Song of the Fell Hammer

by Shawn C. Speakman

When the guards—savage-looking men wearing black armor—realized the light was not hurting them, they moved in with their swords and axes and began hacking at the luminous shield. Each stroke lessened the light, and Relnyn was visibly grimacing. Although power coursed along the staff from the ground and protected the two men, Relnyn was weakening like he had against the dragon at A’lum, and Sorin did not think the Giant could withstand the assault for much longer.

  A new group of men from the tower looked beyond the melee to see Sorin and the two mounted Wards at the edge of the clearing. The guards charged, broadswords drawn and crossbows ready. Creek snorted and backed away, stamping the ground impatiently. The Wards moved in front of Sorin with their own weapons drawn, ready for the fight that was about to occur. Sorin saw it all happening in a blur, as though his life were not in danger and he was only an observer.

  Sorin and the Giant locked eyes. Frustration crossed Relnyn’s face. It was one of anger and desperation, one that seethed and boiled from somewhere deep beneath the personality of the Giant and was now suddenly able to be let free.

  The Giant snarled and roared, and Sorin had never seen a more naked display of rage fill someone’s face.

  The shield suddenly winked from existence, drenching the area in stunned darkness. The Giant drew his staff from the soil and sent it in an arc at his enemies. Instead of the wood striking the men, fire angrier than a forge pit erupted along the end of the staff and lashed out through the ranks of the attackers. The fire spurted in gouts—as deep and angry as that of its master—and it burned through armor, clothing, weapons, and into the flesh of the guards, unrelenting in its severity, complete in its destruction. The orange and red glow of flame blew everything back in a wide circle from the two companions.

  Relnyn spun and sent the fire into those going after Sorin and the Wards, the flames as unforgiving as they had been to those who had attacked the Giant.

  He suddenly turned his anger on the Morliun Tower, the glint of fire dancing in his eyes, flickering with unforgiving remorselessness and lashing at the tower’s stone and anyone still within. Thomas crouched at Relnyn’s feet, sword drawn but unneeded. With a wide ring of freedom newly created from the Giant’s wrath, the old man grabbed at Relnyn’s clothing with a furious yank that nearly toppled the Giant.

  “Pull it back!” Thomas screamed.

  Some part of the Giant—the rational part of him that was still sane—heard the old man’s plea. The fire sputtered and then disappeared completely, the staff unmarred by Relnyn’s anger.

  In the muffled sounds of pain, nothing was left standing.

  Relnyn and Thomas ran back toward Sorin and the latter mounted Creek behind Sorin. The group raced into the remaining fragment of night, unmindful of where they went, the shouts of pain and anger fading behind them with every galloping step Creek took.

  Chapter 30

  From the hidden protection of a copse of fir and hemlock trees that lined the small ridge, Sorin watched the retreating, shadowy form of Thomas descend toward a confluence of orange flickering lights that filled the valley’s night-enshrouded bottom. Stars appeared in the sky above them, increasing in number until the heavens were awash with them. The half moon also rose—a sickly yellow cast to it—and skimmed the mountainous horizon in what Sorin hoped would be a brief performance. The absence of illumination within the humid forest would help conceal them from the eyes of their enemies; the darkness would be their first and maybe only ally in Blackrhein Reach.

  Thomas disappeared from view entirely then, walking to the ancient hamlet of Rivewood rather than bringing attention while riding Creek. Like Sorin, the rest of the group remained behind within the safety of the forest, relaxing tired muscles and aching joints from the harsh ride. After their battle atop the Falls, they had fled the rest of the night and deep into the next day—distance from the Morliun Tower their only immediate protection. No one had followed them, and the only thing greeting the company was rolling, forested lands as far as Sorin could see.

  The group had only stopped periodically to rest their horses during the flight. After the sun rose, Tem deciphered where they were and Thomas changed their direction; they spent the rest of the day crossing beautiful country reminiscent of the land around Lockwood.

  Thomas had waited for the cover of darkness before making his way down to Rivewood. It was there Thomas would attempt to locate the spy Godwyn Keep had positioned in the Reach; it was there he would find information concerning the stronghold of Keslich ’Ur.

