Battle of Nyeg Warl

by Rex Hazelton

  “I think we've met before,” Muriel spoke hesitantly, “in the Cave-of-Forgetfulness. But we never had the pleasure of talking.”

  “Maybe so?” Bear's forehead wrinkled in thought, his voice softening as he replied. “I was there… for a times. But then I escapes. Anyways, we giants weren't allowed t'talks t'tha lil'folks.”

  Jeaf told Muriel about Bear during their stay in Vestylkynd. From then until now, she wondered if their paths had crossed in that dark place. Finally seeing the young giant with her own eyes, she recognized him even though he had escaped many winters before her.

  Once introductions were completed, the giant set his friend down.

  “Bear, you've grown since we last met.”

  “Yah, I been workin on a farms for a family whose horses gone lame. Y'know how those farm womens cooks.” The ragamuffin giant patted his midsection as he spoke. “They was so grateful for m'help, I think they gave me tha poor horse's oats along with m'own portions.” “Why are you here?” Jeaf was incredulous over his friend's appearance.

  “I come t'helps ya Shorty.”

  “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I met tha army marching outa Vestylkynds. They said you'd be comin this way look'n to find Schmar's lairs.” Bear's eyes sparkled as he spoke. “Well, that makes m'think it's time for a lil'paybacks. So, I decides, right-then-and-there, t'try and finds ya. I s'pose ya'll be needin someone ta watch tha back doors for ya, if ya catches m'drifts.”

  Shaking his head in wonder, Jeaf answered his friend by saying, “You know, when I was back in Vestylkynd, I was told that those who began the journey with me would be there with me in the end.”

  “There ya has its, Shorty!” Bear, pleased that he was included in prophecy, made an odd snapping noise with his tongue.

  In time, the Company entered the foreboding cave. Even then, Bear's inimitable personality made him chirp like a baby bird whose mother had returned to the nest with a beak full of juicy worms.

  Jeaf couldn't keep count of how many times Bear petted poor Grour Blood while saying, Nice pussy cats, or how many times he heard his huge friend say, Shorty gots a girl friends, once he learned about the engagement.

  Both he and the Grour Blood endured the young giant's jesting, glad that his massive metal-studded club was going along with them and for the benefits that good companionship brought with it. But, eventually, the evil magic saturating the cave doused Beryl's youthful zeal and left them all marching along in silence through a darkness that tore at their souls as much as it tore at the amber light shining out of Alynd's hand.

  The first part of the cave was dank and full of slime-covered rock that made the going difficult. On several occasions, Muriel swooned when fragments off horrible memories surfaced in her conscious mind. At these times, Bacchanor's music was most helpful. While Jeaf held the Prophetess in his arms, the wizard applied his songs of friendship to her mind, spreading them over her soul.

  The dizzying enchantment, lacing the tunnel like arsenic riddling a cup of wine, wiped out any sense of time, leaving them feeling like they had entered another darker gloomier dimension. And all the while, the ominous clicking noise could be heard not far in front of them.

  “What is that?” Fyreed asked while his knuckles grew white from gripping the hilt of his sword too tightly.

  “I'm not certain?” Alynd sounded tense. “But if I were to guess, I'd say it's coming from a creature that few people have seen... the child-thief, the monster who accompanies the river-children on their raids.”

  “Well either it's afraid of us and we are chasing it deeper into this foul forsaken hole, or it's biding its time, leading us towards a spot better suited for an ambush,” Fyreed conjectured.

  “I believe it's a little bit of both,” Bacchanor added. “I don't think the evil thing's pride would allow it to be too terribly afraid of us; but it's probably confused by our desire to seek this place out. No doubt it senses the hammer's magic and is aware of the griffin's presence. These things alone would make it wary of our approach. But I think it recognizes Muriel and is more concerned with her willingness to return to the place that has so deeply wounded her than it is with those who accompany her.”

  Here, Alynd jumped in. “Be assured we are in for the fight of our lives. The horrible creature that is making the strange noises is only one of the dangers existing in this odious cavern. We'll need all the magic and resolve we can muster if we are to come out of this evil place alive!”

