Dragonhammer: Volume II

by Conner McCall

  It has two masts; one in the center, and one in the front. The sails are being adjusted and most of them are rolled up. Ropes hang everywhere. The planks of the ship come to a neat angled point at the front, and a carved wooden bear serves as the nose, emerging from the boards of the ship. A large cabin sits behind the main mast, with stairs leading up to a second cabin on top of the first. Barnacles cling to the underside of the ship and it creaks as it slows down and turns about to make anchor parallel to one of the wooden platforms. The whole process takes several minutes. Finally a large plank appears over the side and slides down to the wooden dock, creating a makeshift bridge between the ship and dock. Then men start to disembark.

  Most are working with the ropes and sails, but some are already carrying crates and barrels of cargo from the ship into a large warehouse that sits as one with the stone wall of the dock. Someone steps onto the plank and makes his way down.

  His face is wrinkled and his eyes are slightly yellow, as are his teeth. His black hair is pulled back into a small, scraggly ponytail, but he is clean-shaven. His clothing, on the contrary, is fine, with a quilted tunic underneath a black formal jacket. He wears a silver necklace, a few rings, and a single golden loop hangs from the lobe of his left ear. A feather sticks out of his large hat.

  His fine leather boots clomp on the wood as he makes his way to the rude man on the dock. The captain holds himself high with a condescending glance and waits for the man to address him before he says anything.

  Sure enough, when asked his name, the man responds, “Captain Alastair.”

  “He’s our man,” I whisper to Percival, who is the only one with me at the time.

  He nods. “When do we approach him?”

  “As soon as he’s done talking there.”

  It takes only a few moments more. Alastair thanks the man and begins walking back towards his ship. Then I jump behind him and greet, “Captain Alastair.”

  The captain whirls about and his hand lunges for the hilt of his sword. He studies me dubiously for a moment, and then says warily, “I don’t owe you money, do I?”

  “No.”

  He takes a breath of relief and his hand falls from the sword hilt. “Then what do you want?”

  “I have a few matters of business to work out with you.”

  “Such as?”

  “Let us speak privately. May we board your ship?”

  He looks at me like I’m crazy. “What makes you think I would do business with you?”

  I flip him a coin from my pocket, tribute of Lord Jarl Hralfar. “Just a thought. Interested?”

  He eyes the caught coin and says, “I have a shipload of cargo to unload. Make it quick.”

  He leads Percival and me onto his ship, up the stairs, and into the second floor of the cabin. He shuts the doors and sits down at a desk with a small window behind it. A chandelier wobbles in the middle of the room, hanging from the ceiling, and a table with a few chairs sits underneath it.

  “Take a seat,” he says. “What do you wish to discuss?”

  “Safe passage,” I say. “To Balgr’s Fall.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “You blasted Diagrall soldiers!” he exclaims, standing. “I don’t want to hear this! Get out!”

  “We are not Fearclan,” I respond without moving. “We are from Gilgal.”

  His eyes narrow. “You are attacking Balgr’s Fall,” he infers, sitting back down. “Why come to me?”

  “We believe we can trust you,” I respond.

  “How do I know I can trust you?” he asks. “That you aren’t posing as soldiers to destroy my company and defile my good name?”

  I finger my left glove and hesitate. My fidgeting attracts his attention and he raises an eyebrow. “Well?” he urges.

  I pull each finger of the glove and then slowly reveal my two missing fingers.

  “That’s nice,” the captain says. “But I’m not sure what that proves.”

  Undeterred I reach into my pocket and pull out a small ring with the mirror image of Gilgal pressed on top. “Wax?” I ask.

  He pulls a small disk out of his desk and I heat it over a candle. Then I set it down on a blank piece of parchment and press the ring into it. Gilgal’s insignia is left imprinted on the wax.

  “You have gone through a lot of trouble to have this conversation,” he assumes. “The circumstances must be grave.”

  “We have reason to believe that a frontal attack is not in our best interests,” I reply, sticking the ring back into my pocket. “We want you to sneak us in through the dock. Can you do that?”

