Crooked Finger and the Warl of the Dead

by Rex Hazelton

  Travyn nodded his head in agreement, though his heart sank at the thought that Shala'Dyne and the other captives were probably too weak to outpace the rabid hordes nipping at their heels. So, he decided he would take charge of the rear guard he expected Bacchanor to join.

  A feeling of satisfaction swept over him as he considered the prospect of dying to free those the Sorcerer had taken prisoners. To do so wouldn't betray Kaylan's trust in him. It would simply be a manifestation of his determination to break the hold Ab’Don had on his brother, though the object of his sacrifice was not Kaylan himself.

  Not needing horses, the hunchman could run nearly as fast a mounted warrior, faster across rough terrain, and the Thrall Mountains' heights were just that. With long forearms reaching down to the ground they were covering and short, powerful legs hurling them forward in great leaps, the hunchman could gain amazing speed with their long, loping stride.

  The hunchmen could attain amazing speeds with the long torsos they had. With spines gathering energy as they bent, like a bow does when it gets ready to launch an arrow into flight, their strong backs flung them forward when the pent-up force was released. The spent energy was quickly regained when the hunchman's muscular backs were forced to bend once more. This motion was sped up when sprinting was needed. Following a slower beat, this action was sustainable for long periods of time.

  Typically, the hunchmen carried their swords, spears and bows strapped to their backs, so that their long arms and shorter legs could be extended to the fullest without being impeded by dangling weaponry as they sped across the ground on all fours.

  "There's something else that needs to be said," Bala admitted with a look of resolve reflected in her large, dark green eyes. "I saw how the Hag are making the hunchman-human cretchym."

  Since she was a cretchym, Bala found the discovery to be terribly disconcerting. Speaking to Bacchanor, her closest friend since Pearl had died, she explained, "They use the vats we came across to work their magic in. What we saw on top of them were not bubbles like the ones that rise to the top of a cauldron of bowling water. The round shapes were hunchman-humans in the making.

  "These begin as hundreds of slimy, seed-like protrusions that pop up in the middle of the Hag's soup, forcing their way to the surface of a concoction whose smell made my stomach turn. After securing a place in the scum that rose to the top of the brew along with them, the seed-like protrusions are pushed toward the vat's brim when the next of their kind arrives.

  "As they slowly move along, the seed-like shapes enlarge into bubbles that continue to grow over time. Eventually backbones can be seen pressing against the bubbles’ slime-covered surfaces. Hair is the next thing to appear. Heads, bowed like they're paying homage to their maker, soon follow.

  "By the time the hunchman-humans reach the containers' edges, they are fully formed but still need to be awakened. Those that we thought were cleaning up the refuse that oozed over the vats' lips are, in fact, acting like mid-wives who extract the newborns from the soup they were grown in. Licking the slime off as they go, the mid-wives carry the newly-formed mutants to nearby huts where, I would guess, they awaken them.

  "How this potage is made, I have no clue. But I know Hag fire does the cooking, for I saw a wizard stoking the flames sitting beneath the huge vats with a rope of flame streaming from the black candle they held."

  Silence fell on the gathering as the company gave Bala time to reflect on all she had said. After all, she was a cretchym too. Having been birthed from the womb her mother carried in her- an unusual thing indeed because the Sorcerer created cretchym without the ability to reproduce- she was not fully prepared to handle the bizarre discovery she made.

  Ab’Don neutered his unruly offspring to control their numbers. Having put down more than one cretchym rebellion over the passage of time, sterilization was a safeguard against things getting out of hand. But as those who who search for wisdom learn, life is not easily controlled, it has a way of choosing unexpected paths.

  Bala was a product of life bursting beyond the boundaries that intelligent beings try to impose on it. Inexplicably, her mother's womb became fertile, even though the Sorcerer did everything in his power to keep such a thing from happening. Likewise, a fully functioning male appeared. Finding each other, Bala's parents joined a community of cretchym whose physical properties forced them to hide from Ab'Don's agents who considered them to be aberrations that needed to be erased.

