by Rex Hazelton
The swarming, white-skinned throng was swirling around the sovereigns, pressing inward as they did. Vav and men from the village of Barm stood alongside the Eagle King's Elite Guard. The best of the best surrounded the other kings, men who were bred to sacrifice their lives to save their lords, if need be. Buttressed by an assemblage of Vestylkynd's students, those who had been trained to deal with Koyer's vaunted White Guard, the proud warriors had slowed Koyer's assassins' advance towards the kings.
Silvamor and the elves pushed forward. Helped by Wyneskynd's defenders, they cut their way through Ar Warler's ranks: the dark-skinned Tayn'waeh, led by Zhan, fought beside Mystlkynd's children; their brothers, the Hadram, followed; Vinelander blades cut through the Archan on their way to the Bull King; Bjork hammers fell on the Malamor's body length shields, pummeling them and those who held them.
But the advance was progressing too slowly. Something had to change if the elves' magic was to arrive in time to help the kings fight off the White Guard. And that something did come. The griffin, who were returning from chasing the fleeing cretchym, answered Mystlkynd's call. Lighter than a man and possessing a greater sense of balance, five of Mystlkynd's children were able to ride on a single griffin's broad back. In short order, the elves were dropping alongside the kings like apples falling from a tree, dramatically increasing the sovereigns' chances of surviving the day.
But even with the elves' help, the White Guard would not be easily stopped. Seeing what was happening, the Company of the Hammer moved against the guard's flank, pinching them between the hammer's might and Mystlkynd's glory.
Sensing the battle's outcome was, once again, in the balance, Koyer threw his trump card on the table. With a simple motion of his hand, a troop of Hag, accompanied by a host of hunchmen, slinked forward. Dispatched with orders to kill the Prophetess and the Hammer Bearer, the infamous order would bend their considerable power to achieve this goal. By this act, the Lord of Regret intended to turn the tide of battle unalterably back to his favor.
Passing a wall of bronze, body length shields and scores of golden banners that held the insignia of a red sun, the sorcerers moved swiftly and quietly toward the unsuspecting couple.
Seeing the Hag, the stocky Archan renewed their attack. Marching under a host of black banners, holding the images of red hearts being rent asunder, a drum corps beat out a hypnotic rhythm that carried them forward. The tattoos of skulls and serpents undulated above flexing muscles rippling beneath the sweaty flesh, covering arms that swung in the customarily exaggerated motion the Archan used in military processionals. Flowing black capes and crimson-studded black boots mocked the arms' movements; red breastplates heaved from side-to-side as the Warriors of Regret stomped along.
The bodies of the kings' guards and the first of the elves killed in this phase of the battle lay scattered among the crushed and decapitated corpses of those who were once numbered among Koyer's White Guard. Still the battle raged on and the elves' leaf-blades continued cutting at the hideous host.
Heedless of their well-being, the white-skinned assassins threw themselves into harm's way. Willing to sustain meaningless slashings that left their clothes and flesh in tatters, the bloodless horde overwhelmed the elves with their bulk whenever they could. Trapping them against their bodies, they used their sharp blades to take forest folks' lives. But this did not always work, for the elves were fleet afoot. Often as not, they were able to dodge the lunging men, and then grabbing them from behind, they pulled their sharp blades across exposed throats, ending the guard's unwilling servitude to the evil cretchym who forced them into the dour bondage that had been their lives.
Meanwhile, the Company of the Hammer whittled away at the swirling, white-skinned horsemen. Bear was especially adept at dispensing destruction. One-after-the-other, he sent his huge, metal-studded club crashing into a White Guard. Most times he made good contact that fell solidly against a rib cage or skull, contact that obliterated everything it touched.
The griffin that joined the fight were relegated to tearing out the guardsmen's throats. Having to come in close contact to do this, the great cats were exposed to reprisal. Not long afterwards, three of Stromane's best lay dead among the expanding number of twisted bodies. Grour Blood, himself, might have been slain if it were not for the portion of Vlad'War's Magic that strengthened his hide. Even with this help, blood flowed out from wounds that would have been severe if not for the hammer's magic, wounds sustained while defending Muriel.
