The Hammer of the Sun

by Michael Scott Rohan

  Tall it seemed and more than tall, a column of darkness against the dark; the immense figure of a man, all muffled up in a black cloak. Only at the edges of him did the shiplights find a gleam; upon the curve of the great shield at his back, the shadowy visor of the helm beneath his hood, the long black spear balanced in his black-gauntleted hand. Beneath the visor a pale-skinned face caught the light, a great eagle nose and bushy grey-black beard around lips hard and unsmiling. His breath smoked in the evening chill.

  "Oh no…" breathed Elof, raising himself on one elbow. "Oh no, no…"

  The hood moved; the tall man was looking him up and down. "Where to, at such an hour? And in such haste?"

  Elof swallowed; he knew the voice, deep and stern. "To seek out a thing I have lost," he said, scrambling up. "How should it concern you?"

  The man appeared to be considering. "If you have lost it," he remarked, "how do you know which way to search?"

  "By my own eyes!" barked Elof impatiently, and then, plaintively, "Why would you hinder me? What harm can…" He stopped; the figure had held up its empty hand.

  "Suppose another now has it? What then? How will you take it back?"

  Sudden anger swelled in Elof, and putting hand to belt he swept the sword Gorthawer snarling from the scabbard, and it gleamed as black as any of the other's armour. "With this, if need there be!"

  The hood bent down over the levelled blade. "A mighty weapon; yet there are mightier, and the finest sword is no stronger than the arm behind it. Who made it, I wonder?"

  Elof reined in his patience as best he could; great aid and great danger hovered over him here, and he could not guess which. "How would I know? It came to me from the hand of one long dead -"

  The hood turned slowly from side to side. "You do not speak the truth. No hand save yours has ever held this blade."

  Elof s control snapped. "Do you name me liar? Or mock me with riddles? One truth I'll tell you! That if you think to delay me here bandying idle words, then Power though you may be, you're sorely mistaken! If you can aid me, do so without tormenting me! And if not, leave me to go my own way for once!"

  The hood rose to its full height. "That you have done, and to what end? If you address a Power, should you not show some respect, instead of tempting its wrath?"

  "Respect?" blazed Elof, with a bitter laugh. "Now truly you mock! What have I seen of the Powers, what have they been to me save trial and torture?"

  "Help," said the deep voice quietly. "And love."

  Elof felt the veins throb at his temples. "Help, from you? Did I not hear you yourself say it, that it was only to balance another Power's meddling? Better far to have had neither! And love? That was the worst torture of all! And though mine was the fault, yet I was sorely driven to it! Leave me to work out my own destiny! Why have you come to plague me now? If you'll not aid me, then let me pass!"

  The hood was thrown back; the helm shone clear against the clouds, its eyes dark shadows, unfathomed. "I came to tell you this. What you did, is done; leave it, lest worst befall! More rests on it than you can ever know!"

  Elof shook like a wind-blown aspen. "Leave it; leave Kara? Never see her more?"

  "Leave her; wait and be content! A great change is coming, upon a vast brink the whole world trembles; even to the Powers its end is not revealed. Be not too eager to leap into the balance, till you know which way it must tilt!"

  "I know this; that Kara may need me! That I must find her, free her if need be, were I never to see her more! And that I will seek her thither, in the sunrise, whatever you place in my path!"

  The voice grew cold, harsh, daunting in its power. "The way you would seek her, you must not go!" The huge spear swung in his hand, barring Elof s path to the shore.

  In a single movement Elof drew his armoured gauntlet from his belt and thrust his left hand within. "And who are you, to forbid me? I have broken the will of Powers ere now .. beware lest I sweep you also from my path!" He raised his hands; in his left palm the crystal glittered, ready to drink in whatever was hurled at him, and in his right Gorthawer, poised to strike in its turn. "Wield your spear! But weigh well the craft in my hands!" He took a swift pace forward and brought Gorthawer against the dark haft of the spear, between the massive hands that held it. The tall figure did not move. With gritted teeth, feeling a sudden sweat break out on his brow, Elof drew the black blade's edge lightly across the shining surface of the haft, and saw a faint score appear there, finer than a hair. Then he sprang back, almost dropping the blade. The figure had not moved; but across the sky behind it there leaped great fronds of searing white, that seemed to join and meet behind the crest of the helm like a crown of blasting force. In its light the right eyehole of the visor shone ghastly white; the socket beneath was eyeless, empty, blind as bone. A moment later the sound reached him, a sombre crackle and crash as if high above the cloudroof a vast door slammed closed. A cold breeze blew in his face, and great raindrops began to fall, like tears.

