by Rex Hazelton
Inherently predisposed to violence, the Broyn'Dar's addiction to the drug found in the chata beans they ingested daily, made them unpredictable to deal with if one wanted to avoid a fight.
Only the bravest merchants and magickers dared deal with the hunchmen who Ab'Don forced to become highwaymen to eek out a living that would ensure their families survived in a warl set against them. Still, the plunder the Broyn'Dar accrued, when they left the safety of the Thrall Mountains' heights to raid the human's who lived below, contained treasures that made the risk palatable. To the outlaws thinking, exchanging silver, gold, and even star’s blood for produce was good business. Even with meat being the beast-men's main source of sustenance, their omnivorous apetites made things like fruit, nuts, and grains valuable commodities. A merchant, who could provide such things, while avoiding Shadowmen intanglements, could get a much better price for their produce than humans were willing to pay.
Still, outlaws were outlaws and merchants were merchants, and the two rarely mixed well. Those who tried to make their fortunes by trading with the Broyn'Dar did so gambling with their lives, especially if they entertained thoughts of selling the hunchmen out to gain a bounty from those set on hunting the hunchmen down.
Those who lived long enough to make the gamble worthwhile possessed as much intelligence and shrewdness as they did greed. Courage alone wasn't good enough to complete the transactions, though the hunchmen valued bravery. Besides this, the kind of calculating wisdom that successful outlaw leaders possessed could not be underrated.
No stranger to the hunchman way of thinking, Travyn positioned those he led with a cunning mind that looked to details. Now that that was done, courage would be called on to step to the forefront.
After catching sight of the hunchmen working their way through the night shadows, Travyn nodded his thanks to the guard who retreated to a place in the nearby rocks. Lamarik and A'Kadar remained.
"What do you see?" Travyn asked Lamarik, whose large eyes were better suited than his own for seeing in the dark, though his ability to do so surpassed that of most ordinary men.
"I see six Broyn'Dar." Lamarik frowned as she noted, "Strange. They seem to be picking their way through the rocks like it's the first time they've passed this way."
Sure enough, Travyn soon caught sight of six shadowy figures winding their way over the outcropping of rock that ran down the mountainside like a spine protruding out of a starving man's back. Other rocky spines paralleled the one the hunchmen traversed, forming a series of narrow gorges filled with stunted pines, firs, and spruces that flowed down ro meet their larger relatives that fed on the enriched atmosphere found at the lower elevations. Each gorge was no wider than a fast man could run in the span of twenty heart beats.
Travyn waited for the strangers to cross over the top of the rocky spine across from him before stepping out on a ledge that fronted the gorge and expose himself to the advancing Broyn'Dar's sight.
"Their arms are so long," Lamarik said as she mindlessly rubbed the top of A'Kadar's broad head. The big cat moaned appreciatively as she did.
Dog, having returned once the hunchman were located, tilted his head as if he could hear the Broyn'Dar conversing. As he did, Bala, sitting on the hound’s back, leaned forward until her own head took up the same position above Dog’s fur-covered pate. Bacchanor stood behind the two with arms crossed over his thick chest.
After the Brown Wizard reached up and scratched his thick, curly beard, he turned to the diminutive cretcchym who straddled Dog's back and said, "Bala, go take a look. But be discreet."
Huffing at Bacchanor, Bala sarcastically replied, "Thanks for the advice. If you hadn't told me to be discreet, I'd probably flutter off like some bumbling butterfly and go muss up the hunchman's hair just to get a good look at them"
"No need to get into a snit. You know what I mean. I didn’t intend on offending you."
"I'll have you know, Crechym don't have snits." Bala lifted her chin in disgust over the thought. "Now, I'll discreetly fly off while you discreetly stand here and wait for my return."
"Don't get me laughing." Bacchanor eyes filled with mirth over Bala's ridiculous retort. "The Broyn'Dar will hear me if you do."
Travyn shook his head like a weary parent as he said, "Enough levity you two. Let's stay on task."
Having heard that, Bala leapt from Dog's massive back and took to the air, talking to herself as she did. "Stay on task. Be discreet. Next they'll be telling me how loud to breathe. Men. They get so full of themselves."
