by Rex Hazelton
Once in position, he drew out his sword and pointed it at the burgeoning flames that had yet to spred to the rest of the compound. "I summoned lightning out of a storm with you." Travyn spoke to his sword like it was a sentient being. "Let's see what you can do with fire?"
After Lamarik reined in her own mount, she hissed through teeth made whiter than what they really were by her dusky skin. Fool human, she thought as her long ears went rigid. Then she hissed again when she saw the giant snake rounding the building to their left and head straight for Travyn.
“The serpent is upon on you!” Lamarik shouted out a warning ti her mate.
Hearing her, the massive, serpentine-cretchym opened its cavernous mouth and hissed out a reply that dwarfed the Neflin’s voice. Compelled by Hag Magic that wouldn't let it do otherwise, the giant snake wound its way toward the man who had badly wounded it only a short time before.
Mesmerized by a compelling magic the black-robed wizards had conjured up, the Hag had replaced the slithering cretchym's earlier fear with a single-minded commitment to seeing that the man who had harmed it would die. No longer in control of itself, the snake had been turned into a mindless arrow the Hag shot at Travyn's heart, an arrow whose flight path was less straight than a river flowing through hill country.
Ashes, Lamarik thought. She couldn't count the times she had watched Travyn fail to use the sword's magic like he had the night he fought the Shadowman, At'Jak, and the Hag, Scytholar. Not once did the storm clouds heed his blade's bidding- neither did water, nor fire, nor ice, nor the Candle Makers' talismans. And here he was trying to to conjure up magic with the blade he remade on Vlad'War's Anvil while death ran at him on cretchym feet and slithered toward him in the winding way snakes moved.
Fool human. A smile crossed Lamarik’s face as she unsheathed her sword and got ready to defend the man she loved. If they were going to die, she couldn't think of a better way for it to happen than the two of them fighting side by side. Fool indeed, she thought. Then what am I?
Having inherited his mother's Mind Ciphering abilities, Travyn had tapped into Lamarik’s thoughts. But he didn't think he was a fool, though he might bring about their deaths with what he was trying to do. War was war. He reckoned he would die soon enough if he couldn't figure out how to tap into the power his sword carried.
Since the only time the talisman, made on top of Vlad'War's Anvil, worked to the fullest was when he faced seemingly insurmountable danger, Travyn thought the present peril he and Lamarik were in was the perfect setting to try to conjure up his blade's magic once more. And if he failed, as he had so many times before, at least he wouldn’t have to deal with the tormenting conundrum his sword's unlocked potential posed.
Sensing Lamarik’s smile, Travyn smiled too before shouting loud enough for her to hear. "We're quite the pair, aren't we?"
"Aye, our agreement has made us so," Lamarik quickly replied. Then she laughed and added, "Get on with it fool. The suspense is killing me."
Hearing that, Travyn laughed too before he focused all his thoughts into the sword and spoke to the fire with the Mind Ciphering techniques his mother had taught him.
Complying to its master’s wishes, the blade bathed itself in blue light that sent a thread of illumination reaching out to the burning building. When the radiant strand of power pierced through the flames, the raging inferno turned blue too before it was drawn to the sword that now controlled it.
The building belched out blue flame that hurried off to the one who had summoned it. Not a spark was left behind, only blackened wood and the partially consumed skeleton of what was once a sturdy frame.
The moment the flame reached the sword, it engulfed the blade, Travyn, and his horse in mass of fire that grew as the inferno was absorbed.
With every cretchym eye warily focused on him, Travyn, still astride his mount that was unharmed by the blue flame enveloping it, shouted a Word of Power that sent a shaft of searing hot flames racing back to the buildings. Smashing into the slaughterhouse, the fire looked like an immense, blue flower was blooming at the point of impact; and as its petals quickly unfolded, the flames returned to its feast with renewed vigor.
Growing at an alarming rate, the robust inferno sent tendrils of combustion surging across the tops of the wooden cages that stood in the space separating the slaughterhouse from the prison. Soon both buildings were going up in flames, so quickly one might have thought they were two bushels of dead leaves tossed into a furnace. The moment only flames could be seen and none of the timbers used in construction, a massive explosion sent out a wall of heat that blew the wave of cretchym apart, sending the hunchman-humans and the giant snake tumbling before the hot wind driving them along like ashes caught in a storm gale.
