by Rex Hazelton
By the time dusk finally arrived, the four horsemen had allowed their mounts to fall into a gentle gallop. When night finally engulfed the warl, they dismounted and led their horses on foot, picking their way through the shadowy trees, continuing on through the darkness. In time, with little night left, they stopped and made camp along the Norstlyk River, at a place marking the western boundary of Forest Deep. This would be as far as Silvamor and Shalamar would accompany their friends. Though they hated to let Jeaf and Alynd face the treacherous journey on their own, they knew that the elves could not yet interfere in matters concerning man. But the day would soon come when elven thread-arrows would light up the dark night of despair that had fallen over Nyeg Warl.
Drinking cool river water and eating honey cakes filled with raisins and walnuts, Jeaf listened to Shalamar tell a story about the Elf-Man. Alynd sat quietly listening, the brim of his hat tipped down over his eyes. Reaching out with his Powers of Intuition, Jeaf touched his friend's mind, and what he felt surprised him. Neither pride nor embarrassment could be detected. It was as if Alynd wasn't even listening, like he had better things to do.
Later, after the full moon had set, the four friends put out their fire and went to sleep, resting their heads on their saddles. The horses, who had earlier been freed to graze among the lush grasses and succulents growing on the banks of the Norstlyk River, would return to camp at the first sign of daylight.
Not long afterwards, while dawn courted the warl with the promise of a new day, Silvamor and Shalamar, astride their eager mounts, were heading back into the mists filling Forest Deep. Meanwhile, Jeaf and Alynd were riding southward along the Norstlyk's meandering course, heading towards the Bjork city of Thundyrkynd. Their short night's rest would have to do, speed was now essential, especially with the knowledge that bounty hunters and hunchmen were on the prowl.
Alynd was careful to steer east of the river to avoid the realm of the Tsadal, a realm that lay west of where they would travel. He negotiated their passing like one who estimated the length of a fettered guard dog's chain. Bound by a self-imposed spell, that relegated all other people of Nyeg Warl to a status slightly above their livestock, the Tsadal could be an obstinate and contrary people. Though they seldom left their valley, Alynd asked Jeaf to keep a look out for their unwelcome presence. And in time, the young Woodswane got an eyeful.
Alynd and Jeaf, during the course of the day, moved steadily southward except for a brief stop for a midday meal. The terrain had become a series of steep undulating hills, portending the arrival of a coastal range of mountains. This range was the southernmost reaches of the mighty Alabaster Mountains that spilled eastward for a short distance, like a foot attached to a long leg, when it ran up against the Largryk Sea. This protrusion was the home of the seafaring Bjork, the masters of Thundyrkynd. But before they could reach these mountains, the unwanted happened. They ran into a handful of mounted Tsadal warriors near where the Styndg River flowed into the Norstlyk.
Seeing them approaching from behind, Alynd spurred his roan forward in an attempt to escape. Jeaf was close behind. Thundering along the trail, bordering the river, the Tsadal were in hot pursuit. The magnificent elven steeds were pulling away from the intruders; they would've eluded them entirely if it not for another group of Tsadal who were riding up the same trail they were using for their escape. Instinctively, Alynd veered off into the woods that lay east of the river, with Jeaf shadowing his every move. But unbeknownst to them, one of the Tsadal warriors, anticipating their maneuver, had left the river-trail earlier, wanting to cut them off before they penetrated too deeply into the greenwood.
The Elf-Man drove his horse furiously through the wildwood in his efforts to escape Tsadal entanglements. Jeaf, casting his Power's of Intuition forward, sensed Alynd's building apprehensions.
The young Woodswane's horse labored uphill, following the trail Alynd had blazed, when the Tsadal warrior's steed came crashing out of the brush and into his mount, knocking Jeaf to the ground, sending him sliding down the steep incline. Tumbling ever downward, desperately trying to avoid a collision with the tree trunks that rose up before him, the young Woodswane could hear the heavy breathing of the Tsadal warrior's horse as it followed close behind. When he finally came to an abrupt halt, in a stand of thick brush growing near the foot of the hill, Jeaf extracted himself from the clawing shrub and drew his sword from its sheath. Jumping to his feet, he turned to face the horseman.