Koyer watched the Hag moving forward. Winding their way through the ensuing mayhem, their long black robes, hiding their feet, gave the illusion that they were floating across the plain. Though the hunchmen were sent along for protection, this foul order was far from helpless. With a wave of their hand, they cast a Spell of Blindness over any they met. Then, if so inclined, they could skewer the man with the short swords they carried, they could let a hunchman do the deed, or, they could do nothing at all, letting the savage war determine the blind man's fate.
As was planned, the Hag, looking like wisps of smoke moving through the mass of entangled warriors, sided up to the Company of the Hammer.
Just as they were arriving, the White Guard nearest them tilted their heads, looking like dogs hearing someone whistle. But it was not a whistle they heard, it was Koyer's voice whispering into their bloodless brains, telling them the part they would play in his unfolding scheme. Once the message was received, their heads snapped upright. Forgetting the kings, they turned against the Company of the Hammer.
The hunchman attending the Hag pinched in from the opposite side. Nerves twitching, excited by the affects of the chata beans they consumed, the beast-men threw themselves at their prey. Like the White Guard, they would not be easily taken down. The large dose of chata made them nearly impervious to pain. Still they began to fall. The Elf-Man was too fast; Bear was too strong; the griffin were too ferocious.
Strangely enough, none of the White Guard nor any of the hunchmen, attacked either Jeaf or Muriel. Lightning and Thunder turned around-and-around ready to take on the new threat. But the fighting had moved away from them, leaving a space the Archan that accompanied the Hag quickly filled.
“Burn it to ashes!” Jeaf snapped out his angry words as he ascertained their situation. Grour Blood is separated from Muriel and the Archan are upon us! Making this observation, he adjusted his actions appropriately.
The two were alone and the young Woodswane knew it. Calling on Vlad'War's Magic, he sent his N'Rah forth, expending as much of his power as he could, leaving little behind, knowing that drastic measures were needed to survive the moment. Not long after a handful of Archan were blown away by the Hammer Bearer's magic, the Warriors of Regret retreated, too easily. Several stumbled away caught in the throes of a stupor the Prophetess' eyes cast over them. But their short stay had accomplished its goal. During the brief encounter, the Hag had slipped in behind the Archan. Like the dregs in a flask of wine, once the Warriors of Regret were poured out, the Hag were left behind.
“Ashes!” Jeaf spat out his curse with greater vehemence. Things were now worse, for muscle and steel had been replaced by magic as dark as a moonless night and as deadly as a plague.
With black candles in hand, the black-robed Hag stepped forward.
Using a Word of Power, the foul order lit candles that levitated up and out of their hands. Around-and-around they twirled as if they were spokes on wheels of increasing size, a wheel per Hag. Sparks leapt forward, accompanying expanding shields of incandescent magic that rushed at the Prophetess and the Hammer Bearer. A loud sound, as if a giant bell had been struck with a tree's trunk, echoed over the battlefield. Layer-upon-layer of reverberating noise rang out until the radiant magic took on the shapes of human hands as tall as a fortress wall, hands that pressed unalterably forward.
“Jeaf,” Muriel cried aloud, “what are we to do!?”
Looking down, the young Woodswane flexed the arm that had absorbed Vlad'War's Hammer.He could feel the m
agic residing there, but he didn't know how to use it. If he were to push back at the approaching hands, using his N'Rah, he could not stop them all.
Then to his surprise he heard his mother's voice in his mind. Strike the hammer, Son!
Mother, Jeaf replied, how are you able to speak to me?
I have joined my light with the flames burning atop the Candle Makers' candles. Our combined magic enables me to speak to you. And our combined magic will help you fight the Hag. But for now, you must strike the hammer before their spell crashes down upon you!
Strike the hammer!? There isn't any hammer, Jeaf replied. I have only my fist!
Then strike your fist! Elamor's thoughts shouted.
Leaping from his saddle, the young Woodswane pulled Muriel off her horse. Then dropping to one knee, he lifted his clenched fist over his head. Looking up, he saw the Hag's huge, incandescent hands hitting the horses, crumpling them to the ground. Down his fist came! Down against the cold ground! Down upon the plains where the war was being fought! Down upon a warl that Ab'Don stood upon in the distant Hall of Voyd!
