by Rex Hazelton
"Much more is at stake than we think," she added. "Still my course is set. I'm determined to take Kaylan's place."
Nodding his head over Muriel's resolve, Bacchanor went on to say, "Let's not forget what Grour Blood told us: The Sorcerer is taking a risk by making the Prophetess its prisoner, a risk the monster feels it must hazard to see that the dream of conquering the Mountain of Song comes to pass, a risk his over-inflated view of himself will not let him correctly gauge.
"The fire-blasted fool hasn't learned any lessons from the past. The Sorcerer still thinks its spells are strong enough to transform Muriel into the willing ally it so longs for. But it’s wrong."
Bacchanor looked like a proud father as he added, "Muriel learned to sing the Song of Breaking in the Cave of Forgetfulness, what will she learn to do in the Hall of Voyd?"
"Thank you for trying to put a good spin on things." Muriel smiled at Bacchanor as well as Grour Blood. "My heart does not concur with you. It tells me that darkness lies ahead, darkness so deep we'll be lucky if any of us can avoid being swallowed up by it. It saddens me to think that I might contribute to its growth. But I'll be burned up in the Fires of Darkness if I let my son suffer without taking advantage of an offer that will see he’s set free."
"You know," Bacchanor sighed as he spoke, "once Jeaf finds out what you've done, he'll come for you?"
"I know."
"And when he does, your sons will come with him and that some of them may perish when they try to set you free."
"I know. But I won’t let Kaylan suffer as I once did when it's in my power to do something about it. Once I'm hanging from that tree, it will be my families turn to come and end my suffering."
"You’re aware that all of you could die?"
"Then we'll go to the Mountain of Song to fight the next battle and make the fiend rue the day he messed with the Oakenfel family and those we love."
Chapter 15: A Meeting Forestalled
Jeaf sat with his sons around a campfire that was used to cook their breakfast. The Great Ral Mounstains' towering peaks hid them from the sun that had risen higher in the eastern sky than their present location would permit them to see. Lamarik, Ilya'Gar, Arga'Dyne, Poroth, Vlad'Aeroth and a score of Neflin and Fane J'Shrym were with them. Six of these were Candle Wielders. Dog sat beside a nearby depression in the forest floor that was lined with fitted stone, waiting for his master and companion to return. A'Kadar sat beside him since the two massive beasts were now as inseparable as pups or cubs born in the same litter, depending on which animal's point of view was considered when using the metaphor.
An old growth forest surrounded the structure used for Flying. Built near a wall of gray-colored rock, covered in black and green lichen, that was no taller than three men standing on each other’s shoulders, the bowl, made with worked stone, could be easily overlooked. The rocks time had calved from the modest cliffside that were lying about the manmade depression provided further camouflage that wasn't really needed, since the knowledge of the Magic of Flying had been lost in antiquity to all save whoever was the current Mar'Gul.
In spite of how the Sorcerer had been able to latch onto her vessel as she Flew, Pearl was the only one who new where this bowl was located. In fact, she was the only one who knew where most of the Flying Stations that dotted Ar Warl's expanse were found. It had taken numerous winters of exploration, carried out by a series of Mar'Guls who had passed their accumulated memories on to each other, to uncover each location.
The discovery process began with research that included sifting through myths, legends, and the tomes that recorded them to locate a promising location. Once identified, the only way to find out if the Flying Station was still there, was for the Mar'Gul to activite the magic that would conjure up the vessel needed to take her to the anticipated site, a feat that couldn’t be accomplished unless a station or its remnants still existed. Then using her Mind's Eye for navigation, she would set a course for the place her research led her to believe a stone-lined bowl was found.
If passing time had inflicted too much damage on the station, the vessel a Mar’Gul conjured up would break apart in an unceremonious way upon arrival. With all the mishaps that had happened, luckily, no one had died. Once Andara’s Magic had healed the wounds that were incurred and the bowl was repaired, a return Flight home would be undertaken.