  Alastair shakes his head and folds his arms as he leans back in his chair. I wait anxiously for a response as he sighs. “Take a couple of weeks out of my carefully planned schedule to drop some soldiers off behind Balgr’s Fall?” We stare at him impatiently. “You realize how much business I would not be making in that time?”

  “Your point?” Percival urges.

  “This will not be cheap for me,” the captain says. “It will require a bit of monetary compensation.”

  “How much are we talking?” I ask.

  “Well, I’d still be able to sell in Balgr’s Fall, but not quite so much as I would in my previously arranged stop. Give me a time frame. When do you need transport?”

  “Roughly two weeks from today,” I reply. “Enough time for us to carry the message back and then for the army to get in position.”

  “I’d say there’s a difference of about four hundred gold pieces. Make that up to me and I’ll be happy to get you there.”

  “Get us there and I’ll be happy to pay you.”

  “Soldiers are always so uneasy,” he sneers. “Very well. I will meet you at Gull’s Landing in two weeks. Don’t keep me waiting or I may decide against our agreement.”

  “Good,” I say. “Glad to see you are willing to participate.”

  “Now get off my ship before someone suspects,” the captain orders. I put my glove back on and he warns as we leave, “Don’t be late.”

  The Waylay

  I find James and Nathaniel looking in a shop window, and Aela standing coolly by the stables at the inn where we left our horses. “We have gotten what we came here for,” I say quietly. “We are leaving now.”

  Before we leave, James and Percival run to get some supplies while I and the others get the horses ready. Then we leave the city.

  The guards do not hesitate to open the gates and let us leave. A few of them eye Aela as we pass under the wall and start on our way to Fragruss.

  I am almost sad to cross the river. It reminds me of the Fravora, back at the northeastern tip of the Wolfpack Mountains. The pain of the thought is too much to bear and I stonily shrug it aside.

  There’s a bite in the wind and a hanging chill in the air. The sky is gray and overcast, but it does not rain. Most of us ride with our hoods up, and I keep my glove on until we’re halfway across Vrakkjar.

  We ride as swiftly as the horses allow. We need to be on time when Captain Alastair arrives at Gull’s Landing with his ship, and it would be a pity to be late solely because we got a little relaxed with our pace.

  We make camp just before the road curves to go south of the Knifepoint Mountains. There’s an odd feeling in the wind that makes me a little nervous, so I take the first watch. Nothing happens that night.

  Though the road skirts the mountains and never passes through them, the cliffs encroach uncomfortably close and I push our party to move as quickly as possible past the mountains.

  Suddenly the hair on the back of my neck spikes and goosebumps crawl up my arms. The wind howls eerily over the pass and my horse rears with a whinny.

  My eyes narrow as I calm the horse and study the cliffs to the left.

  “Where’d the birds go?” Percival asks quietly. We halt our progression and listen to the silence.

  “Loosen your weapons,” I warn. Aela and Nathaniel each string their bows and nock an arrow. Slowly I urge my horse forward, holding my sword in my right hand. />
  Suddenly Aela draws her bow and points upwards at the sloped cliff full of stone outcrops perfect for ambush.

  As soon as I detect the movement, I kick my horse and put him into a full gallop. An arrow whizzes by like an angry bee, shot off by an attacker that hadn’t expected me to flee. The others follow suit and we race through the rocky pass and out into the Vrakkjar Plains.

  I glance behind and find that, sure enough, there are five others following our company. They are hooded figures with black cloaks and gloves, all with a sword sheathed at his waist and a bow in his hand. One of them sits up on his horse and releases the reigns to nock an arrow and draw his bow. The sunlight shines into his hood and I see snowy skin with pale lips, tight with concentration.

  Nathaniel tries to replicate the move, but almost loses his balance on the horse and crouches over the beast’s neck to regain it. The lip of the hooded bowman turns up, and an arrow sprouts from his left shoulder. His face contorts and his left arm falls as his arrow flies into the sky. With his right he breaks the shaft of the arrow, but continues riding.

