by Rex Hazelton
The warriors, whose courage was above reproach, visibly slumped when they realized that the army they had been battling was only the advance wave of a larger more terrifying force.
Sensing discouragement clutching at the Nyeg Warler's hearts, Rhombar quickly added, “But don't despair, for all of Nyeg Warl is arousing itself to come to our aid. Even now the Bull, Wolf and Eagle King are leading their combined armies in a forced march across the Crescent Plain to reach us before the main battle begins.
“Brave men, we must holdout until they arrive. If we lose the fortress, not only will we forfeit our lives and the lives of those we are protecting, but the kings and the armies under their command will be placed in a position of grave disadvantage once they reach Wyneskynd. We must not fail our brothers in this dark hour, both those who now stand with us and those who are hurrying to join us in the fight. It seems clear to me, as I'm sure it does to you, that the battle for Nyeg Warl will be fought on the plains stretching out before us.”
“What about the Hammer Bearer?” one of the captains asked. “We've been hearing rumors that say he's already come to the warl. If so… isn't there something he can do?”
Tsut'waeh pulled out the leafy crown he carried with him wherever he went and lifted it up for the sober-faced warriors to see. “Behold the miracle of the Hammer Bearer!” Tsut'waeh went on to tell the men how he and the Tayn'waeh had already met the one who carried Vlad'War's Child and conveyed all that he saw him do and heard him say.
The warriors' eyes grew wide in wonder as they examined the crown of living leaves Tsut'waeh showed them. Feeling like those who dreamed a dream when they heard how prophecy was being fulfilled, hope swept into the weary warriors' hearts while many spoke of Parm Warl.
Chapter 39: The Cave of Forgetfulness
The Company of the Hammer journeyed deeper into the foul cavern boring its way into the Thangmor Mountains like an abscess in a gigantic tooth. Though the eerie clicking noise had not returned since the battle in the map room, this brought little comfort to the Company. All knew worse struggles lie ahead. Spray from numerous, miniature water fall's, pouring out of cracks in the cavern's wall, fell upon the trail and on those who traveled over it, keeping the warriors wet and uncomfortable. The slime-covered rocks they walked on, and the incessant stench filling their nostrils, wore on the Company, dampening their enthusiasm for the quest.
In time, orange-colored light wafted out of the cavern towards them, orange like overly-cooked pumpkin pie. This unexpected illumination allowed Alynd to place his magical sphere back into its pouch while Muriel blinked like the light was a cloud of dust assailing her vulnerable eyes. But this was not the case. Her blinking was a response to the strange glow acting like a catalyst that jogged her memory. “The Cave of Forgetfulness must be near,” she explained. “This orange light, radiating from veins of luminous stone found in the cavern, fills its recesses.”
Pausing to look about her, Muriel added, “Beware of the holes in the walls. Many a foul man and creature dwell within, as well as a host of children that I once belonged to. Be careful not to hurt anyone who does not try to harm you first since many of those who live down here do so against their will.”
Jeaf pulled Muriel near, giving her a reassuring kiss to help ease her consternation. “You'll be all right... the Warl's Magic will see to that.”
“But it didn't protect me before.” Muriel regretted her words even before they left her mouth. The memory of this place was trying to resucitate the bitterness she lived with for fifteen horrible winters, a bitterness she was still trying to overcome.
Wise enough not to be patronizing, Jeaf replied, “I know. But I'm here now.”
Wiping sweaty palms against her damp clothes, the tension eased its hold on Muriel's muscles. Looking up into the face of the most important person in her life, she smiled and drank from the cup of the Hammer Bearer's strength.
Thinking this would be the last opportunity for a respite, Alynd suggested they stop for a rest before plunging into the abyss. Soon, Bear was munching contentedly from a sack of oats the farmer's wife had given him while Jeaf pulled out strips of dried fish for Grour Blood. After drinking from the wineskin, he carried with him, Bacchanor pulled out his guitar and quietly sang a song of friendship, calling up a refreshing breeze that came from the outer warl.
“Look!” Fyreed spat out through clenched teeth as he pointed his sword toward the dark mouth of an intersecting tunnel.
