by Rex Hazelton
Hearing their lord's call to arms, the commanders shouted Koyer's name over-and-over again.
Flushed with their echoing accolades, the dark lord spread out his impressive wings, once more, and bellowed, “Nyeg Warl will be ours!”
Instantly the commanders joined their lord in chanting, “Nyeg Warl! Nyeg Warl! Nyeg Warl!”
After folding up his leathery wings, Koyer continued his instructions, inciting the bloodlust that the impending war was fomenting in the room. “We'll hold the other kings at bay, using guile and threats. The propaganda, we'll spread across Nyeg Warl, will explain how that both Grogan and Nestor invited us to enter their realms to help them withstand Barden's aggression.”
“Then, we'll concoct some excuse to invade Shomeron. That will be easy enough. All we'll need to do is stir up some further skirmishes with Barden's forces that can be added to the ones already fought when we seize the Blood Canyons. Or maybe we'll execute a From lord or or two, then blame their deaths on Barden's assassins.”
“How about killing one of the kings?” one of the Archan commanders proposed.
“No, Larm. We'll need them to keep herd on the sheep they rule over,” Koyer explained. “As long as the flock can hear their shepherd's voice, they'll be less inclined to flee. You see… having the kings standing by our sides will keep us from looking like the wolves we really are!”
Laughter again burst forth as the commanders slapped each other's arms in acknowledgment of their ruthless intentions.
“The threat we'll use to hold the other kings at bay is two-pronged.” Koyer lifted his voice to regain order. “First, Nyeg Warl's kings will hesitate in helping Barden out of fear for their own son's lives we now hold in the palms of our hands.”
“What about Wombur the Bull King?” Larm stood to his feet as he spoke, revealing his short, heavily-muscled Archan frame. “Remember, he refused to send his son into the snare we set at the Feast of Harmony.”
“The Bull King won't challenge us in battle without the support of the other kings.” Koyer's lips flared, revealing his thick red tongue, as he gave his explanation. “And the other kings won't support him, not until their resolve has been steeled.” The Lord of Regret paused to accentuate the next words he would say. “So, we'll see that this doesn't happen, not until it's too late.”
“And how will we do that?” Brakor roared.
“We'll lie. And then lie to cover up our lies. And lie again to support our earlier lies!” Koyer, displaying his fangs like an animal that was about to attack, slammed his fist down on the blood-red table. “Commanders, we're going to attack while denying our true intentions every step of the way. We're going to lie even when we don't have to. Falsehood and guile will be strong allies. We'll use half-truths, outright fabrications, and unwarranted rumor to sap as much strength from our prey as we can. After all commanders, we're not looking for a fair fight.” Koyer's glowing eyes shrunk to slights again, as he added, “We're looking for the complete annihilation of our foes with as little effort used as possible. So, even if we had the edges of our daggers held to the throats of all the kings and chieftains of Nyeg Warl, we'll still lie and tell them we're only interested in giving them a proper shave.”
The excited cretchym began flying up-and-down out of their seats, their eyes leering lustily at the others who were, once again, laughing unabashedly at their lord's dark humor.
“We'll instruct those in the Society of Truth who know our true intentions to lie even to the most absurd extremes, and to continue to lie until they themselves are bereft of all their followers, who, in the end, see their folly in having listened to them. Then, and only then, will we give them leave to join our armies in battle.”
Pausing to gather his thoughts, Koyer added, “The second prong of the threat we'll use to hold the kings at bay while we gather Grogan, Nestor, and Barden into our fold, will be aimed at the kingdoms they rule. We'll make it clearly known that we'll interpret any help sent to Barden as proof of their own culpability in his aggression against Grogan and Nestor. Understanding that our alliance with Cassiakynd and Verdant Deep will demand we retaliate with our full might against their throne and people, they'll be slow to do anything.”
At the same time, our emissaries will assure the kings that we will return to G'Lude once Barden's threat has been dealt with and that Barden will be turned over to them for judgment, once our work is done. The Society's unrelenting voice will help make this seem plausible.”
