by Rex Hazelton
And as they hugged, the two were clothed in amber light. Jeaf's crown grew thick upon his brow and Hadashah fell into a trance where she saw a vision of the young Woodswane diving into a deadly whirlpool, his hammer held tightly in his hand. Returning from her brief experience, a melancholy smile crossed her face before she let Jeaf go. Turning to the audience, weeping over the joy filling the moment and because she knew sufferings awaited the young Woodswane, she proclaimed, “This day, the Forest People's prayers have been fulfilled in both your sight and hearing, for the seed of Shloman Fane J'Shrym, whose descendants have been unfairly scorned, has arrived with the Hammer of Power in his hand.”
This time, the people stood and released an unrestrained shout, “Willow King and Hammer Bearer!”
At the end of the long night, and after many words and strategies for the future had been discussed, Tsut'waeh took the willow crown off Jeaf's head. It was now leafier than it had been when he last held it in his hands. Taking a twig from the crown, the impetuous Tayn'waeh stuck it into a crack in the floor. Immediately taking root, infused with residual magic quickened by the taste of soil, it began growing at an alarming rate. Though the hall was now only half full, the people began moving away from the spectacle, not knowing what to expect. On-and-on the willow grew. First a twig, it soon became a sapling that quickly transformed into a young tree whose supple branches bent beneath the strong rafters overhead. But the tree, filled with the Vlad'War's Magic, was not through growing. One, two, three times it pushed on the rafters. The groaning sound of stressed timbers sent the people running into the street.
Feeling they were now safe, the crowd turned when a horrible breaking sound assaulted their ears. Visibly vibrating, the great hall's roof bulged above the magical tree's onslaught until it exploded, sending thousands of pieces of thatch skyward. As a result, the air was filled with a deluge of straw that fell on the awestruck onlookers. And still the willow grew until it was the largest tree in the area.
In future days, this tree made Ranah a center of magic and one of the most revered and mysterious places in all Nyeg Warl.
Chapter 31: Vestlkynd Pass
The smoke from Ranah's chimneys could be seen in the distance far below, floating above the trees that surrounded the pleasant village. The foliage, which was already taking on the brilliant red, yellow and golden hues of fall, stood on either side of the well-worn path the Company of the Hammer now took. Buoyed by the Tayn'waeh's selfless commitment, Jeaf felt refreshed as he began the last leg of his trip to Vestylkynd.
The clouds, covering the tops of the Alabaster Mountains, hid their imposing height. While the day wore on, the bottom of these clouds darkened, and as they did, they appeared to be drawing nearer. None could tell if this was because the company was climbing in elevation, or if the clouds were dropping lower on the mountain.
In time, the path that they had taken wound its way into a forest of tall evergreens. There, a light drizzle began to fall and accompanied them throughout the course of the day. Making camp beneath a extremely large pine tree's canopy of glossy needles, the Company slept dry and safe.
The next day, Jeaf and the others rode close to the tree line as they headed for the Vestyl Pass and on to the School of the Sword and the Song. One moment they might be passing through trees, the next they were traversing barren stone. Like a needle sewing two pieces of clothe together, they moved in and out of the forest's upper edges. The noisome drizzle persisted all the while; the clouds, taking on a heavier aspect, looked pregnant with moisture.
As the Company entered Vestyl Pass, Jeaf inquired, “Tsut'waeh, are we endanger of getting caught in a snow storm this time of the year?”
Looking at the black clouds that now appeareded close enough to touch, Tsut'waeh gave an unconvincing answer. “We should be more than a moon away from the first real snow. But it sure feels like it's getting cold enough for flakes to fall. Still, I wouldn't worry. It's normally cold in the pass at this time of year. That's why my father included warm clothes in our provisions.”
Jeaf, who had already donned the furs Zhan had provided them, was grateful for the chieftain's foresight.