  "I'm so sorry Arga'Dyne." Bala’s normally firm appearing wings dropped along with her spirits, their near transparent aspect took on a gray cast. "I hope they're not cooking hunchmen in that foul broth."

  "If they are," Arga'Dyne's voice carried a consoling tone, though Bala's words filled him with dread, "it's not your fault Little One. You're not the creator."

  "Arga'Dyne, have you seen any of the hunchmen after they were taken hostage," Bacchanor inquired.

  "Yes," he replied as he tried to follow the wizard's train of thought. "In fact, many were brought back to us, though each was in the throes of an illness from which they didn't recover."

  "It's as I thought." Bacchanor ran his thick fingers through the curly, brown hair covering his head as he spoke. "The Hag are draining the life force out of the Bro'Noon by a means not yet discerned. Then, before the last drop is extracted from them, they're returned to their homes so that after they die the Hag can deny they outright killed them. With the short amount of time Shala'Dyne has spent in captivity, I can safely say she still possesses most of her life force."

  Bala looked relieved by Bacchanor's evaluation, but her emotions weren't out of the woods yet. The question she was about to ask made this abundantly clear.

  "Is that how Ab'Don made my parents," her lilting voice trembled as she spoke, "using vats like that? Were they once bubbles stuck in the scum covering a concoction made with the life force taken from the winged-creatures living in Ar Warl and whatever part of the Sorcerer was thrown into the pot? If so... does that make me a monster? I'm Ab'Don's granddaughter. What else am I?"

  "From what you told me, you knew your mother well." Bacchanor's demeanor was calm as he looked at his little friend.

  Bala didn’t answer as her large, unblinking eyes fastened on the man that was trying to give her the answers she needed to hear.

  "When you speak of her, your eyes dance with delight until you remember how she was murdered by Ab'Don's agents. The memories you shared with us paint a picture of a cretchym who was capable of giving and accepting love. Isn't that so?"

  Bala's dark green, almond-shaped eyes blinked once before she nodded her head.

  "She loved you and the man who took both of you in. Isn't that true too?"

  Bala nodded her head again as her eyes took on a faraway look.

  "Did she ever harm you or do anything that wasn't in your best interest?"

  "No," Bala's voice could barely be heard.

  "And what did she tell you about your father? Didn't she say he was a good husband and provider?"

  "Yes. She also said that I reminded her of him."

  "Those who pursue wisdom say a tree is known by its fruit. I'd say your parents were far from being monsters."

  "But Ab'Don is their father."

  "And he is Dandarylll's father too. Would you say he is evil?"

  "No, he's my friend." A wistful smile crossed Bala's face as she said, "We have fun talking about how we're related. He's really my uncle you know, though he's a full human and I'm a cretchym.

  "I know." Bacchanor smiled along with Bala. "He calls you Niece, doesn't he?

  "He's a child of rape you know." Bacchanor brought this up to highlight his point. "But that's not what defines him. His actions do that. And I can tell you he is a good man who I trust with my life. He's Ab'Don's son, not Ab'Don himself. You're the Sorcerer's granddaughter. You're not like him unless you want to be. But if that were the case, you and Pearl would never have become such close friends. I can guarantee that.

  “Plus, I
pride myself in being a good judge of character and I think you’re good people. To be more accurate," Bacchanor's smile returned, accompanied by a mischievous glint in his eyes," good half-people, part insect, all cretchym. You know what I mean."

  Bala's smile was a weary one as she patiently accepted the wizard's attempt to change the mood with a touch of humor. "Enough of that," She said with a firmer voice. "I get your point and accept your words. Let's just say, I'll show my true colors tomorrow; and I don't think the Hag will like that."

