by Rex Hazelton
Zhan watched a Candle Maker pull a leaf off the garland that Tsut'waeh feebly lifted up for him to see and placed it in the dying warrior's mouth. “Feryl, we must continue to fight!” The Tayn'waeh leader echoed Tsut'waeh's words. “My son says Parm Warl is on its way, and I believe him. We must hold on just a little longer!”
****
Koyer's blood-red eyes surveyed the battlefield. Standing on top of an observation tower that his troops built for him and his commanders, the Lord of Regret drew his thick lips back, revealing the dagger-like teeth filling his mouth and smiled approvingly at the sight of the fires burning behind Wyneskynd's walls. With his immense wings spreading out, Koyer turned turned to face the sea of warriors that were still arriving and melodramatically shouted. “Come... Come to me my children and we will shake the foundations of the warl!”
Turning towards the Nour Sea, Koyer shouted to an armada of Cassian ships whose holds overflowed with weapons, provisions, and reinforcements. “Come. Come to me my floating beauties and help me extinguish the name of Nyeg Warl from memory.”
Laughing with delight over all the resources he had at his disposal, those that he was sure would gain him a quick victory, the evil cretchym celebrated his good fortune along with his commanders. But before he had enough time to adequately savor the moment, the laugh that rumbled out of his foul throat was cut short when the tower began to weave about like a drunken sailor standing on the deck of a storm-tossed vessel.
A deep groaning sound vibrated out of the ground and up through the air as an earthquake struck Nyeg Warl. The birds of the field, that shot up into the sky just before the quake hit, flew erratically about, fearing to land until the ground quit its seizure.
“By the Fires of Darkness, what's going on!?” Koyer's exultation had soured.
Once it was certain that the tower would be toppled, Koyer and a cretchym commander who stood with the rest of the leaders leapt into the air. Those lacking wings were thrown to the ground.
The terrific shaking continued, wreaking havoc on the plains: the river sloshed over its banks; many of the wooden towers that had been rolled up against the fortress walls crumbled under the quack's pressure and fell; and warriors stumbled about on legs that worked hard to keep them upright.
In time, the earth ceased tossing about and the Lord of Regret swooped down to stand among the other commanders, many of whom had either been killed or wounded in the fall. Only the White Guard remained unfazed by the quake's devastation.
“Blast it,” Koyer snarled, “there was magic in that quake!” Turning to cretchym who had flown off of the tower with him, Koyer gave a command, “Quick Crom, take to the air and find out if Ab'Don was responsible for conjuring up the earthquake.”
“I'll go as you have commanded... but first let me say, the magic that just shook Nyeg Warl didn't have Lord Ab'Don's feel to it.” Crom was puzzled by the powerful force that exerted itself over the battlefield. “If I were you, I would send out spies to find out where the magic came from and not look to Ar Warl for answers.”
Enraged by the cretchym's insolence, Koyer snatched the giant, yellow bug off its feet. Drawing the thing's loathsome face close to his slobbering fangs, he hissed out, “So, now you're an expert on Ab'Don's magic. Shut your ugly mouth and just do as you're told!”
The insect's huge, red eyes stared blankly at the Lord of Regret. At times like this, Crom had to fight the urge to strike back at its miserable master. Angered at Koyer's slight, the cretchym's mandibles began nervously opening and closing; its transparent wings slowly spread out in the tension-filled air. Maybe today would be the day! The clicking noises coming from Crom's mouth increased in volume until Koyer extended his long, red tongue to taste the cretchym's face. In an instant, the creature's mandibles froze in place and wings lowered, acquiescing to its lord. “As you wish, Master.” Crom's stilted words were forced out of a reluctant mouth.
Once the clattering sound of flapping wings was lost in the distance, Koyer turned to his White Guard and said, “Do as Crom suggested… send out spies. Immediately!”
****
Two-hundred Cassian ships, along with four-hundred vessels whose origins were found in Ar Warl, sailed out of the Nour Sea and into Wyneskynd Bay. Cutting deep into the Crescent Plain, the bay ended at the mouth of the Wyne River, not far from Wyneskynd's fortress. The school of crocodon escorting the fleet leapt above the waves, flaunting their ominous arrival.
