Dragonhammer: Volume II

by Conner McCall

  His eyes narrow. “No,” he says. “I suppose I hadn’t.”

  “The war came to us,” I mutter. “No one wants it.”

  “No matter how much I want to go back,” he says, “I can’t. Even if I survive this war, I can’t go back to hunting and wrestling and rolling barrels down hills.”

  “You may yet, Nathaniel,” I answer. “You may yet.”

  “I don’t see how,” he says. Then he straightens and walks away, dabbing his eyes with his sleeve.

  I sigh, staring up into the stars. “Please,” I beg to the night. Without knowing what I am begging for, I repeat, “Please.”

  The next day, I stand in a large room with Jarl Hralfar and Commander Magnus. A few other leaders are there, both from our army and the Tygnar army, but I do not recognize them.

  An armored Tygnar officer steps forward. He’s tall and skinny with a short pointy beard extending from his chin, but his lip and cheeks are clean-shaven. His face is long and noble, with a hawk-like nose. Wavy black hair covers the top of his head. His armor is rounded and silver, with a large orange scorpion emblazoned in the middle. The cloak strapped to his shoulders is yellow. He states, “Our leader is dead. Titus Swordbreaker had three children, but none of them are yet of age. The eldest will come of age in ten years, and during that time, I, Mavon Vaelus, Jarl of the Southern Cities, by popular vote of the high council, will become acting Lord Jarl of Tygnar until that time. As the highest authority, I begin the council of the treaty.”

  We then take our seats at the long table and the council begins.

  Mavon Vaelus sits at the head of the table, and Hralfar sits at the other end. I sit on Jarl Hralfar’s right side, with Commander Magnus across from me.

  Jarl Vaelus, I find very quickly, is most definitely not anything like either Swordbreaker that I knew. Though he has good qualities, he is still stubborn and a little brash.

  The council is unexciting and tedious. The Jarls take a while to work out all of the details, and by the time we’re done an hour or two later, we’ve only come up with a draft of the first section of the treaty. I make a mental note to excuse myself from any other treaty councils.

  “How long until we leave?” I ask Hralfar on the way out.

  “Only until the treaty is complete,” he replies. “It shouldn’t take too long. Only a day or two more.”

  “Then we go west?”

  “Most likely. I sent a messenger to Lord Jarl Archeantus as soon as the city was ours, but I hope to be in Fragruss before we receive a reply.”

  “Good. I don’t want to stay here longer than I have to.”

  “Neither do I,” he agrees.

  Suddenly I ask, “Jarl, do you know anything of the ancient tongue?”

  “I know some. Why?”

  “Because Titus spoke it before he died.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Moh theg mai nur,” I say, imitating the inflections I had heard Titus utter before he jumped.

  The Jarl’s brow furrows. “It’s not bad or dangerous…” he says. “But… they’re fitting for his last words.”

  “You know what it means?”

  “From what I know,” he says, “it means ‘I come to you Father.”

  I nod. “Fitting indeed.”

  There’s much more roiling in my head than simply those two words.

  I walk into the bunkrooms and see Ullrog sitting contemplatively on his bed. James and Nathaniel are both asleep, and Percival is reading something, most likely a letter from Serena. I leave him alone and sit on the bed across from Ullrog.

  He’s wearing a dirty white tunic and his fur pants, but nothing on his feet. His hair is still pulled back into a ponytail that flows to the base of his neck and I notice he still wears the amulet around his neck.

  He looks up at me and greets me with, “Mkollah dreynur, blaknie.”

  I raise an eyebrow and he repeats in his thick accent, “Well met, brother.”

  “Indeed,” I reply softly.

  “Something wrong?” he asks. I know it is a question, though his accent forces him to phrase it otherwise.

  I shake my head and glance at the amulet hidden behind his shirt.

  He looks down and pulls the little slab of wood from behind his clothing, holding it up so I can get a better look. It’s of authentic orcish make, but that’s all I can tell. For all I know the designs wrought on its surface could be runes, pictures, meaningless, or any combination of the three.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Don’t know word your tongue,” he growls, fingering the wooden object.