Koyer sat down and folded his hands together. “There's one more thing I need to tell you.” A most unusual look crossed the Lord of Regret's face, one filled with consternation.
The shadow of doubt, that briefly crossed their master's face, puzzled the officers. Before that moment, they had only seen unbounded arrogance reflecting off Koyer's inhuman features.
“It seems one claiming to be the Hammer Bearer has arisen in Nyeg Warl.”
“How can that be?” Crom angrily complained. “Ab'Don's the Hammer Bearer!”
“That's right. Ab'Don is the Hammer Bearer who prophecy tells us will unite the Warls. The hammer he holds in the Hall of Voyd proves he is the Chosen One.” Koyer calmed his commander down with this assurance. “But a pretender can cause trouble if the people of Nyeg Warl believe his claims. He may even be able to unite some of the kings against us and, by this, make our task more difficult. Ab'Don has ordered us to strike before this can happen. That's why we will begin the invasion as soon as possible.”
“We must sink our claws deep into Nyeg Warl's rock and soil before the winter snows arrive. Once we've toppled Grogan, Nestor and Barden's thrones, we'll have the base needed to launch an all-out assault in the spring. During the winter, the Malamor, along with thousands of conscripts, will be shipped from Ar Warl into G'Lude to add to our forces. By the time the snows melt, we'll have amassed an army of terrifying proportions that can easily overrun Nyeg Warl.
We'll go for Wombur's throat first and remove our most adamant and capable foe. After that, we'll divide Nyeg Warl down the middle by conquering the Eagle King. Then, it'll just be a matter of time before we gain our prize.”
Shouts erupted as the commanders stood to their feet and drew out their weapons. Laying them on the blood-red table, they vowed to follow their lord even if he led them into the Fires of Darkness.
Perfectly timed with the show of fealty, a young man held in throes of a drug induced stupor was brought into the room and forced to lay upon the table. Four Archan held his arms and legs down while Koyer, taking an Archan battle ax in hand, split the young man's chest open as expertly as any physician could. His razor-sharp finger nails cut away the remaining tissue, until he had pulled out a still beating heart.
The room fell silent.
Mindful that the ceremony would infuse them with another portion of Koyer's evil magic, the council stood to its feet, engulfed in tense anticipation. Then, as he had done a hundred times before, the Lord of Regret lifted the sacrifice up for all to see before bearing his fangs and biting into the heart with the enthusiasm of a child eating a stolen pastry.
A thousand pair of glowing eyes, looking like torches carried by a mob, reflected off the dark glassy walls. As the Lord of Regret's power was renewed, the glowing increased. In time, each of the commanders was given a piece of the sacrifice, so they too could partake of the evil magic this unholy ritual conjured up.
Chapter 22: Grogan, Nestor and Barden
The Blood Canyons were named for their distinctive red cliffs. In ages past, an incredible deluge had carved these sinewy crevices out of the High Plains sitting between the Cragmar River, on the west, and the Clay River, on the east. The canyons contained some of the most unusual and beautiful rock formations in all of the warls: awe inspiring rock cliffs towered above a lattice work of streams and a pine forest capped the canyon heights. If it weren't for the fact that these canyons emptied out into the foreboding Straits of Regret, they would have been a popular place for travelers to visit.
Larm, an Archan commander, led a force of ten thousand of his kind into the red-walled maze. Each of the warriors was more than a head shorter than a man of average height and much thicker in build. Descendants of the tall Malamor, G'Lude's magic had transformed them. More comfortable in the dark caves and lava tubes, winding their way through the Mountains of Sorrow like so many holes in a termite colony, the Archan had, strangely enough, lost the light-blue eyes their ancestors possessed. Now, large, charcoal-colored ones sat on either side of round cartilage free noses. The only feature that remained intact over the centuries, was the blond hair that flowed over their shoulders, hair as thick as a horse's mane.
Dressed in a color scheme mirroring Koyer's distinctive appearance, the Archan wore black leather pants, black capes, and black helmets. Like their master, crimson breastplates covered their dense torsos; black leather boots, studded with short crimson spikes, covered their feet. Heavily muscled arms, carrying double-headed battle axes and round crimson bucklers, lay bare before the elements. In addition to these weapons of choice- spears, swords, bows and sheaths of arrows were seen strapped to their wide backs as they marched along.
