by Rex Hazelton
A widower himself, he had developed feelings for Elamor that he knew she would never return. Being chosen to be the new Candle Master after Illumanor had passed away, she had married herself to the School of the Candle that sat atop the Eyre of the Eagle in Eagle's Vale, though no vow of celibacy was required at the time of her ascension. As white-headed as he, the lovely woman was no less vital than Wombur himself. Tall with a rounded face and square jaw, Elamor looked every bit the warrior he was, though she was a pacifist at heart and a renowned Healer by trade.
After acknowledging the Candle Master, Wombur's gaze took in each of the kings and commanders before he focused on the Bro’Noon. Nodding to the beast-men and then to the elves and Candle Warriors who sat next to them, Wombur noted that Rowniel sat beside Dolfon, the leader of the venerated battle wizards. His reputation as a Healer rivaled Elamor Oakenfel's own.
More than seventy summers old, the Bull King's once exceptional vitality had minimally decreased. Still, he was what his title implied- a bull of a man whose mind was as sharp as ever. And like a bull, Wombur approached matters in a forceful and direct way.
"First, I would like to congratulate everyone on a job well done." The Bull King's voice rumbled through the room though he continued stroking his thick beard as he looked to see how the others were reacting to his compliment.
Gratified that the audience did not take the bait he had thrown out, he added, "A job that was too easily done wouldn't you say?"
More than a few Ayes were heard echoing through the hall.
"We had a rougher time dealing with Koyer in our own backyard than we've had with these Ar Warler's in their front yard. From what I've been told, our forces have taken Belem just as easily, and Cassiakynd's watchful eye keeps Port Crown from moving against our flank. But don't misunderstand me, the victories are welcomed and the losses we suffered to gain those victories cannot be minimized."
Wombur looked to the Tayn’waeh who were seated there and said, "Our gratitude goes out to the Guardian of the Willow King's Crown and to his people for adding their Healing Magic to the Candle Maker's own. I don't know where we would be without all of you.
"Tsut’waeh," Wombur's voice softened as he addressed the celebrated Tayn’waeh chieftan. "I hear the Hag inflicted terrible loses on the Healers."
"Terrible indeed." Tsut’waeh didn't stand as he replied. "But as you've said, it could have been worse if the Hag hadn't unexpectedly fled the field of battle. They hit us hard, but weren't committed to stopping us."
"Not here in this city." Wombur took back the reins of conversation after bowing to the man who, along with his father, Zhan, kept Wyneskynd from falling into the Lord of Regret's hands back in the Battle of Decision. "They bloodied us good," Wombur stated the obvious, "but they clearly didn’t try to defeat us. Not here. The time and place for that is still to come."
"What is your take on this?" KIng Bardensen asked from where he sat. Like Wombur he wore chainmail over his tunic, one that was Shomeronian red in color. Built like his father, the king was a robust man who had a full head of wavy brown hair. Now as old as Barden was when he died in the Battle of Decision that was fought some thirty winters before, Shomeron's sovereign was determined to keep his kingdom from falling into enemy hands again.
"I think the Sorcerer wants all of us to march into Ar Warl's heartland, and I think he wants us to be quick about it." Wombur placed his fists on his hips as he spoke. "He doesn't desire the kind of protracted war that would have taken place if we were forced to lay siege to the two cities we've already taken. No. Ab'Don's fed us two plums hoping to whet our appetites for more. And once our mistaken optimism has herded us into the metaphorical box canyon he is luring us towards, he plans on destroying us with one fell stroke of the sword."
"Are you saying we shouldn't be emboldened by our victories?" King Claude of Plagea stood as he spoke. "You think a trap is being set? Well, I don't. I tell you, Ab'Don hasn't pitted his full strength against us yet because he fears us. He's afraid we'll do the same thing to him that we did to Koyer. I swear, he's holed up somewhere hoping to weather the storm we're about to send his way."
A smattering of Ayes were heard, all coming from Claude's own people who were dressed in black and silver garments the Plagean's wore to identify themselves.
Not wanting to look like he was withering beneath Wombur's stare, taking note of the rest of the assembly's silence, Claude turned to his own people and forced a smile as he said, "Victory is ours." Then he sat back down and crossed his arms over a chest devoid of chainmail.
