by Rex Hazelton
The giant's eyes drifted away from the young Woodswane. Staring at the nearby tree tops, towering jagged silhouettes swaying beneath the invisible night winds continuously stroking hand, Bear was lost in thought.
Silence followed.
Taking advantage of the moment, Jeaf studied the giant's face- his large jaw, expressive eyes, and high rounded cheek bones- wondering if his companion was remembering Schmar's cave and the horrible battle he fought to escape from the place. Reaching out with his Powers of Intuition, he thought he could almost hear the sound of bones breaking and the screams of the dying intermingling with the giants' roaring. But the indomitable rage, that he felt sitting like a pool of molten lava at the core of his companion's being, was too much for Jeaf to handle. So, he withdrew his powers with a question. “Bear, how old are you?”
“Wha...?” Bear took a moment to gather his wits. “M'curious cat. By tha ways a giant figures things, I'd say you and I are bout tha same ages, though I'll still grow in heights, and I doubts you will- shorty.” Bear seemed pleased with what he had just said. “Shorty!” He repeated the adjective that had now become a name with the enthusiasm of one who had found a lost possession. “That's it! If y'call me ragamuffins, I'll calls y'Shorty, Shorty... See, I told you I'd come up with somethin good, given enough times.”
Jeaf risked being called a curious cat, once more, when he asked, “How many of your kind are there?”
To the young Woodswane's relief the giant didn't call him m'curious cat, but he did have to suffer the indignity of his new nick name.
“Well, Shorty,” Bear replied a bit hesitantly, “I don't know tha exact numbers, but I know there's less a us than there use t'be. T'tell ya tha truths, I've only met a few a m'kinsmans.” For a moment, Bear's face turned red like he was embarrassed about what he was going to say. “Y'see, after I escapes from Schmar's lairs, I went lookin for m'parents. But when I tells tha giants I meet whats happened t'me, they calls me names and drives me out a their homes cause they can't believe things like that can happen to our kinds. That's when tha Forest Peoples comes to me and rubs a golden balm inta m'skin and sings songs a healings over me. If it weren't for thems, I swear I'd be dangerous, bein so enraged at Schmar for tha things he dids t'me, and bein mad at m'kinsmans for chasin me away... Y'see, tha Forest Peoples saved me from m'rages and blesses me with both tha gifts of sorrows and hopes.”
Jeaf was glad to hear this. Hopefully the gift of sorrow and hope the Forest People had blessed Bear with would enable him to channel the fury he had earlier detected in him, a fury that could produce more damage than any person or animal Jeaf had met.
Returning the conversation to the Woodswane's original question, Bear added, “Though I don't know how many giants lives in Nyegs Warl, I do know our numbers grow smaller as each generations passes.” Sitting straighter than he had before, Bear lost all signs of his inherent playfulness as his deep voice intoned, “Four generations ago, Theryl -queen a tha giants- in tha galls a bitternesses, places a curse on our peoples cause of her husband, Creyl's, tormentin insults.”
“What insults?”
Engrossed in his story, the ragamuffin giant forgot to call Jeaf one of his nicknames when he answered. “Creyl heaps insults on her for not bein able t'give him sons... Since she can't bare any more childrens, after tha pains she has in giving births to her daughter, Theryl becomes blind with jealousies over tha other womens who are able t'have more than one childrens.”
Bear's voice lowered as he searched the darkness like something threatening was drawing near. “That's when she consorts with evils, evils tha gives her powers t'place curses on others... Legends say tha dark magic was able t'do its wicked works because of her bein tha queen. She's like a doorway, if you follows me, because of her positions. In bitternesses n'jealousies, she curses tha other giants so tha none has more than one childrens and surpasses her in excellences. She thinks her curses will hide her senses of failures, tha ones her husband makes her feel. Yet, tha tormentings of souls never goes away, because tha evils she does only makes it worse.”
