Crooked Finger and the Warl of the Dead

by Rex Hazelton

From the very beginning, Ar Warl had been a place of shadows and dread. In the short time Travyn had spent in the Sorcerer's realm, he had seen the shadows deepen and dread turn to dispair. The Lorn Fast Wraiths, he had first encountered in the swamp where he and Lamarik met, had been released from their imprisonment in Cara Lorn's crumbling ruins and set loose to terrorize those living under Ab'Don's oppressive rule. The ranks of those that had the Spell of the White Hand cast over them had grown as quickly as weeds overtaking an abandoned farm. Cretchym no longer hid their numbers as sightings of swarms of winged-monsters had become common occurrences. Shadowmen went around ruthlessly whipping the subjugated kingdoms into line to ensure that Ar Warl's battle preparations would be completed in the short time left before war with Nyeg Warl began. Hag did worse things than the Shadowmen: children were kidnapped; sacrifices to the dark power they used were made.

  All of these things had been considered when the company of raiders Travyn led into the Thrall Mountains was assembled: the wraiths, the Shadowmen, the Hag, and the cretchym. That's why Bala was included in the daring enterprise. The diminutive cretchym's airborne prowess would prove invaluable to Travyn and the others. Adding Bacchanor's shape-shifting ways into the mix gave Bala reinforcements she needed to deal with any problems that would approach from the sky, since the griffin had left Ar Warl shortly after the raid on Chylgroyd's Keep once the Hammer Bearer was freed. With their magic providing a distinct signature that the Sorcerer could easily trace until it led him to the winged-lions and those they were with, the Community of Blood decided to distance themselves from the Fane J’Shrym and Neflin they wished to keep Ab'Don from finding.

  Shaken by his wife's death, the Brown Wizard let the Healing Magic he practiced slip from the top of the list of priorities he used to order his life. It had been replaced by the simmering rage Bacchanor's dispair over his lose had given rise to, a rage that hoped the mission he had undertaken with the others would give it opportunity to be released.

  Having been Pearl's best friend made Bala vulnerable to the same primal instincts that were overwhelming Bacchanor. This gave the two a touch of unpredictability that would have given another leader pause, but not Travyn who preferred the company of hunchmen to humans. For who was more unpredictable than the beast-men he found to his liking?

  That friendship was the reason why he had undertaken this mission in the first place. Having met Arga'Dyne, the Broyn'Dar chieftain, when he and Kaylan were on their way to the ill-fated attempt to apprehend the dangerous talisman Ab'Don threatened their mother with, Crooked Finger by name, Travyn couldn't shake off the thought that he could forge a friendship with the hunchman living in Ar Warl. Thus, gaining allies Nyeg Warl could use in the approaching war.

  Learning that the Sorcerer forced the beast-men to become outlaws that were hunted for sport had added fuel to Travyn’s thoughts. Savage to begin with, the chata-addicted hunchmen were easily construed as monsters that Ar Warl's champions were encouraged to hone their fighting skills on once they ran them to ground.

  Conversely, the beast-men unwittingly advanced Ab'Don's dark agenda when they retaliated with raids set on getting revenge for the losses they suffered at the hands of the hunters, an agenda that fostered an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty that the Sorcerer's dark magic required for sustenance. In time, the fuel this knowledge added to Travyn's thoughts became a plan he implemented with the help of those who traveled with him.

  But that wasn't the only reason why he and the others skulked through the Thrall Mountains' rocky heights in search of the Broyn'Dar. The picture of Kaylan hanging on a tree made of fire with a slender, iron branch sticking out of his chest was irrevocably branded into Travyn's memory. Ab'Don's arrogant laughter, accompanying him while he thrust the talisman into his brother's heart, echoed unceasingly through Travyn’s tortured brain. As it turned out, not only could the Broyn'Dar be found in these mountains, the Hall of Voyd was here too, the place where his brother was being held prisoner.

  Kaylan's dire predicament placed demands on Travyn that could not be shed. The brothers were twins after all. As such, a bond existed between them that they didn’t share with any other, not with their father or brothers, nor even with the woman who carried the two in her womb. Maybe that was the main reason for his foray into the treacherous mountain range? Travyn had to know more about the Sorcerer's stronghold so that he’d be totally prepared when the time came to assault the place.

