by Rex Hazelton
"Mysteries indeed," Pearl replied with a knowing smile. "And here's another one: At the time Ar Warl's magic changes for the worse, both Andara and Vlad'War's Magic changes for the better. It's like light and the darkness are playing a game of stones where one move is countered by another. At least, that's the allegory Andara used to explain how my nephews were able to make their swords using his tears and Vlad’War’s anvil to do the work. A change in the paradigm Ar Warl's magic operates by, calls for a response from all interested parties. That's why the swords have come into existence. Profoundly unique, the Oakenfels' weapons have arrived at a time of great need.
"If they hadn't come, the Hammer of Power's magic might have been outmatched by the forces now standing with Ab'Don. The swords are a counter move that gives Nyeg Warl a chance of surviving the coming war."
Though glad that the magic his sword carried could help him free Kaylan and get revenge against those who sought to destroy his family, Travyn was still concerned that he didn't know how to harness his weapon's power. As a result of this uncertainty, Travyn said, "There's a big problem with placing so much hope in the swords my brothers and I made."
"And that is?" Pearl seemed amused at her nephew's consternation.
"We don't know how to use the fire-blasted things."
"But Storm Master," Arga'Dyne looked confused, "I've seen you summon lightning from a storm cloud; and the Neflin say you used the sword to enevlope yourself in fire that you sent out to destroy the abominations who were chasing us."
One of Pearl's vaporous eyebrows lifted as she studied her nephew with renewed interest.
"But I didn't know what I was doing," Travyn said in defense of his belief that he was inept at wielding the razor-sharp talisman's magic.
"I'm sure you didn't... Storm Master." Pearl’s words had teeth in them.
Travyn eyed his aunt suspiciously. "I see that death did nothing to curb your use of sarcasm some say you wield better than that sword of yours."
It was Bacchanor's turn to elbow his wife, who raised her other eyebrow at his attempt to do to her what she had done to him when she tried to cut short his time of savoring Poroth's sense of humor.
"Forgive me Nephew.” Pearl had successfully resisted the urge to elbow her husband back. “I only used sarcasm to underscore the truth that you have been able to use your sword's power in some remarkable ways. I myself saw you call on its power to heal those who were hurt during the earthquake that struck Lan Fon."
Poroth added, "You renewed my strength and took away the need for sleep when your blade touched my shoulder on the eve of our assault on the Hag encampment.”
Acknowledging both Arga’Dyne and Poroth’s contribution to the discussion with a nod of her head, Pearl summed things up. "My point is this- your sword is bound to you as its creator. By all the reports I've heard, it's obvious the magic responsible for establishing this bond understands your intentions. Clearly, the sword serves you now, though it doesn’t respond to your every whim."
Bacchanor added, "Remembrer, you have a teacher you can turn to for advice on how to use such a talisman."
"You mean my father?"
"Yes. Vald'War's Child was entrusted to him when he was younger than you are and he figured out how to use the hammer’s power. I can tell you that the learning process is unpredictable by its nature. So, don't be so hard on yourself.”
"I dare say, everyone will be scrambling to catch up to speed with the changes in the way magic is now working." Pearl looked at the others as she reminded them. "Wraiths roam freely."
"Broyn'Dar have been used to make an army of cretchym monsters," Arga'Dyne lifted his upper lip to show his fangs and the disgust he felt over the mutants.
"Those who have fallen under the Spell of the White Hand have multiplied like flies on a dung heap." Bacchanor's brownish-red eyes looked as hard as polished stones. "And I fear there is more we'll have to deal with."
"You won't be alone." Poroth lifted his chin as he spoke. "If prophecy is true, the Fane J'Shrym will have a say in how things end up."
Looking like proud parents, Pearl and Bacchanor smiled at Poroth. Over all the summers they had been together, the two focused on doing two things: one, remind the Neflin about who they once were and could be again; two, remind the Brie'Shen that they were children of the Fane J'Shrym, and as such, they had an inimitable role to play in Ab'Don's undoing.
"Aye," Bacchanor admitted. "To use Andara’s gambling allegory- the Fane J'Shrym are the stones in the hole. Those who were lightly esteemed will rise up to save those who rejected them. How this will happen precisely, no one knows. But as they say- ignorance is no excuse for cowardice; for a battle unfought cannot be won.”