  Muriel knew in her heart that Alynd was right. Soon, the fear that memories to horrible to imagine might suddenly be revealed to her made Muriel wonder if she would lose her mind before the quest was over.

  Later, a large, dark object rose up out of the river in front of them like some huge fang warning intruders of the harm that would be inflicted upon them if they were to continue their present course. Once the Company got closer to the protruding object, Alynd's amber light revealed an ominous obelisk that was covered with etchings of hideous spiders, their numerous, wicked appendages clutching at fleeing children.

  The sight of the horrible scene flushed out pieces of memory from the recesses of Muriel's mind. Struggling for dominance, the foul recollections tried to emerge out of the mental melee like marsh rats scrambling over each other to escape drowning in a sinking ship.

  Schmar's wife's voice, rising out of the din of the tousled fragments, identified the winner. Cutting into Muriel's consciousness like a butcher's knife cleaving a side of beef, she said, “Gather around me, children and let me tell you about the kindnesses your father extends to all of you.” The tall woman's merciless tones were meant to intimidate her young audience. “As long as you stay near him, he will protect you from the spiders infesting the warl that feed on the flesh of disobedient children. Far down the corridors of his kingdom, a black stone rests in the middle of our river, marking the limits your father's protection can reach. Any child passing beyond will meet death in the clutches of a giant spider.”

  Feigning sincerity Schmar's wife added, “So, don't scorn your father's love... It will only bring you harm.”

  Staggering under the weight of the flashback, a mist rose out of the river and spoke to Muriel. “Turn back,” it rasped, “if you value your sanity,” In the moment it spoke, dark magic washed over Muriel's mind.

  Pulled into the spell's gravity well, spiraling deeper into its influence, she imagined the river's current had changed directions and that orange-colored light filled the cave. Looking to the others to explain why this had happened, she became aware that she was alone. Sucking in air, like a cook who has mistakenly cut their finger along with the tomato they were slicing, she struggled to make sense of what was happening. Then adding to her confusion, reaching down to place a hand on the britches she was wearing, she touched a dress instead, a filthy one Schmar had given her in the days of her captivity. Shouting, as loudly as she could- calling out, first, for Jeaf, then for Grour Blood- she found that only silence replied. Then to her chagrin, the strange clicking noises returned and drew nearer as each moment passed. But before despair overran her senses, she remembered the little firefly. Where are you? You can't have left me! But search as she might, she could not find the comforting light.

  A terrifying feeling of abandonment made her scream louder and louder until she saw a huge shadow, filled with waving arms, slide over the obelisk's lower half. The clicking sound, accompanying the darkness, filled the dank air with a noise that reminded Muriel of the time she saw Barm's children dragging sticks along the village's cobblestone road. Once the rest of the huge black marker was enveloped in shadow, the spiders, etched into the stone, came alive and began swarming over the rock. Around and around they ran, chasing the children, who had been carved in the marker alongside them, until they heaped up like bubbling blisters and leapt off the obelisk and onto the path fronting the river. Jumping up and down like they were standing in a hot frying pan, the spiders swarmed over Muriel, covering her from head-to-toe.
And just when she thought she would die of fear, she felt herself being shaken until she was roused from her nightmare.

  “Wake up Muriel!” Jeaf's voice admonished her to fight the spell that the strange voice had cast over her.

  Shaken out of her drug-like state, the Prophetess looked up into the Hammer Bearer's face and, with tears running down her cheeks, cried out, “Where did you go?”

  “We didn't go anywhere.” Jeaf spoke as earnestly as he could. “We've been right beside you the whole time.”

  “Did you hear the voice?”

  “Yes, we did. But the foul spirit bypassed us and went straight for you.”

  “A Spirit of Abandonment assailed you,” Bacchanor explained as he gently strummed his guitar. “It was accompanied by a Lying Spirit. The two bedfellows want you to think that everyone will eventually leave you. But it is a lie that a Song of Friendship can easily dispel.”