  ****

  Even in the half-light that warned the raiders daytime was fast approaching, Travyn could see the Hag who had been sent to replace Scytholar, the Sorcerer’s appointee who pioneered the work of melding Ab'Don's essence in with that of the hunchmen's. More than one of these black-robed wizards was attending the giant vats sitting in a clearing surrounded by whitish, dome-shaped domiciles. Using their considerable powers, the Hag were busy bringing a host of hunchman-humans to maturity in the encampment that was built high up on the Thrall Mountains' steep slopes. Unlike other cretchym, these were wingless mutants whose human features were further distorted by the reckless speed that the dark wizards’ magic compelled them to grow. As war with Nyeg Warl came closer with the passing of each moon, the need to cast caution aside had arrived. Risking damaging their charges, the Hag forced the issue with magic more feral than the beast-men they used to breed the present crop of monsters.

  Prior to this time, Ab'Don was the only human to contribute his essence to the cretchym-making process. This ensured that an umbilical cord of mystical influence remained affixed between the Sorcerer and his manufactured children, making it easier for him to control those who were reflections of both Ar Warl's unruly nature and his ambitious disposition.

  With impending war careening over the horizon like a runaway wagon hitched to a team of terrified horses, the Sorcercer shared enough knowledge of the magic used in engineering the horrible mutants to enable the Hag to use their essence to create children of their own. The caveat to this being, Ab’Don purposely neglected to divulge the secret of how he tied the cretchym to his own will. This quickly multiplied the number of cretchym added to the swelling host of mutants he was amassing to crush the Nyeg Warler's once the fighting began, while keeping the Hag from building an army of their own that would blindly support their ambitions once the war was over. As always, it wouldn’t do for the Sorcerer’s servants to get too high-minded.

  Ab'Don planned on using the throng of hunchman-human creatures magically tied to him to control those that weren't. If any of the other mutants proved too difficult to manage, the Sorcerer would use this mystical influence to compel his own offspring to rise up and slaughter the Hag's children once the war was won.

  Sitting on his horse, with Lamarik astride a mount beside him, Travyn waited for Ben'Syne’s diversion to appear before he set the raid into motion.

  The plan was simple. With Ben’Syne’s diversion drawing both the Hag and the cretchym's attention away from the larger buildings where Shala'Dyne and the others had to be held, the Broyn'Dar and their new allies would sweep down and free the captives before the encampment’s full power could be redirected to stop them.

  The expanse, filled with log huts and strangely-shaped tents, standing between the company of raiders and their objective posed a problem of considerable magnitude. Arga'Dyne and the others would have to cut their way through a sea of warriors to reach his wife, only to turn around and fight the same horde as they made a bid to reach the security of the mountain heights. With surprise on their side, the scales of battle would be tipped in their favor. If Ben'Syne's diversion failed to draw an adequate response from the camp's southern reaches, the advantage the element of surprise brought with it would be stunted.

  The number of warriors Arga’Dyne had gathered for the raid was the plan’s weak link in. Wanting to act before the Hag had time to harm Shala'Dyne, the chieftain set out to free his mate with only a fraction of the Broyn'Dar he commanded on hand- seventy warriors in all. Evacuating the Broyn'Dar villages, strung across both sides of the Thrall Mountains, had side-tracked most of those Arga’Dyne could have summoned; and he wasn't willing to wait for the evacuations to be completed before initiating the time-sensitive raid.

  Looking down from a perch atop a tree-covered hill at the Hag encampment, Arga'Dyne waited with Travyn and the others. Refused entrance to the Hag encampment in days past, the chieftain was in the dark about the specifics they would face. Not knowing whether Shala'Dyne was in the larger buildings or not was the most troubling aspect of the raid. Having to fight a foe that greatly outnumbered the company of raiders he led, was nothing compared to the angst that broiled inside him about his mate's fate.

  Little did he know that the gentle buzzing sound that approached brought good news with it.

  "The Broyn'Dar are there!" Bala's lilting voice could be heard before she landed on Dog's back as was her custom. "When a Hag ordered the doors to be opened so he could enter, I dared to fly past and take a look inside. That's when I saw the prisoners and the cages that held them."

  "Did anyone see you?" Bacchanor was worried that Bala's boldness may have compromised their mission. The appearance of a strange cretchym could do that, especially with a discerning Hag so close at hand.

  "If they did, how would they know that I wasn't one of the Sorcerer's cretchym?" Bala looked miffed that the wizard would second guess her move. "Flying as fast as I was, there wasn't enough daylight to get a good look at me."

