Crooked Finger and the Warl of the Dead

by Rex Hazelton

  When another similarily armed Broyn'Dar stepped out of the shadows filling the large crevice that was being used for a hiding place, the beast-men leapt from one rock to another. The two used their disproportionately long arms as much as their shorter legs to do so. Before long, the hunchmen were standing in front of Jan'Gyn.

  Snarling before he spoke, the second Broyn'Dar asked a question that was the usual precursor to the duels the hunchmen loved fighting. "Have you kept your teeth white?"

  "I have kept my teeth white as you can see," Jan'Gyn replied without a trace of fear or animosity. To show such would have sent the two Broyn'Dar into hostilities. As it was, his reply told the hunchmen that he was more than willing to fight, while his crossed arms informed the two that he had come for another reason.

  "Fight us coward," the first hunchman goaded Jan'Gyn even though he was a head taller than either of the Broyn’Dar.

  "Fighting is easy," Jan'Gyn replied. "Especially if one has a belly full of chata. Keeping my arms crossed when your weapons are drawn shows that I'm no coward."

  "And does chata keep you from reaching for your blade."

  "Chata is not my master," Jan'Gyn said in measured tones. "It tells me nothing, nor would I listen if it did."

  "You lie." The second Broyn'Dar's lips began to quiver as foam appeared in the corners of his mouth.

  "I tell the truth. I have no need of chata's help." Jan'Gyn and the other Bro'Noon assigned to Ilya'Gar's company were specifically selected for their intelligence and the kind of diplomatic skills they possessed, those that had given them honor among the Bro’Noon. Recognizing the importance of his mission, Jan'Gyn was willing to sacrifice his life for its success, though his diplomatic instincts told him that forfeiting his life while refusing to fight would convey a message that would be waisted on the drug-frenzied beast-men.

  "Wait," the first Broyn'Dar said as he studied the hunchman before him. Though the pupils of his large eyes were dilated by the drug he had readily ingested, he had enough sense to look his adversary over before he went into action.

  He noted that Jan'Gyn's fur was a finer texture than the fur he and his companion had, that his mane had a sleeker quality to it. More tan and brown-hued than the Broyn'Dar's usual gray with black color, the Broyn’Dar found Jan'Gyn’s appearance interesting in a way he was struggling to understand. The stranger’s claims that he didn't need chata tugged a memory out of his agitated brain, a memory where his kin discussed rumors that their Nyeg Warl cousins had given up the drug.

  "Who are you?" Not inquisitive by inclination, the Broyn'Dar's question was filled with so much reticence that his growling voice hardly rose above a whisper.

  "Put your sword away and I will tell you, that is, unless you're more of a coward than you think I am."

  Lips quivering as they rose, the Broyn'Dar clenched his teeth as he fought to keep control of himself. "I wouldn't say that if I were you," he warned Jan'Gyn.

  "If I thought you were a coward, I wouldn't have said what I did. Goading a craven hunchman would only make them want to prove they weren't what they were and would most certainly lead to a fight." Jan'Gyn kept his eyes levelled on the Broyn'Dar he was speaking to while fixing his other senses on his companion who looked eager to add more teeth to the necklaces he wore.

  Jan'Gyn’s words had masterfully cornered the Broyn'Dar. If he fought, it would prove he was a coward. The only avenue left open for him to display his courage was to sheathe his sword and cross his arms over his chest like the stranger was doing.

  "Burn it to ashes," The beast-man swore as he slid his jagged-edged sword back into the sheath strapped to his back and stuck the pike-like dagger back into his belt. After shoving his companion’s shoulder in response to something he said in his ear, the Broyn'Dar crossed his arms over his chest before saying, "My friend doesn't want you to think you'll escape from us with all your teeth."

  "Understood." Jan'Gyn snorted out of his nose as he looked at the second hunchman and lifted his upper lip to show one of his long canine teeth. Letting his lip fall after his display, he turned to the first Broyn'Dar and said, "My name is Jan'Gyn. I'm from the Bro'Noon Clan who live in Nyeg Warl. Loda'Gar, our leader, has sent me with a message for Arga'Dyne."

  Surprised that the stranger was from Nyeg Warl, even more surprised that he would know the name of the Broyn'Dar chieftain if this were true, the first hunchman replied. "How do you know Arga'Dyne?"

  "The Storm Master told us about him."