Scores of single-axle carts, made from heavy black lumber, followed them over the Bridge of Despair and into the canyons, their blood-red wheels groaning as they went. Many were filled with provisions; others were empty in anticipation of carrying plunder out of Nyeg Warl and back to the Isle of Regret.
Larm, who rode on a gray-mottled steed, as ill-tempered as he was, led a cavalry of better than five-hundred Archan who rode under a black banner, bearing the insignia of a red heart rent in two. Carrying long red-tipped lances, along with their favored battle axes, the fierce Archan horsemen sat atop black saddles, holding crimson reins between their thick fingers.
Koyer, attemping to hide the true motives for his minions going forth, chose not to lead this army. By remaining in G'Lude, he hoped to convey the message that his only interest in Nyeg Warl was in offering King Grogan a hand against the threat posed by an aggressive enemy, King Barden. By holding the Malamor and cretchym back, he kept his enemies from gaining proof that would link the warriors' movements to Ab'Don's wishes. Only a portion of the Archan were sent forth, giving the Lord of Regret's deadly intentions as much of a benign appearance as possible. Because of this strategy, giants and hunchmen were held in reserve, as well. Two cretchym, flying overhead, were the only exceptions to this ploy. Looking more like real birds than others of their kind, these were given to Larm to act as spies.
Hahrm, a commander over one-half of the infantry, led the warriors deep into the shadowy main canyon that wound its way through the Highland Plain like a root in search of water. Larm followed behind with the cavalry and the remaining warriors. In due course, they approached a battlement made of heavy timbers, built among a brace of massive boulders, where two-hundred of Barden's best warriors stood guard over the fortifications.
Eyeing the huge cliffs rising above them, Hahrm gave a command to his orderly. The soldier's black cape snapped behind him as he went to dispatch two groups of climbers. These were elite warriors who had developed their expertise on the Mountains of Sorrow's barren heights, an expertise they had acquired for just such an occasion as this. Scaling the red rocks, as easily as lizards climbing a wall, they positioned themselves to mount an attack from above. Their objective was to cut off any who might try to escape.
“Halt! Who goes there?” a Shomeronian warrior shouted.
Hearing these words, Hahrm signaled and a member of the White Guard came forward.
“It is I, Syron, who speaks in commander Hahrm's stead.” Wearing white colors instead of black, the White Guard's raiment was the polar-opposite of the Archan attire; a crimson breastplate remained the common denominator.
“State your business!” the voice shouted from atop the battlement.
“We demand that you open the gates and let us pass through.”
“And why should we do that, seeing you have armed yourselves for battle!”
“We have only armed ourselves because King Grogan has complained that you and your fellow warriors have discouraged his citizens from visiting G'Lude. We come at their request, demanding that you remove your impediment to our growing relationship.”
The White Guard's mount chewed anxiously on its crimson bit, sensing the magic in its master's words.
“If Grogan has complaints, why didn't he send word to King Barden?”
“Because he was afraid your merciless lord would render reprisals. Instead, the king has asked us to help free his people from Barden's unwarranted oppression.” Syron, projecting a portion of Koyer's evil power through his speech, could hear Barden's warriors arguing over what they should do. Smiling, the White Guard was pleased that he was getting the results he had hoped for.
Still, the Shomeronian commander was able to resist Syron's magic and keep his warriors in rank. “Ashes,” the commander cursed, “that's a lie! We'll not open the gates for you.”
“Then by the authority vested in me, from the Lord of Regret and from King Grogan, I have no other recourse but to confront your belligerence with force.” After making this proclamation, Syron wheeled his mount around and moved away from the battlements.
Looking on with trepidation, the vastly outnumbered Shomeronians watched as a huge battering ram, whose end bore the likeness of a closed fist, appeared. A hundred heavily muscled warriors pushed it forward on wheels as red as blood. Other Archan walking alongside held up broad shields they used to protect the laboring warriors from a rain of arrows that was sure to follow.