With the amount of magic the Sorcerer possessed, the Evil One could map out these locations much faster if it had known about the magic that made Flying possible before discovering Mar’Gul was using it to take her to Nyeg Warl’s forces that were invading the Ar. Now that it did, the Sorcerer couldn't possibly complete this task before the needs of the ongoing war drew its attention away from the endeavor. Still, the ancient entity’s incredible acumen in the use of magic enabled it to quickly build a rudimentary Flying Station in its throneroom once one of the Hall of Voyd’s seers told the entity what they had seen, a station the Evil One didn’t know how to use until got a taste of Flying Magic once it latched onto Mar’Gul’s sphere at the Well of Souls.
The ability to use the magic as quickly as it did, was an impressive feat given that One Who Was Not Ab'Don had never Flown before since the magic used for Flying had not yet been discovered when its unbridled essence was last in this warl, an essence that dwelt in the bodies of a string of unwilling hosts, the last being a tall creature with a head that was overly large for its tall, lean frame.
A Master of the Supernatural Arts, the Sorcerer rightly guessed that he could use his Mind's Eye to guide the sphere it made when copying Mar’Gul’s vessel to the hastily built bowl sitting on the Hall of Voyd's throneroom floor. Noting that the woman didn't flinch when it told her to redirect her vessel there after she arrived at her original destination only confirmed his suspicions. As with most magic, both one's mind and imagination were indispensible in activating and controlling magical processes.
Standing so he could reach out and tear another leg off one of the rabbits that were skewered on one of the makeshift spits arranged above the crackling fire, Ay'Roan asked his father if he wanted a leg for himself.
"Thanks Son, but I'm not hungry." Jeaf smiled as he lingered over the thought that Ay'Roan never lost his appetite no matter what circumstance he found himself in. It's no wonder he's as big and tall as he is, Jeaf thought while considering whether his son was done growing or not.
Ay'Roan looked much like his father, except he was taller in height and, proportionately, thinner in the waist. Both had broad, well-muscled shoulders. Both had Bjorkian tattoos sitting on their necks, though their shoulder length hair hid most of the intricate designs from view. Ay'Roan's braids, two on each side of his head, helped draw attention away from the visible ink. Jeaf's hair was a lighter hue of his son's chestnut-colored mane. Both possessed the same amber-colored eyes that missed little they looked at. Each was a match to the other in resolve and valor.
Scooting over to make room for Ay'Roan when he returned with the roasted meat in hand, Travyn had his father's height and build, though he had his mother's dark hair and eyes, eyes whose dark irises were ringed with amber light that Muriel didn't have, a strange light that revealed the young man's tendency to sail off into unchartered waters, as it were, a light that some thought Muriel's encounter with the Nameless One in the Warl of the Dead was responsible for, an encounter Travyn's unborn spirit partook of as he lay in his mother's womb. Because of this, the presence of his Neflin mate, who sat beside him, didn’t seem out of place.
Though Travyn's complexion was a shade darker than his mother's olive cast, Lamarik's skin was many shades darker, so much so that the whiteness of her teeth were highlighted by the juxtaposition to her face's complexion when she smiled. Neither did her large, dark, almond-shaped eyes look mismatched to the rings of amber light sitting in Travyn's own, nor did her longer than usual elvish ears look out of place beside the broad-brimmed, flat-topped hat that her human husband perrenially wore.
Each exotic in their own way, t
he pairing of the two was logical if one took time to give it thought. The only disparity to this thinking was that Travyn had a taste for well-tailored, brown leather clothing, while Lamarik's apparel matched her feral inclinations. Where Travyn's leathers were adorned with brass accoutrements shaped to look like flames, including his waisted jacket's buttons and the coin-sized pieces of brass adorning his soft leather boots, Lamarik's attire was embellished with buttons made from bone and a collection of small, beautiful stones she had found in the wilds. Holes were drilled through the polished, though otherwise unworked stones, so she could either tie them in her raven-black hair or add them to the necklace that hung about her neck. The lone exception to this was the well-crafted golden ring Travyn had given her back when they met in the Lorn Fast Swamp.
