Vlad'War's Anvil

by Rex Hazelton

  Assaying the situation behind them, as the Hag withdrew, Ay'Roan and J'Aryl saw that more of their company had survived the initial onslaught than what they expected. Then looking into each other's eyes, the brothers leaned forward and touched foreheads while they reached around and embraced the back of each others necks with their free hands.

  Once Ay'Roan's tormentors had joined the controlled retreat, it wasn't long before the Hag's fiery shield-wall was back in place. But instead of facing a lone magicker, they found that five wizards and a griffin were gazing at them them. For not only had Dog joined the quest in the form of Rybara the swordsman, Bacchanor, who was now hugging Mar’Gul like it was the last embrace they'd ever share, had returned with Seym Blood with him.

  Mocking the Hag's tactics, Bacchanor had taken on the form of the slograp who had briefly extinguished the dark wizard's magic. Having survived the explosion of Vlad War's power he released when he stuck the wizard's anvil, for the violent exertion of supernatural might left him untouched as it swept the encroaching Hag and cretchym into oblvion, he completed his trek to the Madara Spike where he found a troupe of griffin waiting.

  He discovered that the winged-lions had assembled there at the Prophetess' behest, after a Dream Messenger met her in a time of repose to tell her to do so. Now that he was back, the griffin were positioned outside the Chylgroyd's Keep to help evacuate the surviving raiders from a place that would not easily let them go. Only Seym Blood followed him into the keep's confining corridors.

  But another gem was included in the treasue trove of fur and fang the Brown Wizard had brought back with him. The flash of blue light, that interrupted his and Mar’Gul's embrace, identified who that was. For Alynd the Elf-Man had come along on the ride, and with him were twenty of Nyeg Warl's Elves. Shalamor, one of Mystylkynd's princes, was numbered among these.

  Not taking time for formalities, Alynd, standing with most of his weight balanced on his right foot and his arms casually crossed in front of him, said, "Ab'Don's here."

  "How do you know that?" J'Aryl, brought up short while on his way to embrace his godfather, asked.

  "As we and the griffin approached Chylgroyds' Keep," Alynd's eyes flashed blue light beneath his hat's wide brim as he surveyed the site of the recent struggle, looking for signs that the Sorcerer was in the room, "we saw him descend from the sky, riding on the back of worm made of fire, and enter a hole at the keep's base."

  "Then why isn't he here?" Ay'Roan intoned with more than a little anger. "So we can make him pay for what he has done to our parents."

  "Who said that I'm not?" A magically enhanced voice filled the vast chamber as the Sorcerer walked through the Hag's fiery shield-wall unscathed by its ominous magic.

  Looking not much older than the brothers themselves, the Oakenfels were surprised by Ab'Don's appearance. How could one so evil, look so... well... comely.

  Still, the Sorcerer's attractive facade was awry in ways that were so slight they wouldn't be noticed unless one looked at one facial feature at a time: the alignment of his raptor yellow eyes was off a touch; his slender nose was bent just a little; his cheek bones' symmetry was flawed; his youthful, pouting lips were skewed slightly to one side, and so on. With his blond-colored hair, matted together by the soot-like fallout that came with the dark magic he practiced, looking like eagle feathers sprouting from his head, and with the grime-covered gold armor he wore added to the mix, Ab'Don's presence would have made onlookers nauseous in the way that unfocused things did if it wasn't for the overwhelming sense of dread that assailed them.

  Thin and athletic, the Sorcerer was as graceful as a leopard on the prowl.

  "I see that the Elf-Man, a shape-shifter, a griffin, and, no doubt, the one called Mar’Gul are here." Ab'Don smiled cheerfully as he added, "And who might you three be?”

  “You two with the blue swords are, no doubt, Oakenfel pups. And you," the Sorcerer's smile vanished before he continued, "have an uncanny likeness to a dead wizard named Andara."

  "I'm his son," Rybara, who held his black helmet under one arm, replied in even tones.

  "How can that be?" Ab'Don was puzzled by the phenomenon he was witnessing. "You'd have to be as old as I am."

  "Maybe a bit older," Rybara added a patronizing touch to the mystery that surrounded him.

  "So you claim to be my elder?" Ab'Don's smile returned though it didn't touch his eyes. "Well Old Man, enjoy the moment, for your long life is about to come to an end."

