Crooked Finger and the Warl of the Dead

by Rex Hazelton

  Having nowhere to go, the black smoke that was heading for the fissure before it was sealed, filled the Hall of Voyd. Then it filled the hall’s immediate environs until it backed up far enough to trap the wraith warrior residue on the field of battle, glutting it with smoke.

  Satisfied the fissure’s top would remain sealed for the time being, the Sorcerer addressed the company of Hag that were in the room. The black robes they wore hid the wizards in the gathering smoke. But darkness and shadows posed no problem for the dragon to see through. Magically enhanced as its eyesight was, the Evil One could see anything it wanted to within the pale of the Hall of Voyd’s environs which included the field of battle where the fighting continued. “Bring the tree to the bridge.” The dragon’s speech had lost the timber found in Ab’Don’s voice. A bestial quality, in keeping with monster’s massive serpentine body, had taken its place. “I want the Hammer Bearer to see his wife.”

  Convinced that defeating the Fane J’Shrym would give it the overall victory desired, the Evil One planned to cut the bothersome peoples’ hearts out by destroying the Hammer Bearer and the Hammer of Power it had seen the man absorb into his arm. The loathsome entity would use every resource it had to see that this was done.

  When it came to terminating the Hammer Bearer, the value of having the Prophetess as a hostage was increased by making her visible. That way the threat of taking her life was more impacting. Seeing the object of his love hanging helplessly on the iron tree could produce hesitation at the moment decisive action was most needed for the Hammer Bearer to counter the Evil One’s tactics. If things went unexpectedly bad for the foul entity, it could put a knife directly to the Prophetess’ throat, so to speak, to stop the Hammer Bearer in his tracks. This would give the Hag time to come up with a way to reconstitute the wraith warriors who had been reduced to smoke that couldn’t resist the Warl of the Dead’s pull.

  Still, a risk was being taken to put the Prophetess in such close proximity to the Hammer Bearer. Prophecy taught the Evil One this since the seers seldom mentioned one without the other being included in the prognostications. But the rewards for taking such a daring maneuver easily outweighed the risks.

  The Hag’s fiery-ropes were seen glowing inside the smoke filling the Hall of Voyd as the black-robed wizards set about transporting the iron tree. Dragging the heavy arbor across the tile-covered floor, once they wrapped it up with ropes whose fire couldn’t burn the fraethym that constituted the tree’s trunk and branches, the Hag headed for the room’s huge double door. Not worried about harming the giant, who was turned into iron right along with the tree when he tried to carry the Prophetess to safety, the Hag were surprised to see their fiery-ropes didn’t burn him as well. At some point along the way, a company of Thrall Giants take over the job of carrying the tree to the citadel’s bridge as the dragon ordered.

  ****

  Seeing Alynd appearing and disappearing in the smoke that covered the battlefield as he wielded his twin leaf-blades, Jeaf shouted out with joy and rode over to join his dear friend he thought he’d never see again.

  Leaping out of his saddle as the powerful roan came to a sliding halt as he pulled on the reins, Jeaf sheathed his sword and gave the Elf-Man a hug that would have snapped his ribs if it wasn’t for the portion of the Hammer of Power’s magic that placed inside of him: first, in the Battle of the Cave of Forgetfulness and afterwards, in the fight they now found themselves engaged in.

  “Ashes,” Jeaf spat his words out as Alynd returned the hug the best he could with a leaf-blade in each hand, “it’s good to see you again.”

  “I’m sorry I caused you so much distress,” Alynd replied. “If I’d known how poorly you’d take things, I wouldn’t have let the wraiths pry my spirit out of my body. But I must confess, my recollection of things is a bit shaky. I have little memory of what happened to me. It’s almost like I took a blow on the head that muddled my brain.”

  “Well, if that’s what it was like,” Jeaf pushed Alynd to arms length as he spoke, “don’t go and get hit on the head again.”

  “Don’t you have an enemy to vanquish?”