Like Lamarik, J'Aryl's hair was black, a trait he inherited from his mother. In fact, J'Aryl looked like a male version of Muriel, except he was nearly his father's height and had the broad shoulders and heavier muscles common to men. Olive-complected, with a nose that was thinner than all of his brothers save Kaylan, J'Aryl's full-lipped mouth was a larger version of Muriel's own. Other than the differences in proportions that were usually found between males and females, J'Aryl's wavy locks, just long enough to cover his ears, diverged from his mother's own long, flowing hair.
"Father, you better eat something lest you faint when mother arrives," ever watching out for his family, J'Aryl intoned his advice with measured insistance.
"To the contrary Son," Jeaf smiled in a way he hadn't since he was freed from bondage in Chylgroyd's Keep, "her presence will strengthen me in ways far beyond what a good meal can, even one prepared by your mother's own hands."
"Leave him be," Lamarik said as she pointed at a brace of rabbits with a hand holding its own piece of meat. "Heed your own words and eat."
The Neflin was no stranger to the loss of appetite that came from worrying about one's loved ones. There was many a day she forgot to eat while hunting for her father and sister's spirits during the time she spent living in the Lorn Fast Swamp.
"Thanks, Lamarik." Jeaf's smile didn’t last long. "As you've all been told, the Magic of Flying is far from safe. With all that has happened to me since I returned to Ar Warl, I can't help but be concerned for my wife's safety. In truth, for some reason I can't explain, pessimism has got the best of me now, and the feeling is continuing to grow by the moment."
"You've taught us that few things unfold as planned," Ay'Roan reminded Jeaf after he finished swallowing the bite of meat in his mouth, "that we must adjust to the changes and to act accordingly. With said, Father, I encourage you to let your pessimism sharpen the edge of your sword, don't let it weigh you down so that the actions the changes require are impeded."
"Aye Son." The sense of warning that his Powers of Intuition had grabbed hold of made Jeaf stand to his feet as he replied, "I'll not be remiss to act when the time comes."
Travyn's smirk was hidden by the lip of the broad-brimmed hat he wore as he rehearsed his father's teachings in his mind. Unlike Jeaf, he rejected the idea that their lives were part of some kind of grand design. If they were, in his view of things, the design was far too easy to disrupt and harder to understand.
As far as Travyn could figure things out, life was more like a journey taken by an explorerer who had little idea what would be found beyond the next horizon except the unusual mix of good and bad. Though his parents told him about the Warl of the Dead and the Mountain of Song that was found there, he doubted that this was the happy ending most expected. How could it be when he was convinced this was not the last horizon?
To him, his father's bout with pessimism was no more than what those who lived long enough to learn life's lessons would experience. But pessimism was no excuse to abandon hope that one could make a difference, at least, not in the present. If a man had a sword or knife, and the will to use it, the day's problems could be easily dealt with.
Brushing up against Lamarik's shoulder, Travyn's smirk softened as he judged that he had much to hope for. To him it was simple: Kill the Sorcerer and anyone who would stand with him, free Kaylan, and then enjoy as much life possible with Lamarik until the next challenge arose.
"Still, an empty belly is never good," Arga'Dyne's muffled words were hard to hear above the sounds of crunching bones that accompanied his continued chewing. The Broyn'Dar had learned to eat whenever they could. Necessity taught them to never waste the food they had. The strength of their jaws made certain that necessity's requirements were met.
Ignoring the Broyn'Dar's offhanded remark, Jeaf turned to Vlad'Aeroth and added, "Get your warriors ready. Something's amiss. Look towards the greenwood while the rest of us wait for the Mar'Gul's return."
Nodding to the Hammer Bearer, the Fane J'Shrym's Wylder pulled out one of the twin blades he carried strapped to his back and began directing the humans and Neflin under his charge to break camp and get prepared to join those who were already patrolling the surrounding forest.
When Dog stood up from sitting on his haunches and growled, then he lifted his head and let out a bone chilling howl, Jeaf reached for the Hammer of Power that rested in a holster strapped to his hip and said, "Ashes," as he moved to stand by Dog.
Lamarik came to comfort A'Kadar whose pathetic moaning grew in pitch as it intermingled with Dog's high-pitched whining. Travyn was soon by her side, as well as Ay'Roan and J'aryl. All stared at the empty, stone-lined bowl, sensing the approaching vessel used for Flying. A moment later, the air displaced by the glowing ball that suddenly appeared in the bowl before them blew their hair back with a gust of wind.