  Reaching up to include his eyes, the Sorcerer's smile broadened as an idea came to him. "But I might have spoken too soon." Pausing to let the idea gestate a bit, Ab'Don added, "Why not settle our differences with a contest?

  "Choose someone to face my champion in battle, and if they win, I'll grant them one wish that could save your lives. But there is a caveat I will add to my offer- neither Andara's son, the shape-shifter, Mar’Gul, the Elf-Man, or griffin can be chosen. Though the griffin offers an interesting possiblity for what I have in mind. In return, I will remove myself and the Hag from consideration."

  "How can we know if you'll keep your word?" Bacchanor stood close to Mar’Gul as he spoke. Bala, who flew in the air above the beloved magi, looked around for signs of treachery. Expecting the worse from the Sorcerer, the Brown Wizard was as busy as the cretchym, but instead of looking for signs of treachery, Bacchanor was trying to locate a door of opportunity.

  "You can't." The Sorcerer's smile took on a sinsister aspect as he spoke. "Nevertheless, my offer remains. To help you decide whether you will accept it or not, let me show you one of my many tricks."

  In one swift motion, Ab'Don whisked out a black candle that he lit with a Word of Power. Lifting the candle overhead, using both hands to do so, the Sorcerer summoned Chylgroyd's Keeps magic. In time, a substance that looked like a million dust mites were being inexorably drawn into the tiny flame, perched on top of the cylinderically-shaped paraffin, was extracted from the cavern's stone walls. Like oil had been thrown onto an open fire, the candle's light burst forth, and the more so as the powder-like substance continued to feed it. In the end, when enough dark magic had been gathered, Ab'Don looked like he was holding a small sun above his head.

  Uttering something no one could clearly hear, the Sorcerer's angry sun reshaped itself into a sword. When the transformation was complete, he turned to face the incapacitated man who hung limply in the Sphere of Power the Hag had conjured up. Lifting his shining weapon, the Sorcerer pointed it at the Hammer Bearer's prison and quietly waited until Jeaf began to gasp for the air Ab'Don's sword had extracted from the sphere's enterior. Only needing an occasional breath to remain alive in the orb that otherwise kept him living without having to eat or drink, Jeaf could be suffocated.

  "If you don't accept my offer," Ab'Don turned his head to the raiders as he spoke, though his sword remained pointed at Jeaf while he did, "I will kill the Hammer Bearer here and now and put an end to your absurd plan. For even wizards need air to live."

  When Jeaf's eyes bulged open and his mouth widened in an effort to claim air that was no longer there, Ay'Roan shouted, "Stop it you fire-blasted monster. I'll fight your champion."

  Lowering his shining sword, Ab'Don turned to the angry young man. Studying Ay'Roan, with an inscrutable expression on his aquilinely-shaped face, the Sorcerer quietly replied, "It's just as I thought, you are his son. Your Bjorkian garb and manners don't fool me. Thus, you shall have what you want, a chance to save your father."

  And while you take that chance, I will be watching you and the Hammer Bearer, Ab'Don thought.

  In all of his failed attempts to uncover the Hammer of Power's secrets, Ab'Don never imagined that such an opportunity would come his way. Now he could use the Hammer Bearer's own sons to pry open the door of discovery, for he had rightly guessed who J'Aryl was, since he looked so much like his mother. Instead of manipulating Jeaf's dreams that existed in the ethereal realm of memories reforged to induce him to reveal the way Vlad'War's Magic worked, he would
manipulate the Hammer Bearer's own flesh and blood to gain this knowledge. And the contest he proposed promised to do that very thing.

  Pointing his magic sword at the Hag and the guards who served them, the keep's guardians were moved back like they were empty dishes being pushed aside on a table to make room for a game of chance. Neither the Hag's or guards' muscles aided the Sorcerer in rearranging them. Then he pointed his sword's brilliant steel tip at the company of raiders and swept them back as easily as he had his own servants.

  Being moved about like they were a child's dolls was unsettling to say the least. Only Ay'Roan escaped the helpless feeling, since the Sorcerer kept him where he stood inside the impromptu arena that would be used for the impending contest.

  "You have chosen your champion well," Ab'Don said in mock sincerity since the selection was Ay'Roan's and not Bacchanor's nor his companions'. "Now let me show you mine."

  Then the Sorcerer whistled a single long note that reverberrated thoughout the cavern. Silence followed that was so deep only a gentle lapping noise that waves, created by the retreating slograps, made as they washed up against the empty shoreline was heard.