Hunching down in his seat, Claude reached back and pulled the heavy braid of dark brown hair that ran down his back, over his shoulder as his expression soured. Attuned to their lord's moods, the company of Plageans knew that the king fidgeted with his hair whenever he was displeased and that the room's tepid response to his words was the cause of Claude's discontent. It gnawed at him that the sovereigns had never fully accepted him as being Plagea's rightful heir since Romome and Manaleyous assassinations brought him to the throne.
Grinding his teeth as he shot a glance at Bardensen, Claude especially hated the man who had supported the Vanic family's bid to overthrow him, the man who accused him of killing his friend who had been imprisoned with Bardensen on the Isle of Regret, Manaleyous, King Romome' son. If it wasn't for the ongoing earthquake's that were drawing the Nyeg back to the Ar, he would have taken the fire-blasted bastard down more than a notch or two. But with a war with Ab'Don looming on the horizon, how could he do that? Claude's only regret was that he quelled the civil war the Vanic's incited so quickly that Bardensen didn't have time to come to their aid. If he had, Claude would have attacked him without fearing the rest of Nyeg Warl would step in to save Shomeron.
King Phelp signaled Wombur to keep standing as he rose to his feet. Fifty-five summers old, still Phelp's hair was as black as ever except for swaths of steel-gray that ran across each of his temples, a color that matched his eyes. Dressed in a white tunic that had a shirt of chainmail made with rings of star’s blood draped over it, and holding a winged helmet made from the same precious metal under his arm, the Eagle King carried himself with a confidence that was bred on the battlefield.
After Ahrnosyn lifted a hand toward him, signaling the Eagle King to speak, Phelp began. "Claude, I applaud your desire to fight. I too am anxious to strike at the heart of Ab'Don's realm. Indeed, the battle we have won here is noteworthy and should give us hope for the future. We bested the Hag, though they fled before we could destroy them. And it is no small thing that the Bjork and Candle Warriors sent Laviathon limping off the field of battle. But with that said, Wombur's assessment of the ease with which we took Suskynd deserves consideration since it will have a bearing on what lies ahead. The question of why Ab'Don decided against meeting us with his full force here must be answered."
Looking at Plagea's king, Phelp concluded. "Though I feel capturing Suskynd is significant, I don't think the Sorcerer is hiding from us. Something else is afoot."
Ahrnosyn lifted his hand to keep Claude from responding. "Your Majesties, please be seated while I share my thoughts with this esteemed gathering. My words can be debated after I'm done."
Since the Chief Mentor's counsel was valued throughout Nyeg Warl, except by the Tsadal who live in Credylnor, his boldness in taking over as he did was accepted by all. "We agree that the battle we just won is a great victory, though I think we should also agree that it isn't the greatest battle we will fight. More difficult ones await us.
"This is how I see things, Ab'Don used the resistance that Belem and Suskynd put up as jabs that initiated the brawl to come. They weren't his knockout punches."
None accept Claude, whose deep frown revealed his thoughts, disputed this assumption.
"Indulge me while I continue to use the image of a prize fight to point out that jabs are used for two reasons: first, as a defensive maneuver meant to keep one's foe at a distance; secondly, as a tactic intended to set up an oppo
nent for a knockout punch.
"Though I don't believe Ab'Don considers Nyeg Warl an unworthy adversary, I'm convinced he fully expects to defeat us. If this is true, as I believe, it seems clear that Suskynd and Belem's opposition were jabs meant to set up greater blows the Sorcerer will throw at us. So, like any pugilist would do if they wish to win the fight, we must determine where these blows will come from.
"Would you please?" Ahrnosyn bowed his head in deference as he turned the floor over to one who was waiting to speak.
A man wearing a cloak of many colors stood. This was Goldan, the renowned Tsadal commander who led Nyeg Warl's combined forces to victory in the Battle of Decision thirty winters before. A breastplate, vambraces, and greaves made of pure star’s blood could be seen beneath his cloak as he moved. With the gray in his hair lost in the blond mass that fell to his shoulders, it made it hard to determine his age. The crow's feet flanking his eyes said he was far from young. His build and the way he carried himself said otherwise.