The campfire's light cast the giant's shadow high up into the trees as he added, “Bein too proud t'repent of her wickednesses, Theryl's heart becomes forever twisted. Worse yet, tha roots of her evils winds its way into her daughter's hearts, makin her more twisted than her mother. In tha ends, her child, n'those her friends gives births to, becomes evil and dangerous t'all livin things.”
Yet, most a tha giants keeps their hearts from bein blackened by her curses. But this doesn't undo Theryl's spells. For each generation has half tha numbers as tha ones before it... Jeaf! It's a great sorrow for there t'be more parents than childrens.” Looking at the young Woodswane with tears filling his large, round eyes, Bear concluded by saying, “I'm parts of a dying race whose only hopes is that tha Hammer Bearer comes and brings Parms Warl with him. Who knows, tha magics of that age might undo Theryl's curses.”
The two returned to their earlier silence, and for a long while afterwards, each pondered the words that had been spoken, mulling things over until the campfire nearly burned itself out. During that time, Jeaf realized he liked the young giant. It was evident that the bond between the two was growing by the moment. The relaxed posture each took towards the other reflected this.
Later, Bear took a huge rock and made a pillow out of it. Laying his head down, he asked his newfound friend if he knew any goodnight stories. The young Woodswane, recalling things that his mother used to tell him to help him go to sleep when he was a child, began rehearsing the prophecies that spoke of Parm Warl.
After a time, Beryl closed his eyes. Comforted by the stories of the age of grace that he so longed for, a gentle smile crossed his face just before he let out a low throbbing sound that repeated time-and-again, rhythmically like the beating of a huge metronome.
Feeling the giant's snoring reverberating off of his own chest, Jeaf thought, No wonder they call him Bear.
Not long afterwards, both were fast asleep, dreaming about Parm Warl's glory.
****
The next morning the young Woodswane awoke and, after rolling over, discovered the giant fast asleep, snuggled up against him. In disgust, Jeaf shoved the enormous lug in the chest and shouted, “Wake up, you big ragamuffin giant!”
Startled to the point of hyperventilation, the groggy giant was quick-witted enough to quip, “Is it time t'get up, Shorty?”
“If I'm going to make it to Eagle's Vale by nightfall it is,” Jeaf shot back while packing up his bed role. “Come… we'll eat breakfast while we walk.”
As the day went on, Jeaf began to wonder if Bear had been sent to torment him rather than protect him. Among other things, the ragamuffin giant developed the habit of hitting Jeaf in the back with an occasional acorn or pine cone. Though the young Woodswane understood Bear was playing, eventually it became a trial whose irritation made Jeaf wearily exclaim, “Young people!”
Once, after the time in which an obligatory missile should have struck him, Jeaf turned to see that Bear was gone. Concerned by his absence, the young Woodswane backtracked until he found the giant hiding behind some bushes overlooking a stream. Hunched up in a massive ball, Bear was spying on a raccoon who was trying to break through a green turtle's shell.
Hearing Jeaf approaching, the raccoon dropped the turtle and fled. Freed from his furry assailant, the turtle quickly took flight to the bottom of a nearby pool of water.
“Did ya see tha, Shorty?”
“Yes, I saw it.” At that moment an idea came into the young Woodswane's mind, an idea that he shared with his large friend. “Bear, I think you should lead for a while. That way you'll be in a better position to meet trouble if it shows up.”
Wanting to help, Bear eagerly consented, and the rest of the day's journey passed by uneventfully
Chapter 4: The Tall Man1
The path junctioned with River Road soon after the two had eaten their noon meal. The transition was abrupt. One moment, they were striding am
idst towering pines and huge twisted oaks, the next, they were traveling down a dirt road that cut its way through a patchwork of farmland. The wall of trees, standing behind them, swept out and off to their left until it ran up onto the Thangmor's lower slopes. To their right, the Cragmar Mountains stood off in the distance, east of the Eyrie River.
They walked for some time, passing farm houses surrounded by fields full of crops. Yellow, red, and blue corn, plump squash of every kind, leeks, tomatoes, and several varieties of succulent beans were numbered among the produce flourishing in the rich bottom land bordering the Eyrie River.