“Don't move.” Muriel spoke with firm but even tones as if she was trying to avoid scaring off a wild animal. “Bacchanor… keep singing. The rest of you, be still and watch.”
Focusing their attention on the dark opening, the Company saw eyes peering back at them. Lit by the orange glow filtering through the main passageway, at first two, then four, later more than eight pairs of eyes appeared.
“Are they river-children?” Fyreed quizzed Muriel.
“Just watch.” Muriel spoke as she focused her full attention on the unfolding drama.
Not long afterwards, the form of a small child was seen silently creeping out of the shroud of darkness surrounding it. Soon, other grime-covered children sided up to their brave little companion and listened to Bacchanor's music with wide-eyed wonder.
Tears trickled down Muriel's cheeks while she fought to keep from unabashedly weeping, knowing that such a display would frighten the children away. “They're being drawn by the music's magic.” Muriel gasped for air as she explained. “Though the feelings of faithful love it conveys are foreign to them, their human hearts are drawn to what they intuitively know they need.”
Suddenly the ominous clicking noise rushed out of the orange glow ahead of them. Like a slap in the face, it chased the children back into the darkness. Once they fled, all became quiet again.
“I know some of those children.” Muriel was troubled by the intense feelings pulling on her. Once the sadness was made to fall into rank behind the anger welling up inside her, the Prophetess spoke again. “That foul worm has done enough harm… LET'S GO!”
Jeaf, who had never heard Muriel curse before, watched her pull out her stone dagger and turn away from the others who, after quickly gathering up their gear, were soon hurrying down the corridor as they tried to catch up with the impatient woman.
The Company of the Hammer passed a number of other intersecting tunnels leading away from the one they were traveling down, but none was tempted to turn into one of these. The burnt orange light, glowing in front of them, unmistakably marked the passageway that led to the Cave of Forgetfulness.
In time, veins of the luminous stone began appearing in the tunnel walls, intensifying the light that reflected off the warriors' faces, making them look like they were staring into a super-heated furnace. Jaws clenched with the force of the determination that moved the brave company forward; muscles flexed with an infusion of blood that gorged them, preparing them for the fight they stubbornly rushed towards, enabling the men to keep up with the enraged woman.
ROARRRRRRRR! The sound, rushing up from the direction of the Cave of Forgetfulness, shook the Company of the Hammer to their bones. ROARRRRRR! Its booming tones stopped Muriel in her tracks. Thundering in her head, amplified by the tunnel's confines, the frightening noise was something new, something she had never heard before, not in all her long stay in Schmar's dark domain.
“What was that?” the griffin-woman asked the young Woodswane who now beside her. She could only guess what kind of monster was able to generate such a horrific sound.
Unlike her, the nerve shattering tumult was not new to Jeaf. He had heard it twice before. And both times he had almost lost his life.
ROARRRRRRRRR! Another sonic volley buffeted the Company.
Wincing, as the memory of his flesh being burned by cascading flames pushed its way to the forefront of his reluctant brain, Jeaf answered Muriel's question. “It's Lavaiathon! Ab'Don must have guessed our move and sent him to help Schmar!”
SCHLAGGGG! SCHLAGG
G! A huge body was forcing its way through the tunnel that was scarcely big enough to contain its bulk. Then before the Company of the Hammer knew it, a ball of fire was rolling towards them.
“Quick… into the river!” Alynd called out to the others.
Leaping into the water, hardly deep enough to cover Gour Blood's massive form, the griffin watched the flames race over his submerged head.
ROARRRRRR! Another deafening blast greeted the company after they pulled themselves out of the river.
“Ashes!” Fyreed shouted his complaint before the echoing sounds of doom had dissipated. “What good can steel or fang do against fire?” The angry Bjork felt impotent. In the open sea, the magic of his Wisdor Stone may have been able to hide him from the dragon's fury. The swiftness of his longboat, powered by the warl's strong winds, could have spirited him away from the monster's breath. But not here! Trapped between walls of stone, invisibility would not shield him from the sea serpent's rampaging fire. And he knew it!
“Do not despair!” Grour Blood encouraged his comrade. “We have more than steel and fang to fight with. A wizard travels with us, the Hammer of Power as well, and do not forget the Prophetess.”