  Sorin glanced over at Relnyn, his friend’s face lost in shadow. The Giant had been quiet during the flight—as most of them had been—but haunted exhaustion had went with him. Some aspect of the Giant’s inner light had dimmed after the battle to claim the Reach’s heights, and with it Relnyn had faded within himself. The Giant understood better than anyone what the previous night’s rage meant for him spiritually and culturally. The power he had unleashed was astonishing and had come from him alone, not the world beneath his feet. But until he decided to speak of it on his own terms, Sorin would not press the matter. Sorin knew the oath Relnyn had given to protect him could possibly place the Giant in direct conflict with his peaceful, cultural heritage, and it was best Relnyn puzzle out the dilemma on his own since the answer had to come from himself.

  But the look in his eyes mirrored what Sorin saw—the demeanor of the Darkrell.

  When Sorin looked back at the last few months, he realized how much had happened to him. The murder of his parents had changed his life forever. Once he learned their deaths were collateral to the attempt on his life, Sorin knew he could never shirk responsibility and dishonor their memory. Every day he missed his parents with an ache he knew would never leave him, and it was partially that pain that had pressed him to find the Hammer of Aerom. Thomas was right about one thing: no matter how dire and dangerous Sorin’s role could become, he still would have come on this quest. It was the right thing to do. Though a day can be filled with gray duress and sad prospects, it was how one handled it that defined one’s soul. The sacrifice his father had given Sorin taught him that.

  But could he sacrifice his own soul for what the High King asked of him?

  It was nearing midnight when Thomas returned from his foray into Rivewood with another figure at his side, both men cloaked and hooded like black wraiths from a nightmare. As Thomas drew closer, he lowered his hood and his companion did the same.

  He was a short, thin man with an unremarkable face, shaggy black hair, and dark eyes that mercilessly absorbed the pale moonlight. He looked nervous as his eyes ferreted out the others of the group and looked often into the depths of the forest in all directions, as if at any moment an attack would come to end his life.

  Tem and Nathan had vanished into the night, the former remaining in the darkness down the hill to keep watch for anyone who may have followed Thomas, the latter in the depths of the trees at the company’s back. At Thomas’s return, Relnyn joined them from the darkness of his meditation—a dark boulder come to life—moving cautiously among the low-lying limbs of the copse. When the spy saw the hulking Giant step into their midst, the Rivewood dweller looked like a deer about to bolt.

  “This is Henrik Mattah,” Thomas whispered in the dark. “He knows who I am and our intentions to learn all we can about Cwen Errich. He goes by a different name here in the Reach, but that matters not right now. He was one of Keslich ’Ur’s chefs, preparing meals for the guards and castle attendants. Henrik knows we are here for any unusual information he may have.”

  “What do you mean he ‘was,’ Thomas?” Relnyn asked.

  “I am no longer employed there,” Henrik stuttered with a strange lilt to his speech, still looking at Relnyn in disbelief. “I was asked to leave.”

  “What do you know about Keslich ’Ur?” Sorin asked, pulling the man’s gaze away from the distracting Giant.

  “Not much of recent, I am afraid. About two weeks ago, Cwen Errich moved all workers from the castle that cou
ld not be personally vouched for by members of the court, the leaders of the clans, or her family. Dozens were forced to leave, including myself. I have done what I could for Godwyn Keep from a distance—watching patrols, listening to rumors and deciphering them for the truth, spying on those who come and go from Keslich ’Ur—but it is all highly suspect and none of it makes any sense. My fear, however, is the Woman King plans an assault on the Kingdom.”

  “Before you left, was there anything unusual going on with Cwen?” Thomas asked.

  “Servants and kitchen folk, we hear all the rumors of the castle, and eventually all information—truthful or speculative—filters down to our lowest of low ranks. It is for that reason I took the job as a chef; it is the best way to hear a lot of news on a wide spectrum of levels without being in direct confrontation with the throne.

