She smiles, but once again it’s a small one and doesn’t show her teeth. “I suppose not,” she says.
“And you realize that the soldiers are going to want to keep trying? What you did last night will only encourage them.”
“They’re relentless!” she seethes quietly. “I’m not that pretty am I?”
She looks up when I don’t answer. “Well…” I say softly.
Her brow furrows and she looks down. “You know, nobody’s called me pretty before.” I give her a look that says I don’t believe a word she’s saying. “At the orphanage it was always…” Her voice trails off and her face hardens.
“What?” I ask.
She ignores me and says coldly, “Let them keep trying. It’s more money in my pocket.” Then she walks briskly to her pack to spread out her bedroll.
Something grows inside of me. The growth of the feeling is similar to the anger I would feel during battle, but this feeling is so much softer. Rather than hatred, I feel uplifted and at the same time a little anxious. All kinds of things fill my breast and I am unable to tell exactly what is where, but the unfathomable feeling inspires me to do what happens next.
I walk to Aela and rest my hand on her shoulder. She looks at me like she’s trying to figure out what on earth I could be doing. Then I simply say, “I think you are very pretty.” Her face softens. She still seems as though she’s trying to process the words that have just exited my mouth. I pat her shoulder softly. Then I walk away to help Percival unload one of the supply carts.
Ullrog and Aela sit beside me by the fire that night. I can’t help but notice she’s a little closer than she usually allows herself to be.
“You say you make hammer?” Ullrog rumbles.
I nod. “Yes. I made this… Verär?” I say tentatively.
He nods with a slight smile. “Verär,” he repeats. “Hammer.” He looks at the head for a moment longer and then asks, holding out his hand, “May I see?”
I nod and hand him the beastly weapon.
He scrutinizes its every detail. The head is large with six spike-like points surrounding the place of impact. A small spike sticks out of the top, and another spike sticks out of the back. The back one is longer, curved slightly downward, and lined by ridges on its corners.
“Good hammer,” he says. His ponytail bobs as he turns his head and hands me the hammer. “Where learn…” He stops and searches for the right word.
After a few moments I say, “Forge?”
He nods. “Where learn forge?”
I pause before answering, “My father taught me.”
The firelight shines off of his fangs. “Father good forge?” he asks.
It takes me a moment to decipher what he means, but then I answer, “Yes. He was the best.”
His look becomes concerned. “What happen?” he asks.
I stare into the fire and throw in a wad of dry grass. As it burns and the ashes blow skyward with the smoke, I answer, “He died.”
He nods his understanding and looks at the same wad of grass. “Killed?” he says.
“Yes,” I respond. “He was killed.”
Boisterous laughter erupts from a nearby fire. Our fire pops loudly and a flurry of sparks flies towards James, who straightens in surprise and almost falls off of his rock. The others laugh and Ullrog chuckles, but I and Aela are hardly able to do more than smile.
When his smile fades, Ullrog says tenderly, “I am sorry.”
“So am I,” I reply. Then weaker I repeat, “So am I.”
Exactly as I predicted, a soldier, having heard of the events last night, enters our firelight with a group of two or three others and says to Aela, “I heard you were taking fights.”
Aela shakes her head and glances at me. I give her an I-told-you-so look. Then silently she rises and draws her swords.
She is undefeated that night as well, accepting challenges from three other soldiers. However, she continues to refuse the two out of three that she had accepted with Druam. Every challenger pays her a gold coin.
It becomes a sort of game for the soldiers, rather than a simple way to get one of the only women in the regiment.
As we pack up camp the next morning I come out of my tent to see a soldier squatting next to a crate, about to lift it. “Somebody wanna help me with this?” he says. Ullrog approaches the other side of the crate, but as soon as the soldier sees that his rescuer is an orc, he stands and walks away without making eye contact. Ullrog stands by the crate looking after the man for a moment, and then shakes his head and lifts the crate by himself.
