The Hammer's Fall

by Summers, Derick

  Magnus left them once they were safely at the palace and Samuel had led them into the throne room. They were brought before his Royal Highness. Apparently, the King had no name, it had never once been spoken. It was always his ‘Royal Highness’ or simply the King. The man himself was young, if El guessed correctly, not much more than his early twenties. Though, with humans it was so hard to tell. His hair was dusty brown and his eyes were a dark hazel. El guessed that he would be considered quite attractive if not for the cruel smile that never seemed to completely leave his face. And, as she looked upon the young monarch, she saw the lust in his eyes as he watched her. The look made her mildly uncomfortable, but really didn’t disturb her too greatly. She had seen that look from others before and knew how to deal with it, though his royal status meant she had to be at least somewhat careful when it came to rejecting the man.

  No, her real nervousness came when she was introduced to the two men standing slightly behind and to either side of the throne. The first was the general. She would later learn his name was Siris Danielson and many throughout Tael feared him. He stood to the King’s right and was dressed in black silk. His long blonde hair was tied back in a loose tail with a piece of black ribbon. His age was hard to gauge because even though his face had a youthful appearance, something in his eyes aged him. He stood at ease and yet, he seemed ready to explode into action at any moment. As he studied her, with a gaze of cold appraisal, she decided that he was the most frightening man she had ever had the misfortune to meet. In the kings gaze she saw lust, but in this man she saw no emotion at all, just an icy estimation of worth.

  The second man, standing to the left of the King was Reese, simply that, Reese. He was much older than the other two. His hair had long since greyed and a long straggling beard trailed down his chest. The old man’s eyes were opaque and sightless, but something about him made El certain that he missed nothing. An aura of magic crackled off him and he perked up as El drew near. It was clear that the man was a mage, and from the aura that surrounded him, a very powerful one at that. His sightless gaze seemed to cause much discomfort through the room. El realized that the real power in Tael lay with these two men.

  The reception in the elves honour was long and tedious and she had no idea how Lan had managed to keep smiling through the entire thing, though she guessed that the number of young attractive noble women might have made the event slightly more bearable for him. She guessed that Raeth would have something to say about that later. In her role of servant, she had been spared from the actual reception and El envied her that.

  Not that Raeth had been slacking off for the evening. She brought the ‘emissaries’ belongings to their rooms and had then taken the opportunity to give those rooms a thorough searching.

  For the most part, the rooms seemed to be clean, no secret passages or hidden peep-holes, though she did find and interesting hidden compartment beside the large stone fireplace in the sitting room.

  Once satisfied with the rooms, she took the opportunity to scout the palace itself. No one took much notice of another servant in the halls and she was able to commit much of the palace to memory. She took special note of the little used passages and exits.

  You just never know when those might come in handy, she thought with a grin.

  Chapter Forty-Eight: This Is Really Going To Hurt

  The dwarves had warned Logan that the local guards of Tael were not known for their gentleness. When they came upon an empty slave pen with a lone figure standing in front of it holding a short length of iron in his hands, they weren’t inclined to go easy. When they found one of their own lying in the street bellowing with pain from a dislocated shoulder any illusions of restraint were cast aside.

  They bore down on Logan and it was all he could do to protect his head. Logan had fought groups before, but never a well-trained group, and never one where he wanted to fail and be captured. Killing one of the guards was likely to get him executed on the spot, so he dropped the iron bar and dodged the blows he could. Before long, he was on the ground being kicked repeatedly.

  Still covering his head, he was able to prevent the guards from doing any permanent damage. If he could get away with bruising and a cracked rib or two he figured he’d have gotten off lucky.

  Okay, lots of bruising, he thought as he grimaced from the pain of another boot to his back.

  He figured his body should be able to heal the injuries fairly quickly, as long as the guards refrained from actually stabbing him with their swords.

  So far, things seemed to be going to plan, he thought between blows. What a dumb plan!

  He didn’t know exactly when he’d been knocked unconscious, but when he came around he was locked in a slave pen. The guards had stripped him down and he was glad he had left his weapons and valuables with the others.

  His body ached from the bruises and the cracked ribs as he pulled himself into a sitting position, but they were already beginning to heal. He realized with a start that he was in the same pen he had just broken the girls out of.

  Poetic justice, he thought as he smiled to himself.

  It was still dark and he settled down to try and get some sleep, he didn’t know when he’d get the chance again.

  The next morning, he got to watch the merchants setting up their stalls for the day. Few gave a second glance toward the slave pens and it wasn’t until the crowds began to gather at mid-morning that any of the slaves were acknowledged in any way. A small boy, a peasant by his clothes, flung a clump of horse shite at the occupants of one of the cages. This first acknowledgement didn’t fill Logan with a great deal of hope for the humans as a race.

  As the day progressed into afternoon, the aristocrats came down from their homes and estates. Many of the peasants and general riff-raff were ushered away from the market square so the aristocrats could shop in peace. For their part, the nobles meandered slowly through the square stopping here and there to barter with the merchants. Servants followed behind to collect and carry their master’s purchases.