  “Before I was forced from my kitchen and the castle, there were dozens of rumors swirling about the place. When King Errich died on his barge so many months ago, the Reach became very unstable. Errich left his wife and infant son to power, but here you have to prove your worth to the clans before you are accepted as ruler. Cwen Errich, on behalf of her son of course, has done that, and she alone reigns now under the self-made mantle of the Viirm Kiril—the Woman King.

  “After she consolidated her authority, several rumors surfaced all at once. Her advisor and principal man at arms, Rillian Orx, disappeared from her side. No one has seen him in months, but apparently another man has been seen at the Woman King’s side as though a counselor. He comes and goes as he pleases, and no one sees him for more than a few moments. The rumors say this man replaced Orx. Some say Orx is alive but disfigured, roaming the halls late at night, while others have said he left on some important mission for the Woman King. Others still say he is dead by her hand. There is no way of knowing for sure what is true, but what is certain is there are problems at the very closest space reserved next to Cwen Errich, and things might not be as stable as they seem.”

  Thomas looked to Sorin before nodding to Henrik to continue.

  “The Woman King has also abdicated use of the main hall to an antechamber housed behind the throne. It is almost like she is fearful of being caught in the open. Again, rumors were in the air—some say she is a coward, some say she is protecting her life and that of the heir. But the most prevalent rumor is she has something of great value and finds it difficult to leave it. No one knows for certain other than the woman herself.”

  The old knight sighed “Anything else? What of the Woman King’s armies and the guards she has posted at Keslich ’Ur?”

  “The one thing that is true, and I dispatched this information several days ago by pigeon to Godwyn Keep, is the Woman King is mobilizing the powers of the Reach into a lone army of enormous potential. The other items I have spoken of hardly seemed important enough to warrant a missive to the Council, but the consolidation of force is obvious. I do not know why and can only speculate as to her desires, but the Kingdom should be worried about it. As for the guards around Keslich ’Ur, she has increased their quantity and rotation, but as with any system, there are flaws to it.”

  Henrik grew silent. Sorin half-expected the world to have gone deathly still at the man’s information, but the night remained filled with its creatures. Relnyn remained quiet though, his hands wrapped about his staff as though it were a lifeline, and his eyes shining in the dark.

  Thomas took a deep draught of the cooling air. “Somehow, Henrik, I think she discovered there were spies in her midst and she sent any possible threat from her. You are fortunate you are still alive.”

  “That may be, but now the eyes of Godwyn Keep and the Kingdom are nearly blind in Keslich ’Ur.”

  “If you were to go there, would you know how to navigate the castle’s protection to get us into the main hall without being seen?” Thomas questioned, his eyes hidden by shadow.

  “Possibly. I’d have to infiltrate their system alone, study it for at least one night, and return to guide you through it. It’d be very dangerous.”

  “We didn’t come here to be safe, Henrik,” the old man grumbled.

  * * * * *

  The next morning, with the sun held captive behind a bank of thick clouds that had amassed in the east and spread like a gray pall toward the west during the night, Sorin and the others awaited Henrik Mattah in the hills on the north side of Rivewood. After their meeting, the spy had returned to his hamlet to pack a few things. With the threat of hard, summer rain imminent and a brisk wind clearing the humid air, Sorin prepared for the trip into the interior of Blackrhein Reach.

  “What do you know about Keslich ’Ur?” Sorin asked Thomas.

  Thomas was checking his weapons and gear. He looked up at Sorin and shrugged. “Keslich ’Ur is the capital city of the Reach and has been for almost two millennia. The capital was once in the southern midst of the Waverly Plains, but no longer. The whole breadth of the Kingdom was also in the power of the Blood Throne—an empire of considerable size and unimaginable wealth—but the War of the Kingdoms changed all, and the Giant army of the Wrathful pushed the Blackrhein Empire into the Reach, and there it has remained.”

  “But it still desires the land of the Kingdom,” Sorin said, shaking his head.