  When the gracious music fell upon Muriel's soul, she felt like she was a little girl whose mother was tucking her into bed. The sense of isolation the voice carried with it lifted off her and sank back into the subterranean river's black waters.

  “The obelisk marks the beginning of Schmar's domain,” Muriel told the others. “Beware… his evil magic is great and his capacity for using it is greater still!”

  The Company of the Hammer, having weathered the first blow in their battle with Schmar and his wicked intentions, moved unflinchingly forward, looking for a chance to retaliate. But the nerve wracking clicking noises, that continued leading them deeper into the mountain, portended other more vicious blows the evil Lord of Forgetfulness had waiting for them.

  The amber light's brilliance worked in concert with the firefly's illumination, revealing a cavern full of beautiful stalactites and stalagmites. The amazing formations were resplendent with a rainbow of colors that the minerals they were composed of displayed. If not for the evil spell, filling the place like gas in a bloated stomach, the cavern's natural beauty would have been delightful.

  Leaving the threatening obelisk behind, the passageway bottlenecked, forcing the Company of the Hammer to ford the icy river. Grour Blood, used to swimming underwater in pursuit of large ocean-going fish, jumped in. Alynd was by his side to provide the necessary light. Thrusting his huge head beneath the water's surface, he was able to see if any river-children waited in ambush. In this way, they were able to pass through the water safely. After much work scrambling along a narrow passageway that towered over the river well beyond the reach of Alynd's light, the company entered a large chamber with plaster-covered walls. Paintings were everywhere.

  Here, the tiny light shined more brightly than it had before, and a male voice spoke out of thin air saying, “Behold, Nyeg Warl's sorrow!”

  Studying the paintings, the Company soon realized they were looking at a large map of Nyeg Warl. Every city, village, and hamlet was portrayed. Pictures of Schmar's offspring, catching children with nets and ropes, surrounded these. Alongside, images depicting parents lamenting their children's fate were drawn. Every river was colored red, as well as a large island located in one corner of the map. Pictures of weeping children, surrounded by well-armed men, morbidly adorned the island.

  It was clear to all that the paintings were a revelation of the scope of the atrocities Schmar planned to perpetrate. Revisiting this foul room reminded Muriel that her personal agonies were just one part of a larger dark strategy that Schmar, and the men on the red island, planned to implement throughout Nyeg Warl, a strategy focused on harming children.

  Looking upon an altar that sat conspicuously in the center of the huge map room, a chill raced down Muriel's spine.

  “You were one of these children.” Alynd spoke to the Prophetess who was greatly disturbed by the images she saw. “That's why the Warl's Magic chose to teach you the Song of Breaking.”

  “But there are many others who have been soiled by Schmar's evil spell?”

  “You're right,” Alynd conceded. “So, there must be something else that compelled the Warl's Magic to choose you.” At that moment the little firefly's gnat-like buzz passed by Alynd's ear, sparking a thought in the Elf-Man's mind. “Maybe our guide had something to do with it.”

  “But how?”

  “I think we shall all soon see!” Alynd reassured Muriel.

  The Elf-Man's unsatisfactory answer spurred the Prophetess on. “We shall all soon see! What will we see? How am I going to learn this all-important song everyone is talking about?”

  “I guess it's a matter of faith, Muriel.” Alynd studied the Prophetess face as he spoke. “Much of what we do in life is done in faith… we have faith that the seeds we plant in our gardens will grow, that the training we give our children will bear good fruit, and that the prophecies will come to pass.”

  “Alynd, at times you speak of the Warl's Magic as if it were a person.” Muriel's mind had gone down the continuum her questions enticed her to explore.

  “A person? Maybe. But not like us. It's something entirely different. Though a singer, it's also a song, and though we refer to it as one, it may be many.”

  “Is the magic and the Singer one and the same?”

