Battle of Nyeg Warl

by Rex Hazelton

  Silhouette's of a new wave of siege machines appeared on the field of battle. Trundling along, creaking and groaning as they moved toward the fortress'tired walls, they appeared black as pitch against the rose-colored hues painting the early morning sky. Slurping, swishing noises that the Clay Giants made while soaking up the river's water in preparation for the impending attack, mixed with the sounds of creaking wood and shouting commanders who were giving their charges their final orders.

  ****

  Goldan, standing beside the three kings, looked down at Brakor and the Cragmar Giants. Thumping their metal-studded clubs against the cool ground, the motley behemoths hurled taunting threats against the sovereigns. Behind them the mixed multitudes were scurrying into ranks: short, heavily muscled Archan whose red breastplates and razor-sharp axes looked incandescent as the first rays of sunlight reflected off them, gathered to their right; tall, blue-eyed Malamor fell into formation on their left; a plethora of colors identified other Ar Warl kingdoms Ab'Don sent to help Koyer carry out his orders, kingdoms in name only, those that were subservant to the Sorcerer's whims.

  Turning his attention away from the boisterous giants, gazing southward, the Tsadal Commander, wondered where the Company of the Hammer might be.

  ****

  Aryl led a cavalry of Woodswane out from beneath the Wyne Forest's protective covering: his son and Muriel were by his side; the Elf-Man and griffin flanked the three of them; the wizard, Bjork and ragamuffin giant were close by. The prophecies were coming to pass. The Hammer Bearer and the Prophetess had arrived, throwing their magic in to the cauldron of factors that were trying to determine Nyeg Warl's future. Horses snorted, biting at their bits; hooves shod with knife-tipped shoes, made especially for war, cut into the turf; the clean sliding sound that steel makes as it slips out of a sheath, ending with the tell-tale ring, filled the air.

  Thinking the enemy was hemmed in the wildwood, the cantering throng of horsemen troubled the Archan warriors who were preparing to assault the forest. But their consternation didn't last long. Clairyk, the Archan commander, shouted out in glee. “They're committing suicide! Quick, give the order to surround the idiots once they're out in the open!”

  It took the Woodswane cavalry much longer to move out from under the forest's protective covering than Clairyk expected. Surprisingly, the horsemen kept coming as if their numbers were magically multiplying. As a result, the frustrated Archan who had been given the job of dealing with the Woodswane were not able to surround the horsemen. Rather, the swelling number of Woodswane stopped them in their tracks.

  But Clairyk would have none of this. The prospect of trapping the Woodswane in the open was too good to pass up, even if there were a few more of them than he had expected. Not realizing that his intelligence reports were made useless by the Forest People's arrival, the over confident commander shouted, “Sound the attack!”

  Instantly, loud long blasts, ugly to hear, erupted into the cool air.

  The commander's dark eyes, amazed at what they saw, quickly narrowed when the buglers' call brought forth an unexpected response. Instead of the Soldiers of Regret making the first move, the Woodswane cavalry leaped forward, biting deep into the Archan ranks: proud steeds trampled the startled throng beneath their sharp hooves; bristling swords swung down upon their heads; a vast number of warriors, flooding out of the forest, many dressed in rags, followed on the cavalry's heels; slipping past the horsemen who were busy dispatching those they met, the footmen cut deeper still.

  At first the Archan begrudgingly gave way before the onslaught's power. But they did not do so willingly. Swinging their axes, as they inched backwards, the short muscularly built warriors tried to give a good account of themselves.

  Seeing the ragged host moving along with those better prepared for war, they puzzled over the army that pushed hard upon them. Who are these? Where did they come from? Surely they're not all Woodswane! But the Archan had no way of guessing who they were, nor were they aware of the magic residing in those they now faced.

  Watching his men collapsing into a confused mass, Clairyk gave the buglers another order, this time it was to sound the retreat. Over-and-over-again, staccato notes were heard, directing the Archan to fall back and reform their lines. But the fierce Nyeg Warlers wouldn't let this happen. Like wax melting before a fire, the Soldiers of Regret continued withdrawing before the inferno that blazed out of the shadows laying beneath the sylvan trees. In time, Clairyk and his men were in full flight, stumbling before the wall of steel and muscle that chased them, eagerly.