Befuddled by the mass of passengers that were squeezed into the sphere, Jeaf searched for his wife. Looking like he was holding the roof of the incandescent sphere up with his hands and forearms raised above him, Bear was only partially hidden behind Grour Blood's massive body and the wings that were haphazardly folded against it. Bacchanor was pressed into a space that opened to the right of the two. Pearl's disembodied spirit molded itself against her husband's corporeal form. Bala, holding tight to the griffin's heavy mane, was positioned above the Brown Wizard and his wife. Muriel appeared when Grour Blood pulled the wing he was using to shield her closer to his body.
"Jeaf!" Muriel's muffled voice broke as she cried out. Then she began to speak so fast Jeaf had a hard time understanding her.
"Muriel!" He shouted when he saw that the sphere's exterior wasn't dissipating as it should. Something was horribly wrong. He could see it on his wife's face as she tried to speak to him through the shreds of flames that repeatedly swept across the sphere's surface.
"What about Ab'Don!?" Travyn shouted as he tried to make sense of the things his mother was saying.
"I can't stay," Muriel's voice grew in volume as the Hammer of Power's magic that was inside her linked up with the unsheathed talisman her husband held in his hand. "I have to go."
"Go where?" Jeaf shouted.
"To the Hall of Voyd to free Kaylan."
"I'll go with you." Jeaf knew his plea would go unheeded. The sphere's continued glowing made this clear.
"You can't. Ab'Don said he would kill our son if anyone else but those who were already with me when he intercepted our Flight came along."
"How could he intercept your Flight? That's not possible."
"The Evil One has ascended from the Warl of the Dead and taken possession of Ab'Don's body."
The revelation was starting. Its implications for the ensuing war were too profound to imagine. The value of the lessons Jeaf had learned as he struggled against Koyer in the Battle of Decision were now greatly diminished. Having been attacked by the fraethym that came to help the Lord of the Cretchym defeat him in a duel they fought, the Evil One's servants had given him but a single dose of their master's deadly magic. And if it weren't for Ramskynd and Alynd the Elf-Man, who came to chase the evil spirits away, the solitary dose would have been enough to destroy him. What would happen now that the fraethym's dark lord has entered
the Warl of the Living?
"Ashes! What does he want?" Jeaf felt like his heart was being squeezed in a vice.
"He wants a trade: Me for Kaylan."
"NOOOOOO!" Jeaf's shout was so loud it startled the others who were already caught up in the throes of alarm that swept over those standing before stone-lined bowl and the luminescent ball that was cradled there. The Hammer Bearer's shout was soon joined by those erupting from his son's throats.
"Don't do this." Jeaf shouted as he lifted the Hammer of Power and set his feet to strike the sphere in hopes of cracking the glowing shell and ending the Flight. He had been to the Warl of the Dead and seen the Evil One's power reach out and burn the grassy plain the Righteous Dead stood on. Privy to the things that Muriel had endured in the foul being's presence when he held her captive for the first time, Jeaf wasn't about to let her fall into the fiend's hands again.
Seeing what the Hammer Bearer was about to do, Mar'Gul looked at Dog who immediately slammed his massive shoulder into Jeaf, knocking him away from the vessel used for Flying.
"If you stop me," Muriel was weeping now when she saw the anguish on her husband's face, "Kaylan dies. You know I won't let that happen when there's something I can do to save him."
The ring that Muriel's father had given her on the day she was born, gave off a burst of light that swept out of the sphere and acted like a hand that slapped Jeaf on his tear-covered face as he stumbled back to his wife. Laz had given his life to save his daughter, Jeaf knew that Muriel would do no less than her father.
"I love you!" Muriel said as the sphere's light began to fade.
"You know I'll come for you," Jeaf shouted as the Hammer of Power's silver head began to melt, sending rivulets of liquid metal over his hand and into grooves cut into the talisman's handle, those that spelled out a Name of Power in a language few remembered.
"I know," Muriel's voice was fading. Then she turned to look at her sons and said, "I love you."