Seeing what he had done, with his sword drained of much of the fire it once held, Travyn took advantage of the ensuing lull in the fight and turned his mount around to gallop after the fleeing Broyn’Dar. Lamarik, A'Kadar, Ilya'Gar, and the Fane J'Shrym followed his lead thankful the explosion had not come their way. Instead, Vlad’War’s Magic had sent the wall of heat to the east, west, and north of where the large buildings had once stood.
Because the crests of the two waves escaped being impacted by the explosion since they were already closing in on the company of raiders, a ferocious fight ensued that slowed the Broyn’Dar down to a crawl.
Taking note of the bloody struggle, Travyn caught up with the fleeing company in time to help them with the last of the blue flames that enveloped him, making Travyn look like he was a Child of a Blue Sun riding into battle.
Passing Bacchanor and his students, who shielded the Broyn'Dar as best as they could with their fiery shields, Travyn shouted out, warning the raiders to break off from the fighting. The massive explosion they knew Travyn was responsible for, gave the beleaguered company enough of a reason to comply. The blazing blue sword Travyn carried and the fire that swirled around him frightened the cretchym and made them back away long enough to give Travyn room to work in.
Though the Hag weren't there to protect them, and they faced magic they feared, the crechym nearest the Broyn’Dar regained enough courage to mount another attack that was met with a beam of fire that leapt out of Travyn’s sword. Bodies were burned as he swept the field of battle. Some were cut in half or lost limbs. The little blood that was spilled, for flesh cut by the stream of flame had been cauterized with its passing, evaporated in the hot discharge.
"Run!" Travyn shouted to the Broyn’Dar, who looked on him with amazement, as he threatened the hunchman-humans with the sword he feared had exhausted the flames he controlled with the violent outburst he had sent forth to greet their enemies. And run they did. All of them except Travyn, Lamarik, A'Kadar, Ilya'Gar, Onorok the Neflin, and three Fane J’Shrym who stayed behind to make sure the devastated cretchym let them go.
Though scores had been killed by the deadly blue flame, and many more wounded, hundreds stood by helplessly watching as the raiders disappeared upslope into the greenwood that grew south of the encampment. Thousands more were regrouping near the site of the enormous explosion that slew fewer cretchym than one might have expected.
Bruised and broken by the hot wind that tossed them rudely about, the hunchman-humans were getting ready to chase the Broyn’Dar once again. The Hag, standing in their midst, had restored their confidence. The Malamor officers that quickly took control of their ranks made certain that the cretchym's confidence wasn't wasted.
After giving the main body of raiders time to distance themselves from the gathering storm, Travyn ordered the others to go once Bala swooped down and urged them to leave. All did, except Lamarik and A'Kadar who Travyn didn't bother to waste another command on. When the others disappeared into the greenwood, he followed still uncertain whether there was any fire left in his sword. And if there was... was it enough to take on the Hag that would surely pursue them. Not wanting to worry Lamarik, he kept his concerns to himself.
Chapter 6: An Unexpected Wraith
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Arriving at the place where the Broyn'Dar and Bro'Noon first met, hidden by the towering spine-like ridge of stone on one side and by a dense evergreen forest on the other, the raiders paused long enough to give all those who had made it out of the Hag encampment time to join them.
The gentle buzz that Bala's wings made as she flew was heard a moment before she landed on Dog's back. "They're coming. It's best we’re on our way."
"Fire-blasted abominations!" Arga'Dyne spat out his words in disgust over the cretchym who gave chase. "Their sense of smell is nearly as good as ours, but not quite. So, there's still a chance we could lose them."
Taking Shala'Dyne's hand in his own, the chieftain added, "Stick to the plan and we'll be alright."