Not beholden to any realm, Goldan had assumed the role of servant to all. Eschewing possessions of his own- except for his horse, weapons, and the quarters that were granted to he and his family at the School of the Sword and the Song where he taught the Art of Warfare and having no other ambition than to prepare Nyeg Warl for the inevitable war that would break out once the Breach Sea disappeared, he was well-suited to lead the diverse collection of armies encamped at Suskynd into battle. That's why the kings, chieftains, and elders had given him the cloak of many colors to wear, colors that represented every realm found in Nyeg Warl. The fact that he had proven to be a brilliant tactician only reinforced their commitment to his leadership.
Carrying on with the train of thought that he and the Chief Mentor had agreed upon during deliberations they had with one another before the meeting began, Goldan said, "I concur with Wombur's assumption that Ab'Don hopes our success at Belem and Suskynd will embolden us to strike deeper into Ar Warl. But he needn't have worried about that; for we have all agreed that that was our intention long before we crossed the dying Breach Sea. We're taking the fight to him. And he knows it. How could he not when Jeaf Oakenfel regains his strength while hiding in the Great Ral Mountains that stretch across Ar Warl's eastern reaches?
"Hear my words." Goldan looked at the assembly with true affection. Many here had been pupils of his at the School of the Sword and Song; others were his comrades in arms during the Battle of Decision. "You are valiant warriors all. But as we know, the success of our enterprise rests more on the Prophetess and the Hammer Bearer's shoulders than on our own. That's why we’re here instead of building up our fortifications back in the Nyeg. The Warl's Magic has forced Jeaf Oakenfel to come to the Ar to retrieve the Hammer of Power, and the Prophetess must follow, for the hope of victory rests in their union in a fight where magic will play a larger role than steel and physical strength.
"Malam is Ab'Don's capital city. Close by is the Hall of Voyd, the fount from which the Sorcerer's wicked power flows. These are the jaws he plans to crush us with. And once Ab'Don bites down, he will never let go until the Nyeg ceases to be and he reigns supreme over all the warl. As far as he is concerned, the quicker we get there, the better, though he knows we have teeth of our own.
"The Prophetess and the forces that have crossed the failing Breach Sea is one of a set of jaws Nyeg Warl has. She, with all of us as her escort, will close on Malam from the west once the Hammer Bearer and the rebels, we are told are rallying to him in the Great Ral Mountains, converge on the city like a jaw coming from the east. Then we'll see whose bite is the strongest.
"It’s our job to make certain that Muriel gets to Malam unscathed and then to support her as best we can as she confronts the Sorcerer.
"Don't misunderstand me. There’ll be plenty for us to do in this fight. And all will fail if we don't play our part. So, gird yourself for battle. We’ll not tarry in Suskynd. The Great Plains awaits us and the city of Malam that sits beyond."
Grour Blood's rumbling growl rolled through the hall like the sound of distant thunder, heralding the Prophetess' desire to speak.
Once the Prophetess rose to her feet, Grour Blood followed her to where Goldan stood. Then sitting beside the woman the griffin called Muriel Blood, the massive winged-lion perused the gathering with the piercing gaze great cats were known for. Knowing their time of examination was close at hand, each present made certain they were found concentrating on all that the huge griffin's charge had to say when the winged-lion's eyes fell upon them.
Knowing that the seldom seen griffin were inextricably connected to the Warl's Magic, the great beast's presence surrounded the Prophetess in an aura of awe. It added additional weight to the things she would say, making certain none would underestimate her importance in the grave matters that were being discussed.
Olive-complected with brown eyes touched with a hint of red, Muriel Oakenfel was a stunning woman to behold. Wearing a crimson tunic, black leggings and black riding boots that complimented her dark hair, she still looked in the prime of life, though she was nearly fifty summers old.
Oftentimes the wise use of magic tended to lengthen one's life. Touched by the Hammer of Power's supernatural might and continually bathed in the enchantment that came from wearing her father's ring, the Prophetess was sure to live well beyond the generation that sat before her, that is, if the Sorcerer didn't have his way with her first.
Placing her hand on Grour Blood's back like she was using the massive winged-lion to steady herself before speaking, Muriel soon stepped away from her friend and clasped her hands in front of her. As she did, Goldan took his seat.