BLOOOAAAK! The Hammer of Power's magic thundered across the field of battle, shaking the ground as it did, cracking Wyneskynd's walls, toppling the last of Ar Warl's siege machines, throwing the river's water over its banks, casting the warring throngs about. Still, the magic's shock wave was not through. On it went, rippling across Nyeg Warl, passing under the Breach Sea, rolling over Ar Warl, until it reached the Hall of Voyd and shook its foundations, sending Ab'Don reeling about.
When all was done, the Prophetess and the Hammer Bearer stood hand-in-hand, enveloped in a ball of blue light that the huge incandescent hands soon pushed against. But try as they might, they could not budge the magical sphere. It would not bend. Nor would it be crushed. So, the Hag drew their magic back, reshaping the hands into massive fists that flew at the blue sphere, pummeling it over-and-over again.
The hammer's magic held up well under the assault. But its power was not limitless. In time, the blows began to take effect. The blue sphere began to distort under the continual barrage of black magic. No longer round, it looked like a river rock that had been shaped by both flood and pounding stone.
Mother! Jeaf's thoughts reached out. He needed help! Though he had inherited Vlad'War's Magic, he didn't inherit the knowledge of how to use it. Even his mother wouldn't know how to do this. But her long years of training might give her some insight, something that Jeaf could act upon. What am I to do!?
Search your mind, Elamor replied. What has the hammer taught you?
What has the hammer taught me? Jeaf scoured his mind for an answer, and as he did, he remembered how he had seen Vlad'War in the Cave of Forgetfulness.
Lifting up his arm, he opened his palm, face up. As before, mist rose up out of his skin and coalesced into a ball of crystal clear light that stood suspended above his outstretched hand. Once again, the man garbed in a red robe, draped over a breastplate made of star's blood, stood facing Jeaf.
“Yes, Fane J'Shrym!” Vlad'War's voice spoke out of the remnant of his power.
“Behold!” Jeaf lifted the ball of crystal clear light so the wizard could see what was happening. “There is great need and I don't know how to use the hammer's power.”
“Then you don't know how to use your own power.” Vlad'War's curly, black hair gently waved about as he turned to look at Muriel before returning his gaze upon his kinsman. “My son, you are the hammer! Where you go, it now goes!” Having said this, the wizard disappeared in the swirling mist that was soon reabsorbed into the young Woodswane's hand.
Overhearing the conversation, Muriel spoke up. “We can't hide inside this ball of power while the rest of Nyeg Warl goes up in flames. We must fight, even if by doing so we die.” Seeing the griffin' corpses laying nearby, she added, “I am Muriel Blood, griffin-woman. I will not hide! If you are the hammer, then strike your blow and I will follow behind!”
Seeing light flashing out from the Prophetess' eyes, light that stirred his soul, Jeaf turned to face the Hags' dark magic. “Here goes!” he whispered.
Led by intuition's hand, the Hammer Bearer stepped through the wall of blue light. The Prophetess followed. But the light didn't permit them to pass. Instead, it wrapped around them and went where they went.
Swinging his fist against the marauding witchcraft, the young Woodswane's blow targeted a Hag. Battering the sorcerer's magic, Jeaf shattered the glowing conjuration into a thousand wriggly shreds of fading light. Now stripped of his power, one of the Eagle King's Elite Guards cut the black-robed man down. Moving against a second Hag, Jeaf thrust both of his hands forward like he was trying to shove the wizard over. Blue light, springing out of his hands, rushed over the huge incandescent fist, fitting it like a glove that grew smaller and smaller until the Hag's magic was crushed out of existence.
Koyer was no fool! He could see the battle for Nyeg Warl was turning against him. If the Hag lost their fight with the Hammer Bearer, the dam, so to speak, could break and Ar Warl's invasion might be swept away.
“Burn the stinking Hammer Bearer to ashes!” The Lord of Regret's fangs were fully revealed, fangs as long as a man's fingers. “He hasn't seen real power. Not yet!”
Chapter 46: The Duel
AAAHHHHRRRRR! Wings spread wide enough to hide a horse behind them, the Lord of the Cretchym roared his displeasure as he leapt into the air.