"Did she just criticize men?" To tell the truth, Travyn was enjoying the banter that took some of the edge off the tense situation. Maintaining a level of relaxation was just as important in a battle as flexed muscles were. The balance between the two oftentimes proved to be the difference between winning and losing a fight.
"Let it go." Lamarik said as she lifted an eyebrow in warning. The Neflin had her own issues with the male sense of superiority that, as far as she was concerned, was based more on prejudice than fact. If size and strength were weights that tipped the scales of superiority, the Thrall Giants would be masters of all. And that clearly wasn't the case.
"She misses Pearl is all," Bacchanor admitted with some reluctance as he watched Bala fly off. "We all do."
The Brown Wizard looked down and adjusted his sword's scabbard to gain a moment to gather his thoughts. "Lamarik, it's good to have you around. Bala's taken a strong liking to you. The Singer knows she needs another female in her life, one like you."
"What do you mean, one like me?"
"Before Pearl became the Mar'Gul, she was a sword for hire. She was never one to linger around cooking fires, though those that do are worth their weight in gold. But don't think she couldn't cook. Pearl was almost as good a cook as I am. She'd probably have been better if I hadn't claimed that chore as my own. Besides, the herb lore alone that I learn from the women I share the cooking fires with is worth the bother."
As powerfully built as he was, Bacchanor was as agile as any other Master Swordsman. The melding of his expertise in fighting and the use of magic made him a formidable foe. His reputation as a fierce fighter was well-deserved. Still, his compassionate heart, for that was what motivated him, had led him to make the pursuit of Healing Magic his highest calling.
Since women were likely the ones to take care of the sick and infirmed, Bacchanor had grown comfortable in their presence as he practiced the Healing Arts. Having spent, what seemed like, endless summers travelling through Nyeg Warl as an itinerate Healer required that he develop his culinary skills. His sophisticated palate had forced the issue. Both things, healing and cooking, gave him an appreciation for feminine ingenuity, intelligence, and tenacity. Aware that he had a high opinion of their abilities, the women who populated the villages he and Mar'Gul frequented considered him a welcomed quest and valued friend.
"I'm not a sword for hire." Lamarik was puzzled by Bacchanor's comparison.
"Of course not." Bacchanor shook himself out of the reverie he was being pulled into. Losing himself in memories of his deceased wife had become all too easy to do of late. "But you do have an edge to you like Pearl had, a bit of darkness that kept her from being entirely tame."
"Who wants to tame me?" Lamarik glanced at Travyn who shrugged in response.
"That's not my point." Bacchanor smiled over the thought that Lamarik responded to his words the exact way a younger Pearl would have.
"How do I explain?" Bacchanor ran his fingers through his curly beard as he considered what he would say next. "You and Pearl have a ferocity that is seldom found in women. Bala has it too. That's why she was drawn to Pearl and now to you. Pearl's time spent as a sword for hire developed her innate ferocity; your time spent living in the shadows that cover the Lorn Fast Swamp, looking for your father and sister's spirits, developed yours. Bala’s was shaped by Ab'Don's cruelty. As a result, all of you know the value of a sharp sword. And only a fool would trifle with any of you."
"
Come on Lamarik." Travyn was addressing the Neflin's frown that said she wasn't sure she wanted to be depicted this way. "You're not like other women, neither am I like other men." The rings of amber light flared in Travyn's eyes as he spoke. "We're both angry. You, over the deaths of your father and sister; me, over what the Sorcerer has done to my family. That's one of the reasons why we're such a good match."
"That's another reason why Bala likes you so," Bacchanor explained. "The evil done to her mother and the man who raised her has birthed a similar anger in her.
"But Bala is also drawn to the love you have for Travyn that exists despite the anger you possess. Because of this, Bala sees you as a role model she wishes to emulate. If someone like you can find comfort in a man's affections, maybe she can find a male cretchym, one who is free from Ab'Don's control like her, and dare to give him her heart.
"Until then, I think you've made a friend who'll stick closer to you than a sister. No offense to Janalik's memory intended. And the way Dog has been siding up to A'Kadar, I think the moan cat might have gained a brother too."
