Battle of Nyeg Warl

by Rex Hazelton

  On the fourth day after the battle, after the time of grieving had passed, Aryl Oakenfel showed up leading a cavalry of more than two thousand Woodswane. They had come from skirmishing with Koyer's advance forces that were even now marching along Nyeg Warl's northern coast on their way to Wyneskynd, home of Wombur the Bull King.

  “More than thirty thousand strong,” the elder Oakenfel was describing what they had seen. “It's a blood thirsty lot filled with warriors from Ar Warl, the Isle of Regret and Nyeg Warl. Two groups of giants are numbered with them: clay giants, recruited out of the swamps, were in one group; the other is made up of the worst elements of the giants who live in the Cragmar Mountains. We saw scores of siege machines. Hunchmen are scattered among the throng like lice on a head of hair and the foul Archan are as numerous as a plague of locust.”

  Aryl put his hand on his son's shoulder before continuing. “Koyer's White Guard leads this evil horde on their march over the Crescent plains. We engaged these putrid white-skinned warriors on a hit-and-run attack. But it was to no avail. Our arrows had no affect on them. Sadly, we lost ten brave men in the process. Yet, with all that we saw, we didn't catch sight of the Lord of Regret.”

  “This is not his army's main body.” Goldan accurately assessed the information that Aryl had given them. “When we see Koyer… then we'll know we have seen his main force. Did you say you saw warriors from Nyeg Warl marching along with this foul brood?”

  “Yes, we did.”

  “Where were they located in relationship to the Archan?”

  “They were out front, following the White Guard's horses.”

  “There you have it,” Goldan exclaimed. “This army's job is only to soften up the enemy. Koyer will eventually arrive to pick up an easy victory once the defense of Wyneskynd has been spent stopping his first wave.”

  “How do you know this?” Jeaf inquired.

  “Because the Nyeg Warlers are being forced to march in the vanguard.” Goldan looked around at the collection of commanders gathered in the pavilion that had been resurrected on the same hilltop it once stood upon. “The Cassians and Froms don't love Koyer enough to volunteer to be his initial assault force. My guess is their families are being held hostage to force them to sacrifice themselves to a cause that they no doubt hate in their hearts. In Koyer's perverse thinking, they're an expendable resource.”

  Phelp, the newly crowned Eagle King who had come to value Goldan's military instincts and expertise, asked the Tsadal warrior, “What do you think we should do?”

  “If I may make a suggestion,” not only was Goldan a brilliant military strategist but, through the humility that seasoned his speech, he was also blessed with the acumen needed to handle matters political, “My Lords, I would send two thirds of your combined forces to meet Koyer at Wyneskynd. I would have the other third delay their departure until it is clearly established that the Lord of Regret will not attack Plagea, or Eagle's Vale.”

  “The Woodswane are already marching out of Wilderkynd, moving towards Wyneskynd,” Aryl reported.

  Though many of the Woodswane live alone, as the Oakenfel's did, others resided in a score of villages scattered throughout Nyeg Warl. Wilderkynd, being a city in its own right, was the one exception to this rule. Situated on the northern tip of the Alabaster Mountains it had neither a king nor royalty but was ruled by a council of elders. Among the Woodswane, Aryl was the undisputed leader in matters of warfare.

  The elder Oakenfel spoke with a confidence his people's trust had given him. “Our cavalry will leave immediately to help defend Vineland's capital and to give you time to arrive.”

  “The Tayn'waeh are also on the march and, no doubt, will turn toward Wyneskynd once they hear that Koyer's hordes are headed there.” Seym Blood's deep rumbling voice resonated through the air.

  “What of the Hadram and Bjork?” Goldan quizzed.

  Fyreed's tattooed face turned toward the Tsadal commander, revealing the light blue design adorning the right side of his face as he gave his report. “My people and the Hadram are ready to fight. But they're unaware of Koyer's movements.”

  “We griffin will rectify that,” Grour Blood promised. “Seym Blood and Tor Blood, acting as couriers, will deliver your messages on their way back to Stromane.”