  Ar Warl's buglers sounded the retreat, blowing notes that reverberated over the Crescent Plains at the precise moment the sun rose above the eastern horizon, giving the illusion that its unquenchable rays were dispelling the wicked darkness that rampaged over Nyeg Warl's northern reaches. The unexpected sounds became the sweet music of hope to Wyneskynd's defenders and to the army of the three kings that Goldan commanded. Echoing over the plains, the sounds of retreat signaled a drastic change in the war's logistics, heralding that something wonderful was afoot. The more astute began shouting, “The Hammer Bearer has come!”

  The arrival of Grour Blood confirmed their suspicion, his words set their hearts aflame. Swooping down on the field of battle, the huge griffin's upper lip lifted, revealing long fangs as he bellowed his news. “Take heart Tsadal… Muriel Blood and the Fane J'Shrym are near!”

  Buoyed by the magic inundating the mighty beast's words, Goldan stood up in his stirrups and cried out for all to hear. “The Hammer Bearer has arrived! Fight men! We may yet carry the day!”

  The shouts, that erupted from the army of the three kings, was fanned to a fever pitch when the majestic griffin lept into the air. Roaring, time and again, the winged-lion circled overhead before setting off for Wyneskynd. The legendary beast's presence, coupled with the news he carried, acted like an ember that ignited a pile of dry kindling, and when the Ar Warlers' main force finally attacked, they discovered how extremely hot the fire had become.

  ****

  Angered by the recent turn of events, Brakor hastily gathered the company of giants around him. “Listen to them. They're trying to convince themselves that they have a chance. But the only chance they'll have today is a chance to get their brains bashed in!”

  “What about the griffin?” Belycose, who rarely missed an opportunity to stir things up, had to have his say.

  “If that house cat comes around here, he'll have a chance to have his skull cracked open just like the rest of them!”

  Brakor's words started the giants laughing and shoving each other over the prospect of having such fun.

  If one were a griffin passing overhead or a white-faced owl, the army of the three kings would look like a pupil stuck in the middle of a huge eye, a pupil being constricted by an iris made of Archan and Malamor warriors. Driven forward by a ruthless cadre of commanders, the Soldiers of Regret stomped towards their enemy; a potpourri of Ar Warlers followed; a large contingent of the White Guard was included in the dour mix. Not wanting to miss a golden opportunity that would put Eagle's Vale into their grasp, the company of giants pushed to the forefront, rudely shoving the Archan aside as they went, stepping on those who were too slow of mind to move out of the way.

  Grabbing an unfortunate warrior by the scruff of his neck, Brakor went about making a ghastly point as he turned to address Koyer's army. “If I hear about any of you Archan retreating like your fire-blasted brothers are doing,” he spat southward toward the ensuing fight taking place at the edge of the Wyne Forest, “I'll personally hunt you down and do to you what I'm going to do to this sorry son of a har goat.” After casually tossing the warrior in the air, the giant drew back his huge, metal-studded club and swung it with all his might. THWAP! The Archan was knocked high into the sky. Twirling end-over-end, joints dislocated and bones shattered, the hapless warrior hurtled towards the Nyeg Warlers. Every eye was focused on the macabre scene that ended when the Archan's devastated body flopp
ed to the ground just short of the kings' men.

  “Now let's get to it!” the giant's rough voice snarled.

  Afraid not to follow Brakor's lead, the commanders gave orders to attack, and the iris closed tighter.

  Running on short powerful legs, the Warriors of Regret quickly closed the distance that lay between them and their enemy. The Archan were much faster than one would suppose, so fast that, in fact, only a single volley of arrows was launched before they broke upon Goldan's defenses. Like a pitcher of wine being dumped into a bucket of milk, the two forces collided, violently. Many of the Archan were rebuffed in eddies of tumultuous conflict; others pierced deeply into the Nyeg Warlers' ranks, sending broad streaks of red and black running among the kings' armies.

