Hammers in the Wind

by Christian Warren Freed

  Rekka decided to push him, praying he made a mistake. “What now? Do we lay here until dawn?”

  “What’s the rush?” he snapped. “In a hurry to meet the afterlife?”

  “I want you to shut up and get it over with,” she replied harshly.

  He laughed and violently shoved her forward. Rekka stumbled, using it to her advantage. She dipped low and brought her sword around in one smooth motion. She caught only air. Rekka’s pulse quickened. There was no sign of her attacker. Gone, as if swallowed by the night. Panic threatened. She knew she was in trouble.

  “Ah, weren’t expecting me, were you?” he chided.

  His voice was distant, off to the right. Rekka fought the urge to run. This man was obviously skilled and trained in one of the lost dark arts that she had no weapons to counter. Rekka Jel was worried. It had been a long time since she last faced such a challenge. The last time she barely escaped with her life. A troubling thought. Tonight might be her last.

  “Where are you going to run?” His voice came from the left now. “You don’t know where I am. I can smell your fear, see it in those lovely brown eyes. Yes. Fear rises up. It paralyzes your thoughts, threatens you with atrophy. Every heartbeat is like ice flowing through your veins.”

  Rekka stepped left. Her footsteps were soft, like freshly blown sand dancing across glass.

  “Which way to go. There is no answer,” he mocked. “Does it frighten you? The knowledge that I can kill you at any moment? In a blink you might feel the stab of cold steel piercing your tender flesh.”

  Rekka held her ground. It was a struggle to keep her fears in check lest they render her useless. Her natural instincts told her to break and run as fast as she could. Reality was far crueler. Fleeing was an invitation to death. Rekka needed to tactically withdraw until she found a place in which to mount a defense. It was her only chance.

  “Go now; run as far away from me as you can. I will still find you. No matter where you go or how fast you run I will find you. When I do it will be a moment of unspeakable horror. Run now, little girl. Run for false hope.”

  Rekka stood fast despite the icy malice threatening her. Dead or alive, she refused to play his mind games. Any sign of weakness now would only play into him. A single bead of sweat trickled down her right cheek before dropping onto her chest. The midnight air was thin and chill. She tightened the grip on her sword. The first few moments were critical to her future. Rekka drew three deep breathes and sprang into action.

  She cut and slashed in a series of well-rehearsed moves, managing three complete circles before settling on a direction and sprinting off. She ran for all she was worth. When she finally stopped her breath was ragged. Her chest burned. She struggled to catch any signs of her assailant. There was nothing but the stale breeze caressing dead leaves. Rekka felt sick.

  She’d never been hunted before. Rekka was always the unflinching aggressor in this situation. To be caught in the opposite position was as infuriating as it was humiliating. She allowed herself a brief moment to imagine the nightmare she was about to unleash if she managed to catch him first. Puzzles raced through her mind as she ran. What was it about this man that made him more special than his fellow soldiers? She had a suspicion that he was far more than a mere soldier. His demeanor whispered assassin, or worse. Rekka scowled. She’d had run-ins with assassins and would-be murderers before and managed to escape with little effort. The jagged scar running between her breasts was a living reminder of those experiences.

  The regular Rogscroft soldiers provided no challenge. The men of the north were renowned to be fierce fighters, but were unaccustomed to her lightning style of combat. Her stalker proved the exception. It would be a long contest and she was unsure of the outcome. Rekka decided to sheath her sword and run. Sticking around in the dark wasn’t much of an option. Nor was waiting for him to find her. She paused only long enough to make a conscious decision which way to run.

  The last thing she wanted was to lead him back to Bahr and the others. She had no doubt they would give a good account of themselves, but the resulting battle would serve as a beacon for any Rogscroft soldiers in the area. Her only option was to trail after the foot patrol that had just passed. They were clumsy, undertrained, and young. Following them was no large task. Rekka moved as fast as she dared. The young warrior maiden from the south settled in for the long night. The assassin was close on her heels.