  Familiarizing himself with the mountain trails, discovering the hiding places the rocky heights held, and identifying sources of peril ensconced on the steep mountain slopes, those that could hinder his attempt to free his brother, was information Travyn needed to gather. As it just so happened, these were things Arga'Dyne and the Broyn'Dar would already be aware of.

  Lamarik accompanied Travyn on his mission. As always, A'Kadar was with her, as well as ten of her Neflin relatives.

  Vlad Aeroth's son, Poroth, had voluntered to come along with five other Fane J'Shrym who were sparing partners with the dangerous young man whose father’s twin swords had earned the moniker Death Blades.

  Bacchanor added three more Fane J'Shrym and two Neflin to the company. Each had been hand-picked from the cohort of promising candidates that the Brown Wizard had given instructions to regarding the use of the Warl's Magic, a cohort that called themselves Candle Wielders since they didn’t think they had earned the right to be called Candle Makers yet.

  Once Bacchanor left with Travyn on the mission, Alynd the Elf-Man, who would soon leave to take his place at the front of the Otrodorian army, took up the slack and continued to train the emerging Candle Wielders who would be asked to take the Hag on with magical abilities that lacked the time needed for proper nurturing. Fortunately, many of the novices had enough latent talent to put up a good fight already, despite their limited experience.

  The restraints that Ab'Don put on those formerly known as Brie'Shen, that kept them from developing magical powers like their celebrated ancestors once had, did not keep inherent supernatural abilities from appearing within the Fane J'Shrym ranks, abilities that flowered under the concerted husbandry that Bacchanor, Alynd, J'Aryl, and Ay'Roan gave them. The same could be said for the Neflin that were recruited to the endeavor.

  When up to it, for the Hammer Bearer was struggling to recover from his long incarceration, Jeaf lent a hand in giving instruction to the eager pupils. Being taught by the one who wielded Vlad'War's Magic was no small matter. With Alynd leaving soon, J’Aryl and Ay’Roan appreciated the increased attention their father gave to the ongoing lessons.

  Since the students were aware of the black candles the Hag used to unleash their powers, some had even seen the foul wizards employ their magical wares, candles were used to focus the students' nascent supernatural abilities, candles that were white in color like those Nyeg Warl's Candle Makers used. As a result, after an age of absence, it could be said that a School of the Candle had returned to the part of the warl where it had originated.

  All-in-all, those who had reclaimed the name Fane J'Shrym proved to be exceptional students. The three Bacchanor brought with him, more so. So too the Neflin who shared the things they had been taught with Lamarik as they travelled, things that the female took to like a duck to water. It seemed, her long stay in the Lorn Fast Swamp had changed her in more ways than just her appearance since her skin had become darker than her swarthy kin, her ears longer, and her eyes bigger in a nocturnal way. Though the Neflin irises were larger than the elves of Forest Deep, Lamarik's had grown to the point that little white was ever seen. This made her nearly impossible to detect in the swamp's shadowy environment unless she smiled. And when she did, it was like a signal fire had been lit on a nearby hill.

  Dog stuck as close to Bacchanor as he had to Pearl. Many thought this was because the Brown Wizard had donned the Mar'Gul's mantle after her death.

  Others thought Alynd was a likely candidate to assume the role of the personage that both the Neflin and Fane J'Sh
rym had grown to depend upon. Being King of the Otrodorians made the Elf-Man an impossible choice, though he entrusted the duties that came with that regal position to Marta so he could stay close to the Hammer Bearer until his healing was further along.

  As it turned out, Alynd's presence in Ar Warl was not only a boon to Jeaf, it worked magic with the Neflin who came to look upon him as one of their own. Accepted as an unofficial elder, Alynd bridged the gap that had separated the Neflin from their cousins living in Nyeg Warl. The grace that Mystlynor carried with him, for that was the name the elves of Forest Deep called him, had already began to unravel the knots of degradation that Ab'Don's cruelty had forced the loom of communal thinking to weave into the fabric that had become the Neflin way of life. And as the unsightly knots were painstakingly disentangled, the grace that had once been a Neflin hallmark took their place, the kind of grace that the ancient-untamed wilds had once blessed the elves with, grace that had an affinity to the magic that dwelt there.