  Charging into the melee, Brakor found that a replenishable wall of warriors stood between the giants and the kings. Dozens fell before the behemoth's huge metal-studded clubs. But others quickly replaced them. Fearless archers, rushing forward, used their arrows to probe the giant's armor. To have any hope of success, the bowmen had to let the massive piles of muscles get dangerously close to target the narrow gaps appearing in their protective covering, close enough so that the behemoths were able to cross the remaining distance separating them with a few quick strides. In time, the archers began to bring down several of the giants, firing their arrows up under their chin guards and into their arm pits that were exposed whenever they lifted their clubs to strike a blow. But the price they paid for their success was steep, for each giant felled, at least ten archers were crushed to death.

  Once the courageous bowmen could do no more, for the behemoths were now in their midst batting them about as if they were flies being beaten by a host of iron-studded horses' tails, swordsmen leapt forward to continue the fight. Dodging the massive clubs the best they could, the warriors tried to cripple the monsters by hacking at the tendons running behind their knees. The rest of their bodies, covered with thick plates of metal and wood that varied in size depending on what part they were protecting, were nearly impervious to attack.

  ****

  Seeing that battle was now being pitched, the combined cavalry of the three kings, acting like a spear, galloped out of the plains and plunged into the Ar Warl horsemen.Their attack was so violent, they quickly drove past the Archan cavalry and carved their way through the throng of footmen that stood between them and the kings. Relentlessly, even though many a horse and rider were brought to the ground, the cavalry advanced towards the sovereigns.

  Prior to this, the cavalry kept their distance, much as Aryl Oakenfel had, nipping at Koyer's flanks, trying to destabilize Ar Warl's forces. But not today! A hit-and-run attack would not do! Not now! The stakes were too high! It was imperative that Nyeg Warl's forces unite.

  Once the cavalry met up with the kings, Goldan seized the shift in momentum and ordered his warriors forward. Buoyed by the magic that Grour Blood's words had given them, the heroic men cut their way through the sea of darkness, pressing westward to join the Hammer Bearer.

  At the tip of the assault, fifty proud Tsadal warriors bit at the Archan defenses. Motivated by more than a desire to survive, they fought for the honor of their people who refused to come to Nyeg Warl's aid. Fueled by the thought that each man fought for more than one-hundred who stayed home, the Tsadal waged battle like men possessed. The Archan, who were unlucky enough to get in their way, provided the fodder that Credylnor's flaming fury eagerly fed upon.

  Having the same mind as Goldan, the Forest People pushed toward the kings. In time, a considerable portion of the Lord of Regret's cruel army was caught between a tightening vice of Nyeg Warlers and those who were not crushed, fled. So great was the retreat that Brakor, in spite of his earlier warnings, had no recourse but to follow. Still, he did so slowly. And because of this, he and his brothers assumed the role of the rear guard, smashing the Nyeg Warlers who were too eager to turn the retreat into a route, dissuading their enemies from carrying the fight further afield. But to the giants' surprise, the kings had no intention of doing such a thing. Satisfied with the battle's outcome, they wished to take advantage of the time gained to confer with those who had recently joined them, the Prophetess and the Hammer Bearer being the chiefest of these.

  ****

  “Jeaf!” Goldan shouted as he embraced his friend. “I knew you'd come! But who have you brought with you?”

  “These are the ones that Koyer and Schmar have defiled and Nyeg Warl has rejected.” The young Woodswane smiled as he looked into his friend's blood-splattered face. “They're the Forest People. Outlawed and rumor-ridden folk, they have come to save those who believed the lies that made them outcasts.”

  ****

  Though Koyer's warriors still out numbered his enemies, he deemed it necessary to unleash his magic's full might into the field of battle. Moving quickly to the Wyne River he called out to Laviathon: “Father of the crocodon, My Old Friend, come to me! It's time for us to wed our powers so that we may annihilate our foes and take their lands and waters as our prize and their families for our food!”

  The magic enhancing Koyer's words enabled the evil reptile, who remained in the safety of the open sea, to hear the voice conjuring up his incendiary might. After a few moments, a plume of fire could be seen rising out from the distant, dark green waters near where the Nour Sea met Wyneskynd Bay. Koyer's red eyes glinted with delight as he watched the terrible lizard leaping through the bay and into the river's channel. Not long afterwards, water displaced by the approaching scaly mountain washed over the river's bank and swirled up around Koyer's knees.

