by Rex Hazelton
Falling into each others' arms, they kissed as only those who were destined to be with one another could. After a long time had passed, they withdrew from the warmth of their embrace and looked, once more, upon the mighty ship that was now far out to sea. The setting moon's radiant curve, rising above the magnificent vessel, framed it with its majestic arch.
Then a flash of color, soaring above the proud ship, caught the lover's attention. As soon as they focused their eyes, looking past the ring's magic, they recognized Grour Blood's form rushing towards them, moving like a gust of wind. A moment later, the griffin was standing on the beach I front of them, his huge wings still fully extended. As they walked up to their friend, the powerful griffin tucked his majestic feathers against his sides, those that were blocking the sea from sight, revealing that the vision had passed.
Again, as before, the top of the massive orange sun could be seen dipping into the western sea and all was as it once was, except the old shipwreck had disappeared, leaving a huge hole in the beach that the gentle waves were busy filling up with buckskin-colored sand.
“Shall we go?” The powerful griffin's deep rumbling voice was filled with curiosity when he saw remnants of magic dancing about the young lovers' faces.
Chapter 36: The Battle Begins
“The kings are on the move!” Goldan shouted as he slid from Seym Blood's powerful back, the light of the full moon reflecting off his blond hair.
The Company of the Hammer had returned three days earlier and were immediately sent off to survey Nyeg Warl's condition. What they discovered took them off guard. Romome and Wombur had already sent their armies out into the Crescent Plains to meet Cane, who was waiting for them near the village of Eagle's Landing.
The Eagle King was responsible for calling the Bull King and Wolf King to arms, demanding they join him in assaulting the Armies of Regret. Driven by a madness born from his grief over Hartshyll's death, Cane purposed to initiate a preemptive strike against Koyer's evil hordes.
His war of revenge forced the other kings into action. They couldn't afford to allow Cane to be destroyed by the throngs of malevolent warriors that were continuing to flood through the Blood Canyons and out towards Shomeron, knowing his fall would likely seal their fate. So, they felt compelled to heed his call, hoping the combined might of their three armies could stem the tide of wickedness that would soon move toward them.
Hearing this ominous news, Alynd remarked in disgust, “Wouldn't it be ironic if the very act of delivering the royal heirs from Koyer's clutches became the catalyst that makes the kings march heedlessly into the jaws of destruction. Doesn't the Eagle King know that moving too quickly can be as fatal as waiting too long?”
“Mad with sorrow over the death of his son, he thinks the shedding of blood will lessen his pain.” Goldan slapped his gauntlets against his thigh in anger as he spoke. “He'll not listen to Prince Phelp, nor will he humor reason. Many will needlessly join his son in Death's Great Hall over the folly that fills his heart.”
Ahrnosyn lifted his head from off his chest as he spoke. “I fear he's the one who longs to join his son in that place. He cares not what happens to others just so long as he sends enough of Koyer's minions into the Fires of Darkness to appease his guilt in allowing his son to be killed.”
“What are we to do?” Jeaf anxiously inquired.
“We haven't any choice.” The Chief Mentor spoke with a voice filled with resignation. “We must send couriers throughout Nyeg Warl to let her know our hand is forced to fight now. If we wait, the Lord of Regret will take us apart piece-by-piece.”
“By my reckoning, the armies of the three kings should converge somewhere between the Crescent and Wyne River, east of Eagle's Landing, in a week's time.” Goldan's skills as a military strategist were now bent on ascertaining the logistics that were now in play. “Vestylkynd's army can't cover the distance between here and the Crescent Plains soon enough to help unless battle is delayed.”
“That means the Woodswanes and the Tayn'waeh will also be missing if the Eagle King charges straight into battle,” Ahrnosyn surmised.
“Unless a griffin flies straight to Thundyrkynd this very moment, the Bjork will be missing as well.” Fyreed's long braids bounced off his shoulders as he shook his head in dismay.