I meet him by the cart in which he places the crate.
“I wonder how we can make them respect you,” I ask him.
“We cannot,” he says. “Cannot change entire race.”
“Not now,” I respond.
“You respect me,” he says. “All I need.”
“This is getting ridiculous,” Aela says that night when she sees the crowd that has gathered.
“You don’t have to fight them,” I say. “In fact it may be better not to.”
She nods. “I am confident. It is their own money after all.”
“What if you lose?”
“I won’t lose.”
I’m about to object but recall myself saying those very same words. I remain silent and let her rise to her challengers.
“You should do it,” Nathaniel says to me quietly.
“No,” I answer.
“Why not?”
“Because I see no point.”
He shrugs. “Whatever you say.”
“Ten coins on Aela!” I hear a soldier say from behind me.
“Richard is a tough guy; he’ll be tough to bring down!” argues another. “Ten on Richard!”
“This really is getting ridiculous,” I mutter.
Aela takes her stance across from a tall aggressive looking man wielding a long broadsword. Her tactic this time, instead of to block and return, is simply to dodge and strike quickly. She is fast and her enemy, though strong, is slow.
He swings and she ducks, and then spins out of the way of the next blow. Then she leaps forward. Richard barely has time to block, and then he finds a sword at his neck.
There’s a loud groan from behind me, but also a loud “HA!” of a pleased soldier. “She can’t be beaten!” the soldier exclaims.
“Who can do it?” somebody else shouts.
“Dragonhammer!” somebody yells. I shake my head vehemently.
“Yes! Dragonhammer!” comes the call.
“I’m done for the night,” Aela says immediately. After the simultaneous sigh of disappointment from the group, she adds under her breath, “And possibly for good.” Then she disappears into the tent.
The crowd dissolves quickly and soon we are left to ourselves.
“You could do it,” I tell Ullrog. “I’ve seen you fight.”
He shakes his head. “No point,” he says. Then he adds, “I do not desire her.” He looks down at me carefully and says, “But you…”
I raise my eyebrows. “I what?”
He shakes his head and a grin tugs at his mouth. He says nothing.
Aela holds to her word and refuses to fight anymore. The soldiers, though disappointed, accept the fact and leave us alone.
The next few days go by quickly. Despite the reasons for our travels, most of the soldiers seem to be in good spirits, and it’s reflected in the speed with which we march and the conversations we hold along the way. James becomes his upbeat self again. In fact, he’s in such a good mood that he tries to flirt with Aela again.
She has none of it.
Genevieve comes around one morning, ignores Ullrog as usual, and barks, “Hurry it up!” at James, who is untying the ropes that stake the tent down.
“Anything for you,” he mutters.
She raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
He turns, slightly startled that she had heard him. “Anything for you,” he repeats.
Her other eyebro
w goes up. “In that case, I need you to get my tent down as well. Somebody has started but I can stop them.”
“Anything for you,” he says with a wink. Then he walks off towards her tent. She shakes her head and moves on.
“Nice,” I mutter as he passes. He only smiles discreetly.
Percival steps around the tent and sees the limp ropes on the ground, but no James. He searches every direction and then looks at me and says, “Where’s James?”
“He’s doing favors for her highness,” Nathaniel explains. “In hopes of gaining favor.”
“I see,” he says, looking towards the aforementioned tent. Then he looks down at the ropes and with a shake of his head says, “Well, I guess I’ll do it then.”
It takes a total of sixteen days to reach the Tygnar River from Balgr’s Monument. The river’s not terribly wide or deep, and many of the soldiers take baths when we finally stop there to rest. Aela stays far away from the river for that reason.
“Here’s where we turn south,” says the Jarl. “This will be the most difficult part.”
“How far to Nur’tokh?” I ask.
“It’s about the same distance as from Terrace to Kera,” he says. “Normally that would take us about a week, but we’ll be walking on sand in unfamiliar territory. I wouldn’t be surprised if it took us an additional three or four days. Maybe longer with the siege weapons.”
