Crooked Finger and the Warl of the Dead

by Rex Hazelton

  The only thing that gave the sphere's dimming brilliance any competition to its claim of luminous supremacy was a mass of fire that stood close by, a mass that refused to light up the Hall of Voyd, if that, indeed, was where the company of travellers found themselves.

  When the sphere's magic finally failed, the mass of fire was left as the singular source of light. Still, the flames declind to illuminate anything beyond the new arrivals and the body it held in its grasp. Neither did warmth attend the light that struck Muriel and her friend's faces as one would expect. Carried along by a breath that sent chills down the spines of those it brushed up against, the illumination was accompanied by cold.

  "Kaylan," Muriel exclaimed as she caught sight of the body ensconced in the mass of flames that, on closer inspection, looked like a tree made of fire.

  The flaming arbor's leaves were made of ever-changing tongues of fire. The trunk and branches looked like molten metal not yet cool. The roots, spreading across the tile-covered floor, functioned as a base, making the tree look like a gargantuan chalice made of fire.

  Bathed in light that refused to reach out beyond his mother's eyes, Kaylan's facial features could be seen in disturbing detail. So too his body that was devoid of wounds or scarring that would have resulted from physical torture. But this brought Muriel little comfort since she knew, first hand, that the Evil One preferred to attack his victim's minds rather than the bodies that proved more useful when whole and functioning properly once the torture meted out had done its work.

  By crushing a person's will and twisting their nature to match its own, the foul entity wanted to make certain that those forcefully subsumed into its service had the requisite strength to complete the dour tasks it gave them, tasks that dealt out suffering to those whose pain the entity eagerly fed on.

  Muriel had been one of those the Evil One had tried to remake into his own image. By reaching into her mind and dredging up her darkest memories, these were used as scalpels to cut Muriel's brain into proverbial pieces that could be rearranged as it pleased.

  "Don't disturb the lad." A voice Muriel recognized as Ab'Don's came out of the inky darkness. "We wouldn't want to wake him from the dream he's having. How else will he get to know Schmar as intimately as you did?"

  "End his nightmare," Muriel shouted in dispair that her son was being forced to experience what she had during the time she was held captive in the Cave of Forgetfulness, "or I'll use the Song of Breaking's magic to do it myself."

  "I'm not Koyer or Schmar, nor am I Ab'Don. I doubt your singing would have much affect on my magic. But if you insist on releasing the Song of Breaking's power here, Kaylan and your companions will be killed before you have time to complete the first refrain."

  The Hall of Voyd was suddenly filled with light, revealing the Hag host that surrounded Muriel and her friends, and the wreath-like swarm of flames that flickered atop the forest of black candles held in the evil wizards' hands.

  Stepping between Muriel and the fiery tree that held her son aloft, the One Who Was Not Ab'Don pointed a finger at the slender, iron branch that stuck out of Kaylan's chest, making it glow like it had been thrust into a blacksmith's forge. "Go ahead and sing." The Lord of the Darkness That Covers Half of the Warl of the Dead's smile took on a reptilian aspect before he added: "In this place, your voice will do nothing more than provide entertainment for me and my servants as we complete the executions I warned you about. It will not arouse the Warl's Magic that sits atop the Mountain of Song as you think, nor will it summon the Hammer Bearer to your side.

  "If you want Kaylan and your friends to live, you have to keep your end of the bargain."

  "How do I know that you will honor the agreement?"

  "I think it's a bit late to ask that since you're already in the Hall of Voyd." The faint shadow Ab'Don cast on the fiery tree did not match its build: it was too long for his height, and the head attached to it was far too large. None save the Sorcerer cast a shadow in the eerily brilliant light that filled the hall, light that seemed to come from every direction at the same time, light that kept the sun's illumination from entering the elongated windows that were evenly spaced on the hall's towering walls and encroaching on the grave proceedings taking place there. "But as a show of good faith, I'll remove Crooked Finger from your son's chest. That will bring his nightmare, as you call it, to a close and get us ready for the exchange."

  Having said this, the Sorcerer beckoned to the slender, iron branch with its finger.