  Hearing that, both Broyn'Dar's lips quit quivering. This told Jan'Gyn that the name Arga'Dyne had given Travyn at the time of their meeting had struck a chord with the two. No doubt, the battle tha led the chieftain to call Travyn Storm Master had been included in the Broyn'Dar folklore.

  Blinking his large eyes as he tried to shake off the effects of the drug that enhanced physical stamina and emotional intensity, but compromised intellectual acuity in a negative way, the first beast-man responded to Jan'Gyn's introduction. "I'm Duga'Dyne of the Broyn'Dar Thrall Clan, brother of Arga'Dyne. Your timing is bad. My brother won’t talk with you until he has dealt with a matter of grave importance. After that… who knows?

  “You were unwise to come here, Cousin. Ar Warl is not safe for you. Nor can the Broyn'Dar make it less dangerous with Lord Ab'Don's increasing distaste for us."

  "The stranger works for the Sorcerer!" Duga'Dyne's companion exclaimed. "Look at him... he has no ticks, no fidgeting, his pupils are not dilated and his hair lies down against his body. There must be magic at work here. How else do you explain his strange calm? If the spell Ab'Don has cast over him was any stronger, he'd fall asleep."

  The second hunchman had latched hold of the stranger's appearance that, indeed, lacked the tell-tale signs of chata abuse. A beast-man who didn't display the effects of the drug that gave the hunchmen their frenzied demeanor was one who could not be trusted. If chata was not controlling their actions, then something else had to be; and that something else needed to be eradicated unless it infect the larger Broyn'Dar community with an illness they had no cure for.

  "Be quiet Fage'Dom." Duga'Dyne snorted after giving his command. "Why would the Sorcerer send such a one when he has had no trouble finding our villages and pillaging our homes? This Jan'Gyn could be cloaked in deception, but it would be wise for us to know that for certain before we kill him."

  Fage'Dom's breathing had become noticeably louder as he gorged his muscles with the fuel air provided. The bend in his legs deepened even as his back bowed. To be different in a warl where such a thing presaged danger was not good, and Jan'Gyn was different.

  The ability to detect changes, no matter how slight, in established patterns and settings was key to surviving in a place as deadly as Ar Warl was. An alteration in the sound filling a forest, a bit of movement where none had been before, the absence of birds and creatures that were normally seen, a passing breeze on an otherwise calm day. Each could be a sign of approaching peril, a warning that things were seriously amiss.

  Jan'Gyn was all these things at once. His presence was like a flock of birds had taken to the air from their perches in a nearby tree and the sound of dry twigs breaking in a forest too dense to adequately survey. Unlike Duga'Dyne, Fage'Dom wasn't about to ignore the sign that stood right in front of him. To him, it was simple- danger had arrived.

  Ignoring Duga'Dyne's orders, Fage'Dom let out a growl loud enough for those nearby to hear. After he shouted, "Ock Roe," other Broyn'Dar stepped out of the shadows filling the rock outcroppings irregularities. Twenty in all, though Jan'Gyn guessed there were more hunchmen about.

  Having seen enough, Onorok stepped out of the forest to stand by the hunchman he was traveling with. Other Neflin followed. If the Broyn'Dar wanted to get rid of Jan'Gyn, he wanted the beast-men to know the steep price they would have to pay to carry out the deed.

  Surprised by the Neflin's appearance, for Ar Warl's elves were as good at going undetected as Nyeg Warl’s elves were, Fage'Dom shouted, "Ock Roe Tum!
"

  Twenty more Broyn'Dar exposed their positions.

  With tensions mounting, as more of the dusky-skinned Neflin stepped out of hiding to join Onorok and Jan'Gyn, the Bro’Noon maintained his non-aggressive posture while keeping his calm eyes fixed on Duga'Dyne whom, he guessed by the way he had shoved Fage'Dom, held greater status among the Broyn'Dar.

  "Do you have any more tricks up your sleeve, Cousin?" Though Duga'Dyne was not pleased by the turn of events, he had not uncrossed his arms yet. This fueled the hope Jan'Gyn felt earlier when the hunchman addressed him as Cousin, even though the title was dispensed with a large dose of sarcasm added. "Maybe you'll conjure up the Storm Master for me next."

  "And what if I do?"

  "Then I'll have to wait a little longer before I take your teeth." Duga'Dyne wanted Jan'Gyn to know that his feelings weren't all that different from those Fage'Dom was expressing with the show of force his commands had given rise to.