Bacchanor slapped his well-muscled thigh as he added. "Poroth, I will be by your side on the day the Fane J'Shrym go to war."
Travyn frowned before he posed a question he had been mulling. "Pearl, will you be there too?"
Sighing that the inevitable inquiry had arrived, Pearl's voice sounded like it was coming from the back of a long hallway. "If I can, I’ll be there. After all, I am a Fane J'Shrym too. But as your guestion suggests- I'm not subject to the spell that controls the Lorn Fast Wraiths and those like Kotalik and Janalik who perished in the swamp. But that doesn't mean I'm free to take the journey that all who have shed their corporeal bodies must take.
"Being Mar'Gul, I have an obligation to Andara to remain until he has chosen my successor. In fact, as I told you already, I can't move on until the new Mar'Gul is inducted into her role. After that, who knows? With the way Ar Warl's magic is changing, I might be able to forestall the inevitable long enough to help my brothers and sisters in their time of trouble.
"This brings up another reason why I brought Kotalik and Janalik with me- Andara has already selected my replacement.” Pearl said as she looked at Travyn’s mate and smiled, “He wants Lamarik to pick up the mantle I can no longer carry."
Startled over what she heard, the tips of the Neflin's ears rose higher above her head than Travyn thought possible; and he had seen them rise a time or two.
"WWWWhat mantle is that?" Lamarik's mental faculties had vanished in a morass of unexpected emotion that left her a babbling mess.
"Mar'Gul's mantle, the one I still carry until someone else takes the burden from me."
"Andara wants me to be the next Mar'Gul?' Lamarik laughed in derision of herself. "I'm not a wizard. The closest I've come to touching magic is when Travyn holds me in his arms. Andara's captivity must have addled his brain."
"Choosing to return to the place where he was imprisoned for so long hasn’t improved him, that’s for sur, but his sanity is still intact."
Having stood where Lamarik now did when it was her turn to be offered the role of being the guardian of Andara's Magic, Pearl understood what the Neflin was going through. "Lamarik, because of Andara’s long imprisonment in Cara Lorn he has a bond with the place that allows him to see the things taking place there and the watery warl that surrounds it. Because of this, he was aware of you the whole time you lived in the swamp. Your selection is no passing fancy. The wizard has given the matter careful thought.
"As for touching magic, the Lorn Fast Swamp is filled with it, though the kind that’s found there is bent toward darkness. Not only has it touched you, it has wound its way into your soul. Why do you think Travyn was drawn to you?
"The suffering you've endured- first, because of the deaths your loved ones experienced in the swamp's foul environs, and, secondly, by reason of the lonliness you endured as you searched for their spirits in the place that killed them- qualifies you to become the steward of Andara's Healing Magic."
"I'm not a Healer. I'm a warrior. I know little about tenderness. I don't think I could put up with people's whinning. I can't handle tears. And I want to slap those who pity themselves."
"I must admit," Pearl interjected with a wry smile, "Andara has made some strange choices when selecting the Mar'Gul. I was a highwayman called Black
Pearl by those who knew me; the Mar'Gul before me was a sword for hire named Nartuk, which- as you know- means ice."
Rybara laughed over the apparent pattern that was emerging, one that his warrior proclivities fit into better than he and his father realized.
Speaking to the one he would serve once he turned back into the massive, wire-haired hound a former Mar'Gul had named Dog, Rybara intoned, "Look at Bacchanor. He's a Healer who practices the Magic of Friendship. I swear there isn't a fiercer warrior in either warl."
Lamarik's eyes squinted as she considered the robust Brown Wizard and recalled the stories she heard about his fighting abilities.
Bala nodded her head in agreement with Rybara's assessment as the not-so-clear memory of twin hounds tearing out the throats of the winged-cretchym, who were trying to stuff her in a leather pouch and carry her off to Ab'Don, jostled about in her brain.
"I don't know what to say." Lamarik looked to Travyn for help. "I have an agreement with Travyn that I won't renege on."
"An agreement to help each other find your fathers... correct? With Kotalik here and Jeaf holed up in the Great Ral Mountains, I'd say that jobs done. What are you going to do now?" Pearl asked.
