by Rex Hazelton
****
Horse hooves clattered over Riverkynd's cobblestone streets as the Hammer Bearer and his friends began the overland portion of their journey, ajourney that would take them to Vestylkynd and the School of the Sword and Song. The richness of the place they were passing through and the grandeur of its fortress castle were wonders to behold. It was the largest city Jeaf had ever been in, and was second in wealth only to Eagle's Vale- the doorway to Nyeg Warl's mother lode of star's blood.
Riverkynd had been built along the shores of the Sapphire river which flowed through the coastal plain's fertile soil. Its headwaters, pouring out of the Alabaster Mountains, coursed westward into the Peaceful Sea. A center for textiles, Riverkynd's vast herds of wool bearing sheep and goats provided the fuel for this industry. Though they cultivated much of their own produce, the Hadram were dependent King Wombur's grain to meet their demand for food. The city was replete with the ornate furniture and wood paneling that King Grogan's people were famous for making, as well as the handiwork of the Eagle King's artisans. Jeaf even saw one of his father's distinctive sculptures adorning the doorways to the city's larger buildings. Fyreed had earlier explained that the Hadram of Riverkynd used Bjork longboats to deliver their wares to the other kingdoms. The shallow keels allowed the vessels to navigate up the Eyrie River to Eagle's Vale, up the Cragmar River to Plagea, and up the Verdant River to Verdant's Deep. He also added that the Hadram were major consumers of plunder that the Bjork stole out of Ar Warl.
The Company of the Hammer- that included Jeaf, Goldan, Bacchanor, and Fyreed- had added a fifth member in Riverkynd, a Tayn'waeh, whose realm lay in the Alabaster Mountains on the road to Vestylkynd. Tsut'waeh was a handsome young dark-skinned man who wore his hair in locks much like Fyreed did. Their meeting at the docks, where he was returning from a trip to Vineland after serving as an emissary for his father Zhan, one of the Tayn'waeh chieftains, was a fortuitous one. As chance would have it, the young man was also on his way to Vestylkynd where he was attending the School of the Sword and the Song as a student. Bacchanor, who was a close friend of Zhan's, had been responsible for bringing Tsut'waeh into the company. By doing this, he guaranteed that he and his companions would receive a warm welcome in Zhan's village.
“The Tayn'waeh are not native to Nyeg Warl.” The young man explained to the others, wanting them to understand him and his people. “The Hadram brought my ancestors here as slaves, two centuries before the Battle of the Breach. The roots of my heritage are not found in this land, they rest in a chain of islands laying somewhere in the Peaceful Sea, far to the west.”
Aware his statement needed further explanation, the young man continued. “In times past, the Hadram, hoping to ensure my peoples' bondage, tried to expunge the knowledge of this place from memory: every piece of antiquity that mentioned my ancestral land was systematically destroyed, every map irretrievably changed, and every historical document altered. This strategy was strictly enforced over so many generations that everything but the most cursory information, about who we were and where we had come from, was destroyed.”
“Haven't the Tayn'waeh maintained oral traditions?” Jeaf asked as his revulsion for slavery welled up in his throat like regurgitated stomach acid.
“Yes, we've been able to save some of them.” Tsut'waeh replied while lifting himself in his saddle to turn and look at the Hammer Bearer. “But the enforced silence made us alter our stories so that our Hadram masters couldn't understand what we were actually saying. Forced to use symbols and types to convey our history, eventually these overshadowed reality, obscuring it in a cloud of myth and legend. As a result, the accuracy of our oral traditions are in doubt, but the moral to the story is not.”
“You must hate the Hadram?” Fyreed blurted out as he began to look at his Bjork business partners through the squinted glare of suspicion.
“No, I don't! Nor do any of my people!” Tsut'waeh spoke emphatically, making certain that his traveling companions would not misunderstand his words. “We have buried the sword many centuries ago. Today, we are brothers. The past sins have been left behind with those who committed them. In recent centuries, the Hadram historians have made every effort to reintroduce back into their archives even the smallest detail of the tragic story of how the Tayn'waeh were forced into slavery.”