  The tall man stepped forward, lifted a hand, and Elof scuttled back, weapons at the ready. But there was no move to attack; he was simply pulling up his hood. Again he looked at Elof, and when he spoke the voice was heavy with many things; weariness, contempt, sorrow, and perhaps also pity. "Go on, then. I cannot prevent you." He strode past Elof into the shadow of the bushes and was gone.

  Elof stood gazing after him, his jaw sagging, his head in a fearful whirl. The flare of his anger had passed, and a great uncertainty was upon him. What had he done? What should he have done? What could he… Not abandon Kara, of that alone he was sure; his lips pressed tight at the thought. And yet till now the Raven had always aided him, however harrowing that aid might be… And he too had spoken of a great change impending. The Powers seemed to sense it, yet they could not foresee what it might be. He thought then of the tremors of the earth that at times shook Kerbryhaine, and of how it was said that animals both wild and tame sensed them hours before they came, heard perhaps the stirring of the earthfires upon which the hard rock floated; then, it was said, they grew uneasy, chafed at restraints, and fled. But a thing of this magnitude, whence could any flee? Save beyond the circles of the world, perhaps; which for men meant only the River. "I have no choice," he said aloud to the surrounding darkness, and liked little the tone of helpless complaint in his voice. "I must go! I must follow!" Slowly he turned and walked towards the shore. At his back the fires sprang to life, but from their warmth and light he turned away.

  When he clambered back up to the flagship's deck he found his friends awaiting him. "A storm brews," began Kermorvan. "Would you not be better to put off - "

  Elof shook his head. "It only comes on a land wind," he answered. "And it cannot be bad; I heard only the one thunderclap. It will serve to speed me on my way." Of its true cause he said nothing, and strove to conceal that he knew; Kermorvan revered the Powers, and Raven most of all. Such a warning he might heed, and feel it a king's duty to enforce it. "Is my boat made ready?"

  "It is," said Kermorvan, and sorrow weighted his words. "The cutter Mordan awaits you overside, that is Seafire in the Northern tongue. Your gear is aboard, and supplies in plenty; though how long your voyage must be, we cannot tell. We have no charts that can help you, and no records; none have sailed east these last thousand years or more. The last to sail westward was your great forebear Vayde, and he left no account. Sun and stars must keep you on your course… and may they be favourable to you!" His face was as Elof had seen it in their worst adversity, set like flint. "We would stay you longer if we could; but our debt to you will not allow that. You leave our land bereft of your skill and power; you leave me bereft of my chiefest friend. Do you return one day if you can, whatever your case or condition; then we shall rejoice indeed! May your quest's ending be a happy one!"

  "Speeches!" spat out Ils, and seizing Elof she embraced him so hard he feared his ribs would crack, and buried her face a moment in his shoulder. "Now get on with you!"

  Elof did his best to nod and smile
, but he could say nothing; the crew were flocking around him, extending hands to him, slapping him on the back, calling out their good wishes. It was goodwill he felt he did not deserve, and it came near to breaking his heart. By the ladder Roc awaited him, with no more than a nod and a slap on the shoulder; Elof was grateful for that. "Down you go, and when you give the word I'll cast you off at the bows," he said.