  Looking at the ongoing battle around him, seeing the Fane J’Shrym appearing and disappearing in the thickening smoke as they went from one wraith to another swinging their horse-like mounts about in a perpetual dance of destruction- Vald’War, Shloman the Great, Garyth and his father among them- Jeaf turned and smiled at Alynd. “Who would have thought that our meeting in Illumanor’s office would lead to this?”

  Releasing Alynd, Jead turned, reached for the reins of the horse that stayed near him despite the furious fighting taking place all around, and put a foot into the saddle’s stirrup as he got ready to mount the powerful beast; but before he had time to push himself up and throw his leg over the saddle, two enormous, yellow eyes appeared in the smoke a moment before a burst of orange fire reached out for him, more fire than Laviathon would spew if he could discharge six incendiary masses at the same time.

  The sound of enormous wings beating the smoke-laden air passed overhead while the Hammer Bearer was engulfed in flame. A giant bolt of lightning lit the smoke up at the same time, displaying a huge dragon’s shape against the radiant backdrop.

  The horse’s scream was cut short by the super-heated flame that took its life so quickly. Three other nearby horses met the same fate, while the riders, gorged with the Hammer of Power’s magic, rose from the place where the animals had skid to a stop when they collapsed. Though the warrior’s skin looked red like they had sustained a severe sunburn, their hair had been tossed about by the wind the dragon’s wings generated, and their armor and clothing were covered in dirt their bodies dug up when they hit the ground, the riders didn’t look the worse for wear. Still, they couldn’t wonder what would happen to their skin if they were struck by more dragonfire. And their clothing, how was it not burned up? Did the hammer’s magic touch it too, as they suspected by what they saw?

  Blue light shot out of Alynd’s eyes as he looked to the heavens and shouted, “Grour Blood,” a shout that was carried along with the blue radiance that pulsed through the thickening smoke. The explosive roar that was finally heard as it intermingled with the incessant thunder, told the Elf-Man that he had been heard.

  Able to see the dragon despite the unwitting camoflauge its black skin gave it, for the monster didn’t have scales like the crocodon did, the griffin flew after the dragon looking like small birds do when they chase an eagle away from their homes and the nests they’ve built there, using incessant pestering to do the trick.

  Rising up to stare at the thunderstorm Travyn had conjured up, the dragon spred its wings wide and challenged the storm to do its worst. Lightning leapt out of the cloud’s greenish-black underbelly and hit the dragon’s exposed chest. Instead of burning through the winged-monster’s sinewy body, the energy was diverted into the dragon’s wings that redirected the lightning at the approaching griffin. A fragment of energy shot out of each of the dragon’s impossibly long fingers that were connected by the webbing of skin enabling the creature to fly.

  Ten bolts of radiant power leapt out of the clawed finger tips. Flying in the jagged way lightning did, the bolts of energy struck a winged-lion each. Hitting the griffin that tried to dodge the energy their magically enhanced senses saw coming but failed to do so, the bolt of lightning’s children toppled the winged-lions like they were pheasant dropped by an archer’s arrow. Stunned by the blow, the griffin flailed along as they fell until they regained their wits and stretched their massive wings wide enough to catch the air needed to regain control of their bodies and restore flight.

  Proving the thunderhead couldn’t harm it, the dragon finally released its voice and roared for the first time both to proclaim its victory and to send a message to all those below that doom had returned. No longer embodied in the wraith warrior hordes, this time it came as huge dragon that was, in truth, the Evil One who ruled over the shadows that covered half of the Warl of the Dead.

>   With the massive griffin swarming about the beast looking like bees hovering around a hive they wanted to attack rather than protect, the immense size the dragon had attained- since the ancient entity assumed the foreboding shape- was put on display for all to see. The dragon had grown so big since its inception, the memory of what it once was when it first appeared was all but forgotten.

  The griffin found it impossible to use their finger-length claws to gain purchase in the dragons’ black skin that was as smooth and hard as glass that defied logic with how flexible it was. Having their greatest weapon taken away from them, the winged-lions started ramming the dragon as it flew, trying to knock it off course to keep it from spewing its fire with the accuracy it desired.