“And we’ll follow the river the whole way?” I ask. “I don’t particularly like the idea of getting lost in the desert with no water.”
“Nur’tokh lies near the mouth of the river where it empties into Deadfish Lake. We’ll follow the river to their doorstep.”
“Anything nasty in the desert we should be aware of?”
“You mean besides the heat, sand, and dehydration? Wvolfas are malicious, though they’ll most likely leave us alone because we’re in such a big group. Go in groups to the river and be very wary of floating logs. They may be crocodiles. This is Tygnar’s territory and they know how to navigate and hide in it. We’ll need to watch out for ambushes and sneak attacks.”
“Duly noted. Will we need to step up the guard?”
“Yes. Don’t worry; I’ll have Commander Magnus take care of that.”
“Good. I didn’t want to be a captain anyway.”
He chuckles. “Be ready Kadmus,” he says.
The next day we cross from the rocky plains to the rolling dunes of sand. We stick close to the river, and so are treated by the company of tough little shrubs and grasses that somehow survive around it. A few trees live in clumps every hundred yards or so.
As soon as we cross into the desert, it’s as if we have walked through a solid barrier into a wall of hot air. Our feet sink slightly into the sand with every step and I become very grateful for the whitish clothes we got from the Tygnar camp. Almost nobody wears their armor, and instead packs it on their backpacks. Instead we wear light headwraps and cloaks that deflect the heat of the sun; those that aren’t as lucky to have such things rip their shirt and wrap the dirty thing around their head and neck. The few that don’t do so end up with very bad blistering sunburns.
Much to my surprise, the night is cold.
Few words are said mostly because we want to save our breath. Our packs are heavy enough as it is without the sand getting in everything and weighing us down.
The tents go up much more quickly than they did in Greendale because the soldiers are starving for even the least bit of shade. There’s little fuel for fire and we are forced to go without.
The next day, I think back on Jarl Hralfar’s words. If there was one thing that would kill us in this desert, it would be dehydration. The heat would get to us long before a pack of Wvolfa did.
“Thank Khaoth we’re right next to the river,” James says as he crouches on the riverbank to fill his waterskin.
“Agreed,” I mutter.
The next night I see a glow behind one of the dunes further out. I’m not the only one, and soon there is a group of soldiers curiously looking out over the sand to the mysterious orange glow. I’m not so much concerned with who it is as I am with where they got fuel for the fire.
“Tygnar wouldn’t make themselves so blatantly known,” I observe. “It must be a rogue pack of Wvolfas or something.”
“Wvolfas have fire?” somebody asks.
“The more sophisticated ones, yes,” answers Aela. “They’re nomads. The ones that we’re afraid of are the ones that aren’t so sophisticated.”
As predicted, there is no attack that night.
The next days go by slowly, though the soldiers remain in good spirits. Once we get within a few days’ travel of Nur’tokh they start to get a little uneasy.
“Kadmus,” says Nathaniel as we stand staring into the river. “What if we don’t make it out?”
I think for a moment and then say, “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
I stay silent because of course I know what he means. It’s a situation I have not allowed to occur even in my thoughts and I don’t plan on changing that any time soon.
“I’m scared, Kadmus,” he says. “I may not ever see Mother again. Or Ethan or Nicholas. I may never live to see Gunther’s children.”
“But you will,” I reply. “You will survive.”
“I don’t want to survive!” he exclaims. “I want to live! This…” He gestures to the surrounding army. “This is not living.”
I am silent. Then I say, “None of us want to be here, Nathaniel. We’re fighting so that our families can live. Not survive. And when this is over we can return to them and we can live with them.”
He nods. “I want to believe you,” he mutters. “But in every battle there is someone that does not return.” He looks at me. “What if that someone is me next time?”
I shake my head. “You will return,” I reply. “I’ve already lost Father and I cannot afford to lose another.”