Later that day, when the sun had completed much of its journey across the sky, the young Woodswane and ragamuffin giant drew near to Eagle's Vale. Here the amount of land that the individual farmers worked decreased in size until the plots became no more than gardens... Eventually, flowers replaced edibles. Among these, lavender, roses- whose variety of colors reflected the full spectrum of visible light- jasmine and a shower of electrifying snap dragons predominated.
River Road's northerly direction, in time, began swinging westward into Eagle's Vale- home of the Valamor. Here it climbed quickly in elevation, making it necessary for the houses, and the gardens accompanying them, to be constructed on tiers to accommodate the change. This gave the city a majestic layered appearance. At one point, Jeaf imagined he was looking at a massive wedding cake covered with a rainbow of swirling frosting. In the distance, positioned perfectly on top of the burgeoning city, the insuperable fortress of the Eagle King, the Eyrie of the Eagle, stood as the awe inspiring center piece.
Continuing up River Road, the young Woodswane was refreshed by the city's beauty and the cool evening air flowing down from the Thangmors' impressive heights. Twilight had descended on the vale, a time of day Jeaf loved. With its arrival, thousands of twinkling lights began appearing like a swarm of flickering fire flies dancing in the darkening shades of evening. Dutiful mothers, standing in the doorways of humble cottages, were busily calling their children home.
Quietly slipping beneath the curtain of night descending on the Vale, the young Woodswane peered through windows that revealed the homes' contents: brightly dressed families were seated at dinner tables laden with steaming pots of food; pin wheels of white cheese, bowls of whipped butter, and round loaves of dark bread stood alongside. The light, bursting out through the portals and into the darkening night, splashed upon Bear's face, revealing an expression of curiosity and wonder the likes of which Jeaf had never seen in all of his life. He guessed his friend, who fate had left an orphan, must be thinking that the simple pleasure of family life was the greatest magic in all of the warl. Shaking his head in amazement at all he had already learned from his ragamuffin friend, the young Woodswane thanked the Singer for his own parents.
The easterly moon was just rising above the Cragmar Mountain's distant peaks when Jeaf and Bear stopped at a tavern they thought was large enough to accommodate a giant. As they entered the door that stood beneath a sign bearing the name Star's Blood Inn, a short pear-shaped man shouted out, demanding they clean off their shoes before coming in.
After obeying the brusque command, they looked around the tavern whose vaulted ceiling rose well above Bear's head. Seeing that a dozen or so people were scattered about the tables, all with faces pushed close to their food as if they hadn't eaten for days, Bear took a seat on the ground, near the end of one of the long tables. Jeaf, picking up a three-legged stool, placed it beside his companion. Not long afterwards, once they were served the stew they had ordered for themselves, the two weary travelers were eagerly attacking their fare. Consisting of large chunks of sweet potato, summer squash, and mutton, all swimming in a rich brown broth, the meal was a fitting reward after the rigors of the past day's march. But before the young Woodswane was even halfway done, Bear, whose smiling face was smeared with aromatic juices, was already ordering more.
As they ate, Jeaf's Powers of Intuition began tugging at the sleeve of his awareness like a child trying to draw its parent's attention away from the work at hand- in this case, consuming a hearty meal- and towards a thing that caught their interest. Still, the young Woodswane's hunger kept him from immediately heeding the call. But after a feeling wafted over him, like it was a pernicious odor that reminded him of his dream where he battled noisome, tentacle-waving beasts, his focus changed.
Looking about, distracted from his meal by a mounting sense of concern, Jeaf noticed a lean man clad in a bluish-gray cloak who seemed overly interested in them. His face was the color of milk. Long wispy yellowish hair fell across his high forehead and down upon his broad bony shoulders. Eyes, inflicted with what appeared to be cataracts, stared at them with a look not dissimilar to a school yard bully sizing up his next victim.
