by Rex Hazelton
Not taking time to measure their foes' abilities, the soldiers rushed in as those zealous to a cause are ought, heedless of the danger they faced, a danger bound up in the muscles of a young Woodswane and a lithely built bard. In a moment's time, a barrage of clanging steel poured out into the surrounding darkness. Its incessant sound telling the tale of how the two men would not be easily subdued, for Jeaf was too quick for the assailants and Alynd was faster yet.
The young Woodswane ducked an attacker's weapon. Coming up and under with his own blade, its steel bit deep into the man's side; another's hand was severely slashed by Alynd's razor-sharp long-knife; a third soldier choked on broken teeth the butt end of Jeaf's busy sword had snapped off at their roots.
With a sense of futility setting in, the surprised soldiers dropped back, dragging their wounded with them. Three of the assailants were brushing themselves off after having been flung to the ground during the course of the struggle. This was puzzling to Jeaf, for he had no recollection of Alynd having thrown a punch. As a matter of fact, the enigmatic bard seemed not to have exerted much effort at all. While Jeaf- who was already exhausted by their race out of Eagle's Vale- gasped for air, Alynd sheathed his blade and folded his arms in a way that allowed his right hand to reach up, providing a resting place for his chin. Casually pondering the events that had just transpired, he lightly tapped his forefinger against his lips.
As the Society regrouped, Jeaf addressed his companion. “Alynd, I thought you said they wanted to question me, not skewer me?”
“Something's changed.” Blue light flashed out of the bard's eyes, piercing the deep shadow his broad-brimmed hat cast over his face. “They've already judged you without the usual perfunctory interrogation.” Pausing to reassess the situation, he added, “This is strange. Though they call themselves soldiers, they seldom fight, and even when they do, it is never to kill, but only to subdue since their power lies in popular opinion, not in the sword.”
While listening to Alynd's remarks, Jeaf's attention was drawn to a flash of white moving among the soldiers. The young Woodswane's jaw muscles tightened when he caught sight of the tall man pointing about with his long milky-white fingers, arranging his troops for their next attack. Jeaf's distaste for this man was now growing into hatred. So, he made a promise. If I'm not able to escape, I'll at least take his life and make the fire-blasted Society pay for their crimes.
The sound of a high-pitched whistle heralded the renewing of the battle.
At first, the soldiers started to circle their prey, looking like a pack of hungry wolves.
Placing their backs against one another, Jeaf and Alynd readied themselves for the inevitable onslaught. As the two turned, following the soldier's movements, the young Woodswane kept his eye on the tall man. He wanted to know where his target was when the real fighting started.
A hissing noise came from the tall man's direction. Jeaf thought he must have tried to whistle again but had failed. Yet, it didn't matter what had happened, for whatever it was, it cued the soldiers to begin their assault.
A multitude of swords flashed, a hailstorm of steel fell, but the two men were not idle. Jeaf's blade and Alynd's long-knife shot upward, blocking their attackers' murderous intentions. Thousands of hours of instruction the young Woodswane had received from his father, enabled him to respond instinctively to the enemy's attack. His superior training, along with Alynd's amazing speed, enabled them to hold the assassins at bay. Then in the midst of the sweat and blood, Jeaf discovered the tall man standing directly in front of him. In the blink of an eye, the young Woodswane reacted and mercilessly ran the ghastly man through his stomach's soft flesh. But, to his amazement, the razor-sharp sword didn't appear to faze him at all.
A breathy laugh filled the air before the commander reached out and grabbed Jeaf's throat with his free hand, a hand whose grip was as cold as iron and just as strong. Slamming his own hand up into the white sinewy wrist, Jeaf was unable to dislodge its hold. Not knowing what else to do, the young Woodswane twisted his sword, ripping at the tall man's guts, hoping that if he inflicted enough injury, his opponent would relent and loosen his grip. But the mutilation didn't produce the desired effect, nor did it draw a single drop of blood.
Gasping for air, Jeaf cursed as a dark thought slipped into his mind. Ashes, is this man human, he wondered. The horror this was not the case registered in the young Woodswane's thinking. Was he tangling with a foul wizard whose magic was too great for an ordinary man to resist? Yet, his Powers of Intuition told him this was not the case. He was being choked to death by a creature who was nothing more than a tentacle reaching out from some larger beast that, for the time being, wished to remain hidden.