Wet and tired, the company was glad to find a small grotto that opened up to the trail. This was a place where they could weather the oncoming night. After tethering the horses in the mouth of the scoop-shaped cave, leaving their tails sticking out in the elements, the men pulled out the bundles of dried wood that they had the wisdom to gather at the first sign of rain and started a fire. Then, as they sat facing the thick darkness, the drizzling rain turned into tiny crystalline flakes that grew in size and volume as the night wore on. Gradually, the snow began to gather around the horses' flanks. Snorting their disapproval, the animals tried to inch their way into the warm cave.
“It's looking bad,” Goldan surmised, as wrinkles of concern etched their way into his forehead.
“In all my days, I've never known it to snow like this so early in the fall.” Tsut'waeh spoke apologetically. “I would have never taken you into this storm, if I thought this were possible. Often have I made this trip at this time of the year, and I must admit, this heavy snow just leaves me speechless.”
Remembering the sinister storm that followed Laviathon into Thundyrkynd, Bacchanor spoke out. “There's no need to apologize, Tsut'waeh. We've already learned that Ab'Don has discovered magic that can manipulate the weather, and this storm certainly feels like there's sorcery at work in it.”
Looking to Goldan for approval, he added, “I think I'll fly up ahead and see how things are developing.”
Once the warrior nodded his head, Bacchanor was quickly immersed in a multicolored illumination that garbled his shape. Once the light faded, a white-faced owl was left standing in the wizard's place. Spreading out his wings, the shapeshifter leapt into the air. After gliding over the horses' backs, he slipped off into the night.
“What do we do now?” Tsut'waeh gasped as the delayed shock of what he had just witnessed hit him.
“Wait until Bacchanor gets back or morning comes,” Fyreed growled as he hunkered in for a sleepless night of thinking. And wait they did, until the snow had heaped up as high as the horses' flanks and higher.
The sound of the howling wind outside the cave made Jeaf worry about the indomitable wizard, knowing that the heavy snow fall would limit the usefulness of his nocturnal eyes.
The Woodswane's concern was justified, for the winged-wizard was skimming erratically along the mountain's dark slopes, struggling against the turbulent winds that were trying to dash him against the Alabaster Mountians' rugged heights.
Eventually, in an effort to increase the size of the room, so the animals could fit inside the chamber, the men went to work scooping out the snow that now rose to the horses' backs. As night wore on, the snow piled up so high that it muffled the sound of the storm's howling winds. Yet the calm did not comfort the men.
When day finally came, the snow that sat against the entrance of the cave had gathered much higher than the horses' heads. Putting the last of the wood on the fire, the company knew the amount of snow that had fallen would take many days to evaporate enough to allow them to make their escape. If Ab'Don had his way, the icy chamber, they now found themselves trapped in, would become their tomb.
All that day, they fretted over what had happened to Bacchanor. Expecting the white-faced owl to reappear through the shrinking opening near the top of the cave's mouth, depression began to set in with the passing of each disappointing moment.
Finally, Goldan said. “I'm going to see what's happening.”
Standing on one of the horse's backs, he broke his way to the outside warl and began shouting, “Hello, is anyone out here?” As if he had recited a Spell of Power, the cave began to quake and a deafening rumbling sound was heard rushing down from the mountain heights. But before the avalanche could strike, Goldan leapt back through the opening, falling awkwardly to the floor as he did. The animals shrieked in terror and the men crouched in fea
rful anticipation of what could happen while the sound of doom resounded all about them: stone broke, trees snapped, ice cracked, and then it was over.
But the worst was yet to come for a deathly silence followed, silence one only hears in the depths of a cave, far from the warl above. The snow was now packed so deep and tight that the only light that could be seen was the soft orange glow coming from the campfire's dying embers.
But the cold was not their main worry since the tightly-sealed chamber, in which they found themselves imprisoned, provided insulation that retained the accumulated heat of horse and man. Now their chiefest concern would be over the breathable air that could be used up before Bacchanor, if he were still alive, could find them buried beneath the mass of snow and debris
In time, the men set about trying to dig themselves out of their icy prison, working feverishly until they collapsed into a fitful sleep. When they finally awoke, they found themselves in pitch black.
“What are we going to do now?” Tsut'waeh whispered.
“We'll wait until we can wait no longer, and then I'll strike the hammer for the second time,” Jeaf proclaimed.