Gathering speed, the massive fist slammed into the gates, sending out a deafening boom that echoed throughout the canyon. Another fifty ironclad Shomeronians arrived to strengthen their resistance.
Soon, the rain of arrows that had been forecast, began falling upon the Archan horde. Though those who carried the battering ram were well protected, some were struck by Shomeronian arrows. As they fell, others just as strong as them took their place.
CCCRRRACK! After much time had passed and many had died, the Archan warriors heard a loud breaking sound that told them their efforts were not in vain! Crunching, grinding noises followed as the battering ram pushed the heavy gates apart. The debris, the Shomeronians had hastily heaped up against the doors, was reluctant to give way. But inevitably, an opening large enough to allow a thick Archan to pass through appeared. Without a moment's hesitation the Warriors of Regret, wanting to display their courage, leapt through the opening before it could be enlarged for a mass assault. The first five were felled with deadly arrows. But once the opening had increased in size so that three warriors abreast to charge through, the arrows could not reach them all. Nearly a third of the Archan, those involved in the initial assault, survived the passage to engage the Shomeronians in hand to hand combat.
King Barden's warriors fought fiercely, trying to repulse the attack. But they were out-numbered. On they fought. But the trickle had already become a torrent.
The question of who controlled the gates was no longer in doubt, leaving the brave Shomeronians to only fight for their lives. After seeing the Archan mountaineers gliding down the cliffs, looking like an army of spiders using their silken threads to lower themselves onto their prey, the brave Shomeronian commander rallied his troops into a tight ring where they prepared themselves to make their last stand: spears were raised; eyes, peering out from the cover of iron helmets, surveyed the enemy; shields were lifted. Though more Archan had died in the fighting than Shomeronians, Barden's men were doomed. Understanding what lay ahead, they set their jaws to exact as much retribution as they could.
Unaware of the fury they were about to face, the Archan danced about with the heads of the slain Shomeronians lifted high in the air, skewered on the tops of cruel lances. Then to the utter surprise of G'Lude's warriors, the Shomeronians attacked, ending their premature celebration. Fighting back, like a cornered badger, King Barden's men savagely cut their way through their
adversaries. Yet, this was no mindless slaughter, the Shomeronians were trying to reach the confines of a tower they hoped to hold until reinforcements came.
Swords flashed about like lightning bolts, dismembering the Archan, as revenge was exacted in part. But Koyer's forces would not be driven back for long. Soon, battle axes were biting into Shomeronian flesh, blood flowed, and the condemned screamed in pain.
Then, all at once, a deafening calm fell on the battlefield and the fight was over.
Gradually, the moans of the wounded returned, filling the soundless void. But this time, the earlier rejoicing did not return. In that short battle, the Archan learned that Nyeg Warl would not be easily conquered. But that was all right with them, for they had been bred for war, and the conflict they had just endured only validated their existence.
The next day Hahrm's troops approached another battlement with the heads of over two-hundred Shomeronians bouncing along on Archan lances. Once again, the mountaineers were dispatched, Syron was called forward and the events of the previous day were repeated. This same pattern of fighting continued as King Barden's defenses were methodically dismantled. Over the course of six skirmishes, that took place at six different gates, hundreds of Shomeronian heads were collected on a forest of lances, spikes and spears. From that day forward, whenever the name Blood Canyons was spoken, the memory of this slaughter came to mind instead of the beautiful red rocks that the canyons had been named for.
****
Dressed in red robes that were the official apparel worn by G'Lude's ambassadors, Clyntor bowed low before King Grogan. “I'm distressed to have to bring you such bad news.” Koyer's head of political operations, and member of the White Guard, was busy spinning his web of deceit.
King Grogan's realm lay between two of the Verdant Mountains' arms that stretched northward to where the Straits of Regret and the Breach Sea met. His fortress, known as Verdant Hall, was built out of a combination of massive timbers and large hewn stone taken from a nearby cleft in the mountain called Verdant Deep, a place that gave the capital city its name.