Reaching for Vlad'War's Child, Jeaf spoke out of the confidence its magic gave him. “I defeated that foul worm before. I can do it again.”
“Stay your hand! Now is not the time to call on the hammer's power.” Bacchanor, having examined the air, interrupted the conversation. “My friends, do you notice something strange?”
After turning his head from side-to-side, trying to figure out the wizard's meaning, Bear could wait no longer. “What d'ya means?”
“The air.” Bacchanor squinted as he looked down the tunnel. “How does it feel to you?”
“It feels as heavy as fog,” Fyreed concluded. “Warm and damp.”
“Warm!” Bacchanor's eyes opened wide as he got to his point. “Warm! But not hot!”
Remembering how Laviathon's breath heated up the air the day they fought on the banks of the Eyrie River, Jeaf spoke up. “It should be hot!” Stepping over to the tunnels wall, the young Woodswane placed his hand on the stone before continuing. “The serpent's fire should have heated up both air and rock. But that hasn't happened. Something's amiss!”
“Schmar's magic is at work,” Alynd surmised. “But how, I cannot yet determine.”
“Yes!” Bacchanor picked up the conversation. “That's what we must decide.” Another rock splitting roar, sounding much closer, drowned out the wizard's voice after he added, “And soon!”
“The how is not as important as the why,” the Elf-Man reasoned. “What does Schmar have in mind… that is the question?” The Company saw blue light flashing beneath Alynd's wide-brimmed hat before he spoke again. “My guess is his thoughts are on the Hammer of Power. No doubt he has heard about Jeaf's fight with Laviathon and how he bested him using the hammer's magic. I think he wants to force the Hammer Bearer's hand. He wants him to strike the hammer out of season, to shoot his arrow while Schmar is still out of range... if you follow my thinking.”
“Let me add another thought.” Grour Blood's voice rumbled through the tunnel. “Since we know Schmar's magic centers on deceit and illusion, maybe Laviathon's roar and the fire we saw are not real?'
“Precisely,” Alynd chimed in.
“Instead of trying to get Jeaf to strike his hammer,” the Prophetess speculated, “maybe he's sending the river-children to attack us again and is trying to get us into the water where they'll have the advantage?” Looking into the river, Muriel knew that this was a distinct possibility. Following her gaze, the others thought the same thing.
“What if you're wrong?” Jeaf exclaimed. “When the next deluge of fire comes, we will be burned to death if we don't jump into the water, or if I don't strike the hammer!”
“We'll not be burned!” Alynd shouted. “I am convinced that Laviathon's presence is not real... You must not strike the hammer and we must not enter the river lest it really is a trap.”
Striding forward, getting closer to the rumbling growl that slithered towards them, the Company marched toward the beast, each hoping they were right and that Laviathon's presence was just an illusion.
Turning a corner in the tunnel, Muriel stumbled against the stone wall when a huge triangular-shaped head came bobbing and weaving through a veil of vapors that floated up to greet them, a scaly head whose mouth was filled with sword-length teeth. Reptilian laughter glutted the air as the evil serpent drew his head back to blow the company one of his deadly kisses.
What if they're wrong? He doesn't look like an illusion! Muriel felt panic grip her when she saw orange flame heaved out of the lizard's huge mouth.
“Jeaf!” She shouted the only name that came to mind, the name of the one who walked up ahead, just beyond Grour Blood.
Before the young Woodswane had time to turn, Laviathon's incendiary was on him, bathing him in glowing flame. Then it rushed over the griffin and across her. Fluttering like laundry hung out in a windstorm, the flames flickered against her skin. But they didn't burn her. In time, Muriel was walking beneath the sea serpent's massive head and on through the torso that proved to be no more real than the wall of stone that hid the entrance to Schmar's hideout.Not long after Laviathon's form had faded into a dirty mist, the Company of the Hammer crossed the threshold of Schmar's lair and walked into the Cave of Forgetfulness.
Entering the expansive chamber, they felt like they were no more than so many pieces of meat swallowed up by the mountain and passed down its long throat until they were cast into a huge stone-lined stomach. Here, Schmar and his river-children waited for them like a pool of hungry acid wanting to assimilate them into the bleak reality that gorged the place.