  As soon as it did, Crooked Finger began to wiggle as it extracted itself from Kaylan's heart, past his ribs and the muscle and skin that lie atop of them, and out into the air where it floated along until it settled into Ab'Don's outstretched hand. Once the glowing branch was in the Sorcerer's grasp, the fiery tree wrapped itself around Kaylan's body like some plants do when they trap an insect they plan on devouring.

  When the Sorcerer beckoned Muriel to come to it like it had done to Crooked Finger, she said, "I won't take a step until you turn my son over to Bacchanor so he can examine him. I need to know he's alive and as well as can be expected after the things you made him endure before I comply with your request."

  "That's only to be expected," the Sorcerer admitted. Then using Crooked Finger like a wand, the One Who Was Not Ab'Don pointed the slender, glowing branch at the fiery tree that opened up like a flower blooming at the sun's urging and let Kaylan be lifted from its embrace. Floating past the Sorcerer, Muriel's son's limp body was deposited at the Brown Wizard's feet.

  Kneeling to inspect the young man, Bacchanor lifted his head and nodded at Muriel though there was no sign of pleasure in his face. How could there be with Muriel's sacrifice close at hand.

  Watching the powerfully built wizard lift Kaylan's body up and carefully deposit him on Grour Blood's broad back, Muriel turned to face the Sorcerer after she was certain Bear was positioned to hold him in place if he began to slide of the griffin's muscular back.

  But before Muriel had time to make her way to where the Sorcerer waited with Crooked Finger in hand, she heard Kaylan drowsily say, "Mother, what are you doing?"

  Swinging around to look at her son, Muriel smiled knowing the griffin's magic was busy restoring Kaylan's health.

  "I love you," was all she said as Muriel gazed into her son's imploring eyes before she turned back to the Sorcerer who was waiting for her.

  Seven paces later, the Prophetess groaned as the slender, iron branch called Crooked Finger was shoved into her chest. Grabbing ahold of the glowing talisman, Muriel fell to her knees as she gasped for the last breath she would take before the fraethym took control of her.

  Turning into a maelstrom of flames, the fiery tree disassembled itself so it could sweep around the Prophetess and lift her body up as it quickly resumed its former tree-like shape. Moments later, Muriel's limp form could be seen hanging where Kaylan's body had once been.

  "Well now that that's done," the Sorcerer laughed an unwarly laugh before he continued, laughter that made the flames atop the Hag's black candles enlarge to look like dagger's made of fire, "the rest of you have my permission to leave, though I'm not certain the Hag will let you do so."

  But this declaration didn’t catch the traveller's off guard, after all, it was the Evil One's treacherous word that had been given to them.

  In the time it took for the Sorcerer to impale the Prophetess and have the fraethym lift her into their embrace, Bacchanor had shape-shifted into an exact replica of Grour Blood. This meant three of the travellers had wings with which to fly and one was a wraith who was not bound to the tiled floor they stood on. This left Kaylan and Bear to consider. Since the former was already ensconced on Grour Blood's back, the giant would have to hop aboard Bacchanor when the time for flight came, a time that wouldn't arrive unless the Hag's attack was blunted; and Bear's huge metal-studded club was well-equiped to do just that.

  Not waiting for the Hag assault to go into full swing, Bear attacked the dark wizards to his right while
Bacchanor moved against those to his left. Bodies flew before the black candles' flames had time to elongate into the ropes of incandescent power they used to stab at their prey.

  More and more black-robed wizards were batted about by massive claw-laden paws and a huge, metal-studded club, so many that it was hard for the Hag to target the assailants with their super-heated ropes of magic without striking one another. In fact, this is what happened, unleashing chaos that could only help those trying to escape the hall’s dour environs. The result was that many of the Hag were reworking their candles' magic, changing their fiery ropes into shields that would protect them from the enemy and each other's misguided attempts to strike the massive griffin and giant who were decimating their ranks.

  To the dark wizard's chagrin, when they succeeded in hitting the twin terrors, their magic had little effect on them. Unbeknownst to the Hag, the assailants' skin, muscles and bones were strengthened by the Hammer of Power's magic that had been invested in them during the Battle of the Cave of Forgetfulness.