Laviathon had joined up with the flotilla earlier that day after spending the prior week scouring the seas for signs of the hammer-lovers. Having concluded his futile search, the sea serpent came and threw his considerable magic into the cauldron of war that was just about to come to a boil. It was his absence above anything else that enabled Wyneskynd to rebut Koyer's advance forces.
Hurling his bulbous body out of the bay and into the Wyne River, Laviathon was intending to torch the fortress' parapets with his incendiary kisses when the sounds of war broke out behind him. Flaming arrows, appearing to fly out of thin air, fell on Koyer's fleet, looking like a shower of yellow and orange rain. The Bjork had arrived cloaked in the wisdor stone's magic!
Malamor, Archan and Cassian archers, those who were being transported to the battlefield aboard the dark armada, scrambled to find their bows. With weapons in hand, they tried retracing the flight of the incoming arrows in an attempt to strike at the unseen bowman.
By the time Laviathon wheeled about, Ar Warl's ships were peppered with fires, their sails were set ablaze. The faster longboats, rendered invisible, moved effortlessly among the heavier corsairs who futilely tried targeting the shallow V-shaped waves created by the sleek Bjorkian keels. In that moment, an amazing thing happened! The father of the crocodon decided not to charge into the fray, something he would have done if he had not been recently frightened by Bjork sagacity in Thundyrkynd's waters.
Swimming a circuitous route, moving through a bay not much wider than the fjord the hammer-lovers called home, Laviathon approached the ensuing battle with great caution. Ironically, Ab'Don's ill advised attack on Thundyrkynd created enough reticence in the evil sea serpent to give the Bjork the time needed to slaughter his children.
Wygean's fleet had corralled most of the crocodon together and was busy launching harpoons out of their cloak of invisibility and into the thrashing throng of reptiles. It was an easy thing to do. Uncloaking one of their longboats, the overly confident sea serpents were eager to take the bait. Without encountering any resistance, for the boat was abandoned, a feeding frenzy followed, one that shredded the vessel into splinters. The delightful taste of easy victory drew most of the brood to the site of the pseudo conquest, to the place where they were ambushed. The surprise attack was so successful that scores of dead crocodon were seen floating in the bay's water, looking like ice cubes in a punch bowl.
Many other terrified reptiles slithered underneath the invisible longboats, fleeing from the ruthless attack. The surviving crocodon, never having faced such a compelling force, raced away in confusion.
Laviathon gave chase after his remaining brood. But he was only successful in rounding up a dozen of his children out in the open sea, just beyond the bay. These he herded back toward the battle.
Meanwhile, the Bjork, having all but rendered Koyer's fleet ineffective, rowed their cloaked longboats up the Wyne River to a place they felt was safe for disembarking. With King Baryk in the lead, Bjork and Hadram warriors leapt out of the beached vessels and raced the short distance separating them from the fighting. Savagely attacking Koyer's forces that had crossed over the Wyne River in an effort to surround the great fortress' west side, Wygean's children fell upon the enemy, crushing limb and skull with their invincible hammers. Once the Woodswane and Tayn'waeh sent out a large group of warriors to join them, Koyer's minions, caught between the hammer and the anvil, were driven back across the Wyne River.
Laviathon, whose furious rage was fueled by the humiliation his children experienced in their recent defea
t, swam as fast as he could, returning from the open seas with one thought in mind. His motivation for fighting now changed from a passion for conquest to a lust-filled desire for revenge. The bodies of his dead children, those that he bumped into as he knifed through the waves, only added to his fraternal fury.
His huge body, shooting through the dark green water like a giant spear, suddenly glanced off an object far larger than a crocodon corpse. The groan of timbers and the sounds of men's voices let him know that he had inadvertently struck a Bjork longboat. Elongated pupils enlarged at the prospect of instant gratification. So, he leapt high above the water's surface before he dove back toward the impact site. In his haste for revenge, he crushed one of his children beneath his immense weight. Yet, his fury was so great that he wasn't even aware of what he had done.