“So, your people have not required that the sons of their oppressors pay for the evil their fathers inflicted on them?” Fyreed, incredulous over the things that he heard, shook his head in disgust before adding, “The history of the Bjork is also written with ink drawn from the well of heartache and suffering, for my people were nearly exterminated by Ab'Don's cruelty and Laviathon's fire!” Scorn filled Fryeed's speech. “And I promise you, we would not let the Hadram off the hook as easily as your people have! For no greater honor exists than to die in battle while avenging one's ancestors.”
The young Tayn'waeh, catching the derision in the great warrior's voice, replied, “Do not think us remiss, My Good Bjork. We're not afraid to shed blood, or to have our own spilled in the defense of our people and the freedom we hold as our dearest possession.” Having learned about Thundyrkynd's history at the School of the Sword and the Song, Tsut'waeh added, “No doubt we would be just as dedicated to stopping Laviathon and his evil lord as you yourself are, if that was who we were dealing with. But we're not dealing with the likes of that odious pair. No! We are dealing with a people who have repented for the wrong their fathers perpetrated. Not only are they repentant, they have proven themselves to us, over-and-over again, by doing such things as buying our trades and produce before purchasing those coming from other realms.”
“You said your people were once slaves but are now free. How did this come to be?” Goldan asked his question after examining the imposing castle fortress that sat overlooking Riverkynd.
Tsut'waeh lifted his head in pride over the history he would now explain. “My ancestors were granted their freedom as payment for the valor they displayed in fighting Ab'Don in the terrible war we now call the Battle of the Breach.” The young Tayn'waeh paused to look over at Fyreed. Pleased to see his words had impressed the Bjork warrior, who would praise anyone who had gained fame fighting Ar Warl's dark lord, he continued his telling. “Cloaked in secrecy, Ab'Don tried to seduce my fathers, offering them freedom if they would join him in building his empire. But having been subjected to so many different types of masters over the long winter of enslavement, my ancestors had gained an ability to discern those who craved power so that they could abuse others under their rule, and they deemed Ab'Don to be just such a master.”
“Convinced of the wickedness they saw in his heart, the Tayn'waeh threw their might behind the beleaguered kings of what was then the western reaches of the Warl. As a result, many of my people died defending a land they had only known as slaves.”
Watching Fyreed rubbing his chin as he considered the young man's words, Tsut'waeh went on to explain. “After the Miracle of the Breach had occurred, and as a result of my people's sacrifice, the kings of the newly created continent of Nyeg Warl forced the Hadram to grant the Tayn'waeh their freedom. Because Riverkynd's economy was so dependent on the free labor that my people provided, the kings' demand was a bitter pill to swallow. But the threat of being financially ostracized finally forced the Hadram to do that which they didn't want to do... to free their slaves.”
As a reward, we were granted the Alabaster Mountains' western slopes as a refuge. We gladly took this land and freedom as our prize.”
At first, our relationship with the Hadram was strained, to say the least. That was, until Ab'Don sent one of his generals, along with an invasion fleet, to gain a foothold in the newly formed continent, and the place he chose to attack was Riverkynd; at that time, the most isolated of all the kingdoms.”
With Laviathon and the crocodon controlling the seas, preventing help from reaching the Hadram by the quickest way available, Ab'Don's general set about assailing the fortress. His army made its approa
ch along the beaches that spread north of the city.”
Realizing the Hadram would perish unless something was done quickly, my ancestors chose to come to Riverkynd's aide without waiting for the other kings to arrive. Aware that the Hadram had no chance to survive without their immediate assistance, they risked their lives by marching out to battle, entering Riverkynd from the south.”
Not expecting the Hardram's former slaves to come to their rescue, Ab'Don's general was enraged. Savagely attacking his enemies' combined forces, striking them with battering ram-like repetition, he tried to exact retribution. As each blow fell upon the city, more Hadram and Tayn'waeh died in Riverkynd's defense. It was there, in the heat of the fierce battle, that our peoples were united in the bonds of brotherhood. Hadram and Tayn'waeh blood, flowing together over Riverkynd's walls and along her streets, consummated the union.”