  Thomas nodded. “The city is nestled in the jagged hills of the Wistroum Mountains and naturally fortified against assault by an army—bordered on the east by a heavy mountain range and safe on its north side by the wall. Rikkslar is in the mountains above it; there breeders raise war shrikes at the command of the throne. The Reach has always desired the Kingdom; or better yet, it has always longed for its ancestral land returned to it. The Kingdom and the Reach have maintained peace for a long time due to their stalemate of military might, but events seem to be breaking that apart.”

  Sorin had heard dark tidings about the Reach, even as a young child. It had defied the will of Godwyn Keep and ignored the authenticity of the Codex rather than coexisting with it. With the Blackrhein Empire gone and news of Aerom’s marvels moving throughout the land like wildfire, much of the Kingdom had converted to the Godwyn faith, and it was solidified as the religion of the new Kingdom. But safe beyond the natural defense of the wall, the pagan faith of the Reach remained—uninhibited and enraged.

  “Do you think Henrik has a chance?” Sorin inquired.

  “I believe if we are going to have a chance, he has to,” Thomas replied, checking Creek’s supply pack. With the death of his horse, he had lost his own provisions. “I had hoped we would not need to infiltrate Keslich ’Ur alone. If Henrik fails, our task becomes much more challenging.”

  Sorin gazed down the hill, the scent of rain a damp hint on the air. Even though a few days had passed since their abrupt and combative ascension to the Reach, Sorin still found he was unable to relax. Pursuit could appear at any time, and it was that constant fear that kept Sorin alert.

  But the Giant had chosen a different path; he sat alone, meditating. Sorin wondered if Relnyn had come to any conclusions about his actions. Once they arrived on the outskirts of Keslich ’Ur, the Giant would have to stay behind—his height a disadvantage to the stealth required—but once the company was free of the castle, Relnyn would do everything in his power to prevent a chase. Sorin could not tell if his friend was worried about the part he was to play in the aftermath of stealing the Hammer, or if he accepted it. All Sorin hoped was Relnyn staying true to his beliefs, whatever choice that may be.

  While Sorin helped Thomas repack Creek, Henrik Mattah materialized from the gloom of the morning, riding a brown mare ragged with old age.

  “Are you ready for this?” Thomas asked the spy as he joined them.

  “I am. I carry all that I will require to enter the castle and learn its guard rotations.”

  “Good.”

  “What is in Keslich ’Ur that you deem valuable enough to risk everything?”

  “I’m afraid I cannot answer that question, Henrik,” Thomas answered. “It is in your best interest if yo
u are caught that you do not know. Needless to say, it is important, and Godwyn Keep has great need of you right now.”

  Henrik nodded. “As you wish. But I must warn you. These are a dark people. They are merciless if one of their own turns against them. If we are caught, the Woman King and those around her will torture the lot of us without a second thought. She leads by fear, and her country follows her.” He paused. “Even though you are no longer First Warden, you still act the role, sir. I hope your wisdom and ability are sharp. I will return to you tomorrow morning. From his map, Warden Tem knows the place. May the goodwill of the Seven be with you all.”

  The spy turned and left on his horse. It was not a long ride from what Sorin inferred, and they would rejoin the spy once his role was performed. But as the murky shadows of the early morning swallowed the little man and his horse, Sorin could not shake the feeling Henrik Mattah rode to his doom.

  And subsequently, they would follow him to it.

  * * * * *

  It was afternoon, the rain falling in heavy, cool sheets, when they came upon death.

  Thomas had given Henrik Mattah the morning to add distance between them, the former First Warden unwilling to draw attention to the spy if it could be helped. The day struggled to escape from the quagmire of the weather, and the cloud cover tightened its stranglehold on the land. The cool raindrops were a bombardment no natural shelter could save them from. The land quickly became a cesspool of muddy, hazardous travel. With their cloaks drawn up close against their bodies in a futile effort to remain dry, the company moved through the afternoon morass, hoping Nathan could navigate through the gloom and gray. The foreboding Sorin had felt take root within him earlier sent its tendrils deeper into his soul, a constant companion to the wet misery they all faced.

  Tem led them while Nathan scouted ahead. Thomas rode Nathan’s horse, and Relnyn was behind them all, an enigmatic presence who disregarded the weather and the world.