“But Whistyme warned that if the hammer's first three strokes were not made in wisdom, its power would be uncertain from that time forth,'” Goldan reminded his friend.
“If push comes to shove, I will strike it.” Jeaf spoke emphatically. “For the only other option would be death.”
Jeaf's simple but irrefutable logic left the men in silence. After they spent themselves in another attempt at digging themselves out, labored breathing filled the icy tomb; sighs were heard; limbs stretched; prayers were spoken softly; then sleep returned and silence filled the darkness. Only the occasional sound of a horse shuffling its hooves on the wet cold stone floor was heard.
Much later, while the men sat in a sullen stupor, trying to avoid thoughts about what might happen to them, whether in a dream or awake, no one could tell at first, a gentle amber glow began radiating out from the packed snow. The young Woodswane rubbed his eyes and asked the others if they saw the strange light. Standing to their feet, the men drew their swords fearing that Ab'Don had trapped them beneath the snow until he could send his evil minions to dig them out and apprehend the hammer. Then a familiar voice was heard, one that made the warriors' muscles relax.
“Jeaf! Jeaf Oakenfel, can you hear me,” the voice of the Elf-Man shouted.
“Alynd, we're in here!” The young Woodswane could hardly contain his excitement.
The amber light grew in intensity causing the horses to snort and whinny as the snow behind them began melting. Water ran along the stone floor, beneath the snow pack, out over the trail, and down the side of the mountain. Eventually, a hole appeared in the wall of ice and snow, one which rapidly expanded until it was big enough for the Bard of Nyeg Warl to step through, the inimitable shape-shifting wizard following in tow.
“Alynd,” hugging his mentor, Jeaf was careful not to knock the golden sphere that was the source of the amber light out of his hand, “where have you been?”
“Why in Vestlykynd waiting for you, of course!” The Elf-Man spoke enthusiastically while he patted Jeaf on the back. “By now you should have guessed that you had to confront the Tsadal by yourself. But if I'd known all that you would face between there and here, I wouldn't have gone on ahead.”
“It was another test, right?”
“Some of it was a test. Some of it was just plain old warfare.” Alynd held Jeaf at arms length, a look of concern showing in his eyes. “Are you and the others all right?”
The young Woodswane turned towards his companions. “Yes, we're fine.”
“Then let's be off before another avalanche comes down upon us. I don't think that Ab'Don's power is fully spent.”
The Company of the Hammer led their horses through a tunnel of ice, snow and debris as they followed in Alynd's amber wake. The trunks of pine trees crossing over the top of their heads, mighty beams holding up the snow-packed roof, gave proof to nature's awesome force. At times, the tunnel the Elf-Man's magic dug veered from the trail so that they could work their way around a huge boulder or fallen tree trunk. The horses made the going precarious, and several tight squeezes had to be dealt with. But in the end, the company made it past the wide swath of destruction. Here, the tunnel ended and the men found themselves traveling between walls of snow that Alynd's golden sphere had made on his trip up the mountain.
Onward they trudged, but they were not yet safe! Ab'Don's magic wouldn't give them up so easily!
It was not long until the earth rending sound of another avalanche was heard careening towards them. Peering above the mound of snow, Jeaf thought it looked like the entire mountain top had collapsed and was toppling downward in a furious rampage of snow, ice, rock, and trees. Death and doom was coming faster than an arrow could fly. The horses screamed out their complaints as the ground shook so violently that two off them lost their footing and fell into the snow bank; another fell on top of Fyreed.
“Jeaf!” Tsut'waeh's voice was heard pleading above the din of destruction. “Quick, use the hammer!”
“No!” Now it was Alynd's voice was heard. “Stay your hand!”
The Company of the Hammer turned to look at the blue light in the Elf-Man's eyes as he uttered an incantation. “Tears of Andara that were shed for a healing, now gather your power to destroy what we're fearing!”
Then the light of the Elf-Man's eyes went out, hidden behind his almond-shaped eyelids. Bowing his head before the golden sphere laying in his open hand, Alynd spoke more words in the elvish tongue, and as he spoke, weeping was heard. But the weeping was not Alynd's, nor did it belong to any who traveled in their company, nor was it one of the groaning noises the massive avalanche was squeezing out of the mountain. It was a lamentation that came out of the sphere, one filled with such sorrow that it caused Jeaf and his friends to join the weeping.