  “Well said. With the griffin on our side, we may win the day.” Goldan enthusiastically grabbed Grour Blood's heavy mane in a gesture of gratitude. Turning to look at Seym Blood, he added, “Don't forget to tell the Tsadal what has taken place here. But be careful... they're not fond of strangers, especially ones with fangs and claws.”

  Goldan released the mighty griffin's mane and withdrew his sword from its sheath to emphasis what he was about to say. “All that we've said so far is important, I assure you, but there is another matter we must now address.” Lifting his weapon, the Tsadal commander pointed it at Muriel. “Unless the Prophetess learns to sing the Song of Breaking, all of our battle strategies may prove to be in vain.”

  “Indeed, they will be in vain!” Alynd, the Elf-Man, confirmed the commander's assessment of the evil forces they were about to meet in the struggle that would determine Nyeg Warl's fate. “All will most certainly be lost unless Muriel fulfills her destiny and learns to sing the Song of Breaking.”

  Every eye in the pavilion turned to look at the beautiful woman the Elf-Man said was the key to Nyeg Warl's victory. Standing among the griffin, and surrounded by so many grim-faced warriors, Muriel's shapely form looked small and weak in the eyes of those who would soon face the tidal wave of darkness moving across the land. She carried neither sword nor battle ax. Only a lone stone-knife, she had taken out of Schmar's lair so long ago, lay tucked in her belt.

  Sensing that the weight of the warl was now bearing down upon her comely shoulders, the griffin nuzzled up next to her like pets comforting a sick master. But these intimidating beasts were no one's pets. The sheer power exuded by their presence caused Muriel to grow in stature and promise. Soon, Jeaf was holding her hand while Goldan, Fyreed, Alynd and Bacchanor came to stand on either side of her, standing like they were her personal guard.

  “What must she do to learn this song?” Phelp, the Eagle King, inquired as he gazed upon the Company of the Hammer.

  “She must return to Schmar's lair, the Cave of Forgetfulness, and face the demon. It was there, in that horrible place, that her innocence was lost, and it is there, in evil's stronghold, that she will learn to sing the Song of Breaking.” Alynd's eyes flashed blue light as he spoke. “Though Ab'Don's dark magic is unparalleled in magnitude and the portion of his power that he invests in the Lord of Regret and his minions is great, still, the heart of wickedness is found with Schmar and those who serve him. He is Nyeg Warl's dark secret, what some would say, the skeleton in her closet. But time has proven that a skeleton can be more powerful than flesh and blood and a closet's door isn't strong enough to keep its contents from escaping.”

  Taking out one of his golden spheres, Alynd held it up for Muriel to see. Soon, the familiar amber light began emanating from the orb laying in the Elf-Man's hand. Through its luminous mist-like glow, Muriel could see a trace of a smile crossing the Elf-Man's otherwise serious face just before he blew its essence towards her. In an instant, the light was dispersed into the air like it was magical pollen that was coming to fertilize her soul with courage.

  Inhaling the mysterious illumination, the Prophetess smelled the rich fragrance of a rain-soaked wildwood. The scent of fern and loam, mixed with flowers of a glade, danced about in her mind, and laughter welled up within her heart.

  Allowing time for the sphere to work, Alynd spoke solemnly to the black-haired woman standing before him. “It's time to open the door to the closet and pull out the skeleton, so that the foul thing's spell can finally be broken.”

  “How am I to do this?” Muriel asked the question whose answer she already knew.

  “You must go where you don't want to go, to the head waters of the Dyne River, and then on to Schmar's lair
where you will learn to sing the Song of Breaking.”

  ****

  The next day, the combined armies of the three kings began their march across the frozen Crescent Plain, moving towards the war that would soon break out before Wyneskynd's imperiled walls. Goldan, the Tsadal commander who the kings had appointed to lead the united force, rode at the head of the gallant throng.

  With the Magic of Suspicion now broken by the hammer's power, the kings' willingly consented to Phelp's recommendation that they submit themselves and their armies to Goldan's brilliant military mind. Since he was not native to any of their realms, and hadn't any vested interest in who would have the more glorious role in the impending conflagration, they realized he could play a unique role in uniting the armies into a single war machine.Still, with the kings' pressing request on his mind, Goldan wanted to accompany his friends on their dangerous mission. But Alynd impressed upon him that his destiny lay elsewhere for the time being.