  “Maybe… but not completely. Though most magic comes from the Singer's songs, once a song is sung, it takes on a life of its own.” Alynd spoke with a philosophical air as he tried explaining the mystery. “Because of this, the abundant magic the Singer invested in the warl, its people and every other living thing, is malleable. Yet, it can neither be fully controlled nor can it, by itself, dictate a person's destiny.” The Elf-Man sighed. “My long life has taught me that the Warl's Magic, if left alone, will certainly gravitate towards uses that reflect the Singer's heart. But evil can bend it to its will, at least in part. That's why men like Ab'Don, Koyer and Schmar can mold portions of the Warl's Magic to fit their evil schemes. Worse yet, they've learned how to sing their own songs, adding dissonance where only harmony was once found.”

  The Elf-Man's eyes flashed bright blue beneath his wide-brimmed hat as he continued. “The magic that has awakened in the warl will instinctively seek to do the Singer's will, but its effectiveness is dependent on human response. Muriel, magic is not forcing you to do what you are now doing. The decisions you've made, and the actions these decisions have birthed, have all come from you. Because your heart is good, the magic that flows through you will gravitate towards the Singer's nature. But if your heart were evil, the portion of magic the Singer gave you could be turned towards darker purposes. In the end, because the Singer will not relent from giving a person their appointed anointing, you would have become the Prophetess who terrifies the warl. Instead of learning to sing the Song of Breaking, you would have been the author of a magic that would have helped bind the warl in chains of torment, ensuring Ab'Don's ultimate victory. That's why Schmar brought you here. By wounding you, he sought to turn you into a malevolent being whose only satisfaction is gained by placing others under their own cruel fist.”

  A sudden swirling, gurgling noise, rising out of the river rudely interrupted the conversations that Alynd and Muriel were engaged in, and just as suddenly the surface of the river exploded into a frothing, lathering cauldron whose black pottage spilled over onto the map room's floor. Alarmingly enough, this pottage gathered itself into scores of huge globules that soon took human form.

  “River-children!” Bacchanor shouted out what everyone already knew.

  Bear, whose youthfulness belied his savagery in battle, bashed in the skulls of the river-children nearest him. Grour Blood swatted another with his massive paws that now had their dagger-like claws fully extended for battle. Bacchanor, who had initially stepped to the rear of the room until he had transformed into Grour Blood's twin, strode forward and joined the griffin in dispatching carnage that heaped upon the stone floor like a cart full of watermelons had been overturne. Fyreed, who was armed with both sword and hammer was busy rending and crushing the foul creatures who mistakenly chose him as their target, while Alynd a
nd Jeaf, who protected Muriel, were using N'Rah to throw the creatures back into the broiling river.

  In time, after incurring grievous loses, the river-children stopped their assault and disappeared, slithering up the river's current to where Schmar waited for a report, leaving behind over a dozen dead and dying brethren.

  “Is everyone all right?” Bacchanor's deep griffin voice made the inquiry.

  After a quick examination, the Company of the Hammer found the battle had been so one-sided that not a one of them had sustained so much as a scratch.

  “Schmar was only probing us for weaknesses,” Alynd surmised. “The lose he sustained will catch his attention. But it in no way does this mean that he fears defeat. For he is a being far older than Ab'Don and, for a time, was the Sorcerer's mentor.”

  “Then he is greater than Ab'Don, for the mentor is always greater than the pupil,” Jeaf exclaimed while he watched the surface of the river for any sign of movement.

  “Greater? No.” Alynd replied as he turned to examine Muriel. “Older, more entrenched in wickedness, more experienced in inflicting woe and filled with a profound rot that exceeds the evil possessed by Ar Warl's lord, but not greater. For Schmar does not care to rule over the Warls as king or despot, rather he gets his joy by ruining things covertly.

  “Kidnapping a child, he throws the family into a cooking pot filled with water that their feelings of uncertainty, over their son or daughter's fate, brings to a violent boil. Occasionally he lets a child who has taken on his nature return home, so that the evil he has infected them with can be spred to the others.”

  Squinting, as if in pain, Muriel forced out her words. “Am I one of these?”

  “NO… not at all! You never embraced Schmar's warl, nor have you wanted to inflict woe on the weak and defenseless. Remember Muriel, you escaped. You weren't sent out.” Blue light pulsed into the darkness as the Elf-Man searched the portion of cave laying before them.