“Since there only three of our griffin friends here with us, we need to use their great speed wisely.” Ahrnosyn rubbed his bald pate as he pondered this problem. “Fyreed should ride Tor Blood to Thundyrkynd just as he suggested and then on to Riverkynd; Goldan and Seym Blood should visit the Tsadal and the Tayn'waeh; Jeaf, Muriel and Grour Blood can travel to the Woodswane village of Wilderkynd, then straight on to Eagle's Landing to intercept the kings and try to get them to postpone their attack until the rest of Nyeg Warl can catch up with them.”
Concern wrinkled the Chief Mentor's somber face as he exhorted Goldan and Fyreed. “Once you have finished your missions, get to Jeaf and Muriel as quickly as you can. Now is not the time for the Company of the Hammer to be split apart.”
“What of Tsut'waeh?” Fyreed inquired.
“Since he's already in Ranah, his father will make that decision,” the Chief Mentor intoned.
Speaking to Jeaf, Ahrnosyn carefully stressed his mission. “As the Hammer Bearer, you must believe the magic that has awakened in the warl will empower you to stop the Eagle king's insane plan. Remind them of the ancient prophecies; show them your hammer; tell them that Muriel needs time to learn the Song of Breaking, if we are to succeed. Maybe then, the light of reason will shine on them.”
“I'll do my best.” Jeaf tried to sound confident in an effort to reassure the others.
****
Grour Blood, with Muriel, who had donned Mystlnor's clothes for the journey, and Jeaf riding on his powerful back, flew over the village of Eagle's Landing. Nestled up against the banks of the Wyne River, it functioned as a port town connecting the Eagle King's realm to the waters of the distant Nour Sea. The sight of the vast armies converging on each other, moving across the southern reaches of the Crescent Plain, let the three travelers know they hadn't come a second too soon. Here the plain narrowed from its broader northern reaches where it bordered the Nour Sea.
Peering over Muriel's shoulder and past Grour Blood's heavy mane, Jeaf could see that the armies had made better time than Goldan anticipated. The absence of snowfall over the past moon accounted for this. In the present state of things, the warriors only had to negotiate over a ground cover no more than fist deep.
Asking Grour Blood to fly over the armies, Jeaf estimated that the body of warriors exceeded ten thousand men each. In fact, he was later to learn that the numbers were closer to fifteen thousand stout warriors per army.
A sizable cavalry led each grim-faced force. The magnificent horses they rode were bred by the Forest People who lived in Dalnastrokynd, those who lived in the Thangmor Mountains' western foothills. But mostly, foot soldiers, walking among hundreds of ox drawn carts and wagons filled with provisions for the coming battle, were seen moving along.
White uniforms with golden trim identified the Eagle King's army. Maroon uniforms, trimmed with green, were worn by the Bull King's men. Silver uniforms, with black trim, marked the Wolf King's forces. Glittering sunlight bursting off thousands of shining breastplates, helmets and steel meshed jerkins glistened in the air. Each individual ax, bow and spear, looking like shimmering blades of grey and silver-colored grass growing in a field that marched along, represented a mother or wife who remained back home fretting over their loved one's life.
Nearly a half of the footmen wore common clothes. Only an ax, club, spear or an occasional sword they carried identified them as fighting men. These were last minute recruits that left their ordinary occupations to defend their homes against the evil invasion. Jeaf could only imagine that similar looking militias, serving under the command of a skeleton crew of experienced warriors, were left behind to guard the capital cities. If dire need arose, these would be called up
to reinforce the kings' armies.
In time, Grour Blood carried Jeaf and Muriel to a gathering of pavilions that had been set up on a hill rising above the plain. Much of the cavalry had already gathered around the handful of brightly-colored tents that were erected to house the kings. As Grour Blood descended, the young Woodswane could see scores of other tents being pitched all about the hill, those that would be used by the soldiers who had already arrived and those who were on their way. Harsh expressions, showing on the faces of the busy warriors, reflected the gravity of the moment.
A throng gathered around Grour Blood as he settled on the ground. Amazed at having a creature they had only heard of in childhood stories or in songs sung by bards appear in their midst, the crowd pressed forward. For some of them it was the second time that they had seen a griffin, still the awe and magic the mighty beast exuded was not diminished.