  Laviathon's bulbous torso exploded out of the river and onto its banks. Slithering toward the Lord of Regret, the mammoth reptile groaned, “Father of the crocodon, you say. But look! My children are lost to me. Only twelve remain.” Fire and smoke shot out of the monster's nostrils as he uttered his complaint. “Those hateful hammer lovers have ravaged my brood. Now, my furious soul mourns my loss. What can we do Koyer, My Old Friend? How can we assuage my bereavement?”

  “Spread your vapors across the skies so that we may show these puny people what awaits them. It is time for fear and doom, My Glorious Friend.” Koyer's knife-like teeth flashed as he spoke.

  A rumbling sound, broiling within the great lizard's belly, portended something horrible. Soon, a frightful noise rose up Laviathon's long throat until it burst past his sword-like teeth and exploded in the air in an earthshaking roar. This excited his remaining children that swam nearby. In turn, they answered their father's roar with those of their own.

  Having released his outburst, Laviathon rose up high on his haunches, his long tail swishing about in the river where he stood. Looking down on the evil cretchym, the sea serpent sadistically laughed before he said, “I'll do as you ask!”

  Without further ado, after Laviathon's massive lungs took in ample air, magical smoke streamed out from his nostrils, filling the sky above his head with an eerie cloud that spread like a stain. Settling on the ground, the dour vapor rolled along until it covered the warring armies with a shroud of dread. Sliding effortlessly over the dormant grasses covering the plains, it swept past friend and foe alike. In time, the monster's evil fog, enveloping the field of battle and assaulting the righteous resolve that drove the Nyeg Warlers to the successes they gained that morning, quenched the sun's rays. Only a muted orb could be seen, banished behind the serpent's spell.

  Smoke, slipping past Jeaf's knees, quickly rose above his head until Muriel and the others, hidden behind the great lizard's vapors, looked like shadowy specters passing through a vaporous night. “Beware of Laviathon's breath!” the Hammer Bearer warned his companions. “It's full of evil magic that grips the soul with fear and doubt. Beware! Koyer will use its power to control our minds and make us hesitate in our work. If he succeeds, we may not be able to recuperate in time to resist the attack that will soon follow.”

  Koyer patiently waited for the gloomy smoke to cover the field of battle. Satisfied that the table wa
s now set, he spoke with a voice that could be clearly heard wherever Laviathon's breath went

  “Turn back!” A burst of illumination streaked out from the Lord of Regret's outstretched arms. Pulsating across the land, the ominous light escorted his words, making certain that they completed their task. “Turn back before evil overtakes you!”

  Confusion's bony fingers clutched at the Nyeg Warler's hearts while Koyer's foul speech reached out to their minds. “Go back to the warmth of hearth and home. Don't make me your enemy!”

  The full magnitude of Ab'Don's hypnotic magic was now unleashed through the Lord of Regret. “What quarrel do you have with me? I am and always will be your friend. I haven't attacked Vineland to take it for a spoil as you might suspect. To the contrary, I've come representing King Nestor and King Grogan, to do their bidding. The sovereigns have asked me to rush to Wyneskynd's aid, to offer protection against those who would take it as a spoil. But before I could arrive, lo, the Tayn'waeh and Woodswane had already moved into the city. Hating royalty, these treacherous people plan to get rid of Nyeg Warl's kings, starting with Wombar. Afterwards, they purpose to dispose of the Eagle and the Wolf. Do not believe the voices of the alarmists. They're wrong when they say my intentions are evil. I only act for the good of Nyeg Warl. I am a friend of the kings and a servant to their peoples”

  The magic filling the Lord of Regret's words, combined with Laviathon's sorcery, began dismantling their enemy's resolve. Walking about in bewilderment, the kings' men, questioning why they'd come there in the first place, couldn't remember how the events of the recent moons had unfolded.

  At that moment, as if on cue, the remnants of the Soldiers of Truth who were scattered among those who resisted Koyer, began speaking in agreement with the evil cretchym's words.

  “Why are we fighting against a man who has done us no harm?” Koyer's magic slipped over his servants' vocal chords, adding power to their speaking. “Our powers of reasoning have been taken from us by a boy claiming to be the Hammer Bearer who will bring peace to Nyeg Warl. Look around you. Has he done this? No! He and the witch he travels with have only brought death. Peace has fled at their coming.”