  He watched the nobles for a good portion of the afternoon. They walked with an air of nonchalance that Logan found particularly disturbing, especially when he realized that it extended to the slave pens as well. They shopped for slaves in exactly the same manner they shopped for everything else. Logan watched one family stop in front of a pen holding a small group of young men. The nobleman nodded to the slaver who quickly rushed over, a whip and keys in hand. Quickly unlocking the cage, he had a guard bring one of the adolescents out and proceeded to show the noble the young man’s teeth and muscle tone. The slaver also explained that the slave could be neutered at no additional charge if the noble preferred. Logan was developing a severe dislike for slavers in general and Taelish nobles in particular.

  Once or twice, one of them would stop in front of his pen and study him with interest. During these moments Logan worried that he would find himself sold to some aristocrat as a curiosity, and his beating would have been for nothing. Thankfully, these people always lost interest and passed him by.

  Late in the afternoon, Logan saw El and Lan’thor in the market place. Where Raeth had gotten off to he had no idea, and as he thought about it he decided he didn’t want to know. Besides, when dealing with assassins, it was probably in everyone’s best interest to give them free reign to come and go.

  Though they were trying not to appear obvious, he could tell that his friends were looking for him. To aid their search, he made a show at getting up and yelling at one of the aristocrats that happened to be walking by. A sharp rap on the bars by the guard on duty quickly backed him up, but not before he caught a slight nod from Lan. El took one look in his direction and brought her hands up to her face.

  I must really be a sight, he mused.

  His friends moved away and Logan sat back against the bars and watched the day go by. Eventually, the merchants started to close their stalls for the night. As they were doing this, two guards came around pushing a trolley carrying a collection
of wooden bowls and a large bucket of something. Each slave was given a bowl of whatever was in the bucket, and they promptly shovelled whatever it was into their mouths as quickly as they could.

  When the guards got to his pen they skipped over him.

  “Hey! Where’s mine?” Logan cried angrily.

  The guard following the servers stepped up to Logan’s cage and glared down at him.

  “You don’t get any,” he sneered. “We’re shipping you out to the mines. They’ll feed you there if they remember.”

  With that he stomped away.

  Well, at least I’m going to the mines, Logan thought.

  His stomach growled in discontent.

  Shortly after the food had been dished out, Logan was told to move to the back of his cell. He waited while a guard unlocked his cell and opened the door. Another guard stepped forward and shackled his hands and feet before forcefully leading him from the cell towards a large wagon.

  Night had fallen and the moon was up and full. The slave area of the market was well lit with torches and Logan realized that this would be a very inopportune time to attempt an escape. He would be seen almost immediately and would have very few exits available to him. It was a good thing he wasn’t planning anything of the sort. He smiled to himself as he pictured himself running naked through the market square, a collection of armed guards waving swords as they chased after him.

  Nope, he thought. Not a good option.

  He carefully mounted the wagons steps and entered the caged wagon. Joining him were four other men, two humans, a gnome and, sitting brooding in the corner, a troll.

  As he found a place to sit on the straw strewn around the wagon, he noticed the chains that held the troll. The four of them had their wrists and ankles shackled, but the troll was secured at the arms, legs and throat to the sides of the wagon. Given how short the guards kept the lengths of chain, the poor creature couldn’t possibly be comfortable. He was hunched over with his head nearly resting on his knees and Logan found himself feeling sorry for him.

  The gnome moved to sit beside Logan and looked up at the troll.

  “Doesn’t seem so fearsome now, does he?” muttered the diminutive man.

  Logan looked back up at the large creature next to him, then back down to the gnome.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “I still don’t think I’d want to make him angry.”

  The gnome waved Logan’s comment off, rose to his feet and shuffled over to the seated troll. He reached out and tickled the big monster’s foot. The troll growled low in his throat, an obvious warning even without the benefit of translation.

  “I’d leave him alone if I were you,” cautioned Logan.

  The gnome flashed Logan a smile.

  “Then,” the gnome replied with a grin. “It’s a good thing you’re not me.”

  With a sudden jolt, the wagon started moving. The gnome was thrown off balance into the secured troll. The troll reacted instantly as one clawed hand snaked forward against the restraints, reaching for the gnome. Logan was faster, grabbing the gnome by the shoulder and pulling him back before the troll’s massive claws could catch the little man. He pulled the gnome back to sit on his other side, well away from the troll, as the wagon slowly creaked and jostled down the empty streets.

  The gnome looked up at Logan with an appraising glance then stretched out his tiny arm to him.

  “The name’s Rimple Curmidgly and I thank you for your service sir.”

  Logan smiled at the small man and clasped the outstretched arm.

  “Logan Hammersmith and it’s very nice to meet you Mr. Curmidgly,” Logan replied. “Might I suggest that you avoid getting too close to our large friend in the future?”

  Logan glanced meaningfully back at the troll who still watched the gnome carefully. A low growl sounded in the creature’s throat again before it looked away. The gnome laughed out loud and a large grin spread across his face.