  The downside to this was that only a remnant of the Hammer of Power's magic stayed with them after the battle, enough to keep them from being easily overwhelmed, but not enough to ensure victory, certainly not in the Hall of Voyd. This meant that the Hag candles' incessant viper-like strikes would eventually find purchase in the flesh that, for the time being, resisted the incandescent ropes of fiery magic's attempts to breach the skin that covered the griffin and giant. And as time proved, along with Bear and Bacchanor's grimacing as the fingers of flame began to cut deeper into them, the Hammer of Power's magic could be worn down.

  Eventually the smell of burning fur, leather and wool clothing, and flesh joined the scent of Hag blood that rose up from the Hall of Voyd's tile-covered floor where it fell from the deep cuts dug out by griffin claws and fangs and from skin that split beneath the giant's metal-studded club assault.

  When Bear fell to his knee as a shower of Hag magic rained down on him, Bacchanor lept into the air, spred out his huge wings, and flew to his friend's aid. Fighting back to back, the two massive warriors wound around and around as they attacked the dark wizards who were foolish enough to move against them, those whose courage proved their undoing that sent their blood to join the red liquid that was already smeared across the hall's floor.

  While this was happening, the Sorcerer sent out a silent call for the rest of the Hag in the Hall of Voyd to make their way to where the fighting was heating up. More Fraethym were called. Nearby cretchym were alerted, including those that lived in the holes found in the canyon walls facing the hall. Soon the sky overhead was filled with wierd flying creatures, and the canyon's steep slopes were crawling with monsters just as strange.

  Astonished by the early success that Bacchanor and Bear were having, the One Who Was Not Ab'Don thought it best to end the struggle as quickly as possible and to make certain that any chance of escape was removed.

  Most of the Hag continued to turn their candles' flames into fiery shields they would use to surround the troublesome duo as they waited for more of their dark order to come and renew the assault they had given up. The Hag risked their master's wrath for using such a conservative tactic in the fight that was quickly becoming a battle. But better this than to join the dark wizards who had fallen to the griffin and giant's might, those whose pathetic complaints filled their ears if they were fortunate enough to survive their wounds.

  Taking advantage of the Hag's reticence to rush into battle, Pearl drew on Grour Blood's power and mixed it with her own as she sent Healing Magic coursing into Kaylan's mind and body. Bala flew overhead guarding her friend as she worked. Since the cretchym hadn't reached the hall yet and the fraethym that had taken on the shape of the fiery tree Muriel's limp body hung upon had not been joined by those of their kind that the Sorcerer had recently summoned, the little cretchym didn't have anything to do, other than dodge an occasional rope of fire that came her way, but wait for the fighting to come to her.

  So she watched Pearl dispense the magic that Andara had entrusted to her care, Healing Magic that knew no rivals. And as Bala watched, the skies outside the hall's windows began to darken. What this portended, she didn't know. But her guess was that it was nothing good.

  The darkness was soon joined by wind and rain that beat on the elongated windows like they wanted to break them. A bolt of lightning followed. Then another. While the thunder's sonic blast struck the squares of glass, held in place within a lattice work of metal framing used to make the windows, Kaylan groaned and lifted his head up to look at his mother and the fighting that had erupted before her.

  "Pearl," Kaylan frowned at his aunt who had placed her hands on his chest and closed her eyes to focus the magic she was using, "is that you?"

  "It's me alright." Pearl's voice sounded like it came from a distance greater than the one that separated her from her nephew. "But as you can see, I'm not the woman I once was."

  "There is only time enough to say: Your aunt died while fighting to rescue your father," Grour Blood's rumbling voice had an edge to it that belied his urge to join the battle.

  "And my father?"

  "He’s alive as are your brothers. Are you strong enough to fight?"

  "Are you going to rescue my mother?"

  "No. Muriel wants us to get you out of the Hall of Voyd alive."

  "She gave herself in exchange for me, didn't she?"