  ****

  Having come all the way to the mouth of the gorge where the Hall of Voyd had been built, Travyn gave the Ar Warlers time to take a good look at the place that had victimized their families for so many generations. Hidden behind the rocks that jutted above the gorge's lip, shrouded beneath the cloak of night, the raiders gazed down upon the horrible place that glowed with an unwarly iridescence the dark magic practiced there emitted. The filthy discharge the foul sorcery created as its by-product did little to hide the light. Silence ensued as the troop pondered the evil power housed inside the Sorcerer's eerily glowing citadel.

  The raiders took turns scouring the gorge in search of the monsters that were reported to live there before returning to the object that arrested their attention. Similarily, they kept an eye on their vulnerable backside. This was no place for rest. All did their part in keeping watch, except Travyn whose eyes glowed with rings of amber fire that seemed intent on boring a hole through Ab'Don's fortress walls to get a glimpse of his brother and the fiery tree he hung upon.

  Unlike her mate, Lamarik’s eyes were tansfixed on the river where she had seen the Ferryman drown Horbyn. Though Travyn had told her the wizard wasn't died, Lamarik had a hard time envisioning him being planted in the river bottom alongside a host of other unfortunate ones. Surely, he couldn't be alive beneath the water’s surging flow.

  Having been lost in reverie that recalled every detail of the time he had spent inside the Hall of Voyd, Travyn shook himself from his dour musing and took stock of the Sorcerer's fortress. Rings of amber fire swept across the gorge and the chaotic mass of buildings that filled its gaping mouth.

  When Travyn caught Lamarik looking at the river below, recalling his own memories of the cursed flow, he said, "If what Horbyn told me is true, he's alive."

  "I saw the Ferryman drown the wizard like a rat forced to the bottom of a bucket of water, and you say he's alive?"

  "Aye." Travyn put a hand on the Neflin's shoulder. "I've seen the people that are planted in the river's bottom. None had decayed, nor were they eaten by fish. Even their clothes were intact. It's as if the magic the Sorcerer glutted the water with forced the people into hibernation like bears do in the winter.'

  Lamarik took Travyn in with large, almond-shaped eyes that missed little. "And you say the same can be said of Kaylan?"

  "That's what my father told me. The talisman that Ab'Don thrust into my brother’s chest is a tool of domination, it's not meant to be lethal in the way a sword or spear is, though it has power to kill if its master orders it to. It’s the threat of death that gives Crooked Finger control over its victim and those that love them. Father explained that the cursed thing hold's its prey inside a prison that lies between the Warl of Living and the Warl of the Dead, and the one who controls the talisman has the power to decide which direction the spirit that's under its influence will ultimately go. Once that's done, Crooked Finger can be destroyed and the bridge right along with it, sealing the person's fate if they are thrown into the Warl of the Dead.

  "That's why Kaylan won’t be killed, not yet, not until Ab'Don takes full advantage of his hostage. And that won't happen until my parents confront the Sorcerer on the field of battle. But I plan to set Kaylan free and take control of Crooked Finger before it can be used against my mother."

  A sympathetic-look appeared on Lamarik's face as she spoke. Her ears drooped accordingly. "You've told me that your father and others like Baccahnor think that Crooked Finger and your mother will always be connected in some way since her heart was the first one the talisman pierced. The threat Ab’Don used to escape the Temple of the Oak Tree, where he told your father that destroying the cursed branch would take Muriel’s life too, has given rise to this thought… right?" Lamarik's ears picked up as she waited for the expected reply.

  "Something like that." The brim of Travyn's hat hid the fire that was burning in his eyes as he lowered his head in frustration. "I've got to get my hands on that fire-blasted branch."

  Lamarik's ears picked up even more when a thought struck her. "That's why you're trying to find Arga'Dyne. You think he’ll help you storm the Hall of Voyd when the time comes. We're not just rounding up allies for the final battle… are we?"