  Elof nodded, and hurried down the rope ladder. His feet thumped onto the cutter's polished deck; it was less resonant than usual, and closer to the water, so great was the weight of supplies below. He hurried to hoist the head-sail; it would pull his bows free of the flagship. He kept his head lowered, so those on deck would not see how close he was to weeping. The headsail caught the breeze and billowed out; he ran astern to set it with the winches, and slip the stern mooring, "All right, Roc!" he cried then. "Cast off forward!" The headsail filled, the cutter began to move, and to a chorus of farewells he leaned on the tiller and turned her nose out from under the curve of the Korentyn's timbered flank. Around her bows he swung, heading out into the wide estuary of Ancarvadoen; but as the cutter's bows crossed the pool of light from the flagship's lanterns he had to turn and look back. Ils stood by the rail, gripping it in her plump fingers, and he cursed himself that he had said no word to her; he raised a hand to touch his heart, and she nodded quickly, and turned away. But high upon the carven bows Kermorvan stood, tall and pale and grim as winter, his arm raised in solemn salute. Elof rose quickly, and lifted his hand in return. It is said that they seemed for a moment like the statues that stood upon Morvanhal's sea wall, of an earlier Keryn and the grim old lord Vayde who was his friend; for in that time many years seemed to fall upon Elof, and score his face deeply. But all too soon the vision passed; out into the night the small craft glided, became a ghostly glimmer upon blackness, and faded then altogether from Korentyn's sight.

  Though they could not see him, Elof could still see them, the great ship in its glowing circle, and the fleet beyond; he stood a long while watching. He had made many farewells in his life, but surely none more bitter than this; his thoughts moved like the craft beneath him, upon blackness. Only the thrash and creak of the boom called him to himself; it was high time and past to hoist the mainsail. He turned the Seafire into the wind, set the tiller and clambered up to free the lashings; one was stiff, he tugged at it and swore. Then he started so violently he all but went over the rail: out of the darkness another hand had reached, and twitched the other strand of the knot free. "Thought you were supposed to be the sailor!" jibed Roc.

  "What in the jaws of Hel…" Elof shouted, and then he gathered his wits. "You sprang on board once you'd cast off, I suppose? Right, you can help me with the mainsail, but the moment it's done, keep your head down; we'll be going about. Back to the Korentyn."

  "Think so, do you?" inquired Roc with an ominous calm as they struggled to free the heavy gaff from the boom and begin unfurling the sail. "And why might that be, may I ask?"

  "Why?" snorted Elof. "Didn't I tell you to your face, once already? You can't just cast off all your obligations like that, public or personal; you're needed back home, man, needed…"

  "Oh aye? Am I?"

  Elof, checking the hanks around the mast, paused and looked up. "Marja needs you. And you've a place in the state -"

  "Oh aye? As what? Not a bloody smith, I'll tell you that. Hammering bits of iron, aye, without this messing about with virtues, chants, I'm fine at that. I did all right in Bryhaine; they'd lost the true craft there. But here? There's a smith's guild here, with flaming mastersmiths and all. And there's you. Whenever folk look at me, they see you, behind me like a shadow; only the shadow's the brighter. Just think! Here's one with no true craft; how'd he ever get to be a smith? And here's t'other, and he's got craft enough for two. Hella, but it's been hard! And now my woman's a mastersmith; what's she need me for? Contrast? Can't even talk about her work with me; haven't a bloody clue what she's on about. And her work's her life. So we don't talk; haven't for a while now. And precious little else, either. Different in the Southlands; I was the rich one there, the one they looked up to; who looks up to me here?" He turned, spat into the wind and swore at the result.

  "I'm sorry, Roc," said Elof quietly. "I had wondered…I should have realised… But I can't tear you away from our other friends. There's much good you could do in the King's service…"

  "Why d'you think he's been making this much use of me? He knows; not much he doesn't notice, our long friend. So he's been sending me on all these weighty errands - "

  "Well then…" Elof freed the main halyard, and passed him the end. "Wind it around the winch there, carefully … People will come to respect you for that, soon enough; King's trusted emissary, there's many a role of less honour to play. Now wind when I say… yes, that way…"

  Roc chuckled. "Indeed, that's so. It's the role I play now."

  Elof, who had been about to give the command, stopped and stared. "You mean… He knows you're here? He sent you?"