The plan Arga' Dyne was talking about had the company of raiders dividing into groups that would take predetermined paths to reach a place where they would rendezvous higher up in the Thrall Mountains. Each would use streams to cover their tracks. Broken up into bands of no more than eight raiders in each, Arga'Dyne hoped to divide their pursuers up so that if one or two of their groups couldn't shake the cretchym sent to follow them from off their trail, the number of hunchman-human's they would ultimately have to deal with, once they regrouped, would be small enough for the raiders to deal with quickly.
Looking to Duga'Dyne, the chieftain gave his brother the job of making certain there was at least two Broyn'Dar in each assemblage. Once this was done, Arga'Dyne barked a command that sent the raiders hurrying off to their appointed pathways.
Transforming into a great-horned owl, Bacchanor set off with Bala to keep an eye on their pursuers while looking for opportunities to lead them astray. Dog joined their endeavor knowing he was too fast for the hunchman-humans to catch. If the improbable happened and he was cornered, Bacchanor would assume a form that would help Dog escape- say, a rock bear once again or a stag with a set of antlers as big as tree branches and as sharp as swords.
****
The long day had been filled with close calls where the cretchym hunters would have caught one of the raider splinter-groups if not for Bacchanor's intervention. Taking on the shape of a Bro'Noon, he drew the hunchman-humans' attention away from the rocky overhang that the Broyn'Dar were hidden beneath. After leading the cretchym on a futile chase, he assumed the form of an owl again and flew off without further incident. This gave the Broyn'Dar time to have their scent expunged by a stream they followed far longer than was necessary to do the job.
****
Night had fallen, wrapping the evergreen forest in its darkness. Sounds of horse hooves were heard, interspersed with noises made by dislodged rocks the animals sent skittering down the steep slope their masters, now on foot, were leading them up. Until they faced the rocky slope they were on, the path the riders followed required little real climbing, except for the ever upward angle the path took as it wound its way through the Thrall Mountains. Arga'Dyne thought speed was the horsemen's best asset, so, he had the Broyn'Dar guides who were fast enough to keep pace with the horses lead them along less challenging, yet much longer, trails. But as they neared the rendezvous point, tucked away in the folds of cliff-covered peaks found in the mountains' upper reaches, the kind of climbing that was required taxed the horses’ sense of balance to the limits.
The majority of Broyn'Dar took more direct paths to the appointed meeting place. At times, this required that they climb up cliffs and through steep, narrow gorges to avoid the well-worn trails the cretchym would be drawn to as they continued to pursue the raiders. As ever, streams, falls, and pools of water were used to cover both the tracks and the scent the hunchman were likely to leave behind as they hurried along.
Travyn looked up at the steep gorge they were heading for, wondering if the horses could make what looked like an extremely dangerous climb. Having wound their way through the mountains, taking few breaks to rest the horses, the animals might not have the reserves of energy needed to reach their hiding place in an expeditious way.
Following the lively stream that bounced along the bottom of the steep gorge, the company of raiders Travyn travelled with carefully led their mounts through boulders of varying sizes. These had tumbled into the gorge's narrow bottom when they were calved from the cliffs above. Arranged as they were, the larger rocks- wedged into the middle of the streambed- were turned into dams with narrow pools of water butting up against them. Once full, the pools overflowed like wine pouring out of crofts whose lips were broken by rough use. The spray created by the waterfalls and dancing streams found on the downward side of the narrow pools, dampened not only the raiders’ clothes but their spirits as well, given how tired they were.
When they saw Arga'Dyne and his mate, Shala’Dyne, standing on a large boulder that hadn't made it all the way down the gorge's steep side, Travyn finally let exhaustion take hold of him. But the thought of needing help to finish the climb pricked his pride enough to keep him going. Looking back at Lamarik, he didn't think she appeared to be struggling as much as he was. Seeing A'Kadar casually padding along the gorge's steep walls above him, Travyn doubted the massive moan cat was fatigued at all. When the great beast jumped from one shelf of stone to another that was separated by an impossibly wide gap, he was certain of this.
Looking back, Arga'Dyne instructed unseen hunchmen to come and take charge of the horses that submitted to the now familiar Bro'Noon's care. At least, that's what Travyn supposed the chieftain was doing once Ilya'Gar's companions appeared.
