by Rex Hazelton
Title Page
Battle of Nyeg Warl
Book One of the Chronicles of the Prophetess and the Hammer Bearer
Rex Hazelton
Copyright
Battle of Nyeg Warl
Book One of the Chronicles of the Prophetess and Hammer Bearer
Copyright 2012 Rexford Evan Hazelton
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1: Lost Treasure
Chapter 2: Fifteen Summers Later
Chapter 3: The Journey Begins
Chapter 4: The Tall Man
Chapter 5: The Eyrie of the Eagle
Chapter 6: The Master Candle Maker
Chapter 7: The Race Home
Chapter 8: Jeaf's Escape
Chapter 9: Mythoria
Chapter 10: The Dream-Messenger
Chapter 11: Laviathon
Chapter 12: Muriel
Chapter 13: Grour Blood
Chapter 14: The Cliffs of Stromane
Chapter 15: The Trip Back
Chapter 16: The Village of Barm
Chapter 17: Vav
Chapter 18: The Society of Truth
Chapter 19: On the Banks of the Fyne River
Chapter 20: Vestlkynd
Chapter 21: Ab'Don Sends a Message
Chapter 22: Grogan, Nestor and Barden
Chapter 23: Forest Deep
Chapter 24: The Feast of Brosantaney
Chapter 25: The Tsadal
Chapter 26: The Grand Inquisitor
Chapter 27: The Road to Thundyrkynd
Chapter 28: Thundyrkynd
Chapter 29: The Storm
Chapter 30: The Road to Ranah
Chapter 31: Vestlkynd Pass
Chapter 32: The School of the Sword and Song
Chapter 33: The Raid on G'Lude
Chapter 34: On the Way Back
Chapter 35: Shiprock Island
Chapter 36: The Battle Begins
Chapter 37: Into Schmar's Lair
Chapter 38: The Defense of Wyneskynd
Chapter 39: The Cave of Forgetfulness
Chapter 40: The Third Blow
Chapter 41: Muriel's Child
Chapter 42: On the Plains of Decision
Chapter 43: The Bowl of Redemption
Chapter 44: The Final Battle
Chapter 45: In the Balance
Chapter 46: The Duel
Chapter 47: The Battle's End
Chapter 48: The Wedding
About the Author
Preview of "Tears of Andara"
Dedication
I not only dedicate this book to my wife, I dedicate my whole life to her as well. She is my Muriel and a singer/songwriter whose music is as a magical as she is.
Prophecy
There is a love within the warl that can calm the tempest tossed,
And mend the breach and heal the wound that evil powers have caused.
It is sweet love and only love that can lay foundations strong,
Upon which castles of stone are built to undo the ancient wrong.
The Hammer Bearer will find his love and with his courage heal,
Her broken heart and innocence that evil men did steal.
Together they will face the night and the wicked wind's onslaught,
And overcome the dragon's fire until justice has been wrought.
Though swords may clang and arrows fly and threaten to destroy,
The hope of peace, the light of day within the warl of joy,
Their love will rise like dawn's new day to drive away the dark,
And break the spell and crush the heads of all with evil's mark.
One destiny, two visions intertwined like ivy on a wall,
For a three-strand cord can't be broken by the darkness of the fall.
Embraced in each other's loving arms they will fight forgetfulness,
And usher in Parm Warl's resplendent light in the coming age of bliss.
The Prophecy of the Prophetess and the Hammer Bearer
Chapter 1: Lost Treasure
A deafening roar filled the star-splashed sky as the little girl soared over the warl perched on the back of a fur-covered cloud. Pinioned extremities, reaching out like the wings of a mammoth bird of prey, banked downward carrying the child towards the humble cottage she called home. Swooping low, with the fury of a plummeting meteor, the wings snapped wide open sending a host of tiny whirlwinds chasing one another across the Dyne River's cold, dark surface. Dashing onward through the woods, slipping beneath the upper boughs of the tallest trees, the dream-rider finished her nocturnal journey.
Not yet five summers old and already the raven-haired child had discovered the warl was a place full of mystery. Her dreams had taught her this. They came uninvited, escorting her into a vast realm laying at the edge of a feeling and on the cusp of a hunch, a place where tomorrow had already happened, or where it would never come to pass.
The lovely little girl had inherited her seer's blood from her father. Hair as black as her's, he too had ridden on the night wind as a youth- dreaming, feeling, hearing the wind's voice telling him he would bear a child, a prophetess who would learn to sing the Song of Breaking that would one day mend the Breach. Rustling like the sound of old parchment being unfurled, the wind promised the young man a sign to show him what was being promised was true.
“In the mouth of a fish you will find the token,” the zephyr wooshed out its oath. “On the day your daughter is born, place the gift upon her finger, and with it pledge her your undying love!”
Whispering its final words into his ear, the night wind wrapped itself around the handsome youth like it was a thick cloak. “For your love will save her and, in the end, help her win the day.”
A shower of reflected moonbeams sparkled upward from the little girl's ring, the prize her father had found laying in the fish's mouth the following day, as she let go of the cloud's mane and dismounted.