  Bala rose higher in the air to get a better look at the Sorcerer's throng.

  Ay'Roan watched the Hag, expecting them to part and let the champion through.

  Ab'Don sheathed his sword's brilliant blade in a scabbard especially made to contain such a large amount of coalesced power. Then he lifted a hand to his chin and continued to study the young man with eyes that narrowed in thought.

  More silence followed...

  Then a wolf howled.

  Others of its kind joined in until it sounded like the whole pack was aroused. Bears roared and struck their cages with claws revealed. Badgers growled. Sheep bleated in terror. When the mountain lions' shrieking cries were heard, a defeaning roar rose out of the din that sent the animals into a frenzy.

  Something was approaching through the corridors that ran through the cells. And where it went, the panicked creatures cried out in the way their kind did when they were faced with certain doom.

  Closer and closer it came while the sounds of frightened animals marked its passage.

  In time, the sound of massive wings beating in the air- once, twice, three times- was heard.

  Bala screamed as a shadow stretched across the cavern's ceiling, growing larger as the one who gave it birth drew closer to the fiery pits that filled the room.

  Blue light flashed out from beneath Alynd's wide-brimmed hat, while Bacchanor said, "By all that is holy, what is that thing?"

  "It's a cretchym," Mar’Gul gripped her sword tight as she spoke.

  The winged-demon flew over the stunned raiders, revealing its savage glory to those it would soon kill.

  "It's a griffin." J'Aryl sounded profoundly sad as he made his observation. Having lived among the Community of Blood that built their nests on the Island of Stromane's steep, crystalline cliffs for as long as he had, J'Aryl new the depths of pain this discovey would bring to the winged-lions. It would also explain why some of their kind didn't return from the journey they took at the time of their Coming of Age.

  Ab'Don had captured at least one of the young griffin to use in his dour experiments. Though the Sorcerer had learned that his creations were hard to control, for long ago a line of cretchym had tried to overthrow his rule, the approaching war had made Ab'Don more daring, so much so, that he threw caution to the wind and fashioned a cretchym using griffin essence and his own to do so. The result was the monstrous thing that flew overhead.

  Half man and half griffin, the winged-monster possessed the attributes of both that the Sorcerer's dark powers had mutated into something more dangerous.

  "I'm so sorry." J'Aryl said to Seym Blood who stood beside him growling and snorting out air in revulsion.

  "Me too." Seym Blood responded with a deep, rumbling voice that was common to griffinkynd. "Sorry, disgusted, and filled with sorrow that fuels my rage."

  Landing with a sound that things with great weight make, the cretchym kept its massive wings spred wide to accentuate its imposing size. Then lifitng its arms that were thicker and longer than a man of comparable size would have, the cretchym turned to face the Hag and guards, flexing the muscles in its broad, human-like chest as it did, a chest whose covering of short tawny-colored hair couldn't hide the display.

  “Roy'Dohk,” the guards shouted while the Hag showed their approval with a silent nod of their hooded heads.

  Then the beast turned to face Ay'Roan, clenched its fists, and roared like a griffin. "Do I need a sword?" The cretchym asked its father with a rumbling voice it inherited from its griffin ancestory.

  "Draw your weapon," Ab'Don spoke with academic detachment. "His blade is filled with magic."

  "I see its blue light," the cretchym replied, "and feel its power." Then the beast folded its wings against its broad back and drew out a sword that was twice as big as Ay'Roan's.

  Matted by the sooty fallout that came from the dark magic that had created it, the cretchym's mane looked like an exagerated version of Ab'Don's own spiked hair, only it had equal parts of brown and blond coloring. The brown covered the sides, while the blond was massed in a single swath that ran through the center of the mane. The beast's upper body was broad like a human and less deep than a griffin's. Short tawny-colored hair covered its arms, shoulders, and chest. Its stomach was as bare as its inner thighs, hands, and feet. The loin cloth, it wore beneath a belt that held its sword's sheath, hid its other human-like attributes. Legs, as long as a man's in proportion to its overall shape, were bent in the way that a lion's were. Standing on the balls of its long feet, the creature's ankles and heels were positioned well above the ground.

  The cretchym's eyes were raptor-like in both shape and color. Opened wide in the way that birds of prey were wont to do, the intense orbs rarely blinked. Its muzzle-like mouth, filled with a carnivore's sharp teeth, bore a smile that was eerily human. Its long ears rose in feral rigidity.