The white-skinned man's laughter now shifted from the sound of breathy delight to an all-out expression of pleasure, pleasure in the kill, the ribald pleasure of perpetrating harm- ruthlessly and unabated. As his laughter echoed through the nearby woods, the tall man lifted his sword. It was time to retaliate against the stunned Woodswane, to exact sweet revenge. But before his sharp blade could do its work, the sound of heavy footfalls was heard. Turning towards the source of the noise, the tall man grimaced just before he was driven through the air by a huge metal-studded club. HRRUMMPPPHH!
At first Jeaf thought a large barn owl had flown out of the night sky and crashed into the tall man. But the voice he heard clarified what was a foot. “Hey Shorty, d'ya need some help?” Bear quipped as he swung his club again felling two more soldiers with its mighty blow. At the same time Alynd stretched forth his hand and pushed at his opponent, but without actually making contact. He too fell, landing on top of the soldiers who had been downed by the giant's blow, pummeled and bereft of air.
Before Jeaf could gain enough composure to thank his friend for saving his life, the giant let out a roar of pain. An attacker had driven his sword into the side of one of Bear's massive legs. Then, in a single fluid violent motion, the giant pulled the sword from his thigh, with one hand, while he swung his huge club, with the other, crushing the man's skull as easily as if it had been made of paper. Quickly seeking another target, Bear's upper lip curled in anger. But none was found. The giant's unexpected arrival, coupled with his overwhelming display of brute strength, drove the soldiers from the field of battle.
“Bear, are you all right?” Jeaf cried out in concern.
“I'm fine,” Bear replied while holding his wounded leg. “But we better get outa here!”
“Lead the way,” the young Woodswane replied.
In the ensuing confusion created by the giant's surprise attack, the soldiers had withdrawn farther than before. Taking advantage of this, Jeaf, Alynd, and Bear quickly moved under the forest's protective canopy. But before disappearing into the dark shadows found there, they turned to see if reinforcements had come. None had. Instead, they saw the walking wounded mounting their horses for the return trip to the Eyrie of the Eagle: five cut by sword or long-knife, two with ribs broken by the giant's club, one missing his front teeth, and another laying across his saddle, as limp as a rag doll. Jeaf bit his lip as he looked on; he had never seen a man killed in battle before. Sadly, he doubted it would be his last.
In the midst of the milling about, a solitary pale pillar stood watching the three making their escape. It was the tall man. But he didn't follow them. At least not yet.
Alynd took a quick look at Bear's leg to see what could be done. The wound wasn't bleeding much, and the giant assured them he was strong enough to travel, so they headed off into the forest. Locating a trail, the same one Jeaf used on their trip to the Eyrie of the Eagle, they headed back towards the Oakenfel home.
Being a Woodswane, Jeaf was adept at journeying through the woods at night. He wasn't surprised to learn Alynd was equally adept, and only mildly surprised to discover that Bear could hold his own. So, they moved quickly through the forest, driven forward by the peril they knew was steadily moving towards Jeaf's unsuspecting parents. On they ran, until the race began to take
its toll on the young Woodwane. Seeing him stumble, depleted of energy by their incessant flight and by the battle they had fought, Bear lifted Jeaf up off his feet. Carrying him piggyback style, the young giant followed Alynd, who had now taken the lead.
With fatigue tightening its grip, Jeaf was soon falling in and out of sleep. Once, he dreamed he was back home as a child, enjoying a horseyback ride on a much younger Aryl. In his dream, he and his father were laughing in the pleasure each had in the other's company.
****
Hearing talking, Jeaf awakened to discover Bear had set him down on a thick blanket of grass growing next to a bubbling stream. As he shook himself, he saw the young giant tending to his wounded leg, shrouded in moonlight, while Alynd was filling skins with water drawn from the stream.
“Where are we?” the young Woodswane asked.
Looking up from his work, Alynd replied, “It will be daytime soon, so we decided to get some rest while it was still dark. Pushing hard, we should reach your home by nightfall and arrive before Koyer's man do. Get out the food you brought. You must eat now and restore your strength.”