  "By royal warrant, aye; read it if you like, got it in my hip pocket somewhere. Charged to return to him, intact if at all possible, the person of his right worthy and well-trusted Court Smith… well, you know the form. Said he wouldn't sleep easy with you milling round the whale-roads on your own. And, well, I jumped at the commission, didn't I?"

  Elof shook his head feebly. "But his… You can't! I his is folly, this voyage… for any other, I mean -"

  "Aye, well, don't go smothering me with gratitude, will you?" A sudden gust buffeted the cutter, plucked at the- unfurled edge of sails; the gaff swung violently, caught Elof in the chest and stretched him flat on the deck.

  "Hel's black belly, man!" roared Roc, trying to restrain the threshing spar, "Will you lay off flapping your lip and sail this thing? D'you want us wrecked not ten minutes out at sea?"

  "We're not at sea yet!" wheezed Elof. "Still in the estuary… you hate the sea, Roc…"

  "I'll not like it the better for being dumped in it!"

  "The winch, then! Not too fast… that's right!" Smoothly the heavy gaff rose to its proper inclination and creaked its way up the mast, the stiff sail creaking and flapping like a vast dry wing in the quickening wind. Elof kept a careful hand on the mainsheet winch till the gaff hung tight at the top of the mast, then showed Roc how to fasten the halyard securely and, turned to the tiller. "Now back here with me, out of the way of the boom! Take the mainsheet here, pay it out little by little as I tell you -"

  Roc looked askance at him. "Fine old time you'll have, doing all this on your own - "

  Elof, too preoccupied to understand, set hand to the tiller and swung the Sea/ire about. In a thunder of sailcloth the boom scythed across the deck, thudded up short as the mainsheet restrained it. At Elof's word Roc unwound the winch, the mainsail caught the wind and grew full with it; the Seafire, spurred like a spirited horse, sprang forward over the whitecapped windrows. The headsail sang and strained at the sheets, dangerously tight; Elof thrust the tiller at Roc and sprang for the winch. Swiftly he slackened the headsail, let out the mainsheet a little, then very carefully he eased the tension on the winches with the heel of his hand. He saw there was little or no flutter at the luff edges of the sails, against mast and forestay, and glanced at the trailing hempen strands sewn in rows across the sailcloth; the rows fluttered at a slight angle to each other. Sails not quite set, then; but if he…

  Then another consideration slashed across the rest. "Well?" came Roc's sardonic inquiry. "If you're wanting rid of me hadn't we best be turning tail now? Or won't you have a long tack back?"

  Elof bit his lip. "You're right."

  "What do I do? Swing the tiller…"

  "No! I didn't mean that, anyway; I meant what you said earlier. I can sail the cutter on my own - just. And in easy conditions; how I'd fare in a storm…"

  "Um," said Roc dubiously. "In a storm you might be on your own…"

  "You'll get used to it, soon enough -"

  "Whatever you say
…" sighed Roc; but he did not sound convinced.

  Unhappy as he was, Elof summoned up a grin. "You could still change your mind… No?" He chuckled. "Roc, I'm glad, I've got to admit it. But it's a mad venture, all the same. Scarce a hope of returning, let alone succeeding -"

  Roc snorted. "Think I need you to tell me that? But then, when the whole world's daft, maybe it's as well to be dafter yet…"

  Elof nodded wryly, and from that time he argued no more, but took in the mainsail a little further and pulled the tiller gently towards him. The cutter heeled slightly as it bore away, and the slap of the wavelets beneath the hull quickened like a pulse. Before the land wind and the oncoming storm that rode it the Sea-fire ran upon a broad reach, away through the dark roads of Ancarvadoen and out, out until the horns of the bay dwindled to strips of shadow upon either flank, and their bows reared and plunged upon the higher swell of the open ocean beyond, unsheltered and unforgiving. Thus it was, as the chronicles record, that the two friends set forth on a quest that was to prove darker, more perilous and more painful than any in their lives before, and of greater moment. For in the end it was to cast them, as the Raven had foretold, into the very balance of the changing world.