  After crouching like it was getting ready to leap, the cretchym began to circle Ay'Roan. Once the monstrous beast stood between the human and his comapnions, it stretched out its wings to hide the raiders from sight as it bragged, "No one can save you from me."

  "Roy'Dohk is it?" Ay'Roan watched the cretchym move, trying to get a feel for the way it would fight.

  If its griffin instincts were strongest, the beast would leap at him, swinging its sword like it was a paw as it came. If its human part was dominant, it would be more careful. Regardless, the winged-demon was nearly twice as tall as Ay'Roan was. No doubt, it was stronger, though Ay'Roan's prodigious strength seemed to increase as need dictated. This was a side affect of being carried in a womb that had been touched by both Andara and Vlad'War's Magic. And who knew what advantages the sword he remade atop of Vlad'War's Anvil would give him in such a struggle. It was sure Roy'Dohk's own weapon carried magic of its own.

  "I am Roy'Dhok." The monstrous cretchym lifted its muzzle-like chin as it spoke. "And what is your name?"

  "Roan of Thundyrkynd." Ay'Roan, reticent to confirm his earlier mistake, chose to give the name Horbyn suggested he use while he was in Ar Warl. Leaving even a little doubt as to his identity in Ab'Don and the Hag's minds might serve better than the unabridged truth.

  "Roan of Thundyrkynd, know that I will feed your body to the slograp once I'm finished with you as well as the corpses of all those who were dim-witted enough to accompany you here.” Roy’Dohk swung his free arm wide as he added, “To this foul place where I'm forced to wait until my glory is revealed to all of Ar Warl and to my father's enemies. Then I will claim my rightful place as Lord of all the Blood."

  "You might claim the right to be Lord of the Cretchym," Seym Blood snarled out his words, "but you will never be Lord of the Blood since you’re not a griffin."

  Roy'Dohk's head turned in an abrupt, raptor-like way. "Grandfather," he replied with disdain for the griffin that had spoken as he continued to circle Ay
'Roan until he was, once again, facing the company of raiders. "I am the end of all that the Blood once was and the beginning of all that it will soon be. For once I sieze control of the pride, I will not allow another male to mate with the females save me. Then the Blood will learn to walk upright like men. No longer will they scurry along the ground on four legs like the beasts of the field."

  Roy'Dohk folded his wings against his back to accentuate his human-like form.

  In the past, Ab'Don had denied his cretchym the ability to procreate as a precaution against their unruly tendencies. After all, they were his children. And as they say, the nut doesn't fall far from the tree.

  In forming Roy'Dohk, Ab'Don added this ability to use as an incentive that would keep the insuperable cretchym in line, for Roy'Dohk, driven by a need to procreate with the pride’s females, could never hope to subdue Stromane without the Sorcerer's help. Ab'Don decided he would deal with the negative side affects that might arise from his bold risk once the war with Nyeg Warl was over.

  "Fool!" Seym Blood replied. "Do you think the Sorcerer will ever allow such a thing?"

  "My Father will keep his promise." Roy'Dohk roared when he finished speaking.

  Seym Blood roared back, accepting the cretchym's challenge.

  "Father," Roy'Dohk shouted, "let me fight the griffin, not this frail human."

  "No My Son," Ab'Don calmly replied. "You must kill Roan first, then the other blue boy. After that, I'll throw the griffin your way."

  Barely placated by his father's words, Roy'Dohk forced himself to set his sites on the human who stood between him and the griffin he wanted to kill so he could yank out its heart and eat it. Two boys first, he thought, and then the old one is mine.

  The faint blue glow covering Ay'Roan's body kept Roy'Dohk from trying to overwhelm his adversary as his griffin instincts urged hom to. Magic was never to be taken lightly until one determined its limits. Still, the cretchym was convinced he had the upper hand in the fight. His father wouldn't expose him to a superior opponent without giving him the weapons needed to destroy them. With the impending struggle transpiring in a place that was replete with the Sorcerer's dark power, by reason of the littany of sacrifices that had been slaughtered here, the resources Roy'Dohk needed to finish off the wizard he faced were nearly limitless; resources that his supernaturally enhanced sword could call on as needed. Having magic of his own and a physique that was far superior to Ay'Roan's, Roy'Dohk confidently began the fight.