  Aela draws another arrow.

  Nathaniel tries again to draw his bow and succeeds, but his arrow misses the hooded bowman by at least a foot.

  Two of the others draw their bows in like manner, but are each struck down by an arrow from Aela or Nathaniel. The other three begin to gain, but the first rider hangs back for reasons unknown.

  Percival draws his sword and blocks a blow from one of the riders. They trade offense for only a few moments, and then Percival nicks the rider in the side. There’s a grunt of pain, and then Percival finishes him with a well placed jab. The rider falls over the side of his horse, and the beast veers to the right and away from the conflict.

  The other rider approaches James on the left. Thankfully James is able to ready his shield, which he holds in his left hand, but it will be difficult for him to attack with his sword arm on the opposite side.

  James blocks the first few blows easily, and then tries to retaliate with his sword. He almost loses his balance, because he no longer grips the reigns, and the rider tries to take advantage. The blow goes awry, however, and by a stroke of luck James is able to block it once again. He absorbs another blow, and then suddenly lashes out with his shield, knocking the rider off-balance. Another blow sends the rider over the side and into the ground.

  The last rider, who still holds his bow in his left hand, raises his right fist and points it directly at me. He’s wearing an overly large steel gauntlet, which seems cumbersome and exaggerated. Then he flicks his wrist.

  My horse whinnies and his back leg gives underneath the weight, bringing us both the ground. Despite the shock, I am able to gather my thoughts just enough to throw myself from the back of the horse before the beast can roll on top of me.

  My companions circle around to come back for me, and the rider dismounts about twenty feet from me. James tries to swing at the rider’s head as he rides past, but the hooded figure merely ducks and slices one of the saddle straps. James, no longer secured, gracefully waves his arms and tumbles over the side. The horse, now saddle-less, trots nonchalantly back to James’s position on the ground.

  The other three, to avoid James’s fate, steer clear of the rider. Nathaniel and Aela draw their bows.

  He jumps from his horse straight at me and swings a long thin sword downward at my head. I block it and retaliate, but he spins and pulls a dagger from his belt. I evade only by managing to hit his elbow with the shaft of my hammer and pushing him away. He rushes at me again, but I knock his blade aside and manage to catch him so that I hold him with my throwing knife to his neck. His hood falls back and reveals his face.

  His skin is pale and his eyes are yellow, like a snake’s. His hair is long and black, swept over his ears and across his face.

  “Who are you?” I demand.

  His hands rise and I eye the gauntlet on his right hand. It appears to have some sort of miniature crossbow hidden on top of his forearm, beneath the metal of the armor.

  “Talk or I shoot!” Aela shouts.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that sweetheart,” says the figure. He has an accent that accentuates vowels, and he seems to almost skip ‘r’s altogether.

  Her eyebrows narrow, but she doesn’t respond. Her grip on her bow doesn’t slacken.

  “Why not?” I ask lowly.

  “Because if I die,” he responds, “So does he.” He points the gauntlet at my brother, who still sits atop his horse. Nathaniel’s eyes widen and his knuckles turn white on his bow.

  I glance at Aela and she shakes her head angrily. “Who are you?”

  “Scylazar,” he says after a pause.

  “Are you from Fearclan?” I ask.

  “I’m offended,” he says. “Do you really think any of those loons from Fearclan could do what I just did?”

  My eyes narrow. “If you’re lying I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  “He’s telling the truth,” Aela mutters, her bow still drawn to her cheek. “Look at the insignia on his chest. That’s not Fearclan.”

  I study the mark and am almost embarrassed I thought he was Fearclan in the first place. It depicts a viper, but the snake has no end on its tail. The body loops over and around itself endlessly in a triad of loops, and the neck emerges from somewhere in the middle. A simple dagger is laced through the bottom two loops.

  “Who sent you?”

  “No one,” the man says ominously.

  “Where do your affiliations lie?”