  Figuring it was time to lay all of his cards on the table once he saw the snarling Broyn’Dar host unsheathing their weapons, Jan'Gyn said, "More Bro’Noon and Neflin are coming and Fane J'Shrym too. And if you wish it, I'll conjure up the Storm Master for you."

  "Elves, outlaws who dare to call themselves by a name that's not longer their’s to use, and hunchman who have sworn off chata, why not?" Duga'Dyne's laughter was coarse and breathy. Then he uncrossed his arms and reached for his sword.

  Before Duga'Dyne had time to complete unsheathing his sword and pull his spike-like dagger from his belt, another hunchmen stepped out of the forest and into the clearing where he crossed his arms over his chest and said, "I am Ilya'Gar, Son of Loda'Gar the Bro'Noon chieftain. Stay your hand for I'm invoking Kar'Sune'Jong."

  Kar'Sune'Jong was the Bro'Noon's ritual term calling for a parley between clans who have a dispute to settle. It was the hunchmen's version of the human's white flag; but its ramifications were more profound and binding if accepted. That is, if the Broyn'Dar way of thinking was not to far afield of their Bro'Noon cousins. With the hundreds of winters that had passed since the magic unleashed at the Battle of the Breach separated the hunchman clans from one another by tearing the Warl apart, traditions may have diverged from the paths they once took.

  "Kar'Sune'Jong is a female's tool used to bring peace between fueding families. It's not something a warrior would invoke. If we accept, will you let us drink milk from your teets?" Duga'Dyne's sharp words did not match his actions, for while he kept his hand on his sword's hilt, the blade slid back into its sheath.

  "The Bro'Noon warriors haven’t let their females wrestle the authority to invoke Kar'Sune'Jong out of their hands. What else have your females taken from you? Do you now sweep your lodgings' floors?"

  Ilya'Gar risked offending Duga'Dyne by turning the tables on him. But a parley was needed. For that to happen, Kar'Sune'Jung needed to regain its status among the Broyn'Dar.

  Finally withdrawing his jagged-edged blade from the sheath that was strapped to his back, Duga'Dyne replied, "If our females were here, they'd soon be picking your guts off the ground you're standing on to feed the village dogs."

  "No doubt the flavor of my guts would please your dogs. But they’ll have to live with disappointment since I still need them. Yet, if you must, I challenge you and your friend to a duel to decide the matter. If I win, the Broyn'Dar will honor Kar'Sune'Jong. If you win, your dogs will be fed, and you can decide what to do with the rest of us."

  "I can make that decision now if I want."

  "If you're afraid to fight a duel, just say so. Maybe another will volunteer to take your place and you won't have to fight at all. You can just stand back and watch. Is that to your liking?"

  Hunchmen were easier to bate than humans, especially if they had consumed chata. Ilya'Gar figured a duel of some kind was a necessary next step if the call for a parley was rejected off hand. A little blood spilled in an orderly way, as a duel would permit, could take some of the wind out of the sails, so to speak, and make Kar’Sune’Jong a more acceptable option once the Bro’Noon’s courage was displayed. The trick for Ilya’Gar was to make certain that not too much of the blood spilled in the fight was his.

  If he failed to provoke Duga’Dyne and Fage’Dom into accepting his challenge, a thing that Ilya’Gar’s calling two hunchmen out at one time made it hard for the Broyn’Dar to do, or he lost the fight, Travyn's Storm Master moniker would have to pick up the slack.

  "What I’d like to do is ram my blade into your throat." Duga’Dyne growled to accentuate his words.

  "Then let's begin." Ilya'Gar spoke in a matter of fact way.

  Watching the larger Bro'Noon loosen his shoulder muscles, Duga'Dyne and Fage'Dom were struck by the fact he hadn't shown any teeth yet. Was he that confident? Was he mocking them with his nonchalance? But before they had time to fully consider this, Ilya'Gar growled, pulled the twin blades he carried in sheaths that were strapped to his back, crouched low, and displayed his formidable fangs for his adversaries to see. A moment later, the two Broyn'Dar matched his impressive show.

  With long arms, and torsos to match, the three hunchmen centered themselves on shorter legs that were as well-muscled as their arms were. Both Broyn'Dar were barefoot, where Ilya'Gar wore soft-leather boots with long pants tucked into them. Unlike his opponents who sported open vests, Ilya’Gar wore a waisted jacket made of the same kind of leather his pants and boots were. Claws, protruding from thi Broyn’Dar’s exposed toes were added to the Ar Warlers’ arsenal of weapons. These needed to be watched.