Never had the Woodswane felt such sadness, such utter anguish. If this magic doesn't stop soon, my heart will surely break. Then I won't care what the mountain does to me.
Before that moment, Jeaf had never wished he could die. But now, caught in the hold of the weeping's magic, a magic that felt no less powerful than what the hammer possessed, Jeaf pondered the benefit of death's sweet release. Oh, what intolerable sorrow, he thought as he watched Alynd lift his head and open his eyes. Once he opened them, blue flames leap out, flames that lit the clouds and bathed the approaching avalanche in its glory, and when the flames came, the weeping was swept away, sorrow was turned into anger, anger into rage, and a voice more terrible then any Jeaf could imagine was heard. It was Alynd, shouting an elvish war cry that hit the magical sphere he held in his hand, causing the golden orb to explode and send a wall of white-hot light flying towards the approaching doom.
Magic was now pitted against nature, a wall of white-hot light against ice and stone.
BOOOOM! A thousand claps of thunder sounded all at once. And as quickly as a candle's flame is extinguished, the avalanche was gone, snuffed out by the Elf-Man's magic, blown back over the mountain top.
Picking themselves up off the ground, the Company of the Hammer was greeted with a sight they couldn't believe they were seeing. Not only was the avalanche gone, but a portion of the mountain was gone, as well. It was like a huge spoon had taken a massive scoop out of the towering peak's side. Soil, rock, and tree were missing in an area wider than an arrow could fly. All was laid bare, down to the bedrock and lower.
“By all that is sacred, Alynd, how did you do that!?” Goldan cried aloud while he pulled Fyreed out of the snowbank that the horse's weight had pushed him into. It was the only snowbank left. The one that had stood opposite from it was now blasted into oblivion, violently scraped off the face of the warl.
Tingling with residual magic, Jeaf turned towards his friend and mentor. But instead of seeing a champion basking in victory, he saw someone who looked like he had lost the battle. Alynd's shoulders slumped, his blue eyes bri
mmed with tears, and the palm of his hand remained open and empty. The golden sphere was gone!
****
Seated on a landscape so barren it was impossible to guess it was once the home of tree and fern, the men broke out their lunch, and as they ate, the falling snow was busy covering up the devastation that Alynd's magic had inflicted upon the mountain.
“What happened to the sphere?” Jeaf finally posed the question that had been troubling his mind. “It was missing from your hand after you stopped the avalanche.”
“Don't worry Young Woodswane. I have more of them.” Alynd shook the leather pouch fastened to his belt.
Slowly chewing on a piece of Tayn'waeh cake, Jeaf posed his next question. “It's good you have more… but that doesn't answer my question. What happened to the one you were holding in your hand, the one you used to stop the avalanche?”
“It's gone!” A pained expression crossed the Elf-Man's face. “I had to use up its power to save us.”
“But I've seen you use the spheres' magic many times before and not once did one disappear.”
“You saw me use it to heal, or to light a darkened pathway. These are things it was meant to do.” Alynd's eyes flashed blue beneath his hat's wide brim. “The sphere's power cannot be used to destroy, unless the gravest need arises. Then once it is used in such a manner, it ceases to be. Why this happens? I'm not sure.” Taking his hat off, using it to protect his meal from the falling snow, the Elf-Man added, “I think the sphere's magic is depleted whenever it is used against its nature. It is an instrument of peace and not war; but it knows that, at times, warfare is necessary. Yet, such an act is so contrary to the sphere's intended purpose that exerting itself in this way sacrifices its power… and it is spent in the process.”
“Alynd, tell me about the spheres?” Jeaf had never asked his friend about the magical orbs before that moment, and as he did, he caught sight of a most peculiar look crossing his friend's face. Like a teacher encouraging their pupil's line of thought, the Elf-Man's eyebrows lifted, wrinkling his forehead. “Did you use some spell to make them?”