Chest heaving, as it replenished its lungs with the fog-laden air resting heavily on the grasses growing in the little girl's front yard, the fur-covered cloud let out a deep guttural purr and nudged her towards home. Satisfied the raven-haired child had complied, pinions long as swords spread skyward. Then a sound like a giant bellows makes, when furiously blowing across coals until they are red hot, heralded the dream's ending was near. But before the little girl had time to slip through the front door and back into her warm bed, ominous voices were heard wafting out of the night mists.
Alarmed at the brutish murmuring, the dream-rider quickly passed through walls made of heavy oaken timbers and scampered over to tap herself on the shoulder.
Instantly, her eyes opened as wide as an owl's. Fully alert, having bypassed the drowsy moments following deep sleep, she sat upright in bed, listening. Soon the menacing sound of shuffling footsteps could be heard coming up the stone walkway leading to her home. Looking out an open window, a chill ran down the little girl's spine when she caught sight of something standing between the cottage and the pale, sinking moon, something that cast a shadow through the window and across the hard dirt floor, defiling the very place she had sat playing the night before.
After a moment's hesitation, long locks of hair bounced lightly off the little girl's shoulders as she lept out of bed and dashed across the floor to where her parents slept.
“Daddy! Wake up! Something's making noise outside and it's scaring me!”
Trying to gather his wits, the handsome man yawned before responding to his daughter's urgent request. Reaching out, he drew his little girl close to himself. Kissing her on the forehead, he lifted her onto the goose down mattress he and his wife were sleeping on.
A moment later, the two lay motionless listening to the night.
“What's wrong Laz?” Mara asked her husband.
Gathering her thick auburn hair, the lovely women threw it over her shoulder, away from her daughter. Then scooting over in bed, she made more room for the child. Recognizing her mother's cue, the little girl was soon burrowing into the blankets covering her parents.
“Darling, shush.” The dark-haired man placed his fingers to his wife's lips. “Muriel says she heard something outside.”
The darkness filling the room could not hide the light showing in the little girl's rich reddish-brown eyes, eyes that were busily drinking in her mother's beauty. “How do you feel Mommy?” Muriel gently rubbed Mara's stomach that was just beginning to show evidence of the new life it held, savoring the feelings of security her mother's warm flesh gave her.
In the daytime, the lovely little cottage, nestled among the verdant woods growing near the eastern banks of the Dyne River, was anything but scary. Most thought it was enchanting. None would say it was frightening. The sylvan ivy growing all about the heavy wooden exterior, like layers of leafy feathers, made the humble abode look perfectly situated within the warl of tree and fern. For Muriel knew it to be nothing less than a safe haven and the foundation of her happy little life. And if it weren't for her childish imagination, or the intuition a dream can birth, it would be impossible to think danger could ever threaten the idyllic life she and her parents had known there. Nevertheless, danger had arrived!
In time, a cacaphony of foreboding voices could be heard rising out of the night's waning darkness.
Overhearing the muffled conversation transpiring among unseen intruders, Muriel's father slid out of bed and slipped his trousers and boots on while his wife and child hurriedly changed out of their night gowns. Reaching for his sword, he went over and locked the windows. Satisfied their home was now secured, he shouted to those who were outside, “Who goes there!? Identify yourselves!”
At first, only silence followed, the kind of silence accompanying deep thought, like a decision was being made, one that Laz's warning had forced on the strangers.
If deliberations were taking place, they didn't last long. For a loud boom rocked the cottage. KKKTHUD! The sound of a battering ram, slamming into the oaken door, was heard for a second time.
“By the Fires of Darkness, who is it Laz?” The adrenaline rushing through Mara's body made her voice sound tremulous, belying the courage pumping through her intrepid heart, for she was no ordinary housewife. No! She was a huntress whose exploits were renowned in the region. Though never having served in an army, nor stridden beneath a banner upon the field of battle, she was not lacking in fighting skills, skills honed within the reach of a bear's knife-like claws and the wolf pack's ravenous fangs. And on this night, she would need every woodland trick she knew.
Readying himself for battle, Muriel's father searched his mind for an answer to his wife's troubling question. Who could it be? What do we have that would be worth the trouble? We pose no threat and seek no enemy. Why? Burn it to ashes! Why?
In time, Muriel's mother lit one of the candles she had purchased from an itinerant Candle Maker. Closing her eyes and aiming the palms of her hands toward the door, Mara focused her thoughts into the candle's flickering flame hoping against hope its magic would protect her and her family.
Intently watching these actions, the black-haired child closed her eyes and lifted her tiny hands as close to her mother's as she could, and like her mother, she aimed her small palms in the direction of the door.
Widening his stance, Laz lifted his sword. Broad shouldered and narrow-hipped, his skill with the blade had earned him a position in the Eagle King's Elite Guard. His exploits in the Wilderness War had earned him the track of land he now lived on.
The battering ram struck again. KKKTHUD!
Arm muscles rippled as he passed his sword across the door's width as though it was a wizard's staff warding off evil spirits while he continued racking his brain, trying to make sense out of what was happening to him and his family.
CCCRACK! Another blow was dealt.