Soon, Laviathon's long neck stuck out of the deep green water like it was a gigantic hose dispensing a spray of flames. His incendiary fell upon not one but two longboats that had been making their way through the bay and out to the safety of the open sea, after unloading their cargo of warriors. The smoke, rising above the cloak of invisibility, showed the evil lizard where his prey was to be found. Diving underwater, Laviathon swam until he was beneath the columns of smoke showing in the sky above. At this point he shot upward until he smashed into the bottom of a boat. After putting a huge gash in its hull, he went after the next one.
Realizing that he caught the Bjork fleet in the vulnerable position of trying to escape the river's confines, he left his children, those that stayed behind to devour the warriors who now floundered in the bay, stripped of their invisibility, to seek out and destroy whatever longboats he could. Many of these had been constructed in a winter of feverish rebuilding after the water spout's destructive visit during the past fall.
Shooting volley-after-volley of flaming liquid, the reptilian monster began to hit the Bjork vessels. At first his blasts only struck an occasional longboa. But his success rate increased the closer he swam to the river's mouth. Back-and-forth he prowled. Unfortunately for the Bjork, Laviathon trapped more than fifty of their ships where the river's water flowed out into the bay and quickly inundated these with his evil incendiary. In all, he disabled or sunk more than one-hundred of the Bjork longboats.
Having done this, the evil lizard's desire for revenge was now satiated enough to permit his reason to return. Slipping back into deep waters, he swam back out into the open sea to avoid any traps the crafty Bjork may have been setting for him. In the safety of the fathomless depths, he bided his time until Koyer would call for him.
****
Phelp, the Eagle king, gazed upon the ocean of warriors lapping up against the banks of the Wyne River, as Goldan spoke to him. “Sire, we must respond to any attack Koyer mounts against Wyneskynd. If we don't, not even the combined forces of the Hadram, Bjork, Tayn'waeh, Woodswane and Vinelanders, now defending the city, will be able to repulse the overwhelming numbers that will be thrown at them.”
Goldan wheeled his mount around to face the other kings as he continued speaking. “I know we don't want a superior force to trap us out on the open plains without having fortifications to fall back to. But, we haven't any choice! We must attack one side of this foul army, while the city's defenders deal with the rest. If we can force them to fight on two different fronts, we may be able to gain time for other help to arrive.”
“You mean the Hammer Bearer, don't you?” Wombur, the Bull King, frowned as he spoke.
“Yes! I'm speaking of Jeaf Oakenfel.” Goldan tried to sound confident. “We live in a day prophecy is being fulfilled. How that prophecy will work itself out, I do not know. But I do know that we need time. We must not be overrun by the Army of Regret until the Hammer Bearer arrives.”
“It disturbs me that so much depends on the actions of one young man,” The Wolf King admitted his misgiving.
“I share your concern,” Phelp replied. “But I've learned that the magic living in the warl works in unsuspecting ways. If it has indeed awakened as many think, our enterprise may yet succeed.” Looking at each king in order, Phelp added, “I believe the earthquake that rolled across the plain this morning, marks some fundamental change in the battle's dynamics. It felt like a doorway was opened, one which the Warl's Magic is passing through. Though I know not what precipitated this event, I don't think it's a sign Koyer will gain comfort from.”
After pausing to think, the Eagle King addressed a question to the Tsadal Commander. “Do you think the Prophetess has learned to sing the Song of Breaking?”
“I wouldn't be surprised.” Goldan's smile did not last long before his jaw muscles tightened in anticipation of the coming fight. Lifting his sword with one swift motion, the Tsadal Commander shouted, “Parm Warl!”
Immediately, the others unsheathed their swords and repeated Goldan's shout. When the throng of warriors heard the kings' voices, a chain reaction quickly swept over the Nyeg Warlers until thousands of ready fighters stood with up lifted weapons, shouting out, “Parm Warl! Parm Warl! Parm Warl!”
****
Later, when Goldan was watching his horse dig through the quickly evaporating layer of snow, that lay upon the dormant grasses jutting out from the plains, foraging for food, a group of Tsadal warriors rode up to greet their old commander. Laughing, he eagerly hugged his brethren, over-and-over-again.
