Dragonhammer: Volume II

by Conner McCall

  I stand on a big open pavilion, a little smaller than the square between the temples in Terrace. The right side is enclosed by the wall of the Bastion, but the left and far edges of the pavilion are open and I can see most of the city. We are in shadow, as the sun lies to the east, on the other side of the Bastion. There are no soldiers; it is yet too early for them.

  Along the far crenellated wall there stand multiple archery targets. Along the right wall there stand dummies stuffed with straw, wearing buckets for helmets and holding wooden swords and shields at the sides.

  “Why did you bring me here?” I ask bluntly.

  “What you do when angry?” he retaliates.

  I’m bewildered by his question. “What does that have to do with-”

  “You fought trees,” he says simply.

  “What of it?”

  “I am tree.” He turns and pulls his enormous sword from its sheath, and then takes a stance across from me.

  My eyebrows rise. “You want me to fight you?”

  “No fight. I am tree.”

  I feel my hammer hanging limply by my side. My grip tightens. “You sure about this?” I ask. “I won’t break your sword?”

  A smile pulls at his lip. “You don’t know orcish steel,” he growls.

  I eye the serrated edge. “Very well,” I reply.

  The first strike I throw is one that arcs from my lower right all the way up to his opposite shoulder. He deflects it easily.

  Our eyes make contact. He makes no movement, but readies his titanic sword once again.

  My next strike exactly mirrors the first; from my bottom left, up to my high right. Again he deflects the blow with no trouble. “Come on,” he says. “Thürk thiem, Khroll'verär.”

  My nose flares. Thürk thiem, Khroll’verär.

  Then I attack.

  I strike from every direction, but he blocks every swipe, uppercut, or any other move I try to pull on him. I find I am pushing him back, but as we near the crenellations and the archery targets, he nimbly dodges the next swing and leaps around me so that we now head back towards the center.

  Let’s put him on his toes.

  I feint low, as if to knock his feet out from under him, but maneuver my hammer up and around his lowered sword to come down on his chest. He merely takes a step back, and there’s a quick whoosh as the heavy head swings through empty air.

  The corner of his lip goes up again as he takes his stance.

  His sword moves only slightly to block the next hit, his left hand positioned behind the flat of the blade. Upon the next however, he suddenly lunges with a quickness I did not expect. It’s all I can do to throw my weight backward and away from his quickly advancing sword.

  Before I can gain my balance, he throws another blow; this one he meant to throw me off balance. He could easily have won the spar right there, but instead he allows me to regain my footing and center my weight.

  “I thought you said you were a tree,” I say with a hint of sarcasm.

  “I fighting tree,” he shrugs.

  When I see he will not make the first strike, I aim a quick blow at his shoulder. Easily he knocks the hammer aside and crouches slightly to lunge his sword directly at my gut, but fortunately my reflexes are just fast enough to knock the blade so that it pierces the air a few inches away from my waist.

  This may be a little dangerous, I think. If I am not able to stop his blows, could he stop himself before I die?

  Our weapons scrape together and he pushes us apart with a forceful shove. This time he swings first with a downward swipe that I block with the shaft of my hammer, throwing his weapon to the right. My hammer follows a course similar to the one his own weapon had traveled: downward.

  He sidesteps and his sword comes at me in a wide sideways arc. I evade it by ducking beneath the singing weapon and kicking out at his ankle. I manage to knock him off-balance, but only just.

  My hammer finds an arc upwards towards his hip, and he falls backwards onto his back to evade it. I step forward to help him up, but to my surprise he rolls backwards onto the balls of his feet and comes up with a vicious uppercut of his own. His strike answers the question I had thought to myself, and fortunately the answer is in my favor.

  I barely raise my hammer in time, and only to deflect his blow rather than stop it. He had withdrawn the blade before it could hit me. Both of us stumble back. He readies his stance again, but I drop my hammer to the ground.

  He nods his understanding, rising to his full height and lowering his weapon. “Fight good,” he says, offering his hand. I take it and he pulls me towards him, hitting his shoulder roughly against my own. Then he bends down and picks up my hammer. He offers it to me and I take it.

  “Rheyoth,” I say.

  He nods. “Freyash,” he says.

  Then we walk inside.

  Breakfast is quiet. Despite the fury that worked itself out during the fight with Ullrog, I quickly find that my wrath is far from gone. Everyone avoids me for this reason; even Percival seems apprehensive about approaching me.

  “Captain,” a messenger says as I tear a chunk from a slice of bread.

  “What.” My tone is flat and cold.

  “You’ve been summoned to a council with the Jarl, sir.”

  “Can it wait?”

  “No, sir. It’s urgent.”

  “Of course it is. It’s always urgent. Never anything that can wait.” I make no move to get up and take another bite of my breakfast.

  The guard is unsure what to think. “Sir?”

  “What.”

  “Shall I tell them you are not coming?”

  I sigh. “You can ask them why it wasn’t urgent to keep Sythian from escaping in the first place. I’ll be there.”

  The plates and silverware rattle on the table as I push against it and lift myself from the bench. The others watch me leave.

  What this time? I think. Instead of voicing this to the guard, however, I state, “But I’m bringing my breakfast.”

  He doesn’t object. Not like I would have listened to him if he had.

  I enter the room with half a slice of buttered bread still in my hand. As if to prove a point, when the Jarl looks up at me, I take the largest bite that I can.

  He blinks and shakes his head. “I thought you might want to know that the messenger from Archeantus is here.”

  “Oh good,” I say sarcastically without bothering to swallow. “You mean the one that was supposed to tell us what to do with Sythian?” I follow my comment by crunching on the crust.

  The Jarl takes a deep breath. “Yes. That one.”

  A thin wiry man stands on the other side of the room. “Would you like me to deliver the message now?” he asks.