The sounds the robust stream made did a good job hiding Arg'Dyne's rough voice, a fact that both comforted and worried Travyn. He was comforted by the thought that the cascading stream would cover up any sounds the raiders would make, keeping them from being heard by any cretchym scout that came their way. On the other hand, he worried that the sounds of approaching danger would be lost in the water's din. In the end, he thought the trade off was a fair one, if the guards who were posted kept their eyes open.
With all the water found in the gorge, for numerous springs feed the burgeoning flow cutting through its bottom, the place was filled with grottos the springs had cut out of stone over vast amounts of time. The Bro'Noon, who had enlisted their Broyn'Dar cousins to help them, led the horses to one of the larger of these. Here, plants of a variety and leaves had been gathered to feed the animals.
Not wanting to be outdone by their Nyeg Warl cousins, the Broyn'Dar copied the Bro'Noon who took it upon themselves to groom the horses. Rough sounding chuckling was heard as the surprised hunchmen found the animals were willing to let their claw-tipped hands touch them. The frowns that initially greeted the Bro'Noon's tender handling of the horses turned to smiles once the Broyn'Dar dared to duplicate the paternal behavior. Hunters by nature, they had never felt what it was like to care for animals they didn't plan to eat.
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"This is Shala'Dyne, my mate," Arga'Dyne took time to formally introduce his mate to Travyn and the others who attended the meeting he had set up.
Ilya'Gar grunted something that sounded like HMMMM before he added, "She's a fine choice for a mate."
"If you weren't already with Arga'Dyne," Travyn continued the etiquette for meeting a hunchman's female mate, "I'd have taken you for myself."
If it was Shala'Dyne who was introducing Arga'Dyne to another female, the female would say something about his offensive smell to signal that they would respect her claim on him. Introducig unmated hunchman to those that were, illicited only a perfunctory snorting growl and the slight raising of the head to signify their superior status in the beast-man community. This applied to singles of both genders.
Both Shala'Dyne and Arga'Dyne laughed when they heard the human join in. They laughed more when Lamarik said, "Don't listen to him. He's already spoken for." Neither took offense at her forwardness, realizing the Neflin lacked Travyn's experience living with the Bro'Noon.
"You have nothing to worry about," Ilya'Gar consoled the puzzled Neflin.
Not wanting to miss an opportunity to ad
d to Lamarik's discomfort, Shala'Dyne added, "Or does she?"
This made Ilya'Gar join in on the hoarse laughter that filled the grotto. Caught up in the fun he didn’t really understand, Poroth laughed too, though he did so in a measured way, not wanting to make a mistake and inadvertently offend the less civilized beast-men.
"Now mother," Arga'Dyne’s words were interrupted with a snarling, snickering that sounded like furnature being dragged over a wooden floor, "we have enough hunchman-humans in the warl already, wouldn't you say?"
Lamarik joined the third wave of laughter that filled the room as she watched Travyn lowered his head to hide his face behind his hat's wide brim to avoid looking at Shala'Dyne who smiled a toothy-smile as she unabashedly ogled him.
Bala interrupted the banter when she flew through the grotto's gaping mouth. "The cretchym are closing in on the gorge,” she said even before she had landed. “Not all of them, but too many for comfort. I'm going back to help Bacchanor and Dog try to lead them away. Wake up the others and get them ready for a fight in case we fail."
"Are there Hag with them?" Travyn asked, grateful the unnerving moment had passed. Though he was capable of bit of humor himself, Travyn handled being serious much better.
"None that I could see. I doubt the fire-blasted wizards could keep up with the cretchym at the pace they’ve maintained to scour the mountains thoroughly enough to find our hiding place."
"Do you think they’ve found us?"
"I don't know. They don't act like they have. But as close as they are, their ignorance won’t last long. Sooner or later, they’ll pick up our scent.
“Besides, with the Sorcerer being their father, some of them could have inherited an ability to sense more things than can be smelled or seen. That might be why Bacchanor and Dog’s distractions haven’t worked so far. If that's true, we'll have to make certain they can't ignore us any longer."
"You’re going to start a fight?"