A legion of river-children stood waiting to greet the indomitable company, a gathering of warriors whose numbers far exceeded what Jeaf and the others had expected to encounter. Divided into two groups, a gauntlet cut through their midst, one that ended at an altar of stone. Behind this, a short rotund man sat imperiously upon a throne; a tall woman, clothed in a long flowing black gown, stood beside him smiling like a cat with a bird in its mouth; a throng of hunchmen, resembling a pack of snarling guard dogs, stood fidgeting behind them.
“Schmar!” Muriel spoke under her breath with a voice spiced with equal parts of disgust, anger and fear.
“Welcome to my humble home!” The Lord of Forgetfulness' hypnotic voice reverberated off the massive cavern's walls, filling the Company of the Hammer's ears with a strange ringing noise.
“Beware of his voice!” Alynd whispered a warning. “It's filled with evil power.”
“Don't be afraid... Come forward.” The rotund man gestured magnanimously with his arms spread wide apart. “It's not every day a person gets to see a griffin and a giant traveling together.”
“Welcome home, boy.” Schmar remembered the young giant, his former captive.
Mumbling under his breath, Bear stared defiantly at his erstwhile captor. “This place ain't m'home. An' I'm no boy.”
“Muriel Blood, climb on my back.” Speaking with a sense of urgency, Grour Blood determined that if he had to, he'd fly off into the massive cavern's dark heights to protect her from attack.
Bacchanor, realizing that this was not the time or place for secrecy, transformed into a powerful griffin in front of his enemies. The horrible horde took a step back as he flexed his magical might.
“I see we have a wizard in our presence.” Schmar's breathy voice mocked Bacchanor's abilities. “Have we met before?” “If we had, only one of us would be standing here now.” Bacchanor's rumbling voice growled his contempt for the rotund beast.
“Ah, a wizard with spunk.” The Lord of the Cave of Forgetfulness laughed, knowing the deck was now stacked in his favor. “I'll keep that in mind when we speak later.”
The plump little man rubbed his double chin thoughtfully as his eyes went dead. He knew he was facing a formidable foe, but not one he didn't think he could easi
ly defeat. Still his pride wouldn't allow him to simply attack and destroy them, he had to first play with the mice who had wandered into his lair. Centuries of exacting despair and woe from those he eventually murdered had long ago established his evil mode of operation, and the presence of this dangerous company of strangers would not change his habits.
“Let's see now, we have a giant, a griffin and a shape-shifting wizard. I wonder what other surprises await. Oh, I see! One of you is carrying a piece of costume jewelry.” The ball of blubber was once again acting the part of an affable host while he cut at his guests with his sarcastic tongue. His statement about costume jewelry was Schmar's way of showing his disregard for the Hammer of Power and the one who carried it.
“Come closer, so I can get a good look at your faces, before I, shall I say, wrap matters up.” Chortling, the beast gave his wife a knowing glance.
“Come,” Alynd said to his companions as his blue eyes sent out a burst of light to accentuate his words, “destiny calls.”
So, the Company of the Hammer began the long walk down the foreboding gauntlet funneling them towards the short, rotund man like sheep being herded into a pen.
As he walked, Fyreed couldn't help but think of the stories he heard as a child that told how pirates executed people by making them walk the ship's plank until they fell into a sea where they would either meet their death by drowning or were crushed between the cruel jaws of a hungry shark. Looking into Schmar's lifeless eyes, the courageous Bjork knew that drowning wasn't something he would have to worry about.
Jeaf, who walked in front of Fyreed, kept a wary eye on the throng of river-children, the brothers of those he and Alynd fought on the Elf-Man's leaf-boat. When their heavy lips parted, revealing gums filled with hundreds of short needle-like teeth, the Hammer Bearer couldn't help but rub the wound they inflicted upon him. Their webbed feet, and the webbed hands holding their jagged blades, provided the logic for why Nyeg Warlers called them river-children. The ropes and nets many of them carried reminded him of Muriel's own history with this infamous lot and brought to mind the paintings he had seen in the dreaded map room. He was well aware that the bindings were now intended for him and his companions, instead of the fare of children that these horrible creatures normally used to satiate their lusts.