  “What’s the word in your language?”

  He studies the amulet and says, “Shirokh.” He seems to detect the questions in my head and continues, “Bring me strength in battle. Spirit with me.”

  I ignore the last part and ask, “Did you make it?”

  He shakes his head and pauses, staring into the floor. “Brother,” he says. Then he stands and leaves the room, grabbing his sword on the way out.

  As he goes through the open door, another soldier bumps into his shoulder harshly. The orc ignores him completely and continues down the hall.

  “What a flower,” the soldier mutters.

  My eyes narrow and I glare at the soldier until he sits across the room, but he doesn’t notice. “Haven’t seen him fight, have you?” I wonder aloud.

  The soldier looks up. “Did you say something, Captain?”

  “He’s a person too,” I reply. “If we lose him we lose a great ally.”

  The soldier shakes his head as I exit the room.

  What is your story? I ask Ullrog silently.

  I and Percival go to check on Jericho that night. He is still unconscious and lies rigid on his bed in the infirmary, but he is breathing.

  At breakfast the next morning, Jarl Hralfar approaches me and says, “We will be finalizing the treaty in an hour. I would appreciate your presence there.”

  “Why?” I ask flatly.

  “You have a lot of good to say,” he says.

  I glance at my friends sitting around me. “I appreciate that…” I say, “But I have previous engagements I need to attend to.”

  One of his eyebrows goes up, but he doesn’t argue. “Very well, Captain,” he says. Then he walks away.

  “What could you possibly have going on?” Percival asks.

  “Something a little more important,” I say vaguely. Aela gazes, puzzled, into her half-empty plate.

  “Alright,” James shrugs. “Just don’t drag me out to do anything dangerous. I do enough of that as it is.”

  “I won’t need help,” I clarify, standing. “Except for you, Nathaniel.”

  He looks up. “Me?”

  “Yes. Come on.”

  He stands and accompanies me out of the dining hall and into the outer hallways. Once we turn a corner and the doorway goes out of sight, I ask him, “What do you want to do?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” I say looking at him coolly. “What do you want to do?”

  His eyebrows go up and he stops walking. “You’re serious?”

  “Of course! Come up with something quick because if you don’t, then I may have to choose, and you might not like that.”

  “Just you and me?” he asks.

  “Just me and you,” I repeat.

  He smiles broadly and says, “I have a few ideas.”

  Sadly, we lack the time to go hunting or the hills to roll barrels. We do, however, have an entire city to explore.

  “Glass is so cheap here!” Nathaniel exclaims as we pass through the market. “At least… cheaper than back at home.”

  “And so are the spices and herbs,” I observe, pointing to a stall. “Medicines too!”

  We spend some time near the food market for lunch; the bread is flat and dense, rather than puffy, and the butcher has no beef but plenty of mutton.

  After that, we find an excellent use for a shovel, a saddle, and a stray goat.

&
nbsp; That evening we stumble into the city square, just in time for the ceremony of the treaty. It takes Nathaniel a few minutes to finally get control of his laughter.

  Lord Jarl Mavon Vaelus holds the treaty high in the square, atop a pavilion erected for celebrations or times such as these. “At this time,” he says, “I, as the Lord Jarl of Tygnar, present this treaty to the people of Nur’tokh and usher in a new time of peace and prosperity between the clans of Gilgal and Tygnar!”

  Lord Jarl Hralfar walks across the pavilion and takes Mavon’s hand. They shake and give each other small nods and smiles. Then Hralfar says, “I too, as the Lord Jarl of Gilgal, and on behalf of the people of the clan of Gilgal, am more than happy to accept this treaty and bring peace between our clans!”

  There is applause and whooping as the townspeople watch. Then the crowd gathers around the tables that line the square, as tens of servants appear from the castle holding trays laden with food.

  The feast is long and loud. Women in multicolored dresses dance with streamers, and bards serenade the town for hours. Drunk men fall asleep standing while others call for more. I only take part for the first bit, and then head back to the castle. Even inside, I can hear the festivities.