  Hitting the noisome griffin with bursts of flame as it tried to locate the Hammer Bearer once again, the dragon found it couldn’t knock the winged-lions out of the fight unless its fire touched the same griffin more than once. Since more than two hundred members of the Community of Blood were engaged in the ongoing aerial contest, this was easier said than done. But it wasn’t impossible. Time proved that.

  Able to see through the smoke in the way others couldn’t, even the Candle Warriors and Forest Deep’s elves, the Evil One soon found the Hammer Bearer again. Hovering above Jeaf, the dragon spewed flames on its enemy who had ordered the others to stay away from him lest they were inadvertently burned. On and on, the stream of fire smashed into the ground where Jeaf stood until all the griffin hit the dragon on the same side, pushing it away from its prey. As many as there were, and all incredibly strong, the dragon was forced to soar up into the smoke-filled sky lest it was driven to the ground.

  Swinging about to look at its handiwork once it gained enough altitude, the dragon was enraged when it saw the Hammer Bearer standing unharmed in a Sphere of Power tinged with blue light, though the ground around the sphere looked like blackened pottery baked too long in a kiln’s raging fires.

  Diving back at the Hammer Bearer, planning on overpowering the puny human with its massive size and crush him between its jaws that were fashioned with dark magic, the dragon’s long, sinewy body thudded against the battlefield before it folded its massive bat-like wings against its body. Having cracked the fire-baked ground like a plate had been hit by a giant blacksmith’s hammer, the Evil One drew its clawed feet against its sides and slithered toward the Hammer Bearer with speed that belied its massive bulk.

  Gliding toward the Hammer Bearer who remained ensconced in the Sphere of Power, the dragon soon realized it had made a mistake landing on the ground without ordering the Hag and whiteskins to provide support. As big as the dragon was, and with all the dark magic it possessed, it was surprised when the Candle Warriors rushed in with fiery-spears in hand and began stabbing its hide while the griffin fell upon its back trying to impede its movements. Unable to breach its skin, the Candle Warriors were able to do little more than score its hide like a cat scratching its master’s leather pant leg.

  When a blond-headed elf, whose eyes were filled with blue light, stepped in front of the Hammer Bearer, the others fled from the dragon like they were afraid of what could happen to them if they stayed. But their fear didn’t come from their concerns over the dragon’s might, of that, the Evil One was certain.

  The size of the tiny, golden sphere the elf held in the palm of his hand didn’t fool the ancient entity, it could feel the well spring of virtuous magic it held, the kind of magic that was the antithesis to its own dark powers. Was there any reason to fear something whose mystical might was based on compassion and kindness, the dragon wondered?

  Hearing the elf continue an incantation he began before he came to stand in front of the Hammer Bearer, apprehension welled up in the Evil One when it recalled the explosion that had shaken the battlefield not too long ago. The melee that followed the blast had kept the one who had taken possession of Ab’Don’s body from discovering its source, that was, until now. And there wasn’t much the ancient entity could do to stop the elf from initiating another magical detonation. So, the dragon fled, though its massive, serpent-like body kept it from doing so with enough speed to escape what was coming.

  Lifting itself above the ground by contorting its sinewy length into an s-shape that it used to spring into the sky, the dragon stretched out its huge wings and flew higher. Though the Evil One doubted it could escape the imminent blast, it hoped to avoid the brunt of the magic that wanted to tear it apart. The flash of blinding blue light that lit up the smoke behind the dragon was followed by heat so incredibly intense that it put the dragon’s incendiaries to shame by comparison. The wind that accompanied the heat was so violent, it peeled the Evil One’s skin away before it shredded its insides into ragged, black strips that were thrown high into the smoke-laden sky, those that were as numerous as leaves in an apple orchard. Only the dragon’s triangular-shaped head remained intact, its gleaming yellow eyes focusing on an uncertain point in the distance as it twirled about. And like its head, the dragon’s thoughts twirled about just as chaotically.