Whispering into Jeaf's ear, Muriel remarked, “I have a bad feeling. Something's not right here.”
“I know… I feel it too,” the Hammer Bearer replied as his Powers of Intuition reached out to the men surrounding them.
Leaning over, Jeaf spoke quietly into Grour Blood's ear. “Beware my friend! There's a foreboding stench in the air.”
Grour Blood, who shook his head acknowledging what he heard, began to take inventory of those around him.
After a few moments, one of the Eagle King's officers greeted them and led them straightway to a large white pavilion adorned with golden embroidery. Prince Phelp, standing in the doorway, looked as if a cloud of discouragement were raining upon him.
Seeing their approach, the prince shook his head from side-to-side.
Grabbing Jeaf by the arm, he led him to one side of the doorway so that those who were inside couldn't see them or be able to read his lips. “It's not good!” The prince's concern was nearly palpable. “The strife and recrimination that's swirling about in the tent is suffocating.”
“We knew something was wrong the moment we landed,” Jeaf explained. “Can you tell us what we're facing?”
“An evil magic is at work in the room, stirring up everyone's anger.”
“The outworking of the spell that Ab'Don has been weaving ever since the days of the Breach is now manifesting itself in the discord you're witnessing inside the tent.” Jeaf rehearsed the facts that Prince Phelp was already aware of.
“Indeed! The boil has come to a head and is threatening to burst open and spread festering wickedness over the plain.” Prince Phelp spoke through clenched teeth. “If something isn't done soon, I fear war will break out among the kings themselves. And that would be a greater evil than anything Koyer could ever do to us.”
“Let's go inside.” The young Woodswane placed a reassuring hand on the prince's taut shoulder.
Nodding his head, Phelp added, “You won't like what you see.” Then he turned and led them into the tent where the war council met.
Upon entering the pavilion, Jeaf, Muriel and Grour Blood saw a score of men sitting around a large table constructed out of timbers they brought with them. The three kings, bent over cups of ale they had been nursing, lifted their heads to reveal eyes filled with resentment and anger.
Though Muriel was not experienced in reading thoughts, her prophetic instincts enabled her to sense the odious stench filling the tent, a stench that her nose could not smell. Her intuition and the training she received at the School of the Sword and the Song told her there were other things present in the room, things that couldn't be seen.
Bacchanor's training provided Jeaf with the ability to see the vaporous beings floating about in the air like so much discharged pipe smoke. He even saw one winding itself around the Eagle King's spine, its illusive head darting about in the back of Cane's throat.
Looking past the king and into the evil spirit's vaporous countenance, a spirit that fed off its host's sorrow and anguish, the Hammer Bearer gave a barely audible command. “Go now… or Vlad'War's Magic will deal with you!”
The Eagle King's face contorted as he replied, “It's too late for you Hammer Bearer. I won't go, and you don't have the power to make me if he wants me to stay.”
Prince Phelp, who had not heard Jeaf speak, was confused by his father's nonsensical words. “What are you saying father?”
Hearing the prince, the evil vapor loosened its grip. Once it did, Cane's countenance returned to normal as he answered his son's question. “I don't like that young man.” The Eagle King was struggling to come to grips with his turbulent emotions. “My heart has been troubled ever since the day he showed up to bring me his father's foul sword.” Reaching for Inheritor, the majestic weapon that Aryl had given the king to honor his fiftieth summer, Cane drew the blade from its sheath and threw it at the young Woodswane's feet. “Here, take the cursed thing back!”
While reaching down to pick up Aryl's magnificent creation, the Hammer Bearer bowed and risked a direct reply. “My Lord, neither me nor my father have anything to do with the problems you face. We weren't responsible for the kidnapping and murder of your dear son Hartshyll. The blame should only be cast at Koyer's feet.”
Slamming his fists upon the table's heavy top, the Eagle king roared, “Don't tell me where I should cast blame! Koyer will pay for his treachery, I assure you of that! But I doubt he's the only one I should be concerned with!” Cane looked at the other kings as he spoke, his voice ripe with agitation. “There's more treachery at work here than can be blamed on the Lord of Regret.” The king's accusing glare now included Jeaf and his son, Prince Phelp.