Seeing Jeaf's blade, the Tsadal lept from his horse and drew out his own weapon. Instantly, the two men began circling one another.
Sizing up his opponent, the young Woodswane noted that the warrior was easily as big as him, but more heavily muscled. Wearing a uniform made of blue cloth with the symbol of a golden hammer emblazoned on its chest, the man was fair-complected and possessed shoulder length hair as gold in color as a king's crown. Eyes as light blue as an unclouded day were riveted on Jeaf. The young Woodswane's Powers of Intuition told him that he was in for a fight.
“Drop your sword, you brigand!” the Tsadal warrior shouted in earnest.
“I'm no brigand!” Jeaf shouted his reply in infinite confidence of his own abilities to defend himself. “You drop your sword; or I'll have to teach you a lesson in manners.”
“We shall see who teaches who?” the Tsadal snapped back as he charged forward.
The sound of metal striking metal echoed through the ravine. At first, the sounds came sporadically, like the first drops of rain splashing upon parched ground, as each tried to get a feel for the other's style of fighting. After he thought he had figured the man out, Jeaf began to go to work in earnest. The rain shower now burst forth in a deluge of blows. But to the young Woodswane's surprise, the Tsadal warrior was able to match his attack with a cloud burst of his own. On they fought without either of them getting an advantage on the other. Jeaf's expertise, acquired at the hand of Nyeg Warl's Master Swordsmith, was matched by his opponent's brilliance. He was as fast as lightning; the Tsadal was just as quick. When one man's sword flashed through the air, the other's sped forth to meet the challenge.
Eventually, concern showed in Jeaf's face as he realized he had met his match. But neither he nor the Tsadal warrior would ultimately learn who was the better swordsman, for other Tsadal had arrived and were rapidly encircling them. Amazingly enough, neither man had been injured.
Understanding his predicament, the young Woodswane stepped back and dropped his weapon to the ground while the sound of a multitude of swords sliding out of their sheaths echoed throughout the forest. One of the warriors dismounted and picked up the discarded weapon; another went over and tried to divest Jeaf of the hammer. But before he could close his fingers around the prize, the young Woodswane made a motion with his hand, sending the startled Tsadal flying across the ground. Another warrior immediately dismounted and charged forward, his hands balled up in fists. The young Woodswane, who was employing the technique Alynd had taught him in the room behind the waterfall, set his feet and aimed the palm of his hand at the new attacker. Hitting him with a concentration of N'Rah, he sent the Tsadal flying away as if someone had grabbed him by the shoulders and jerked them backwards. Not detoured by the odd happenings, driven on by anger, the others dismounted and overwhelmed Jeaf with numbers he couldn't deal with.
Seeing that the stranger had been incapacitated, the golden-haired warrior walked over and casually withdrew the hammer from its sheath.
“Give it back!” A voice, whose magic was louder than a lion's roar, cut through the air.
Then, before the intruding magic had dissipated, another horse pressed through the ring of Tsadal warriors. Leaping from his saddle, the Elf-Man stepped forward and took the hammer away from the startled warrior. After giving it back to Jeaf, Alynd reprimanded those who had acted so roughly. “Are you Tsadal warriors, or highwaymen? Do not take that which is not yours!”
The man who had knocked Jeaf off his horse replied, “Since you brought up the subject of highwaymen, why d
id you flee?”
“We fled to avoid the kinds of protracted entanglements the Tsadal are famous for,” Alynd explained while pulling Jeaf away from the men who had been holding him. “We're in a hurry and ask that you allow us to be on our way.”
“And if I did agree to your request, who would I be letting go?” It was now obvious that this man was the commander of the company of Tsadal warriors.
“Fair enough,” the Elf-Man conceded to formalities, “I am Alynd, who some call the Bard of Nyeg Warl; this is my traveling companion, Jeaf Oakenfel.”
“The Bard of Nyeg Warl, you say... I believe you visited Credylnor when I was but a child.” The Tsadal commander's countenance softened as the memory surfaced. “I can still remember a song you sang about two lovers who were likened to the sun and the moon. To this day, I can recall some of the melody.” In a twinkling of an eye, the fierce warrior had turned into a poet who began humming the tune he had heard in the days of his youth.