"What about you?" Aware that both Bala and Dog were Bacchanor's companions had given rise to Lamarik's question.
"Well, since you already have an agreement with Travyn," The Brown Wizard chuckled when Travyn's head snapped his way, "I guess we'll have to figure something else out. Besides, I don’t think anyone could replace Pearl.”
Seeing Bala return to her perch atop Dog's back brought the conversation back to the Broyn'Dar.
Standing with her fists resting on her hips, Bala spoke with a touch of defiance. "Being as discreet as I always am, I got a good look at the hunchmen without letting them see me." Bala's lilting voice belied her bad mood.
Seeing the cretchym standing with her legs set apart like she was getting ready to fend off a blow, Bacchanor quietly said, "Bala, I'm sorry. I never meant to offend you."
Visibly relaxing as she heard the Brown Wizard’s apology, Bala admitted, "You didn't, not really. I think I didn't get enough sleep is all."
"Lately, getting enough sleep has been a problem for me too."
"Are they wearing face-paint?" Travyn couldn’t wait any longer to ask his question. With how good Bala's large, almond-shaped eyes could see in the dark, he didn't think the night would keep her from noticing this.
"There was none that I could see." Bala's lilting voice had lost its edge.
"Were they carrying provisions?" Lamarik's comment about the hunchmen having trouble working their way across the mountainside prompted Travyn's question.
"Each was carrying a sizeable backpack. Why would that matter?"
"I'm just trying to sort things out is all. Where are they now?"
"In a moment, they'll be cresting the the rock outcropping across from us."
Nodding his head, Travyn stepped out on the shelf of stone to expose himself to view. Once in place, he crossed his arms over his chest to let the hunchmen know he wasn't looking for a fight. If the hunchmen fled once they caught sight of them, chase would be given to keep them from escaping. He didn't want a full raiding party descending on them for their first meeting. If this were to happen, it could be their last.
In time, a solitary beast-man appeared atop of the ridge of stone. None of the others showed themselves, though a flame flickered in a dark crevice that was to the left and below the exposed hunchman.
Seeing the beast-man cross his arms over his chest was a good sign. In hunchman fashion, this conveyed the message that they weren't looking for a fight either. On the other hand, the candle's flame could indicate that a Hag was travelling with them. From what Travyn recalled, Horbyn told them that the Broyn'Dar lacked magical proclivities. Their power was centered in the feral savagery that the chata beans' drug-like properties inflamed in them.
Travyn's time living with the Bro'Noon had taught him otherwise. Those with magical potential were numbered among the beast-men. A search conducted by the Candle Maker's revealed this after the Treaty of Gor'Dar had been agreed upon by both the humans and hunchmen. As a part of this treaty, any Bro'Noon found with an ability to work magic was invited to join the order of benevolent wizards and be trained in their ways. But Nyeg Warl's beast-men weren't here. Unless...
"Brak dun Broyn'Dar." Travyn shouted a greeting in the ancient language the hunchmen used to conduct their communal rituals.
"Brak dun h'man." The beast-man replied with an equally loud voice. "Your accent is horrible. Spare my ears the pain and use the common tongue."
The criticism bothered Travyn since he prided himself in being able to speak the Bro'Noon tongue. After assuaging his ego with the thought that the Broyn'Dar must have developed their own accent, he continued in the common tongue as requested. "I wish to talk to Arga'Dyne. Will you take me to him?"
"Who are you?"
"Arga'Dyne calls me Storm Master."
"And what does your mother call you, Bright Eyes?"
Bright Eyes? That's what Loda'Gar calls me. Travyn was taken back by the name. Was there sorcery at work here? The tiny flame he saw flickering in the dark crevice below the hunchmen’s spokesman said there was. Can the candle be reading my mind?
Mind Ciphering was the name his mother gave such magic. It was a heightened aspect of the Power of Intuition that the Oakenfel family was blessed with.
If they're probing me, Travyn decided, I'll return the favor.