In time, the other kings arrived and- finding a battered, broken fortress still stubbornly standing- drove Ar Warl's dark plague out of the Nyeg. Though only a remnant of the Hadram and Tayn'waeh warriors survived the storm, they entered a new day together as one family.”
For a long poignant moment after Tsut'waeh's remarkable story had ended, the company remained silent. The sound of horse hooves clippity clopping along Riverkynd's cobblestone roads echoed off the buildings facing the street. Finally, the young Tayn'waeh turned and smiled at Fyreed as he placed the capstone atop his story. “You see, My Good Bjork, your dwellings are not the only ones that have crocodon skins laying upon their floors.”
Bowing deeply while holding his fist against his chest, Fyreed spoke apologetically. “I stand corrected in my hasty evaluation of you and your noble people. I honor your ancestors for their bravery and for the sacrifices they made.” After pausing for further reflection, the warrior shared his thoughts. “I don't think I've ever had the pleasure to travel with such good company.”
Catching the compliment that Fyreed was giving him, Tsut'waeh reciprocated with a bow before replying, “Thank you, Sir.”
The men fell silent once more, and in that tacit moment Jeaf turned in his saddle to look at the large gray stones used to build King Lome's majestic castle. As he did, the distant sounds of an ancient battle echoed through his mind. As his hammer grew warm against his side, a vision swept over his senses and the scenery changed. It was as if a curtain had been lifted, taking the larger fortress with it, leaving a much smaller one standing in its place. To the north, beyond a greatly diminished Riverkynd, a massive army assembled for battle. Behind this terrible host, hundreds of golden sails, embossed with the sign of the red sun, could be seen fluttering above a large fleet of ships... Then the picture changed in rapid succession, like a string of punctuated scenes taken from a theatrical production: large portable stairs lumbered toward the city; thousands of warriors, some wearing golden armament, others black, each bearing red markings, marched ant-like behind the huge devices; Laviathon's head, rising above the Sapphire River, burned the stubborn fortress walls; dark-skinned men, with tightly bound locks dangling from their heads, fought their way into the city; war cries and the screams of the dying filled the air as men were locked in a life-and-death struggle atop the fortress walls; crocodon swam through the river, frothing about, hungry for a meal; a storm of arrows flew at them; horns and bugles resounded back and forth over the blood-soaked ground, as if they were engaged in their own special type of warfare; finally, a huge army of Nyeg Warl muscle and steel, marching under a multitude of diverse banners, swept over the Crystal Plains, rushing headlong towards Ar Warl's forces. The last thing Jeaf saw before the magic wore off, was a scene where the two armies crashed into one another like enraged male goats while the shouts of tens of thousands of warriors filled the air, sounding like the roar accompanying the breaking of a giant wave.
Slowly, the vision faded and modern-day Riverkynd came back into focus. Still the cries of the ancient battled lingered above the battlements, for a moment, and then they were gone too.
Unaware of Jeaf's experience, except for Bacchanor whose eyes blinked raptor-like as he watched the Hammer Bearer for a long time, the Company of the Hammer continued journeying through the great city. Eventually, buildings gave way to fields holding expansive herds of sheep. Passing deep into the rich pasture land, the company turned in a northeasterly direction and followed the course of the Blue River, a tributary of the Sapphire River that would lead them to Ranah, Tsut'waeh's home. Later, amidst a copse of trees that grew on the water's edge, they set up camp.
Bacchanor, Tsut'waeh and Fyreed broke out the evening's provisions while Jeaf and Goldan tried their hand at fishing, using a ball of string and some hooks the Tsadal had acquired while aboard the Thorgood. Successful in their efforts, the two men returned to camp carrying a string of plump trout that thrived in the cold waters pouring out of the Alabaster Mountains. These were added to their meal.
Following supper, and after Bacchanor and Fyreed had enjoyed a good pipe, Jeaf talked the others into going swimming. “Come on,” the young Woodswane cajoled his companions, “we have time before night falls.”
Standing neck deep in the cold water, Goldan, who was giving his body time to adjust to the temperature change, tried to shame the reticent wizard into joining them in the crisp river.