  “Did you finish the business you had?” asks James as Nathaniel and I walk in the barracks door.

  “Of course,” I reply. “I always do.”

  He nods and goes back to sharpening his blade.

  Aela lies on her bed in the corner with her back propped up against the pillow and her sleeves rolled up. Her knees are up and she holds an open book with her left hand, using her legs like a table. With her right she holds a piece of charcoal. I can hear the scratching of her strokes on the parchment.

  “What are you drawing?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” she replies coldly. Her curly hair is done in a ponytail, but her bangs are up and parted to the sides.

  “Doesn’t sound like it,” I jeer smartly.

  She doesn’t react, but continues to draw.

  “Very well,” I mutter, walking to my own bunk. James eyes me, but when I give him a questioning look he only grins and shakes his head.

  Again Percival and I, this time accompanied by Nathaniel and James, visit Jericho. This time he is conscious.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask.

  “In pain,” he groans, but he doesn’t dare move a muscle.

  “You know we’re moving out for Fragruss tomorrow,” I say.

  “You know my leg is broken,” he growls through clenched teeth.

  I nod. “So you won’t be able to come with us?”

  “I definitely can’t walk,” he says. “I don’t know how I’d fare in a wagon. Maybe I could ride, but I can’t be sure.” He takes a deep breath and winces.

  “Do you want to give it a try?” I ask.

  He weighs the thought for a while, and then nods.

  Jarl Hralfar makes his stop at the barracks that night to say, “Make sure you are packed and ready for travel. We leave tomorrow morning for Fragruss.”

  The Sand

  We leave Nur’tokh without a backwards glance. Titus will be marched to Deadfish Lake and buried in the barrows between the city and the lake. None of us have any desire to attend, and though it would be necessary to show respect, Jarl Vaelus himself said that he would rather not attend. He didn’t say it publicly, of course.

  “So with the treaty, Tygnar is out of the war?” I clarify with Jarl Hralfar. “Completely?”

  “Yes,” answers Hralfar. “They will no longer be a threat to us or our allies, assuming they honor our treaty. Considering how we dealt with them before, however, they will think at least thrice before doing that again.”

  “That’s why it’s called a treaty,” mutters Magnus.

  Jericho rides in a supply cart at the back of the army with a steel rod tied to his thigh to keep it in place. For almost the whole journey he stays in the cart, requiring assistance and a crutch on the rare occasions he leaves it.

  The men are beginning to get more hostile to Ullrog the longer he stays in the army. It’s like they’re getting frustrated at his ability to put up with whatever they throw at him, so they keep throwing more. For instance, he found that someone had filled his pack with sand before we left, but simply dumped it out before using it.

  Aela marches on my left. So far I’m the only person she seems even remotely comfortable with in all of the army, but I don’t know why. As we walk our hands brush past each other lightly. I don’t react, but to look down at the stubs that serve as my ring and pinky fingers. Aela withdraws hurriedly and tucks her hand by the strap of her pack, careful to look away. I shake my head and look forward, over the peak of the next sandy ridge.

  There is no road but the river, which we follow religiously. We are wary of crocodiles, as they tend to roam the desert waters of the Tygnar River, but we never encounter any.

  We set up camp hurriedly, anxious to get out of the hot sun. I glance up at Aela as she pulls a rope on the tent and stakes it down into the sand. The sand will do very little to hold the tent down if we got hit by a sudden sandstorm, but she does it anyway. A bead of sweat drops from her nose and hits the ground, but is absorbed instantly by the hot sand. When she finishes with the rope, she ducks just inside and takes a swig from her waterskin. Then she lays out her bedroll on top of a blanket, sits on top of it, and proceeds to take off her boots to dump the sand from them. She looks up just as I look away, to James, who has watched me observe the whole scene.

  He raises an eyebrow and I shake my head, lifting the pole that I had been leaning on. Then I walk to place it where it belongs in another soldier’s tent.

  Another glance at Aela reveals she has gotten out her book and charcoal, and is drawing again.