  Though chata's effects would increase the Broyn'Dar's strength and speed, Ilya'Gar figured his advantage in weight would offest this. Wits that were unfettered by the drug his opponents were addicted to, was another advantage he had. Besides, Ilya'Gar had absorbed some of the Hammer Bearer's magic when he and Travyn had become Blood Brothers. The red flow that washed over him as it poured out of the deep wounds Travyn accepted as part of the Bonding Ritual had changed him. It toughened his skin in the same way that the flesh of those numbered in the Company of the Hammer Bearer had been strengthened when Vlad'War's Magic enveloped them during the Battle of the Cave of Forgetfulness. This, among other things, was the reason for Ilya'Gar's hubris in challenging two opponents.

  Faking an attack, Ilya'Gar rightly guessed that Fage'Dom would be the first to react to his feint. His opponent’s hyper demeanor made this easy to deduce. Wanting to gain the reputation of being the first Broyn'Dar to kill a Bro'Noon since the days of the Battle of the Breach and frustrated that Duga'Dyne had waited so long before deciding to fight, Fage'Dom rushed forward with a rage-filled snarl escaping his clenched fangs and the quivering lips that parted to expose them.

  Dodging the Broyn'Dar's jagged-edged sword while blocking the spike-like dagger with his twin blades, Ilya'Gar bull-rushed Fage'Dom and drove him past the scree he stood on and into the base of the rock-outcropping. A loud cracking sound was heard when the hunchman’s head struck stone. Unconscious on impact, Fage’Dom slid down the rock he had run into and was left in a crumpled heap.

  Seeing their brother fall, the throng of Broyn'Dar renewed their snarling as they began working their way down the outcropping's steep side, slowly, to give Duga'Dyne the time needed to finish off the troublesome stranger. Once he did, they'd take care of the Neflin by chasing them off or making those who refused to go pay the ultimate price for their stupidity. Until today, Ar Warl's elves had not been foolish enough to trespass into Broyn'Dar territory in mass. The hunchmen were determined to make a statement that would keep this from ever happening again, one written in blood. And as for the Bro’Noon, they’d soon learn who their betters were.

  Acting on intuition, Ilya'Gar rolled to his left to put Fage'Dom's crumpled body between him and Duga'Dyne. Bright sparks flew where a jagged-edged sword struck stone less than a hand's width from where Ily'Gar's head had been a heart beat before.

  Swinging one of his blades upward, Ilya'Gar pinned Duga'Dyne's sword against the stone it had
struck while he turned the oncoming spike-like dagger aside using the blade’s twin to do the job. With the dagger's momentum averted, Ilya'Gar back-handed his opponent in the face with the flat of the sword he used to block the shorter weapon. His goal was to win the fight without taking a life. Still, he couldn't help but smile over the blood he saw streaming out of Duga'Dyne's paint-covered, snout-like nose.

  But before he could indulge in too much merriment, Ilya'Gar was forced to use his twin blades in a scissor move that caught the jagged-edged blade racing towards his neck from the place where it had been pinned against the rock a moment before. This left his abdomen exposed to the pike-like dagger's sharpened tip.

  Strong enough to punch through armor if enough force was exerted, the rod-shaped knife struck Ilya'Gar's belt buckle head on before it slid across the thick piece of iron and dug into the wide, leather belt it was fastened to. Piercing both the leather belt and the pants the belt held in place, the dagger spent the last of its momentum when it was stopped by the magically-enhanced skin that lay beneath.

  Embarrassed over letting Duga'Dyne deliver such a blow, Ilya'Gar brought an elbow down on the knife arm before it had time to retract and launched another attack. While controlling Duga'Dyne's jagged-edged blade with one of his sword's hilt, Ilya'Gar struck at Duga'Dyne's bleeding nose with his other sword's pommel. The cracking noise that came from the hunchman's muzzle-like mouth made Duga'Dyne's eyes squeeze tight in an involuntary reaction to the wave of pain that shot through his head.

  "Burn it to ashes!" Duga'Dyne shouted in a gravelly voice as he stumbled backwards. But before he could gather himself to go on the offensive, a howling roar was heard coming from the top of the rocky-outcropping.

  A shout followed, one that was loud enough for all to hear. "Stop now, both of you, or you'll answer to me."

  Looking up, Ilya'Gar saw a line of hunchmen cresting the elongated, rocky outcropping. Their numbers doubled the Broyn'Dar who were present. One of these stood in front of the others with his hand raised into the air.