“Yes, that's it,” Alynd agreed. Picking up the melody, the Elf-Man sang a verse from the ancient song. Accommodating the commander in this way, he tried to get into his good graces in hopes that he would let them go their way.
Hearing the sweet words, the commander shook his head in disbelief while a smile crossed his face. Stepping forward, he stretched out his arm in greeting. “My name is Goldan. I command the Tsadal army.”
After Alynd and he glasped arms, Goldan reached out to Jeaf and added, “I'm sorry for treating you so roughly, but of late, strange things have been happening in our valley. That's why we now patrol the eastern banks of the Norstlyk River, a thing we seldom use to do.”
“What things?” Alynd inquired.
“Just last week, we tracked down and killed a foul creature that murdered two of my best men. The old ones said it was a hunchman.” Goldan frowned as he continued. “Then just three days ago, a company of horsemen, calling themselves the Soldiers of Truth, entered our valley and asked if we had seen a Woodswane,” the commander turned and looked at Jeaf suspiciously, “named Oakenfel. They warned us that he would claim to be Fane J'Shrym and the Hammer Bearer of prophecy. The leader of my people roundly rebuked them for thinking that the Hammer Bearer could come from any other kingdom than our own, since it is heresy to think such a thing.” Goldan turned back to Alynd. “We imprisoned the leader, fearing their incessant questioning would cast confusion on the Tsadal people. Even as we speak, he and his men sit in the dungeon laying beneath Credylnor's castle.”
After he was finished talking, Goldan asked Alynd and Jeaf to wait while he decided what he should do with them. While huddling with three of his officers, the others in his command kept a vigilant eye on their retainees.
Hearing the guards heatedly talking about how he had thrown them around like he did, without touching them, Jeaf became concerned when he heard words like sorcerer and witchcraft being bantered about.
In time, Goldan returned. “Why are you carrying that hammer, Oakenfel?”
Remembering the Tsadal's reference to heresy, Jeaf was circumspect with his answer. “I can't tell you without offending your beliefs.” Using his Powers of Intuition, he tried to read the tone in Goldan's speech. He felt resolve, not rancor. “But I can tell you that I only claim to be the son of a Woodswane and little else. As to the hammer I carry… it is a gift.”
“Who gave you the gift?”
“Once again, I can't tell you without offending your beliefs.” The young Woodswane tried to sound as conciliatory as he could.
“Well, no matter,” Goldan shrugged his shoulders, “it's the elders you need to talk to anyway… not me.”
“Then you'll not let us go?” Alynd inquired.
“No. You'll have to come with us to Creydlnor and stand before the Council of Elders. They'll decide your fate.”
Looking at the score of stout warriors encircling them, Jeaf considered the possibility of making an escape.
Sensing his mind, Alynd whispered, “Now is not the time to fight for these have not yet proven to be our enemies.” The Elf-Man sighed. “Why we must go into the Valley of the Tsadal, only the Warl's Magic knows.”
Soon, the company of warriors was escorting Alynd and Jeaf out of the greenwood and back onto the river-trail where they headed farther south. Once they negotiated a bend in the river, the young Woodswane was surprised to see a large ferry resting on the water's edge.
In time, they were in the midst of the Norstlyk River. A brace of oxen, harnessed to a yoke affixed to a set of ropes and pulleys, drew them across to the other side. The closer Jeaf got to the warl of the Tsadal, the more he felt an oppression encroaching upon him. The time he spent in Mystlkynd had given him greater sensitivity to the magic permeating the atmosphere he moved through, and what he felt now disturbed him almost as much as Laviathon's breath had.
“This is a bad place,” Jeaf quietly confided to Alynd.
“Bad?” Alynd replied. “Blind or shortsighted is more like it.”
When Jeaf and his mount disembarked from the flat-bottomed ferry, he felt a riptide of magic pulling him toward what he guessed was the Valley of the Tsadal.
“What am I feeling?” the young Woodswane asked Alynd through clenched teeth.
“It's the Magic of Bigotry. It acts like an unwarly magnet, sucking everything towards it, letting little escape its influence, and seeking to destroy all that resist its pull.”
“What are you saying?” Goldan had overheard the hushed conversation.