  ~

  Nathaniel speaks to me as we march the next day. He begins with a mild comment that I’m assuming he expects me to respond to. “I envy Jericho.”

  I’m taken aback. Though I think I know the answer, I still ask “Why?”

  “Because it’s over for him,” he answers. “He doesn’t have to deal with all of this anymore.”

  “But he won’t be able to walk again.”

  “He will with a crutch.”

  “Is that worth it?”

  He pauses. “It may be. If it means that he won’t have to deal with this anymore.”

  I remain silent.

  Ullrog grunts as he empties the sand from his pack again the next morning. He replicates the action with his boots and waterskin, and anything in his pack. Everything had been filled to the brim; whoever had done it was an expert sneak and extremely persistent. The orc shakes his head at me as he ducks back into the tent.

  “How are you faring?” I ask Jericho before we begin our march.

  “I’m here,” he answers from his perch in the cart. “That’s what matters.”

  I nod. “Your leg alright?”

  He winces as he shifts. Then he says, “It hurts. The sand rides smooth so I’m doing okay. I’m just a little worried about how rough it’s gonna get when we get into Greendale.”

  “We’ll be there soon.”

  “Not soon enough.”

  The air is dry and the sun is hot. There’s always another dune behind the last, and it feels as though the return trip is taking us much longer. By the time we get back to Fragruss, it will have been at least a month and a half, and all of us are desperate to see home.

  “I need my lute,” says James as we sit in the shade of our tent. The sun is setting, but its rays still beat down mercilessly.

  “Some music would be nice,” Percival agrees. Then he looks down, the longing expression resurfacing on his face.

  Ullrog and Aela stare thoughtfully into the sand. “What about you?” I ask.

  Both of them look up. Ullrog speaks first, “For music?”

  “Yes.”

  He thinks. “Music good,” he finally says. “To listen.”

  “Do you play an instrument?”

&nb
sp; He thinks again, and then says, “Yes.”

  He leaves it at that, and I don’t want to prod him further. Aela looks back down at the ground and says, “I’ve never really… had the time to appreciate it.”

  “Hopefully you will soon,” I answer.

  As soon as the sun disappears and the light fades, I get out of the tent and rest my bare feet on the sand, which has now cooled considerably. Nathaniel follows me out and we look at the sky for only a moment.

  Suddenly he asks, “Why don’t you do it?”

  “Do what?” I respond.

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he says.

  “Sorry. I don’t.”

  “Yes you do.”

  I shake my head. “No idea.”

  It’s his turn to shake his head, but as he does he says, “You don’t want to know, do you.”

  My head tilts and my eyes narrow. “What are you talking about?”

  “The way you look at her,” he says with a slight smile. “It’s obvious!”

  I look back up at the stars. “I don’t know what I feel, Nathaniel.”

  “Is that it?” he asks. “Or you don’t want to know?”

  I don’t answer, and he silently goes back inside the tent.

  What do I feel? I ask myself.

  To the west, the sand rolls through enormous dunes as far as I can see. The river lies just to the east, always within sight, but beyond it the sand becomes mountainous and dark.

  Clouds avoid the desert. The sky is always clear blue and the sun is always bright yellow. If any part of us isn’t covered, it will be bright red before we set up camp. Despite our best efforts, most men end up with a sunburn somewhere on their bodies, usually their lower legs or forearms. James is included in that group.

  He winces as he sits down in the tent, leaning against his pack. “I hate this desert,” he complains. “I hate it.”

  “Tell us how you really feel,” Nathaniel mutters, carving the stick again. I can’t tell what he’s making, but it has been stripped of all bark and there are some designs across it I cannot recognize in the dim light.

  “Blasted heat,” James fumes. “Why’s it have to be so hot? I would think it’s a different sun than the one in Greendale because it’s certainly not this hot up there. And this blasted sand gets everywhere! Look!” He overturns his boot and a pile of sand trickles out. Then he shifts on his bottom uncomfortably and continues, “Even gets in my personal space…”