  Once the severed head reached the apex of its arching path and stopped in flight, strips of its former body were drawn to it like iron shavings to a lodestone. The strips came so quickly, they kept the head aloft like it was an air-filled wineskin caught up in a fountain of gushing water. More were added as the head and reconstituted body finally fell under its own enormous weight, so much so, the dragon’s wings came together before the monster had time to crash into the ground.

  Spreading as wide as they could, the wings acted like paddles that slowed the dragon’s descent enough for the lower half of its body to come together. Once the hindquarters were completely restored, the dragon used its wings to grab hold of the sky with their broad expanse and pull its long, sinewy body up to where it had its earlier showdown with the storm.

  Why wasn’t my body blown apart into infinitesimally small bits like the wraiths were, the Evil One asked itself? Clearly, the elf’s magic was strong enough to do this.

  This was magic the Evil One didn’t expect to find in Ar Warl. What would happen if the Hammer Bearer got ahold of one of the spheres? Could he cast me back into the Warl of the Dead? Struggling to make sense of things, an idea rose up in the ancient entity’s thinking, one that Vlad’War and the Hammer Bearer’s relationship to one another had given birth to.

  Like Vlad’War, who had a relationship with the Hammer Bearer, the Evil One had a relationship with Ab’Don. Both relationships were based on blood: Blood ties on the one hand and blood sacrifices on the other. Both relationships, because of the origin of its members, bridged the Warl of the Dead and the Warl of the Living.

  Taking all of this into account, the ancient entity was convinced that Ab’Don’s willingness to let it take possession of his body had to be the reason for its ability to maintain a grip on the Warl of the Living despite all that the elf’s magic had done. Though the Sorcerer and the ancient entity weren’t from the same bloodline as the Fane J’Shrym were, the intensity and length of their relationship made them kin of sorts: the Evil One fulfilled the paternal role; Ab’Don was the eager son who wanted to fill his father’shoes. Still, the river of blood Ab’Don spilled to gain access to the loathsome entity’s magic and, as a result, to develop the ties that bound them together, lacked the potency of a shared bloodline like true relatives had.

  With this thought in mind, the Evil One roared for only the second time and dove back toward the ground where it went on a silent rampage, spewing so much fire on its enemies that the incessant incendiaries gave the wraith cloud covering the battlefield a permanent orange cast to it. The goal was to create so much chaos that the Hammer Bearer wouldn’t be able to anticipate the dragon’s next attack when it eventually came, giving the Evil One a measure of surprise it hoped to use to catch its foe off balance.

  Moving quietly through the sky, with only the noise of wind rushing over its wings to mark its passing, he Evil One hadn’t turned into a cold-blooded assassin, it always had been o
ne. There was only one thing it was passionate about- itself. It only had one tenent of faith: Everything, living and dead, must bow before it and by this act proclaim the Evil One’s unsurpassed greatness. When others felt pain while it felt pleasure in their suffering only confirmed the ancient entity’s view of itself by proving it was stronger than others, that it was stronger than the warl itself and every other realm that exists. That’s why it was only logical for the Evil One to claim the Mountain of Song for its own.

  “Kaylan,” Travyn squinted into the glowing, orange smoke that wafted about him in tumbling currents of air that were created by the dragonfire, “with Lylah’s kinship to water, can’t she do something to make the thunderhead wash this filth away. I can’t see far enough to spit accurately, let alone direct a lightning bolt.”

  “What do you think?” Kaylan asked his waterkynd mate. Strangely enough, the smoke made Lylah’s vaporous form easier to discern since her fundamental essence was so different from the wraith warriors’ own.

  “If Travyn could conjure up the storm with his mind’s eye,” Lylah’s voice sounded like gentle falling rain, “I can’t see why you can’t make it rain. Who among men and elves understands water better than you: You’ve been to the Realm of Water where you swam in the endless ocean found there, your form became as mist-like as my own when we came Together in the Realm of Vapor, and you’ve soared on wings made of frozen crytstals in the Realm of Ice.”