With the wooden bolt having been broken, Muriel watched her father lower the tip of his sword to the ground. At her tender age she was unaware this was a ritual among her family's people, one that prepared them for battle. Though shaking like a frightened rabbit, she felt she would be safe in the presence of her father who Muriel thought was the strongest man in all the warl. For on the day she had fallen into the family's well, wasn't he the one who had climbed down the dark shaft to pull her back into the light? The memory of his strong grasp, on that day, reassured her that he would again pull her and her mother out from the perilous pit fate had cast them into.
The battering ram struck again and again. KKKTHUD! CRACK! This continued until the door was separated from its upper hinge.
Once a large enough opening appeared, two black creatures slipped into the cottage.
Panther quick, Laz disemboweled the first one while tripping the second with his leg, sending it sprawling to the floor. Without taking time to examine his gruesome deed, he yanked his sword out of the dead assailant and, in an arch as wide as a rainbow, savagely swung it down upon the neck of the second creature who was futilely trying to scramble back onto its feet.
Muriel shrieked when a disembodied head tumbled across the floor and came to rest at her feet. The tooth-filled mouth, round as a saucer, kept moving like it was trying to tell her something, something she knew she didn't want to hear. The creature's eyes, black as night, reflected the torch light appearing in the front yard while its jaws began slowly churning in a chewing motion, and at last, went still. As the creature went limp, a thick red tongue fell out of the circular mouth, looking like lava oozing down the side of a volcano. Stubby, razor-sharp teeth, numerous as bristles on a brush cut the tongue as it slid lifelessly to the floor.
“Schmar's offspring,” Laz spat the words out from between clenched teeth. The Warlers called them river-children for their ability to move as easily in water as they could on dry ground.
Sneering in disgust, he looked down at the monster's lifeless human-like shape as he struggled to disentangle a thread of logic from the snarled enigma twisting about him and his family. Why would they attack? What could their motives be?
Then, accompanying an incandescent burst of the full spectrum of brilliant colors dancing on the head of Muriel's tiny ring, the wind crept through the broken door and whispered into his ear, saying, “Save her, for she is the one!”
Turning, he saw the torch light reflecting off his daughter's ring, and in the moment its radiance hit his eyes, the wind wrapped a vision around his shoulders, its invisible magic covering his head like a hood.
The roar of an angry bear filled his ears and he found himself pushing his way through the thick brush growing along the banks of the Dyne River. Somehow, he knew garbled shouting would soon mingle with the bruin's bellowing complaints. Once he heard the expected cries rise from the din of a furious battle, he realized he was reliving a day ten summers past.
Thorns tore at his clothes and stones bruised his flesh as he slid down the steep embankment leading to the site where the conflict had taken place. In the silence of the great struggle's aftermath, Laz crept up to the massive mound of fur and fang laying like a large gray boulder stuck in the river's bloodstained edge. Beneath the huge carcass lay a large salmon and one of the dreadful river-children, the first and last he had seen since that day.
It looked like the bear had mistaken the unfortunate creature for being a fish and plucked it out of the water, or maybe the two had coincidentally met as each pursued the salmon. With this thought in mind, Laz could almost picture the black creature chasing the big fish through the river's deep waters and into the shallows where the deadly bruin patiently waited.
The fish and the monster lay beside each other, oddly, each with its mouth agape; the only difference was a curious light glinting from between the s
almon's frozen jaws. After making certain the combatants were truly dead, Laz picked up the big fish. Reaching in its mouth, he pulled out a handful of sand the salmon must have scooped up in the melee. And there, resting in the presence of lesser stones lay a crystal of exquisite beauty.
Accompanying this discovery, the wind swept up the river, hurrying along as if it wanted to see what he now saw. Swirling about Laz's head, mussing up his raven-black hair, the vibrant breeze spoke. “For your love will save her and, in the end, help her win the day.”
“Muriel!” Laz blurted aloud as memories of her birth melded into the vision. Once again, he was lifting her tiny hand to place the stone, now cut and set on a golden band, upon her infant finger. Amazingly, in all the summer she'd worn it, the ring never had to be resized, for it grew even as she did.
Hearing her father call her name, Muriel replied, “Yes, Daddy?”
The sweet innocence of her voice snatched Laz out of his trance and hurled him back into the present where he looked down into his expectant child's eyes. Could it be? Have the river-children come for her? The remnants of the vision's fading magic pulsed in his body, responding to his thought, affirming his fears. Well, if they have, they'll be sorely disappointed, the grave warrior promised himself.
But before he could digest all he was thinking, another of the river-children leapt over the door hanging askew from its bottom hinge. Casting the full weight of its slippery body at Laz, the thing knocked him to the ground. Flowing with the inertia of the attack, the creature tumbled on top of the startled man, holding onto a jagged-edged long knife it planned to thrust into his throat.
Frowning, Laz caught sight of the mean blade slashing through the air towards him, an exact replica of the cruel weapon he had seen sticking out of the bear some ten summers earlier. But before the creature could plunge the dagger into his flesh, Laz reached up and seized the thing's wrist in a vice-like grip. Slurping, watery snarls erupted from the frustrated beast while the two rolled about, struggling for control in their deadly contest.
