenfels did, for I’ll no longer be able to help you. When you find him, tell him I love him. Tell Mother I love her too.

  Then J'Aryl stepped over to Mar’Gul planning to die protecting her- his father's half-sister, the daughter of Sari Wyldestone and Aryl Wyldewise, his aunt and Bacchanor’s wife.

  As he loo
ked down at the woman he was just getting acquainted with- wishing he had time to get to know her better, watching the blood flowing out of the cut on her head that Andara's Magic couldn't stem, realizing the time he wanted would never be given- J'Aryl heard howling coming out from the tunnel they had entered the large room through, the distinct kind of howling that only wolves or dogs were capable of making. Barking followed that burst into the great room and echoed off its domed roof.

  Mar’Gul moaned when the barking noise struck her. Her hand was instantly bathed in the amber light that accompanied the release of Andara's Magic. Otherwise, she remained as motionless as the dead that littered the stone floor.

  The howling returned. It was closer now.

  More barking followed, mixed with loud growling and the screaming of men who were being rent by the beast who was making the unnerving noise. A moment later, guards stumbled out of the tunnel with a gray, wire-haired hound as big as a small horse chasing them.

  "Dog!" Bala's high-pitched voice sounded like a single giant chime had been struck as she flew overhead to meet the hound. But before she could reach her friend, Dog's form became a gray mass of blurry substance. Then the gray darkened to black as the color drew in on itself before lengthening into a human shape.

  Black armor appeared on a man whose form and features were quickly coming into focus. A sword that looked like a shaft of sunlight cutting its way through a dark storm cloud was held in one hand. Shoulder length tawny-colored hair framed eyes as blue as a cloudless sky that sat in a beardless face. A conical helmet, as black as the boiled leather armor the man wore, was held in the other hand. A long plume of the same hue flowed from the helmet where it was esconced.

  Bala was taken back by the unxepected transformation, almost as much as the Orskovyts and Malamor were. She knew Dog possessed magic, but Mar’Gul had never divulged its true nature; nor did she tell the cretchym Dog's true identity. Though Bala had no idea that Andara's son was standing before her, to her the man was still Dog, her friend and Mar’Gul's ally.

  "Mar’Gul is hurt!" Bala answered the unspoken question she could see in the man's piercing blue eyes.

  "I know." The man spoke with a clarion voice that filled the cretchym's heart with courage. After sweeping up the plumed helmet with an arm protected by black guantlets, and placing it atop his head, he added, "Take me to her."

  Having chosen to not follow in his father's footsteps, for Andara was a wizard who devoted his life to healing others, Rybara had become a warrior who fought the Sorcerer's ruthless hordes in the days of the Battle of the Breach. Instead of being an instrument of healing as his father was, he became a weapon of destruction, something his father was greatly dispeased with.

  Though Rybara had shown an apptitude for the Healing Arts, he ridiculed his father's pacifist ways and dedicated himself to studying the Art of War. In his thinking, it was folly to exhaust oneself in healing others when they could go to the root of the suffering and destroy its cause. So he became a master swordsman whose magical potential gave him intuitive fighting instincts that were only rivaled by the Sorcerer's own body guards and the Shadowmen he sent out to dispense his twisted brand of justice.

  Even with his insuperable fighting skills, Rybara was mortally wounded in the heat of of one of the many battles the Sorcerer waged on his way to conquering Ar Warl. But before he had slipped the coils of life, Andara came to him.

  Unable to heal his son as he had hundreds of others, the wizard struck on an ingenious idea to save his son's life. Instead of creating new organs, he created a new kind of creature whose form could house his son's spirit, a magical creature who possessed a remant of the wizard's power.

  Acknowledging that Rybara was dedicated to defeating the Sorcerer, Andara tied Dog's life into his own when he created Mar’Gul: the one who would be the extension of his Healing Magic in the Warl of the Living. If Rybara wanted to fight, he could do so by protecting Mar’Gul. By doing this, father and son could live together through a relationship that the hound and magi had with one another. And together, the two would be given a second chance to get rid of the monster who terrorized the warl.

  Flying over to Mar’Gul, where she hovered so Rybara could see her, Bala watched as the guards parted. Unwilling to fight an obvious wizard without being forced to, the Orskovyt, clad in black as they were, and Malamor guards that were draped in blue capes saw no need to foolishly throw their lives away.

  The surviving Neflin parted too.

  When Rybara reached Mar’Gul, he called her by her birth name. "Pearl," he said like a parent arousing their child from sleep. "Wake up!"

  Then he plunged his sword into Mar’Gul's motionless chest. When he did, Pearl's eyes flew open and she took a deep, gasping breath.