  *****

  “Sure, we’ll scout ahead,” Dorl Theed mocked. “What were you thinking?”

  Nothol remained taciturn. He knew his friend well enough to know when to stay quiet. His anger would soon wash away. After all, this wasn’t the first time.

  Dorl continued to shake his head. “Did I happen to mention it’s damned cold out and you volunteered us for this damned mission?”

  Nothol yawned. “Who else was going to do it?”

  “Send the Gaimosian. He’s used to working alone and that damned arrow didn’t so much as slow him down.”

  “He’s too big, can’t hide as well as we can.”

  “Just what are we expecting to hide from?” Dorl asked suspiciously.

  The dark-haired sell sword shrugged.

  Dorl pressed. “We are two men on horseback. That’s not exactly an easy thing to conceal.”

  “Boen would be?”

  “Don’t turn this around on me. We shouldn’t be out here. We don’t even know where here is!”

  Nothol pointed ahead. “Rogscroft proper is that way.”

  The entire kingdom was named after the main keep. Rogscroft wasn’t unique in this. Several of the smaller northern kingdoms followed a similar model. First came a castle that grew into a village and eventually a kingdom as a lord’s power and sphere of influence grew. Today Rogscroft was a large area with more than twenty villages and a standing army of three thousand men.

  “Rogscroft is that way,” Dorl muttered under his breath. “Did it happen to occur to you that neither of us has been here before and that Stelskor has an army between us and the city?”

  “We’re not trying to find the army, Dorl.”

  He blinked. “Then what are we scouting for? Goblins? Elves?”

  “Signs of the princess.” The answer was matter-of-fact, as if he couldn’t believe Dorl didn’t know.

  Dorl paused to regain his composure. “You are a very infuriating man.”

  He missed Nothol’s smile.

  “How do we know they took the princess this way? They could be anywhere in this miserable country by now.”

  “Providing they already cleared the Murdes Mountains,” Nothol suggested.

  “Which means they are in league with the Pell Darga.”

  A cold wind caught Dorl on the sliver between his neck and cloak, making him shiver violently. He knew, as Nothol must have guessed, that it was more than just the wind that froze his guts. No one in their right minds dealt with the Pell.

  “I have a bad feeling about this,” Dorl admitted.

  Nothol nodded agreement. “The same bad one I’ve has since we agreed to join Bahr.”

  “Remind me again why we came.”

  “The same reason we always do.”

  “Because no one else is good enough to do the job,” Dorl finished, “I’m getting tired of always being the right man for the job.”

  Nothol’s dark eyes continued to sweep the area. Shadows diluted the pale moonlight. The landscape before them turned into a virtual nightmare. Enemy could be lurking everywhere.

  “Bahr should have stayed on his ship like he told us,” Nothol said quietly. “He has a vested interest in this princess that he is unwilling to tell us.”

  “It would be nice to know, but it doesn’t matter. The old man has gotten us this far, let’s hope he can deliver the rest of the way.”

  They continued on in silence. The night drew colder. Dawn was close. The sell swords constantly checked over their shoulders, more in the comfort of knowing Bahr and the others were close behind than fear of am
bush. Events hadn’t gone as planned, Dorl reflected. Though to be fair they seldom did. Bahr had hoped to sneak in and make the castle undetected. King’s agents had clearly been awaiting them. That knowledge meant Stelskor had a hand in abducting Maleela and killing her brother. Stelskor and his son were fools. Badron wanted blood for the death of his son. The Wolfsreik was strong enough to crush the entire northern lands in a wash of blood and destruction should they be unleashed. Total war would ensue.

  Dorl didn’t think for a minute that bringing the princess home was going to stop any of it from happening. The princess. What made her so special Bahr was willing to risk his life and all of theirs? Ideas swirled around, the answer remaining just out of his grasp. There had to be some connection between the two. Otherwise this whole affair was sheer madness.

  He glanced at Nothol. “You don’t suppose the old man is some distant relative of hers, do you?”

  “Makes sense, I guess.”