He nods but says nothing more.
As the sun sets, Ullrog refuses to enter the tent. He sits outside next to the entrance.
“What’s the matter?” I ask.
“There is scent on wind,” he says. “Thiem ekh blakmos.” I give him a look and he translates darkly, “I smell blood.”
I lie awake, as I do every night but for the few hours I actually need to sleep. Right after I drift off, it seems, I wake for apparently no reason. Then I look up and see Ullrog looking into the tent. His eyes glow blue like a cat’s in the dark. He makes no sound but somehow transfers the message to me to get up. I do so silently. As I make for the entrance, he stops me with a single expression and then nudges his head towards my hammer which lies next to my bed. While I’m at it I decide to stick a couple of knives in my belt.
He stops me again just before I exit the tent. Then he says one word so lowly it’s almost like a breath of the wind. “Wait.” Then he feigns sleep against the canvas of the tent.
I look across the sleeping bodies of my companions. Once again Aela has boxed herself in the corner, which has become a routine thing. Her face is serene. James is drooling and Nathaniel’s chest rises and falls slowly. Percival snores lightly and rolls over. Jericho lies on his stomach with his face on his makeshift pillow, and somehow manages to keep breathing.
Why did he wake me? I wonder.
Ullrog twitches at the sound of the sand rustling. It was not the wind.
Then somebody appears just outside our tent. I can only make out his silhouette in the night, as there is no moon, but he lifts a small sword and I know he is not friendly.
He steps silently on the sand and lowers his blade to Ullrog’s chest. Then just before I react, Ullrog’s arm stabs a knife into the gut of the silhouette.
The shadow grunts and falls forward onto Ullrog, concealing the orc and his knife from any others who might be watching.
There’s a whisper as some words are traded and another of them makes his way to his fallen comrade.
When his opponent nears, U
llrog takes a very different tactic. From his spot on the ground he throws the body into the other soldier, who blurts a yell of fright.
Aela and Nathaniel start awake. I put my first finger over my mouth and send the signal to be very quiet.
The shadow gets up and looks at Ullrog, who is unmoving next to the tent. He tentatively steps towards the figure a couple of times. Then with a roar Ullrog jumps from his spot on the sand and slashes the head from the shadow.
Everyone in the camp is woken. Yells sound from every direction, and then the sound of fighting.
“Come,” says Ullrog.
All six of us pile out of the tent and into the fray.
There are many of them and they possess a huge advantage. They are armored, while we hardly had time to pick up the nearest weapon and shove it at them.
They, however, were not expecting us to wake up and fight them, at least this soon in their attack.
It is difficult to tell friend from foe in the dark night. Torches are lit at intervals between the tents and even then the fighting is uncertain.
Ullrog and I are at the head of our pack. The enemy has scattered themselves around the camp, and so are easily surrounded and dispatched one at a time despite their armor.
I bash in the helm of one soldier and watch as Ullrog slashes his wicked blade across the chest of another. The serrated edge rips the armor to shreds and I would rather not think of what it has done to his flesh.
The battle is over quickly and immediately I make my way to Jarl Hralfar’s tent. He paces around the table in his tent and looks up as I and Ullrog enter. The others wait outside.
“Orders?” I ask.
“Go back to bed,” he says. “And sleep on your swords.”
I raise an eyebrow and shoot him a look that asks the question, “What?”
“Titus is getting desperate,” he says. “Desperate people tend to do stupid things. This attack was one of those stupid things. Go get some rest and keep your weapon on hand. He is highly unlikely to try again but be on your guard.”
I nod and leave the tent, but I am unable to get any more sleep that night. As the sun begins to rise, I get up and look at the sky as it turns a fiery shade of orange. Ullrog is standing, looking down at the body of the first man he had killed that night. The other body lies on its back only a few feet away, with its head lying in front of another tent.
Dragonhammer: Volume II Page 8