  After removing his sword, as he watched Mar’Gul's wounded head and chest heal up, Rybara took the woman by the hand. After she rose to her feet, Rybara went about plunging his sword into the chests of the Neflin whose wounds had not yet taken their lives. Leolynn was numbered among these.

  Afterwards, Rybara turned to J'Aryl and said, "Follow me."

  To the raiders' amazement, the guards let them pass through the room and into the tunnel that led to the Hall of the Moon.

  A short time later, the band of Neflin entered a second larger room that had a blood-soaked stone altar at its center and nothing else.

  Moving through the empty chamber, J'Aryl stopped at the stone altar where the blue light that had been dancing along the edge of his blade went out. Looking up he saw the moon watching him through one of the many portals that had been arranged in the roof to follow the white orb's nocturnal journeys. Passing by the stone altar and the holes through which the sacrifice's life blood flowed to an uncertain destination below, J'Aryl's sword suddenly came alive with radiant blue splendor that superceded anything that had been seen before.

  "Here is where they held my father." J'Aryl's brown eyes, touched with a hint of red, squinted as he tried to make sense of the things he was feeling. "Here is where they kept him trapped inside the Sphere of Power Horbyn told us about. Here is where the Sorcerer and his Hag forced him to watch while they made their horrfic sacrifices. This spot is where they tried to unlock the secret to using the Hammer of Power."

  "And here is where they held the Hammer of Power." Rybara stood opposite the stone altar while flecks of blue light raced about his black armor.

  "Dog, I see you have an affinity to Vlad'War," J'Aryl said in passing as he struggled to sort out what his Powers of Intuition were telling him.

  "Yes... we're both warriors. But please... call me Rybara while I'm in this form."

  "Rybara the Wizard," Leolynn said as he looked on the man with the same astonishment the other Neflin did.

  "No... Rybara the son of Andara the Wizard."

  "Like father, like son," Leolynn added as he finally had the answer to the question the Neflin had wrestled with for longer than memory would serve. The enigma of Dog was finally solved. "Though you may not call yourself a wizard, others will. And I'm numbered among those who will."

  "Be that as it may," Rybara took off his helmet and stepped over to Mar’Gul to check on her as he said, "I brought my sword, and that's what you'll need most to get out of this place."

  Bala hovered over Rybara as he talked quietly with Mar’Gul; all the while she fought a desire to pet him on the head until Rybara caught sight of her slowly reaching out one of green hands. Pursing his lips and looking around to see if the others were watching, the warrior said, "Please don't Bala."

  "Alright," the diminuitive cretchym said with a measure of disappointment. "I just wanted to thank you for showing up like you did."

  "I understand. But you don't have to say Good Boy to show your gratitude." After smiling at the awkwardness his transformation had imposed on the cretchym, Rybara sheathed his sword and said, "Come here Bala." Then he gave her a big hug before kissing her in the top of her head.

  This seemed to satisfy Bala since she couldn
't help think that Rybara's kiss was not so different from the wet licks Dog used to give her.

  "What do we do now?" Leolynn asked J’Aryl once he pulled himself out of his reverie over Dog's transformation and all that it meant.

  "My Father's not dead, if that's what you're asking."

  "I gathered that by the expression on your face," Leolynn replied. "There's no sorrow there."

  Nodding his head in satisfaction over the Neflin's powers of observation, and in his willingness to continue the rescue mission that had already taken the lives of too many of his elven brothers, J'Aryl said, "By what I'm sensing, they've taken my father that way."

  To accentuate his point, J'Aryl took three steps in the direction of one of the four tunnels that led out of the Hall of the Moon. And as he did, the sword he held out in front of him like it was a divining rod continued to glow, though less brightly than it did when he stood at the place where his father had been held for so long. Then he swung his sword wide to the left and to the right where its light dimmed before he hurried off to the tunnel's mouth.

  When Rybara said, "J'Aryl's right", took Mar’Gul by the hand, unsheathed his sword and set off after the determined young man, the others quickly followed.

  Chapter 29: Dungeons

  Five long winters had passed since the Sorcerer had taken Jeaf Oakenfel as his prisoner, though Jeaf didn't know that. How could he, when he was trapped inside a sphere of magic that kept him in a perpetual state of limbo? Stuck in an endless nightmare, where his mind was relentlessly bombarded with the Hag's dark magic, Jeaf had not only lost all sense of time, he had lost the awareness of self. No longer the person he once was, the Hammer Bearer had been bludgeoned into an amalgamation of chaotic thoughts whose identity was ill-defined by snippets of memory that were interspersed with visions of countless people being slaughtered on top of the bloody stone that was the one constant in his fetid psuedo-existence.