Soon, Jeaf was chewing on jerky and trail mix. The tall man's iron grip, leaving his throat bruised, made it hard to swallow. Gingerly rubbing his neck, he watched Bear reach for another of the baked goods his mother had made him. Having firsthand knowledge of the giant's rapacious appetite, he was surprised one had survived so long. “Thank's for saving my life. If you hadn't stepped in at the precise moment you did, I think the white man would have killed me.”
“Think nothin of it, Shorty,” Bear replied.
Not dissuaded by his friend's brusque response, Jeaf couldn't help asking, “How did you come to find us anyway?”
“Well, my curious cat, it just so happens tha I decides t'camp just inside tha forest's edges, t'wait your return... I'd just gone t'sleep for tha nights when tha sounds a fightin wakes me up. When I go t'see who was doin all tha fightin, I was surprised t'see it was you.” Bear swallowed the food he had been chewing on before continuing. “I didn't expects you t'return 'til late tha next days... But there you and Alynd was, swattin away like you was try'n t'chase a swarm a bees off.” Bear waved both of his hands about to demonstrate. “When I comes t'help, I notices tha pasty fellow has his sights set on you. So, I just steps over and lets him know I was there.” Snorting air in through his large round nose, the giant added, “I warned him not t'come after us, didn't I?”
“What's that man's name,” Jeaf asked. “Bear, do you remember the name he gave us at the inn?”
“His name is Grog.” Alynd said after returning with skins full of water. “Most think he is a commander in the Society of Truth. Others know he is more than that.”
As he spoke, the bard's eyes looked like two blue embers glowing in the darkness. “In the days after the Breach, when Nyeg Warl was young, Grog was one of the captains who led an assault on the Isle of Regret in an effort to expunge the last traces of Ab'Don's defilement from the land. But, lo, half of his fleet was drowned in the savage waters guarding the island. Many others were killed by the sea serpent Laviathon and his children. The rest were captured only to be tortured to death. Some fell beneath the spell of the White Hand.”
“Later, other brave warriors followed Grog, trying to succeed where he had not. But these failed just as miserably. It's said, the kings and the captains who fell under Koyer's spell now walk in the ranks of the White Guard.”
“White Guard?” Jeaf quizzed.
“Yes, this is what Koyer calls his personal body guard,” Alynd added as he came over to stand before the young Woodswane. “They're an evil wind blowing across Nyeg Warl, one that does not age and cannot die of natural causes.”
“So that's it,” Jeaf chimed in. “I ran Grog through his stomach and he acted like I hadn't done much more than poke him with my finger.”
“Don't misunderstand!” Alynd was trying to put things into perspective. “Those in the White Guard most certainly can be killed. But one must first understand the magic protecting them before one can counteract it.”
Alynd turned to look back down the trail before he continued, his blue eyes squinting as he searched the woods for any sign that would tell them the chase had been renewed. “Those who have escaped from under Koyer's iron fist tell stories about a vault of wickedness laying deep inside the Mountains of Sorrow. Though few have seen it, all believe the rumors they've heard that tell how thousands of blood-filled urns are stored there, blood Koyer drained out of those who are now numbered in his White Guard.”
“Why would he drain their blood?” Jeaf spoke in hushed tones, not certain if he wanted to hear what he was about to hear.
“It is said, an ancient evil taught Ab'Don how to cast the Spell of the White Hand.” Alynd's eyes darted about searching the woods as he spoke. “The dark thing, uncoiling itself from the roots of the warl and slithering into Ab'Don's life, gave him a hunger for the souls of men. The ritual of the White Hand gave him the means that he and his henchmen like Koyer could feast on these souls and make men their slaves, forever, or at least until the urns of blood are broken.”
Jeaf squirmed as he spoke. “What magic is this? How can their bodies live without blood?”
“They still must be nourished with food, drink, and air. But these things are now carried through their bodies by the spell's power, a power that accomplishes the work blood once did.” Alynd paused before reaching his point. “As I've said, Koyer's White Guard can be killed. Have no doubts about this! But the task is not an easy one since they cannot die unless they are crushed or dismembered beyond repair. Starvation will also do the job. Cutting off their heads is the surest way to end their fetid existence. Do this and their blood will dry up in their urns.”