  Not long afterwards, Jeaf and Muriel flying upon Grour Blood's strong back, Fyreed riding Tor Blood, Alynd who sat atop Seym Blood, and Bacchanor who flew alongside the others transmuted into the powerful form of a griffin, were racing across the sky in quest of the Song of Breaking. As they flew through the cold morning air, Jeaf saw his father and the other brave Woodwane riding furiously towards battle, leagues in front of the slower moving armies. A knot rose up in his throat when he realized, in light of the danger they all faced, this might be the last time he would see his father alive.

  Chapter 37: Into Schmar's Lair

  Once Seym Blood and Tor Blood deposited their riders on the ground near the head waters of the Dyne River, they leapt into the air and spread their huge wings as they raced off to deliver the messages they had been entrusted with. Afterwards they would return to Stromane's towering, white cliffs.

  After a short march, when the Company of the Hammer struck upon a well-worn game trail, Muriel remembered having run down this same path, led by her firefly companion, during her escape from Schmar's lair. But for how long, she didn't know. Had she come upon it from another direction, she couldn't tell. Her father's ring vibrated softly on her finger as she told the others what she recalled, comforting her as she wrestled with the scattered images strewn about her mind.

  The look of consternation showing on her face troubled the Company, clueing them in to her feelings of uncertainty.

  “Are we going the right way?” Fyreed asked, his long-braided hair swinging from side-to-side as he strode along the ominous trail.

  “Muriel, you must relax so your memories can resurface. You need to remember more.” Alynd spoke after gently blowing the amber light from one of Andara's tears into the maiden's tense face.

  The sphere's power, intermingling with the fullness of time, became a catalyst that ignited Muriel's ring into a ball of light. Tugging like a fish trying to escape a hook, the radiant piece of jewelry lifted her hand up and out in front of her in a series of mildly jolting pulls, until it had at last freed itself. Once on its own, the ring's light dimmed until all that was left was the little firefly that had lead Muriel out of dank and dangerous cavern-land, the foul realm Schmar ruled with a cruel iron fist.

  The Prophetess gasped as she saw her little friend, once again. Turning to Jeaf, she smiled and explained. “This is the firefly I told you about. If it wasn't for it, I would have never escaped!”

  “I think it has returned to lead you back to face the Lord of Forgetfulness and finish the task of bringing you to freedom,” Jeaf exclaimed in astonishment over the little firefly's return.

  Dancing about, insect-like, the tiny light led the Company of the Hammer deeper into the Thangmor Mountains and closer to Schmar's lair. The odious scent of evil, sprayed over the trail, ruined the beauty of the mountains they traveled through. Paralleling the Dyne River's head waters, as they went, the company unsheathed their weapons when they heard a clicking noise sounding in front of them, a noise whose strangeness felt threatening.

  The farther they journeyed, the rockier the path became until frequent stone outcroppings stood among the dormant deciduous forest. In time, they could hear sounds of sliding rocks rising up from the trail below, heralding the fact that they were being followed. Caught between the sound of falling rocks that approached from behind and the mysterious clicking noise they heard up ahead, the Company of the Hammer moved cautiously forward, ready for a fight.

  Once rounding a particularly large outcropping of rock, they found that the river forked off into two smaller channels. Without hesitating, the tiny firefly took the left branch which, gratefully, kept them from having to wade through the frigid water.

  Soon after the Company had passed the fork, the trail wound its way up through a shallow rocky canyon. Scrambling along the treeless gorge's steep sides, traversing the gravel strewn embankment, Muriel and her companions circled another large outcropping of rock and ran straight into a stone wall. Here, the river flowed out of a hole at the wall's base and the trail ended, abruptly!

  “This is where the Dyne River begins? Where's the cave?” Jeaf puzzled over their predicament, since the river filled the opening it came out of like a hand fitting in a glove. Other than the water, there wasn't space enough for even a cockroach to squeeze through if it wanted to get inside the mountain. “Did we follow the wrong channel of water?”