  “Everywhere,” he replies cryptically. “And nowhere.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “I have eyes and ears everywhere, Dragonhammer. Nothing happens that I don’t hear about.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s a little vague. Why what?”

  I ignore the irony of his question and rephrase, “Why are you hunting me?”

  “There’s a price on your head. Really, there’s a price on everyone’s head, but yours happens to outbid them all.”

  “Who hired you?”

  “That’s between me and my boss. Now if you would be so kind as to let me go…” He shakes his gauntlet pointing at Nathaniel.

  I release my grip on him and he rolls his neck and picks up his sword. Then he mounts his horse, never pointing his gauntlet away from Nathaniel. “I feel our paths will cross again, Dragonhammer,” he says, pulling his hood over his head. Then he gallops off back into the rocky pass.

  “That was inconvenient,” I mutter, moving to my horse. The poor beast is breathing deeply, lying on his right side with a short arrow sticking from his left haunch. It squeals as I pull the arrow out, and then I calm him and speak softly.

  “Why’d he shoot the horse and not you?” asks Nathaniel.

  “Maybe I’m worth more alive,” I respond coldly. “Or he was trying to warn me of others who would take the bounty. In any case it is done and we have to get a move on.”

  I coax my horse to stand, but he tries to keep the weight off of his back left leg. Our pace is slow, but I am glad to see that my horse is still alive.

  We ride into Fragruss on the sixth day.

  “Captain Armstrong to see Lord Jarl Hralfar,” I say to the guard outside the council room door. Without hesitation the guard lets us in and I find Jarl Hralfar standing, staring at a crudely drawn map of Balgr’s Fall.

  He sees me and brightens immediately. “You’re late,” he says. “Please tell me you bring good news.”

  “He accepted,” I say. “He will meet us at Gull’s Landing in eight days. It should only take us a week, maybe a little more to march out there.”

  Hralfar nods. “I knew you could,” he says. “That’s why I sent you.” He walks to a guard standing at the wall and says, “Spread the word. We leave for Balgr’s Fall on the morrow.” The guard nods and leaves the room without another word.

  “What else did he say?” the Jarl says.

  “He said that… the trip would take time out of his sche
dule, and we need to make up the money he would have made otherwise.”

  The Jarl’s face falls. “How much is that?”

  “He estimated at around four hundred gold pieces.”

  Hralfar weighs the idea. “Could be worse,” he says. “But I don’t just have four hundred pieces I can hand over to him once we’ve taken the port.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “We could loot what we can out of Balgr’s Fall. It is a port, after all. When you meet him, tell him that he will be paid as soon as the port is ours.”

  “I will be travelling by ship then?”

  “Yes. I will send Commander Magnus with you. I will lead the greater portion of the army to the front gate. You realize I trust you to help us get that gate open.”

  “Of course. Get it done quickly and make them surrender.”

  “Good. Let’s be ready. We march on the morrow.”

  I gorge myself on something on the way down the bunkrooms. I don’t really pay attention to what. “Hungry?” Aela comments.

  I take another bite. She shakes her head.

  A grunt sounds from the other side of the room as I enter. A huge figure grabs my right forearm with his right hand, and slams his shoulder into mine. He lets go and rumbles, “Travel good?”

  “Yes,” I reply with a smile, looking into the orc’s black eyes. “Travel very good.”

  “Good see you,” he says. Then he gestures around the room, but shrugs off whatever he was going to say next. “Good see you,” he repeats. Then he walks back to his blade and resumes sharpening it.

  “Does he ever stop sharpening that?” Percival asks.

  “Don’t know,” James says. “He could probably stick the wall with it though.”

  I don’t bother unpacking, as we’re leaving the following morning anyway. I do, however, decide that it might be a good idea to talk to Jericho. Percival disappears into town, to say hello and goodbye to his dearly beloved.

  “Hey Jericho!” James says cheerily as we enter the infirmary. One of the nurses hushes him and shoots him a nasty look. Undeterred, he continues on to see our friend.