“I was telling Jeaf how your elders don't have political ties to any of the other kingdoms in Nyeg Warl,” Alynd replied.
“So that's your definition of bigotry, is it?”
“You heard us?” Alynd quizzed his captor.
“Yes… I heard most of what you said.” Goldan, after signaling his troops to make camp, continued. “I think I'd like to talk with you before the elders do, so we'll stay here by the ferry for the night.” Rubbing his strong, smooth shaven chin, Goldan added, “You two interest me. Once I turn you over to the council, they might not allow me to speak with you again.”
The Tsadal, quickly and efficiently, set up camp. Soon, all were sitting around the flames of a robust campfire, eating the jerky and biscuits they carried in their saddle bags. It was well before the first star's light pierced the night sky. A cook was brewing some herbal tea. Friendly banter began circulating among the warriors.
That's when Goldan turned to his prisoners and said, “Do you know why we refuse to have political ties with the other kingdoms in Nyeg Warl?”
Jeaf and Alynd, knowing this was only a rhetorical question that Goldan planned to answer himself, remained silent.
“We don't have political ties, because we don't need them. We are the Chosen People who will one day free all other kingdoms from the bondage of their own ignorance. An alliance would only leaven us with blindness and impede our progress in transcending out of the malaise of wickedness created by the base magic that holds the rest of the warl in its clutches.”
“And how, Commander, will you achieve these lofty goals?” Alynd's curiosity got the best of him.
Goldan began rubbing the insignia emblazoned on his uniform before he answered the minstrel's question. “When we reach the stature needed to become the Hammer Bearer's army, he will come and lead us into battle against the powers of darkness that will rise up to threaten Nyeg Warl's existence.”
“What would you say if I told you the Hammer Bearer has already come?” Alynd spoke cautiously.
“I'd say it was a lie.”
“Why?”
“Because, the Hammer Bearer has to come out of the Valley of the Tsadal, that's why!” Goldan sounded perturbed as he spoke.
“Who says?”
“Why, the elders do.”
“What authority do they cite for such a claim?”
“They cite the decisions made by our fathers at the Council of Creydlnor.” Goldan consternation abated as he spoke of the hallowed assembly, and reverent
ial tones replaced his angry speech. “Over three hundred summers ago, the Council, filled with wisdom, created the 'Book of Discernment' that gives detailed interpretations for the prophecies that have emerged since the Battle of the Breach. This book teaches us that the Hammer Bearer must come out of the Valley of the Tsadal and that we must keep ourselves untainted by other kingdoms until he arrives. Once this day comes, the one who holds the Hammer of Power will lead our armies out of Tsadal to free Nyeg Warl from the forces of darkness threatening to destroy it. When this happens, we'll become revered by a thankful warl; a warl that will implore us to teach them the ways of righteousness that enabled us to prevail against evil.”
“Your fathers err.” Alynd spoke in a matter of fact way as he tossed a pine cone into the fire. “They have chosen to embrace a view of Nyeg Warl that has filled your valley with an atmosphere of spiritual incest. The inbreeding you place your confidence in has weakened the Tsadal by making you forfeit the strength and richness that the rest of the warl has to offer. Your magic is imploding in on itself, rather than exploding out beyond the borders of your kingdom to shower the warl with the wholeness and health it claims to hold. Declaring yourselves to be more significant than other people, you are ignorant of how irrelevant you've become.”
“How are we irrelevant?” Goldan's anger returned in full force.
“You have become irrelevant because your view of the Warl's Magic is too small. Pride and fear has sentenced you to become prisoners in your own tiny kingdom. Without knowing it, the Tsadal have embraced a self-imposed blindness that prevents you from seeing the hand of the Singer at work in Nyeg Warl's other kingdoms. Though they light candles, just as you do, calling on the good magic that sustains each one of us, you choose to invalidate their experiences and knowledge. You think your kingdom is the chosen guardian of truth, but the only thing it stands guard over is your own valley, not to keep darkness out, but to keep you in. And I'm glad that you do stay within the confines of your own realm, lest you infect the warl with your petty smallness. If you want to close your eyes, fine! But don't compel others to close their eyes too, just because you need to have your beliefs validated by their compliance.”