Until that moment, Lamarik hadn't considered the thing that had brought her and Travyn together no longer existed. What did this mean? And what would she do now? More perplexing than that- terrifying would be a better word- what would happen to her relationship with the man she loved? Nothing else mattered. If she were to lose Travyn, she might as well die and become a wraith like her father and sister who she supposed no longer cared for things like romance. Surely, ghosts didn't have mates like Neflin and humans did.
Sensing Lamarik's turmoil reflected in her pleading eyes, Travyn jumped into the conversation. "I'll have you know, our agreement goes well beyond helping each other find our fathers."
While looking at the Broyn'Dar and Bro'Noon in attendance, an idea came to mind. Rising to his feet, Travyn did a very hunchman-like thing. Baring his teeth and snarling like he had lost his mind, he followed up his bestial antics by filling his voice with menacing undertones.
"I claim this woman as my own," Travyn's announcement was more a roar than a shout. "If there’s anyone here who wants to challenge may claim, do it now or forever be known as a coward who wouldn't stand up for what they desired."
Then to Lamarik's utter surprise- as well as the wraiths', the Neflin's, and the Fane J'Shrym's- Travyn unsheathed his sword and long-knife and crouched low like a hunchman would when he was getting ready to fight, snarling as he did.
Seeing what was happening, Shala'Dyne stood and took Lamarik aside to talk to her. The Neflin's nervous laughter could be heard as the two quietly conversed as Travyn continued his strange behavior by walking among the Bro’Noon and Broyn’Dar huffing and snarling as he stared the beast-men down. Whenever he made eye contact with any of them, the hunchman would lower their head and wave his challenge away.
When the clandestine conversation was done, Lamarik turned to the hunchmen and began to berate them. "Cowards," she shouted. "Spineless craven's all! Is there not one who will fight this male who wants me so much? Is there not one as brave as him?"
Standing up, Ilya'Gar crossed his arms over his chest and said, "Though we find you exceedingly desireable, no one here is stupid enough to cross swords with a brother fueled by a passion as great as his. Can't you see, he would surely kill anyone who would try to stand between you two?"
Lamarik did a poor job of looking dejected while Arga'Dyne turned to his wife and asked, "Well Mother, what do you say?"
After thoroughly examining Trayvn, Shala’Dyne replied, "The male is acceptable." Then she took Lamarik by the arm and walked her back.
When Travyn stuck his long-knife back into its sheath and took Lamarik by the arm Shala'Dyne had not yet relinquished, he raised his sword and waited for Arga'Dyne to speak.
"Put away your sword Brother, the female is yours."
And with that said, the Broyn'Dar’s truncated nuptials were concluded and Travyn and Lamarik were formally mated.
After Ilya'Gar nodded his head in satisfaction when Travyn dragged Lamarik out of the grotto as the ceremony's consummating act, he sat back down on his haunches and joined the other beast-men as they let out a chorus of approving grunts. Bacchanor just shook his head and chuckled while Pearl explained things to Kotilik and Janalik.
Since the cretchym hunting party had lost their scent, and Mar'Gul's magic would keep it that way, the Broyn'Dar and their new allies were soon making plans for the war that would soon erupt in Ar Warl.
Chapter 7: The Breach Sea
Fingers of Hag fire, made brighter because they were juxtaposed to the night that surrounded them, probed for weakness in the Tayn’waeh ranks advancing on the port city of Suskynd. Striking out like spears, the fiery appendages plunged through the bodies of any left unprotected. Tsut’waeh was one of these. Luckily the fiery finger's trajectory dealt Ranah's chieftain a glancing blow, burning the flesh covering his shoulder rather than punching through bone. Many of his brethren were not so fortunate. Marching behind a fiery shieldwall made with Candle Maker magic, the ropes of Hag sorcery rooted feverishly about until they found a crack in the defenses and struck those behind.
Not only carrying fiery shields made with their whirling candles' magic, Candle Makers wielded swords made of enchanted flame that cut the Hag's fiery fingers asunder as easily as a butcher vivisects a lamprey in preparation for the market. When needed, the swords were elongated into blazing spears that could reach out nearly as far as the Hag's fiery fingers could.