  “Think about it. Bahr was originally hired to take Ionascu and the others east. Instead he builds a team of his own and struck his own expedition. Why else risk his life? It doesn’t add up, Nothol.”

  “Perhaps Badron sent him ahead to scout Rogscroft’s defenses?”

  Dorl didn’t believe that for a second. “No. Badron hates Bahr and I think the feeling is mutual. Bahr’s not working for Delranan anymore than we are. And don’t give me that nonsense Skuld tried with the hordes of treasure lost in the mountains. He should have been slapped for bringing it up in the first place.”

  “You shouldn’t be so hard on the boy. He’s young and impressionable. There was nothing else for him back in Chadra.”

  “He belongs in Chadra. At least it’s safer, and you didn’t answer my question.”

  Nothol Coll stopped his horse. He turned on his best friend with a deadpan look. “I think you are asking dangerous questions neither of us is ready to answer. Like Anienam Keiss said, we all have secrets and some need to remain unspoken. Whatever Bahr’s reasons are it is not our place to question. At least not while we are being paid.”

  “Do you have to be so pragmatic? I don’t like doubt and right now I have too much of it.”

  “What do you really want?” Nothol asked unexpectedly.

  Dorl Theed thought for a moment. “I want to know that we are doing this for the right reasons.”

  “Those being?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  Nothol edged his horse forward. “Now who’s infuriating?”

  Dorl rode on ahead, eager to escape the inevitable argument. He often figured this was the real reason he’d never taken a wife. He hated arguments and was hardheaded enough to start a fight every day. Besides, he preferred the freedom of being a sell sword. The term “mercenary” was much too severe for his tastes. He was a simple man with simple tastes. He loved cold ale, warm women, and the opportunity to test his skills against a worthy opponent. Dorl decided to take the rest of the winter off and head south. With or without Nothol.

  They’d worked together for the better part of a decade. Their meeting was accidental. Two men hired by the same man to do the same job in the event one failed. They were secretly instructed to kill each other upon completion of their task. After an in-depth conversation the pair turned on their employer and ensured he’d never stab another in the back. The bond they formed since then was unshakable. Both knew the other had his back in a bind, in good times and bad. Dorl Theed considered this a bad time. He silently made up his mind to confront Bahr once they rejoined. He needed answers.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Badron stirred awake with a feeling of dread. His bed chamber was cold, almost to the point of freezing. He squinted at the fire, the burning embers gently cackling. He shivered. It felt as if the fire had never been lit. The king was more concerned than angry. He shuffled out from the covers and donned a thick bear skin cloak. Then he noticed the sweat on his forehead. Ill suspicions formed in the dark corners of his mind. Nothing was right. Badron went for his sword, all the while wondering if this was but a dream.

  He froze in midstride. The shadows behind his wardrobe were darker than normal, more malevolent. His eyes had to be playing tricks. For a moment he thought he saw one of the shadows move. His heart beat faster, louder.

  “You have no need of that sword with us, King.”

  The voice was cold and raspy, capable of inspiring his deepest nightmares. Badron stumbled backwards. He tripped over a stool.

  “Relax your mind, King. We only wish an audience.”

  The shadows split. Two distinct forms emerged from the darkness. Both were human in shape though he believed them demons from the pits. Pale eyes glared out to him. They twisted his stomach.

  A vicious laugh, the sound of a blade slicing meat mocked him.

  “No. This is no dream. We are very much real.”

  Badron fought back a whimper and summoned what courage remained.

  “He whimpers as a frightened child. He is not the one,” rasped the second figure. “We should kill him now and find another. He is not strong enough.”

  Badron’s mind screamed. I don’t want to die!

  “The masters have chosen him. There is no time to find another.”

  Warm urine ran down his leg. Badron recognized the servants of death come to collect his soul. The gods had finally abandoned him to torment and despair.

  “King, I would have you sit and listen, for we come on urgent business that must be concluded with you. Will you hear us out?”

  There was urgency in the fell voice, an almost desperate need to fulfill some suppressed desire. Badron found the end of a glimmer of hope.