  The Neflin snorted in disgust; her words dripped with sarcasm. "Who better to join you on a suicide mission than a troop of angry beast-men who’ve been driven into a fighting frenzy by the combination of the drug they're addicted to and the abuses the Sorcerer has heaped upon them?"

  "Aye," Travyn frowned at the sarcasm filling her remarks. "But it's not a suicide mission. And when I go to get my brother, and you know I will, those who can use magic will come along with me."

  Pulling out the sword he had forged on top of Vlad'War's Anvil he added, "And I'm not without my own resources. You've seen my sword’s power and how I called lightning out of the storm the night I fought the Shadowman, At'Jak, and the Hag, Scytholar."

  "I saw the lightning that night. But I’ve also seen you fail to repeat that feat ever since." Lamarik's ears laid against her head, infuriated that Travyn would put so much trust in magic he couldn’t control.

  Once Lamarik and her mate had reached Jeaf and the others who hid in the Great Ral Mountains' rocky heights, Travyn had repeatedly tried to use his sword to draw lightning out of the passing storms. Though the blue light that accompanied the release of Vlad'War's Magic had appeared on the uplifted blade, the storms refused to comply. Why the clouds had done so the night that Scyhtolar had confronted them was a mystery. With the dwindling time remaining until the war arrived, it was a mystery that might not be solved before the fighting began.

  Lifting his head and the brim of his hat along with it, Travyn held Lamarik with eyes whose piercing gaze was filled with rings of amber light. "When the time comes… the storm will obey me."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  Not wanting to argue with the female he had come to love, Travyn turned and took one final look at the Hall of Voyd. When he finally returned his gaze back on the feral beauty who studied him with a worried look on her face, Travyn simply said, "Let's go."

  Not long afterwards, the company set off through the nearby trees, silently working their way back to the clearing where their horses waited for them under Dog and A'Kadar's watchful care. Quickly mounting the anxious animals, the company continued their trek up the mountainside to a hiding place that Dog had found for them in a nearby rocky peak.

  But no sooner had they reached the place and settled down to get what sleep they could before dawn came and their search continued, a Neflin guard came hurrying into the camp with urgent news.

  "Travyn," his forceful whisper tried to locate the group's leader amidst those who slumbered, "hunchmen have been sighted."

  "Where," Travyn's own hoarsely-whispered reply gave his location away, though A'Kadar's sleeping mass should have done the trick.

  "Not far from here. If they stay on their present course, they should come close as they pass by, unless they're looking f
or us too."

  "All of you up," Travyn gave an order in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "The Broyn'Dar are coming."

  "What do you make of this?" Lamarik frowned at the unexpected turn of events as she rose alongside the great cat that had been sleeping by her. Not far way, Dog sat up from his repose wide awake. His father's magic, that had been used to create his canine form and give him the long life he had lived as the Mar’Guls’ protector and companion, kept him from needing much sleep.

  "I don't know." Travyn nodded to Bala, who had just landed on Dog's back, sending the two them off to investigate. "But I fear it can't be good. Why would Arga'Dyne come looking for us when he can't possibly know who it is he is searching for? It has to be a raid."

  "Get ready for a fight." Travyn gave orders he wished he didn't have to give, prudent ones that took into consideration that frenzied, chata-driven hunchmen were on their way who seldom went anywhere just to talk.

  "How many are there," Travyn asked the scout who stood by to answer his questions.

  "Six that we can make out."

  "Only six?"

  "This is their home. Who knows how many others are approaching along paths that keep them hidden."

  "Poroth," Travyn called out to Vlad'Aeroths's son. "Take your men and keep an eye on the slopes below us. Bacchanor, have your students spred out so they can watch both areas below and above us.

  “Lamarik," Travyn said in a less than commanding voice, "you’re with me." Then he took off after the guard who had spotted the approaching Broyn'Dar.

  ****

  Everyone was as ready as could be expected given the Broyn'Dar's sudden appearance. All knew that initial contact would be fraught with danger and that the prospect of gaining an audience with Arga'Dyne would all but vanish if they were forced to shed blood to protect themselves. The trick was to convince the hunchmen that their intentions were peaceful before the simmering, frenzied state that the chata beans continually kept the beast-men in wasn't brought to a quick boil and fighting broke out.