  “All is not as it seems,” Alynd replied while gesturing to their luminous guide. Looking in the direction the Elf-Man pointed, Jeaf watched the tiny light flitting about the wall's steep face before it shot forward and disappeared in the rock.

  “Look closer!” Alynd admonished the Hammer Bearer to use his Powers of Intuition.

  Reaching out, probing the wall, he discovered that it was a mere illusion projected by the evil magic hidden behind it. Obeying his instincts, the young Woodswane stepped forward and disappeared just as the firefly had. But when Jeaf wheeled around to encourage Muriel to follow, the noise made by a large landslide was heard. It was as if a huge boulder had come loose and fallen down the rocky gorge until it plunged into the dark channel of water. In fact, that's what they might have thought if it weren't for a loud voice that shouted. “Blast it!”

  “Quick,” Alynd commanded the others, “hide yourselves.”

  Wafting out of the inky black cavern, the clicking noise returned, drawing Jeaf's attention away from the sound of the landslide. Squinting, in an effort to see through the thick blackness, the Hammer Bearer felt a sinister presence lurking nearby, watching him. But before he could spot the wickedness crouching somewhere up ahead in the tunnel's dark interior, the sound of more rocks and gravel, sliding down the sides of the rocky gorge, changed the young Woodswane's mind. So, he passed back through the barrier of illusion and rejoined his friends.

  The Company of the Hammer braced itself for a fight while Grour Blood lept silently up onto the rock outcropping they had just passed and snarled at what he saw. The mighty griffin, becoming as quiet as a house cat stalking a mouse, crouched as he readied himself to pounce on the intruder. Grour Blood's flexing muscles, rippling beneath his tawny fur, let the others know he meant business.

  Once loud grunting and puffing noises were heard, along with the clamor of more falling rocks, Jeaf tilted his head, trying to gather sound in his ears. Strangely enough, the clatter the intruder was making seemed familiar. Then, after a lone rock came skittering out from behind the outcropping and skipped over the trail's edge- tumbling down into the river, Jeaf signaled Grour Blood to wait a moment before he went into action.

  A smile broke across the young Woodswane's face when he heard a deep voice complain, “At this rate, I'll never catches up wi' Shorty. Clumsy oafs! Look't me… I'm all wet, an I lost most a m'food n'tha falls.”

  Risking exposing him and his friends, Jeaf spoke out loud. “Bear... is that you?”

  Dead silence followed.

  Watching Grour Blood's eyes, Jeaf knew the intruder was not moving. Still, he couldn't imagine why the giant wouldn't
reveal himself, unless it wasn't Beryl. The winged-lion's long tail twitched nervously as he maintained his vigil. Returning the puzzled gaze the powerful griffin gave him, the young Woodswane thought he'd risk another attempt at communicating with the stranger.

  “Bear, it's Jeaf and Alynd. Is that you?”

  The dead silence was interrupted by the sound of large feet shuffling beneath tree trunk legs that shifted the weight of the immense torso they held up.

  “Shorty?” a deep resonate voice queried with less than whole-hearted enthusiasm.

  The anxiety apparent in the reply told Jeaf his huge friend was concerned he could be dealing with magic that was only imitating the young Woodswane's voice to draw the giant into a trap.

  “Bear, it's me,” Jeaf explained as he went to meet his ragamuffin friend. “I'm coming to you… so don't brain me with that club of yours.” A few moments later, just before he passed from sight, the Hammer Bearer was jerked behind the rock outcropping. A loud moaning sound followed, one that would have been otherwise troubling if Grour Blood hadn't jumped down off the rock with a most peculiar expression showing on his face. “They're hugging,” he explained.

  The Company heard the two friends conversing, but they couldn't see them until the sound of falling gravel heralded Jeaf's return. A single large shadow appeared just before the ragamuffin giant stepped around the outcropping of rock, holding the young Woodswane against his immense chest like he was a doll.

  The Hammer Bearer just lifted his eyebrows at the others, his face reddening in response to his humiliating predicament. Reticent to end Bear's joy by asking his friend- who was as happy as a puppy who had found its mother's tit- to set him down, the young Woodswane went ahead and introduced his friend to the others, his feet dangling helplessly in midair as he did.