Looking to Dolfon for encouragement, Muriel began to speak once the leader of the Candle Warriors acknowledged her with a smile and a nod of her head. "To hear it said that my husband and I are central to Nyeg Warl's battle plans are overwhelming to say the least, even though I've heard this ever since Grour Blood took me to Vestylkynd back when I was a young woman.
"If any here think that I've promoted any of this talk, you're wrong. To the contrary, I denied this possibility well beyond the time I should have. It was only the steadfast love that came from the man who would become my husband and the unwavering acceptance the Community of Blood gave me that emboldened me to consider such a prospect. Even that didn’t come to fruition until the magic in my father's ring helped me cast off the chains that Schmar's defilements had wrapped around me.
"Please know that I didn't ask to be kidnapped when I was a child, neither did I want to spend fifteen winters in the Cave of Forgetfulness where the defilement took place, nor did I ask Grour Blood to rescue me from the river-children who were trying to stuff me back in that dark hole in the ground where horrors unspeakable were found."
Muriel interrupted her weighty speech with a wry smile as she explained, "In fact, when I sat astride his back as he flew me to his island home, I wondered if Grour Blood's invitation to dinner had nefarious undertones." The others responded to her sense of dry humor with restrained smiles of their own. "Fortunately for me, griffin palates favor seafood."
After letting her smile blossom into gentle laughter while Grour Blood sighed and rolled his eyes, Muriel continued. "You've heard rumors about the magic that inundates Stromane, the same magic that made the griffin and now strengthens them. Well, I can attest to the truthfulness of the tales. More than that, I'm proof of its power. For I came to the island a base creature who couldn’t trust a soul and left clothed in the love and acceptance the pride had given me. My feral mind was tamed. My heart had learned to love. Hope for the future had taken root in me."
Moved by what he heard, Grour Blood's voice rumbled through the room as he lifted his head and proclaimed, "Behold, Muriel Blood, Griffin-Woman, Twice Born of the Community of Blood, Wife to the Hammer Bearer and the Prophetess of Promise who has learned to sing the Song of Breaking."
"I am humbled by the honor you heap on me My Dear Friend," Muriel bowed to her winged-guardian. Then turn
ing to look at Nyeg Warl's leaders, she said, "I am equally humbled that you all think so highly of me. But I must confess, a part of the young woman who escaped from the Cave of Forgetfulness still dwells in me, a part that wants to run and hide from the responsibilities that have come my way. I never wished to be a prophetess, nor do I have a desire to spend my days embroiled in a conflict not of my making. But here I stand, ready to fight as you all are, though I think I have little choice in the matter. The litany of assassins Ab'Don has sent to Nyeg Warl to take my life and the lives of my husband and children makes this clear."
Hit by an unremitting concern that had been plaguing her, one that emerged as she spoke of her family, Muriel's eyes closed tight as a frown appeared on her beautiful face. Fighting the desire to tell the others the news that few knew, wanting to be comforted by their concern for her and her loved ones, she stood silent for a long moment that drew puzzled looks her way.
Enraptured by Kaylan's face seen in a pleasant memory plucked from her past, Muriel groaned at the consternation she felt over the reports that said he had been taken captive by the Sorcerer. The knowledge that Ab’Don utilized the same wicked talisman he used to take control of her back in the Battle of the Temple of the Oak Tree to subdue her son added to her woe. But she wouldn't say what she so desperately wanted to. The news of her son’s abduction would be disheartening. It could make some doubt her role in the fight to come, since Ab'Don would try to manipulate her with the hostage he'd taken. This, Muriel could not allow to happen. Nyeg Warl's resolve had to remain unshaken. Its sense of solidarity had to remain intact. So, with a great force of will, she washed the frown from her face and opened her eyes to look upon her allies and friends before bowing to those who watched her as she turned to include all in her show of appreciation.
"I want all of you to know that I don’t think I'm better than anyone else. To the contrary, I still struggle accepting the kind words that are spoken of me. As I said, a remnant of the abused little girl still lives inside me, a remnant that has given me wisdom enough to think more highly of others than I do of myself. So, I salute you by saying each is as important as the other and that this war cannot be won unless we believe this. Like the message that Goldan's cloak of many colors conveys, we are one people devoted to the same purpose. I’m confident that the magic this belief brings with it will give us the power needed to defeat the Sorcerer and his fell armies."