“So the Tsadal are finally coming to Nyeg Warl's aid.” Goldan beamed with pride as he spoke. “Will wonders never cease?”
The Tsadal cavalry, that numbered no more than fifty men, dropped their heads in shame upon hearing their commander's exuberant response to their arrival. A young warrior, who fought the hunchmen and cretchym on the road to Thundyrkynd, spoke up. “Sir, we are the only ones, out of all of those who live in Credylnor, who were willing to come.”
“Fraynk, what are you saying?”
“When we returned from the road to Thundyrkynd, carrying the bodies of the warriors slain in defense of the Hammer Bearer, our people panicked. Many said the dead proved the Singer wasn't pleased with the support we gave the Woodswane. Others were less adamant, but still came to the conclusion that it was better to be safe than sorry. So, rather than risking their lives to come to Nyeg Warl's aid as you have supposed, they decided to close their shutters and lock their doors until the storm passes.”
No this can't be! Goldan's mind protested while jubilation was turned into sorrow.
Grieving over the Tsadal's failure, he lamented aloud, “How small our people have become. We profess to have a better grasp of the truth than others in Nyeg Warl, yet we are blind to our own fear and paranoia.”
The Tsadal commander lowered his head in a moment of reflection before continuing. “I have chosen to follow a different path than that which my brothers trod. Your willingness to risk your lives to dispel the darkness shows that you have made the same decision. So, let me speak to your hearts... from this day forward, we represent a new breed of Tsadal who are determined to cast off the tyranny of unreasonable fear that separates our people from the rest of Nyeg Warl. We are those who choose to rid ourselves of the damning pride that imprisons our land, a pride which has caused us to close our ears to the good and wise counsel found in those who live outside of our valley. Therefore, we will no longer see ourselves as being Tsadal only. From now on we will see ourselves as being Nyeg Warlers and brothers to all good and generous people.”
Once Goldan had his say, he called the Tsadal together. Gesturing for the fifty stout warriors to kneel, he asked for those who carried candles to light them as they bowed their heads and called on the Warl's Magic to come and anoint them for battle.
Those, in this company who survived the horrors of the coming battle became the fathers of a new generation of Tsadal, a generation numbered among the most-noble people to ever live in Nyeg Warl. As for what happened to those who remained in the Tsadal Valley and refused to come to Nyeg Warl's defense, well, that story's for another time.
Chapter 43: The Bowl of
Redemption
Bear was the first to emerge from the system of caves that Schmar once ruled over. Others quickly followed: first Fyreed, then Alynd, next came Muriel hand-in-hand with Jeaf, Grour Blood kept guard behind them, and Bacchanor last. When the Company of the Hammer passed through the shallow rocky gorge reaching out from the cave- now littered with the corpses of slain river-children, hunchmen, and hunters, those that the hammer's magic hurled out of the cavern- the perceptive wizard looked over his shoulder toward the mouth of the distant cave and saw a throng of beleaguered people stumble out into the evening light, their jaws dropping in wonder at the panoply of colors flooding their senses.
Many, who had never seen the light of day before that time, blocked their aching eyes even though twilight was rapidly sweeping over the eastern horizon. Those old enough to remember their lives, before being kidnapped, were busy explaining what the others were seeing. The point of greatest interest, was the huge, orange orb that was dropping below the western horizon.
For two days and into the third night, the homeless troop stubbornly followed the Company of the Hammer as they journeyed amidst the shadows spreading through Thangmor's forest, moving toward the battle raging on the Crescent Plain. Bacchanor finally lost sight of the throng just before Alynd, who had some time ago assumed the lead, took the Company into a bowl nestled in the greenwood like a huge bird's nest, and like a bird's nest, it was filled with brown grass that protruded through the thin layer of snow that stubbornly clung to the host of dormant stalks.
“Where are they?” Fryeed's curiosity got the best of him.
“I don't know for certain.” Bacchanor pulled thoughtfully at his beard. “But I don't think they've gone far. At least I hope they haven't.”