  “Don’t worry, my friend,” Rimple announced with glee. “I’ve dealt with bigger and meaner in my time.”

  The gnome stood and began posing as heroically as he could, with ankles and wrists shackled. A bump in the road nearly sent the gnome sprawling and Logan was soon laughing deeply. The others in the wagon looked at the pair of them like they were insane.

  Who knows, Logan thought. They might be right.

  He had just gotten himself sent to the mines as a slave. And worse he had done it on purpose, not exactly the sanest thing a man could do. Logan smiled to himself.

  Oh, well, he thought. Too late to turn back now.

  Chapter Forty-Nine: Invitations

  A soft rap at the door woke El. She hadn’t even realized that she’d fallen asleep. She hadn’t been able to get the image of Logan battered and beaten in that cage, out of her mind. She had excused herself from dinner and had returned to her rooms early, leaving Lan to keep up the charade. Raeth had been surprised to see her back so early, but had wisely opted to say nothing.

  The soft rap came again and as she prepared to get up she heard Raeth move across the living quarters to answer it. From her place in the bedchamber, El wasn’t able to hear the details of the conversation at the door. She sighed quietly to herself. Raeth would let her know what was going on.

  Sure enough, a few moments passed and there was a light scratching at her chamber door.

  “Mistress?” a soft voice called.

  “Yes, yes, come in!” El called, mildly annoyed at the whole situation.

  She hated this stupid master-servant game and had told Raeth just that. She’d also told her friend that there was no need to act the part when they were alone. The infuriating woman had informed her that the best disguises were worn one hundred percent of the time and that it was when they weren’t that mistakes took place. El had tried to argue, but deep down she knew the assassin was right.

  Still, she thought. Knowing that, doesn’t make it any less frustrating.

  The door opened slowly and Raeth’s hooded figure stepped carefully into the room. Her eyes never rose from the floor before her. Even El had to admit that the woman played her role well. Rumour had even reached her that Raeth wore the feature-shrouding hood to cover the ruin that was her face. According to the palace gossips, El herself had splashed acid into the young woman’s face when a would-be suitor spent more time looking at the servant than at the elfin maiden.

  As though she would have ever done such a thing, she’d been outraged when she’d first heard. It had been Lan who pointed out that the story served two purposes. First, it explained why Raeth always wore the cloak and hood, and second it made El out to be a petty, vindictive, arrogant witch who fit in well with the nobles of Tael. El still wasn’t impressed, but she understood the need.

  “Mistress?” Raeth spoke again.

  Raeth’s soft voice pulled El from her thoughts and back to the present. She looked toward the woman and spoke with an annoyance borrowed from those other thoughts.

  “Yes? What is it?” she snapped.

  “His Royal Highness has requested your company as he breaks his fast,” Raeth replied, no hint of emotion in her voice.

  El sat up straight in her bed.

  Damn, she thought. Back to work already.

  Breakfast with the king was an event of astounding proportions. She arrived at his private dining chamber decked out in a forest green dress accented with gold trim that complimented her golden hair and eyes. The dwarves had designed the dress to make an impression and they had most definitely succeeded. A serving woman led her to a heavy oak table with two place settings and seated her. She was then left alone to await the king’s pleasure.

  She used the opportunity to marvel at the sheer extravagance of the room. A large oil painting of the king himself loomed over the mantle of the fireplace, while a large crystal chandelier hung over the main dining table. The table, like all the rest of the furniture in the room, was made from heavy oak, polished to a high gloss. The settings from the cutlery to the gob
lets were gold. El shook her head in amazement. The entire room was a tribute to excess.

  The king’s arrival was heralded with the ringing of a small gong. El quickly rose to her feet to greet his Royal Highness as he entered the chamber. She curtsied formally to the man. Even with the tailor made gown she wore, El felt under dressed when she saw him. He wore a jacket and breeches of heavy silk in a deep blue, trimmed with so much lace that El was amazed the man could even move. The trim to his outfit was also gold, but where El’s trim was an accent to the rest of the dress, the king’s trim was almost a focal point to itself.

  “Please, El’dreathia, sit,” he spoke in even tones. “I trust that you are feeling better?”

  “Yes, Highness, much better,” she replied.

  A serving girl pulled out his chair and as he made himself comfortable, El followed his lead and re-seated herself. The king beamed at her in pleasure and with a short nod to the servants, breakfast began.

  Chapter Fifty: With An Iron Fist

  Breakfast lasted nearly the entire morning. Dish after dish had been served, each more interesting than the last. El was amazed that, if this was his usual routine, the king ever got anything done. Not to mention the fact, that if he ate like this daily, the man would soon become incredibly obese.

  Conversation during the meal had remained relatively light. The king was intensely curious about the lands south of the Dragon’s Spine and asked numerous questions about her home. Despite the sincerity of his interest, or perhaps because of it, El couldn’t help feel more than a little uncomfortable sharing any details. Even in his adopted role as would-be suitor, his interest seemed potentially malicious. El was very careful to keep her information general and turned the conversation back to him whenever possible.