After thoroughly inspecting the room, to make certain his guess was correct, Jeaf was sure this person was the sole source of his discomfiture. Realizing the stranger's attention was no passing fancy, the young Woodswane called Barmster, the pear-shaped innkeeper, over to the table.
“Him, good sir?” Barmster replied. “He's a commander in the service of the Soldiers of Truth.” Rubbing the top of his round head, he added, “I'd keep my distance if I was you.”
“Why?” Jeaf felt fear radiating off of the corpulent innkeeper.
Once he made certain his back was turned to the white man, as if he was afraid he could read his lips, Barmster continued. “The Soldiers of Truth is why.”
“Who are they?”
“They're a part of a society that claims devotion to maintaining the excellence of our culture and way of life. But me and my friends think they're busybodies who seem to stir up trouble more than anything else.Mind you, they have enough of a following to make a body think more than twice about crossing them. Even the king leaves them alone... The fear they put in people is powerful stuff.”
Barmster placed the back of a chubby hand against the corner of his mouth as he whispered, “They've got a lot of people thinking the whole kingdom will go to blazes without them. But there's still many of us who don't like them, them and the lists they keep.”
“Are they all white like he is?”
Bear mumbled, “Curious cat, that Shorty is.”
“No, as a matter of fact, very few of them are... just a couple of the commanders, as I can recollect.” The innkeeper wiped his thick fingers on the apron hanging from his broad waste, one that looked like a ship's sail filled with a strong wind. He did this to signal that he was done answering questions. And as he finished, an icy chill filled the air.
“My dear Barmster!” The very man they had been talking about was now standing directly behind the startled innkeeper. “Could you introduce me to your friends?”
Shaken by the foreboding voice, Barmster stuttered his reply. “GGGood sir! You, you, you'll have to ask for your, your, yourself... One day they mmmay become my friends, but today their just a couple of passerbys.”
Looking apologetically, the innkeeper hastily dismissed himself.“NNNow excuse me. I hhhave chores to see to.”
After watching the innkeeper move away much faster than Jeaf imagined he could, he turned to the tall man who stood motionlessly above him. Looking like a weather beaten scare crow, the kind seen hanging above a barren field, the man was silently waiting for someone to speak.
“I'm Jeaf Oakenfel and this is my friend Beryl.” There's nothing there, except, Jeaf surmised after probing the milky-white-skinned man's thoughts, except a bitter tremor. The memory of the sharp pain he had earlier endured came to mind, a pain he experienced while learning the art of swordsmanship under his father's tutelage. Lax in gripping his weapon, the blow Aryl's sword delivered sent painful vibrations into his hands, those that cut to the bone. Now a similar pain assaulted his Powers of Intuition.
Lifeless as a marble statue, Jeaf frowned while registering this information, a statue that moves and speaks, but not its own words. Something else is at work here, something I've never felt before.
&nb
sp; Nodding his head as he quietly repeated their names for memory sake, the milky-white-skinned man snapped out a question. “What business do you have in our city?”
“Why would you ask?” Jeaf replied while, surprisingly, fighting a desire to pull the man to the floor and extinguish his fetid life beneath his boot heel.
“My lad,” the tall man's dim eyes carefully perused the young Woodswane, “it's my business to know what goes on around here.”
“Then you work for the king?” Jeaf inquired, aware that this wasn't the case. “If you do, then I'll tell you what business I have in this fair city.”
The tall man's cataract-covered eyes squinted in displeasure. It was obvious he was not used to being questioned himself. “No! I don't work for the king. But you should tell me anyway, that is, if you know what is good for you.”
“Sir! I hope that's not a threat! If it is, then I'll have to tell the king how inhospitable his subjects are when I meet with him tomorrow.”
“An audience with Cane, you say? Well then, that puts a different light on things!” the milky-white-skinned man exclaimed, scornfully.
Noting how the tall man purposely avoided using the Eagle King's royal title, Jeaf became aware that the stranger was lacing his speech with a strange concoction of malevolent magic- a voice of command buttressed with equal parts of intimidation and shame.