  "Aye. Muriel's done that very thing." Huffing out air in act of resignation, the powerful winged-lion added, "If you die trying to save her, the sacrifice she's made will be for naught." Grour Blood eyed Kaylan over the top of his shoulder as he asked his question again. "Can you fight?"

  "I can fight. But I can't promise that I won't try to free my mother."

  The memories of the abuse Muriel had to endure in the Cave of Forgetfulness, those that the Sorcerer forced Kaylan to see and then experience for himself, wouldn't allow Kaylan to save his own skin when his mother's was at risk. How could Kaylan live with himself if he didn't try to stop Not Ab'Don from violating his mother further?

  "Kaylan." Grour Blood sounded angry over the young man's visceral response. But he wasn't. His anger was over his desire to do the very thing Kaylan wanted to do, a burning desire that he had to throw water on if he was to keep his promise to Muriel Blood. "The Sorcerer won't kill your mother, at least not yet. I suspect that he still needs her. There’ll be another time to free Muriel Blood, one where the odds for success are much better than they now are."

  "Odds don't matter to me!" Kaylan's jaw muscles churned as his anger over the memories he was forced to endure slapped him in the face, time and again.

  "They matter to Muriel Blood. So you'll do as I say, unless you want to cast your mother's wishes on the trash heap."

  With the memory of Schmar's leering face forcing its way into his mind's eye, Kaylan intuitively reached for the scabbard where the sword he remade on Vlad'War's Anvil had been sheathed wanting to behead the monster. Not expecting to find anything, certain the Sorcerer had taken the powerful talisman from him, he was shocked to find the weapon was still there.

  Sliding the blade, whose edges came alive with blue fire as he grasped hold of the sword, from its sheath, Kaylan took time to consider his prize before he lifted it overhead and pointed at the dark sky that could be seen beyond the window's protective shield of glass and metal, a sky that broiled with heavy, black clouds that threw lightning bolts about like it was angry child caught in the midst of a tantrum, a child who was glad its parent had finally awakened.

  "Setting aside promises," Kaylan stared intently at his mother's hapless body as he spoke, "I can fight."

  Hearing Grour Blood send a roar to join the thunder's incessant rumbling that filled the Hall of Voyd, seeing Kaylan with an uplifted sword in his hand as the massive griffin reared up on his hind legs and spred out his wings to take flight, Bacchanor told Bear it was time to leave.

  Climbing aboard the shape-shifter's broad, griffin back, the gi
ant looked like he had mounted a large pony rather than a war horse. Still, Bacchanor was confident he could carry his huge friend, though the speed he could attain carrying such a large load would be greatly compromised.

  But before Bacchanor or Grour Blood could take flight, Bala pointed the needle sharp sword she was carrying and shouted a warning as the rain and wind finally broke through the window, sending a glass showering into the hall with shreds of flame intermingled. The fraethym that the Sorcerer had summoned had finally arrived. Evil spirits all, these were the Lord of the Darkness that Covers Half of the Warl of the Dead's most ptized servants. As old as the Evil One himself, their powers came from ancient magic that none alive were familiar with, powers that the Hall of Voyd's intrinsic magic would magnify as they used them.

  At the same time a throng of black-robed wizards poured into the room through the double doors that, as large as they were, couldn't reveal the extent of the Hag that were amassing. Already set aflame, black candles, nearly as numerous as hair on a man's unshaven face, sent their magic arching over the company of travelers, quickly building a cage that would keep them from flying away. While the fraethym, looking like a turbulent cloud fire, sat guard over the fiery tree that was composed of more of their kind, the Sorcerer, not needing a candle to work his magic, moved his hands before him as he shaped the brilliant cage to his liking.

  Flying up to the intricately woven canopy made with the Hag's dark magic, Grour Blood got close enough so that Kaylan could stab his razor-sharp talisman into the thickening barrier. Uncertain of what this might accomplish since the magical sword's properties were still ill-defined, the griffin had agreed to Kaylan's request. What other options were there other than trying to crash out of the cage before it had been properly set?

  Once the blade's tip made contact with the burgeoning barrier, the talisman sent its blue fire rushing across the Hag's field of magic, turning it blue wherever it went.