“None of my friends are fish or else I would gladly oblige you,” the recalcitrant shapeshifter replied.
“Were not asking you to swim,” Goldan answered, setting up his jest, “we're asking you to bathe. Lately you've been smelling a little too much like some of your… should I say, more unsavory woodland acquaintances.”
In time, they gave up on the wizard, once their attention was diverted by the promise of other fun. Taking turns climbing up into a tree that grew over the river, the men dove into its deep currents. Finally, as the last rays of evening washed over the warl, the men emerged from the river clean and shivering.
While they dressed, Tsut'waeh asked Jeaf if he could see the Hammer of Power. His incessant questioning, as they traveled that day, had uncovered the company's mission. Once uncovered, Goldan gladly filled in the missing details, rehearsing all that he himself had learned. Along with his knowledge, the Tsadal commander successfully passed on his excitement that prompted the Tayn'waeh's next question.
“So, this is Vlad'War's Child?” Tsut'waeh pulled on one of the braids that fell from his head as he considered things. “You're absolutely certain this is the hammer the seers foretold would come to Nyeg Warl in her hour of need.”
“It absolutely is!” Goldan emphatically replied. “Weren't you listening when we told you all that we've seen and heard?”
“Yes, I was listening. But it seems to me that some doubt could remain, doubt that we should remove once and for all, lest our hopes are built on something that won't meet our expectations,” Looking at his Woodswane companion with equal measures of wonder and puzzlement, Tsut'waeh added, “For hope deferred causes the heart to grow faint.”
“What are you getting at?” Goldan quizzed.
“Ahrnosyn, the Chief Mentor at the School of the Sword and the Song, teaches that the Hammer of Power will be irrevocably given to the Promised One and that the two can never be separated.”
“Where are you going with this?”
“You'll soon find out!” Tsut'waeh shouted as he threw the hammer towards the middle of the river.
Jeaf instantly crouched as if he would try to cover the vast distance with a single leap and catch his prize before it had time to get lost in the river's uncertain depths. But his movements were only a reaction to the motion of the young Tayn'waeh throwing the hammer into the cold water; like the rest, he was left looking helplessly dumbfounded.
Goldan charged Tsut'waeh, shoving him violently to the ground as he roared, “By the Fires of Darkness, what have you done!?”
Leaping forward, Fyreed grabbed the Tsadal warrior by his vest. “Calm down, Goldan! Beating on Tsut'waeh won't bring the hammer back.”
Relaxing his muscle
s, the Tsadal warrior stepped back, his unblinking gaze still affixed on Tsut'waeh.
Fyreed loosed his grip and turned to help the young Tayn'waeh up off the ground as he spoke. “Would you please tell us what you were thinking to have done something so foolish?”
“My actions are not foolish, drastic maybe, but not foolish!” Tsut'waeh responded while brushing himself off in the waning daylight. “If Jeaf is truly the Hammer Bearer and the hammer now resting in the silt at the bottom of the Blue River is truly the one that prophecy speaks about, then he'll possess the magic needed to retrieve it, so says the Chief Mentor.”
“What if Ahrnosyn is wrong?” Goldan, who had recently been disillusioned with the prophetic interpretations that the Tsadal elders taught, shouted.
“Knowing all you've told me about yourself, it's reasonable for you to have doubts.” The young Tayn'waeh spoke with wisdom that belied his age. “But in the troubling days that lay before us, we must ascertain those things we can truly trust. Your own experiences and disappointments have surely taught you this. Therefore, I have done the unthinkable to remove any doubt that may remain about Jeaf's calling. If he possesses the magic to call the hammer out of the watery depths, then we will be bolstered to face Koyer's wickedness. Quite frankly, I want to know if your hope is founded. Think me not evil, for if Jeaf cannot reclaim the hammer, then we must look somewhere else for help to arise.”
Bacchanor interrupted the ensuing argument, his head turning quickly from one man to the other, his eyes blinking with each turn. “Tsut'waeh's right! Though there may be other ways to establish Jeaf's calling, we are now left with only one option. Jeaf must call upon the magic that dwells in him and reclaim the hammer.”