Dolfon, the Master Candle Warrior, was responsible for discovering how to use two candles at a time, something her fighting instincts stumbled upon. Like her, those she trained were given the name Candle Warriors, though all remained unalterably loyal to the School of the Candle. Unlike traditional Candle Makers, Dolfon's pupils were not reticent to shed their enemy's blood, not if the enemy wanted to force Nyeg Warl to submit to Ab'Don's despotic rule. With fiery shields and swords in hand, the wizards followed the Master Candle Warrior into battle, protecting Nyeg Warl's soldiers as they went.
Still, determined as they were, the Candle Warriors couldn't protect everyone from the fiery fingers' unrelenting search for prey. Fifty Tayn’waeh Healers had fallen that day.
Standing with his son, Tsan'wyl, atop Suskynd's battered walls, Tsut’waeh wrestled with haunting recollections of his dying brethren's pained cries. One after another, pictures of fiery ropes punching through a Healer's body forced their way into the chieftain's tormented mind. Those made mute by the suddenness of the impact that took their lives troubled Tsut’waeh the most. To die so quickly removed the possibility of being healed; it took away any chance for a miracle taking place.
And that's what Tsut’waeh was- a miracle worker. The first days he spent in the Hammer Bearer's presence had made him that. Carrying the Willow King's crown in the ever-present leather pouch he kept with him guaranteed he would keep this role, a crown made with long, sinewy branches that Tsut’waeh had taken from a felled willow tree Jeaf Oakenfel brought back to life on the banks of the Blue River, west of the Alabaster Mountains where the Tayn’waeh villages were found.
Thirty summers had passed since then. Tsut’waeh spent that time developing Healing Arts that centered on the curative properties found in leaves the Tayn’waeh harvested from the Willow King's Tree that stands in Ranah, a tree Tsut’waeh was responsible for cultivating when he planted a sprig, taken from the crown he carried, in-between slats covering the Great Hall of Ranah's floor, a sprig that took root and became a colossal arbor in less time than it takes one to eat breakfast. But even the magical properties of the Willow King's Tree couldn't help those who had passed beyond healing to enter the Death's Great Hall.
All who died were friends. Tsut’waeh had personally mentored most of them in the Healing Arts they planned on using in the fight with Ar Warl's Dark Sorcerer. Ironically enough, the fif
ty Healers the Hag had killed died before they had opportunity to tend to a single person who had been wounded in the war that had just begun. Tragically, one in five Tayn’waeh Healers had been lost in the war's first day. A mind-numbing percentage that filled Tsut’waeh and his son's heart with sorrow they realized would be their constant companion for the duration of the military campaign and well beyond too. That is... if they survived the conflict that wouldn't be satisfied until both sides in the harrowing war were devastated.
Of course, Healers weren't the only ones to die. Plenty of warriors, hailing from Nyeg Warl's northern kingdoms, had perished in the frenzied struggle: Valamorians, Froms, Shomeronians, Plagean, Vinelanders, Hadram, Forest People, Woodswane, Bro'Noon, Cragmar Giants, and Mystlkynd's Elves. Even a multitude of Bjork had lost their lives ferrying Nyeg Warl's warriors across the last stretch of water found in the Breach Sea. In a day or two the Malamor River's current would dominate the waters it caried along as it turned southward towards its new destination, an elongated body of water that would be called Breach Lake in memorial to the once great, watery expanse that kept the Nyeg separated from the Ar.
With Nyeg Warl crashing into Ar Warl's mass like it was an enormous ship running aground, rivers could no longer empty their contents into a non-existent sea. Instead, their waters were rerouted to form new or longer waterways. As already noted, the Malamor River was lengthened until it reached the newly formed Breach Lake that poured its contents into the newly-formed Breach River that flowed all the way to the Largryk Sea in the south.
Before the cataclysm that separated the Warl into the Nyeg and the Ar had taken place, the Cassia River had dominated the landscape that stretched southward to the Largryk Sea. Back then, the Malamor River turned north sending its waters flowing toward the Norstlyk Sea. The Lorn River, that runs east to west across Ar Warl's southern expanse, emptied its contents into the southern sea a short distance from where the Cassia River poured into the same body of water. Only the port town of Belem separated the two.