Seeing Koyer speeding along, gaining velocity with each massive flap of his wings, the elves shot a hundred sparkling thread-arrows at him, those that made a gentle sizzling sound as they streaked effortlessly through the sky.
Pulling up in mid-flight, Koyer's wings filled with air, allowing him to float in place. Clapping his hands together, Ab'Don's general called up his considerable magic. Then he threw his hands forward like he was casting seed upon the ground. But instead of seeds, bits of blackness showered forth, intercepting the thread-arrows, extinguishing their light, slowing them down until they lost momentum and fell harmlessly to the ground. But that's not all they did. When their progenitor renewed his flight, they followed him, surrounding him like a swarm of gnats that put an end to the elves' aspirations of shooting him down.
A loud swooshing sound, rushing through the air, let the Hammer Bearer know the Hags' magic was not the only power he would have to contend with.
“So we finally meet!” Koyer's deep, raspy voice shouted out as he dropped down before the young Woodswane. “Behold your doom!” The evil cretchym kept his massive wings spread wide as he roared in delight over his hideous glory.
Jeaf sneered when he realized the Song of Breaking had despoiled Koyer's power-filled speech. “You foul cur, you've lost your bark!”
Koyer's eyes flashed red. His lips lifted to reveal his fangs.“I may have lost my bark, but I assure you, I haven't lost my bite!”
Sweeping around, his huge wings flowing behind him like a cape, the Lord of Regret turned to the troop of Hag and motioned with his hand. Hearing his thoughts, the pack of sorcerers ceased assaulting Jeaf and Muriel and floated over the ground to the one who summoned them, each with a black candle in hand for the fiery fists had been retracted.
Without conversing, the black-robed sorcerers arranged themselves in a semicircle behind the Lord of Regret. Bowing their hooded heads and raising their arms, they extended their hands to the huge cretchym, offering him their combined power. Once again, the black candles levitated out of their grasp and into the air. But this time they floated over to Koyer.
Once assembled, looking like a choir waiting for the conductor's cue to start their dour song, the candles' wicks reignited when the cretchym growled out a Word of Power. Spinning around-and-around, their flames spread out in a surge of incandescent might bred by the darkness that trespassed in the warl. Without touching them, long cruel fingers reshaped their form, pulling them together, stretching them out until they looked like a broadsword made of luminous, foreboding witchcraft.
Fully constructed, the great sw
ord sat suspended in the air, waiting for someone brave enough to come along and claim its magic.
The Hags' weapon didn't have to wait long. Hearing the cretchym's hands clapping together, compelled to submit to the power it felt, the shinning sword bowed in obeisance before drifting over and coming to rest in the Lord of Regret's merciless hand.
Turning to face the young Woodswane, Koyer laughed. Then focusing his full attention on the magical sword, he bore his fangs in ribald savagery as he watched its light sweep over his gruesome shape, baptizing him in its dark glory, magnifying his own magical proclivities. Now, the evil cretchym was ready to fight, to pit his magic against the Hammer Bearer.
Movement caught Jeaf's attention. From Koyer's left, two of the Forest People rushed at him. They wanted revenge, to make the beast pay for all he had done to them in the days of their imprisonment. Swinging their swords as hard as they could, the angry men were surprised that Koyer didn't try to repel their attack. He just tilted his head, ever so slightly, and casually considered them through the corner of his eye.
Excited beyond measure by their stroke of good fortune, the men hurled razor-sharp blades against their foe. And the moment the swords struck, the Hags' light leapt out of the evil cretchym who now mastered it and devoured them, furiously.
Just to get a point across, Koyer didn't really need to do what he was about to do, he pivoted and swung his sword at a third warrior who made the mistake of following the doomed Forest People. Wanting to protect himself, the Valamorian lifted his blade futilely trying to fend off the approaching blow that passed through both man and steel alike, effortlessly. And as it did, the warrior was vaporized so quickly, he didn't have time to scream. The only thing left was a powder like residue that quietly fell upon the dormant grass.
Simply delighted by what had happened, Koyer's laughter was more jolly than avaricious since the experience was not new to him. The Hag had given him their power once before, on the day he protected Ab'Don from his ruthless brothers' assassination attempt. Practiced in the power's use, the Lord of Regret was far from being a novice. He was battle tested and ready to go.