“I like tha one 'bout crushin thems.” A mischievous light shone in the young giant's eyes as he added his contribution to the conversation.
“But, I don't get it! What does the White Guard have to do with the Society of Truth?”
“Curious cat.” Bear chuckled, his heavy braids swaying about as he did.
“Many believe the White Guard helped found the Society to discredit Koyer's critics,” Alynd explained.
“How have they been able to do this?” The young Woodswane was incredulous. “Doesn't their white skin give their true identity away?
“It would, if they didn't have power in their speech,” Alynd replied. “The source of this magic comes from Ab'Don who has the ability to project great power through his words. It has served his purpose to apportion this magic to his generals. They, in turn, have passed remnants of this on to their own officers. Today, Koyer's servants use this power to seduce people into believing that the real danger in Nyeg Warl comes from those who seek to subvert the peace by accusing their lord of villainy.”
“Some call this magic White Sound. It effectively drowns out the voices of those who speak out against Koyer, dismantling their words, breaking them down, so by the time they reach the people's ears, they sound like so much garble.” Alynd paused in thought for a moment while he played with the leather pouch hanging from his belt. “Just why people don't look at Grog's skin and number him among the White Guard is hard to explain. It would be easy to simply say people want to believe a lie... Though there is much truth in this, it's a little more complicated than that.”
The bard's wide-brimmed hat brushed up against Jeaf's forehead when he bent over to look the young Woodswane in the eyes. “Grog, and those like him, say their white appearance is a sign that they have ascended to a higher level of purity they contend is a result of their strict adherence to the Society of Truth's doctrines. The magic their speech possesses makes this foolishness tenable to most. There are some who have actually latched onto the hope they may one day join these in their whiteness.
“The fact that Koyer's personal body guard has the same appearance as those who hold rank in the Society's hierarchy is simply viewed as a coincidence.”
Troubled by what he hea
rd, Jeaf took out his mother's candle. Relighting the now blackened wick, he set his mind to work. Mother! Mother! Can you hear me? He had to reach her! But try as he might, the flame remained silent. What this portended, Jeaf did n't know. But whatever it was, it wasn't good.
Sensing Jeaf's discouragement, Alynd reached into his small leather pouch and pulled out a tiny golden sphere. Breathing on the globe, a warm amber light soon bathed the three of them, lifting their burdens from off their minds, ushering them into a deep restful sleep.
****
The failing sun watched Jeaf, Alynd and Bear speeding beneath the forest's dense foliage, faster than deer fleeing a hunter's bow. Air, charged with foreboding energy, filled their lungs. All that day, the young Woodswane had not seen beast or bird. The utter stillness of the woods accentuated the sense of warning surrounding them. Holding its breath, the forest was aghast at those things that now passed through it, things Jeaf and his companions could not yet see. It was like the calm before a storm.
Onward, the three raced against the encroaching night nipping at their heels. With little rest, they had pushed foreward. Surprised he hadn't grown weary, Jeaf wondered if Alynd's magic was responsible for this, if somehow the orb's amber mist had changed him. It seemed each stride he took, and each foot fall that struck the rich soil, drew strength from the forest's resident life force. The young Woodswane felt he was more a running tree than a man, one with the warl, an extension of its vitality.
As the darkness swept over them, a strange sound of fluttering wings came with it, a clamor heard above the tree tops. They weren't alone! Twilight was quickly being replaced by weightier shadows, those fell creatures of the night thrived on.
Looking up, trying to discover the source of the noise, Alynd cried out, “Run as fast as you can!”
Jeaf's Powers of Intuition warned him that other things were moving among the trees, foreboding things. As they sped along, he saw darkness running beside them, not far off in the greenwood. Soon, the sounds of hoof beats could be heard coming up the trail they had just passed over. The thought of the tall man, and his milky-white face, gave the young Woodswane a renewed burst of energy. Faster-and-faster, the three ran without stumbling or loosing stride. The concentration they needed to accomplish this feat was incredible. Copying Alynd, who had pulled out his long-knife as he searched the forest before them, Jeaf unsheathed his own weapon and Bear withdrew his huge metal-studded club.