  "On my part," Arga'Dyne's growling voice was filled with excitement, "I thank you for the chances you took. Being certain of the location where my mate and the others are being held is worth the risk. Now we can move with confidence."

  Ilya'Gar smiled as he thought, Arga'Dyne's a leader indeed. Intelligent, he’s more articulate than many I know who have had the benefit of a good education. Indeed, there is hope for our Ar Warl cousins.

  "Broyn'Dar, look to the tree tops," the chieftain commanded his host. "When smoke appears, get ready to run."

  Arga'Dyne referred to the diversionary fire that Ben'Syne was going to set on the opposite side of the encampment, one that hopefully would grow into a blaze large enough to draw everyone's attention to its raging splendor.

  ****

  Ben'Syne and two of his Bro'Noon brethren climbed up the tree-covered slope that took them to where the hunchman-humans slept on the north side of the vast encampment. The half-light of early morning had not yet arrived. Aware it would be hard to distinguish them from the cretchym being created there, the hunchmen walked confidently forward, shrouded in the fading night's gloom. When they reached the log huts and the sail-like tents, anchored to the tree trunks that still remained in the nearly denuded forest, the Bro'Noon unsheathed the jagged-edged swords strapped to their backs. Then as quiet as the dying night itself, they entered a hut and slew those within. Nearby huts and tents were targeted next.

  When the half-light finally arrived, hunchman-human cretchym corpses filled more than a dozen crude dwellings found there. Peacefully slumbering under the illusion that they were safely within the Hag's protective reach, scant few had risen to defend themself. The relaxed way the Bro'Noon moved through the camp, like they were cretchym taking a quiet stroll before dawn fully broke upon the warl, belied the lethal enterprise they were engaged in.

  Sheathing the sword he had just cleaned with a fur pelt taken from a bed where a dead cretchym was laying, Ben'Syne removed a black robe from a pouch where white candles he used for magical purposes were being carried. After making certain his head was properly covered by the garment's wide cowl so his Bro’Noon facial features were hidden, he took out one of the candles. Wrapping the cylindrically-shaped paraffin in dark cloth to hide its telltale color, the Bro'Noon spoke a Word of Power, conjuring up a flame that engulfed the talisman's ready wick. A Candle Maker was needed to carry out the next step of the plan.

  Once the flame appeared, Ben'Syne used the Powers of I
magination to shape it into a long, fiery finger that began scratching at the surrounding walls made with felled timbers, scratching that left streaks of hungry fire in its wake. After properly scoring the timbers, he drew the fiery finger back to the candle's wick until a small flame was all that was left. Stepping outside, flanked by two Bro'Noon who protected him, he strode to the next hut looking like a Hag on a mission where he repeated the deed. And what cretchym in their right mind would want to mess with a Hag on a mission?

  Absurd as it seems, the few hunchman-humans that were awakened by the sounds of crackling flame, stood motionlessly dumfounded at the sight of the cruel Hag who went about destroying their dwellings. Not given the freedom to make decisions of any consequence, since the day they were scooped out of the vats they were formed in, was better at keeping the frustrated cretchym at bay than any deterrant the strange Hag presented. The fact the black-robed wizard’s guards lacked any human influence in their physical make-up didn’t change the hunchman-humans’ reticence to take the initiative and attack them, though the way their eyes narrowed as they watched the Hag’s work progress and the horrible snarls they produced might indicate otherwise. It was clear- the cretchyms’ instincts told them to stop the Hag and his guards, while their training didn’t give them permission to do so without their makers issuing an order.

  Next, Ben'Syne purposely set huts on fire with living cretchym inside to flush out those his guards quickly killed. The scattered bodies would serve the purpose of provoking the emotions of those who would eventually come to deal with the conflagration and the enemy who had set it, keeping their focus on the diversion and off the rest of the encampment.

  Not even the ongoing slaughter moved the bewildered onlookers into action beyond the hunchman-humans withdrawing their swords and brandishing them about in protest over the limitations that had been imposed on them.