  “Hope. Yes, there is much to hope for. For all of us,” the shadow rasped.

  How can these devils know my mind? Badron slumped onto the stool and found the will to speak. His words were weak, shaky. “Wh…what is it you want from me? Who are you?”

  The larger shadow eased, almost glided, closer. “Ah, the king has a tongue after all.”

  “Yet it lacks strength. There is no fire in his soul,” said the second.

  The shadow turned his pale eyes on Badron. “He is what we are required to… recruit.”

  “Recruit?” Badron asked.

  The second shadow ignored him. “He is but a shell of flesh. The soul is dead. As he should be.”

  “You forget your place, Kodan Bak. I am the voice of the masters.”

  Kodan Bak shrank back. “As you say.”

  Their argument bolstered Badron’s confidence. His heart slowed. His eyes ceased to wander nervously. It was time to learn more of these beings while he had the chance. He might yet be able to meet the dawn with his life.

  “Yes, recruit. Have you ever paused to wonder where the darkness in your heart, the blackness of your soul comes from? Why events happened as they did in your life?”

  “Yes,” he found himself stuttering back.

  “Perhaps we can give you answers. We hold the truths to certain….secrets.”

  Badron frowned. “Secrets? You speak in riddles.”

  “Finish him now before he becomes a greater liability,” Kodan Bak hissed.

  Shadows swirled around him in suggestive anger. Amar Kit’han was more dismissive of the building threat to Badron’s life. It was that subtle confidence that sapped the warmth from the king’s veins. He’d never been more afraid in his life.

  “Unfortunately such is a character flaw amongst our kind,” Amar almost apologized. “Consider it a price for immortality, or servitude.”

  “What are you trying to recruit me for?”

  “Your wife died in childbirth, an event you have reduced your daughter into tones of hatred.”

  Kodan Bak added, “Were she to die tonight not a tear would be shed.”

  “Indeed. The horrors in your dreams would lessen. Perhaps assuage the guilt over the death of your son as well.”

  “Murder is more appropriate,” Kodan corrected.

  Badron easily became confused as th
ey continued their game. His heart ached, but from love or the urge for revenge he wasn’t sure.

  “My son was everything to me after Rialla’s death,” he whispered.

  “The fallen prince. Your dreams center on vengeance for blood spilled.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You know more than you should of the goings-on of my household. You speak with forked tongue while I do not even know what you are.”

  A laugh. It was a most horrible sound. “That is the limit of your request? A name?”

  “Sorrows are often the definition of the man. This one knows great pain. It would be well in our interests to release him. Very well, King. A name. Though I caution you, names hold power. I am Amar Kit’han.”

  The shadows swirled, parting just enough for Badron to glimpse his confronter. Amar Kit’han had skin the sickest shade of grey, almost pale in its vileness. He had no lips or eyebrows. It was like looking into death’s grim face. He could see the bones pressed against what little flesh remained. Badron wanted to run, for there was terror in those pale eyes.

  “Perhaps you now understand a little more of our nature,” Amar suggested as the shadows concealed him again. “I sense you have more questions aching to be answered. By all means ask. I would not keep you from knowing the true depths of your soul.”

  “What manner of demon are you?” Badron asked.

  The shadow rippled. “Demon? We are anything but. There is no vested interest in your prolonged suffering. Rather the opposite. I offer you the chance of a lifetime. End this pointless agony and rise above your fathers. Take the opportunity the gods have decided to give you.”

  “The gods have long gone and whatever potential I had was squandered with the end of my bloodline. Do not think I am ignorant to the venom in your words. You seek to entice me with lofty dreams while you have yet to answer my questions.”

  Amar Kit’han held out his robed arms. “I was mortal once, just as you. Young and naïve as you are now. In fact, my story is much the same. I too lost everyone I loved and, for a time, wallowed selfishly in my own regret. I was lost and did not know which way to turn. I contemplated suicide. Then my masters found me and offered mercy to my pain. I became a new man; youthful and invigorated with new purpose. That is all I wanted.”