“Burn it to ashes!” Wombur the Bull King shouted as he lifted his powerful torso up on his tree trunk legs. “I've heard the rumors that say one of us is in secret league with that fire-blasted Koyer. But I swear, it's not me! If anyone has seen through his rues, it's me. By the Fires of Darkness Cane, I didn't send my son into the trap Koyer set with his so-called Feast of Harmony.”
“And why didn't you!?” Cane's rage was fueled by his shame. “Could it be because you knew what would happen!?”
“Of course, I knew something evil would happen! You can't use my foresight as evidence to prove I'm in league with that evil bastard!”
“And why not!?” The generals, standing in attendance, looked about in confusion when Cane moved towards the Bull King. “Your foresight could be no more than the knowledge one gets by reading a parchment delivered by a courier.”
“You idiot! I'm not the one who is forcing us into battle before Nyeg Warl's full strength can be gathered.” While the Eagle King pushed through the generals that stood blocking his way, Wombur placed his hand on the hilt of his sword before continuing his defense. “I'd say if there is anyone whose actions incriminate them, it would be you!”
“By the Fires of Darkness!” The Eagle King shouted above the din welling up from the agitated commanders. “My son Hartshyll is dead! Curse you!”
“That proves nothing if I follow your train of thought!” The Bull King shot back. “What if I said the assassins weren't after you and your sons, but were actually targeting the young Woodswane who carries the Hammer of Power, that Hartshyll's death was no more than an accident, and that you are now carrying out the same plan you would have regardless of what happened to him?”
“Curse you Wombur the Bull-Splatter!” the evil spirit shouted out from Cane's contorted face. “If you really think that, then I am no friend of yours.”
“What about Romome, what does he have to say? What if he's the traitor?” A voice shouted out from the throng of commanders.
Jeaf lifted his face towards one of the loathsome vapors who had dared to speak and gave another command. “Quiet!” Immediately the foul thing rolled up into a ball like a porcupine trying to protect itself from attack.
Angered by the accusation that had been hurled at him, the Wolf King stood to his feet and led his generals out of the tent and back to his own pavilion where they tried to make sense of all they had seen and heard. In time, Romome and the other kings, who had quickly
followed his leading, sent messengers out and told their troops to hurry along.
****
Jeaf had a hard time getting to sleep- the incessant clamor the arriving warriors made saw to that. It was clear to all that the kings wanted their full complement of soldiers at their disposal as quickly as possible; so, they were forbidden sleep until this was accomplished. The sounds of wheels groaning along the frozen ground, of metal clanging against metal, and loud voices shouting out commands were a living nightmare.
Prince Phelp's words, those spoken as they parted the past evening, kept troubling Jeaf's thoughts. If my father hadn't thrown Inheritor at you, he might have drawn it against Wombur.
In Jeaf's thinking, the unending noise the armies made as they hurriedly arrived throughout the dark night, sounded a lot like the three kings were unsheathing their swords. Anxiety over what the morrow could bring tormented the Hammer Bearer as he scoured his mind, trying to decide what he should do to stop the battle he feared would break out.
****
In the morning, Jeaf, Muriel and Grour Blood watched the sleepless armies dress themselves in full battle gear. Soon, the kings appeared decked out in their royal armor, riding noble steeds up the hill that, the day earlier, held the brightly-colored pavilions. Until that moment Jeaf hadn't noticed that the tents were disassembled and removed from the hilltop. This fact did not bode well. It indicated that the kings and their guards wanted room in which to move in case a fight started.
After asking Jeaf and Muriel to mount his back, Grour Blood leapt into the air and circled high above the gathering enclave of noblemen and the generals who accompanied them. Once the mighty griffin saw that all were assembled, he let out a loud roar that reverberated over the plain and the armies it held. Folding his wings against his sides, he dropped into a heart stopping dive. Unfurling his majestic feathers just above the three kings, Grour Blood swung their wide expanse forward before abruptly settling into the midst of the heavily armed company.