What Travyn sensed when he did, surprised him. The feeling was so familiar, he could have thought he was talking to an old friend. But the candle's flame that continued to flicker in the crevice beneath the stranger kept him from coming to this conclusion. He wouldn't let sorcery make him lower his guard.
Wanting to appease the feeling that was trying to force its way into his thoughts, Travyn tried another tactic. "Have you ever been to a place called The Cut?"
"I know a man who has eyes like yours who killed a man there."
This was something that no one in Ar Warl should no, not unless they had supernatural access to the information.
"Why was the man killed?"
"You'll have to ask Anye that question."
Travyn was startled by the stranger being privy to things that only one other knew. The magic that was being used had to be powerful. Unless...
"How does she and her sister fare?"
"Anye doesn’t have a sister. She and her brother have recovered from their wounds."
Well now, Travyn thought. "This man with eyes like mine, what else do you know about him?"
"I know he has a bad temper and a twin brother who is better looking than he is. I also know he has a love affair with his hat. You probably understand this since you're wearing one yourself."
Looking up at his hat's wide brim, Travyn laughed. If the stranger didn't want to fight, as the arms crossed over his chest signified, why the goading? If Travyn was in Nyeg Warl among the Bro'Noon such banter was acceptable among friends; but here in Ar Warl whose darkness had warped the Broyn'Dar's view of things... who knew?
Unexpectedly, Travyn shouted, "Then you must be the son of a scour worm."
"And you're the son of a scum beetle," the stranger quickly replied.
"No doubt, your father's teeth are worn down and yellow."
Travyn's companions were flumaxed by the crude insults he was slinging across the gorge. How was such a tactic going to get him a meeting with Arga'Dyne?
"Your father's teeth are as small as pieces of corn," the hunchman laughed derisively as he spoke.
"Can you back up your words?'
"Meet me in the gorge and you'll find out. But I suggest you come alone, I wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of those I see hiding behind you."
"Don't go!" Alarmed by the escalating situation, Lamarik angrily hissed out a warning. "It's a trick. The numbers are on our side. Don't give up that advantage."
"Trust me." Travyn's smile was unexpectedly disarming. "I won't let that son of a scour worm best me."
"Why are you talking like a
crazy person?" Lamarik frowned at the man she feared was losing his mind. Was there a spell at work here, compelling Travyn to act so strange? After all, the Hall of Voyd wasn't far away.
With the disarming smile still on his face, disconcerting as it was to Lamarik, Travyn repeated the admonition to trust him before he leapt off the shelf of stone he was standing on, scrambled down the side of the rocky ridge the shelf jutted out of, and disappeared inside the copse of stunted trees filling the gorge.
To Lamarik's dismay, the stranger copied Travyn's movements. Not long afterward, she heard laughing, shouting, snarling, and loud slapping noises coming from behind the trees' dense covering. Have they both lost their minds, she thought. It sounds like they're playing a child's game rather than fighting. Humiliated by Travyn's strange behavior, Lamarik would rather have heard the cries of battle than this... this... whatever it was.
Thinking things couldn't get worse, Lamarik's ears grew rigid as silence suddenly filled the gorge. This was worse than the laughing. What was happening? Had Travyn's throat been slit while a Spell of Insanity kept him from defending himself? Was the Broyn'Dar now staring at them through sinister eyes, waiting for the spell to sweep over them all so that he and his gang could finish their bloody work?
Before Lamarik could react to the silence, Dog let out a huffing yelp as voices arose out of the stunted trees. A moment later, Travyn and the hunchman came walking out of the copse of stunted trees with their weapons still sheathed. Peculiar as it was, the stranger playfully shoved Travyn who in turn punched the hunchman's well-muscled shoulder.
"A killing blow if I've ever seen one." Lamarik’s loud remark came with a dose of sarcasm that was hurled at Travyn like a bucket of water thrown on a sleeping drunkard.
"It is odd behavior, isn't it?" Bacchanor admitted as he rubbed his curly, brown beard.
A'Kadar moaned. Dog huffed again. Bala was battling a fit of nervous laughter that threatened to overwhelm her. Lamarik sighed in resignation before she stepped onto the stone shelf to get a better look at Travyn.