  “You haven’t told him?” I ask accusingly.

  “I have,” Hralfar says patiently, “but he has more to say. I thought he might actually survive if I told him rather than you.”

  “Good judgment,” I comment. “Let’s hear it then.”

  The messenger pulls out a letter and opens it. “Lord Jarl Hralfar of Gilgal,” he begins. I watch his eyes spin back and forth as he reads the next few lines silently, probably skipping the bit about Sythian. He resumes with, “I would have you join the fight in Watervale as soon as you are able. Fortify Balgr’s Fall as you see fit, but remember that we have need of you here. Our numbers dwindle and we are in need of fresh reinforcement. I agree completely with your decision to take Fort Rocksabre. I care not how it is done, but be wary. They may be equipped to defend against an invasion by ship. I look forward to your imminent arrival in Watervale. Lord Archeantus.”

  “When do we move out?” I ask bluntly, brushing the crumbs from my tunic.

  “Tomorrow,” says the Jarl. “I don’t know if you’ve taken the time to notice, but we’ve repaired the ballistae at the front gate and have constructed a few of our own at the dock. They will be in for a surprise if they try to take this port.”

  “Good,” I reply. “I will let the men know.”
/>
  “As will I,” Genevieve says from the corner. Up until now I had not noticed her presence.

  “As I would expect,” Hralfar says. I make to leave, but he addresses me, “Captain?”

  I turn and give him my attention.

  “I realize you are angry with the way that Sythian’s fate turned out-”

  “That’s one way to say it,” I mutter under my breath.

  He ignores me. “-but I must ask you to take control of yourself. Put aside any personal feelings and leave it in the past. What is done is done and there is naught that can be done to change them, so there is no use in raging over something that you have no control over. If you keep up like this, your anger will destroy you. You’re allowing it to corrupt you. It would be a pity to lose my best soldier.” He pauses and looks me right in the eye. “You told me once, back in Fragruss, that Titus Swordbreaker was overcome by revenge. That he needed to get past it and see sense. You would do well to follow your own advice.”

  I bow my head. “Thank you, Jarl,” I say quietly. Then I leave the room.

  “He’s right, you know,” says a voice. I look to see Genevieve walking right next to me.

  I take a deep breath. Two words breathe from my lips, sapping all of the willpower from my bones. “I know.”

  She’s silent for a few steps, and then says, “I don’t want to see this destroy you. I fear for you.”

  “You fear for me?”

  She nods. “You’ve become a symbol to this army. To the people we’re fighting for. You can’t let yourself regress into something unworthy of everything they have given you.”

  Inside, my thoughts are a tempest. Don’t listen. It’s your life. What have they given me? I know I shouldn’t. Where would I be? My brother is dead. Sythian deserves death.

  Calm down, Kadmus.

  I force my mind to go blank and find that Genevieve is no longer beside me. She must have turned to the side while I was trying to make sense of everything roiling within my head.

  A deep breath pours from my open mouth. They’re right, I realize. I am becoming what I have fought so hard against. The idea disgusts me, but I force myself to accept it. Change, Kadmus. Make yourself better.

  How do I do that?

  Let go of your anger.

  But how?

  I search for an answer for several minutes. Finally my mind pulls one word to the forefront of my thought. Forgive.

  Immediately I recoil from the thought, but I don’t let myself forget the word.

  The image of my dying father penetrates my broken mind. He is speaking to me. Then his hand goes limp as I hold it tightly.

  How can I forgive them?

  I see Nathaniel lying dead on the ground in a pool of his own gore.

  It is not possible.

  Why?

  I take another deep breath. Then I feel the heat.

  It is the heat of a fire within me. It’s an inferno that burns hotter with every passing day. I do nothing to quench it.

  Even if I do manage to eventually forgive, I tell myself.

  I will never forget.

  The Tide

  Wind blows into my face. I take a deep breath of the salty stuff and listen to the constant lapping of the waves at the airtight sides of our ship. The sails flap every so often and gulls cry from the air. By this time I’ve been aboard long enough to have gotten used to the constant rocking of the ship, but James once again is having stomach-related issues.

  Diagrall had many of their ships at port in Balgr’s Fall, so we commandeered them when we took the city. Now we have a sizeable fleet making way for Fort Rocksabre. I do not captain my ship, as I lack the proper knowledge, but I am the military authority. Jarl Hralfar sails on another; the ship to our left, to be exact, and Commander Magnus sails on the next ship over.

  Unlike Captain Alastair’s cargo galleon, these are warships.

  Very little fighting is done on the water, but the ships are outfitted with naval weaponry specifically designed to sink other ships. We have one or two sleek-modeled boats with steel bows at the front, exclusively for ramming into the underbelly of enemy ships. Another has an enormous hammer-like construct on the deck. When activated, the hammer falls with the head over the side to smash any ships that are a little too close. A series of ropes and levers allow the weapon to be lifted so it can deliver another blow.

  My ship, along with most of the others, is outfitted with a few specialized ballistae. The enormous bows can hold several bolts at a time, unleashing a horrible rain upon the enemy. To top it off, every ship has a proper stock of tar with which to light arrows and bolts.

  Not to mention a little too much ale.

  I’ve managed to keep my soldiers under enough control that they leave the ale alone for the most part. I don’t know how the other authorities are handling, but honestly I don’t really care.

  James retches over the side again and I can’t help but feel sorry for him. “You gonna be alright?” I call.

  He waves his hand at me, but doesn’t turn or say anything.

  We’re sailing north. It will take us only four days to reach the fort if the wind is with us.

  Aela leans on the portside railing, looking west. The wind blows her hair elegantly and I catch myself staring. I manage to look away before she notices my gaze and returns it. I pretend to be looking at James on the other side of the ship.

  You can’t afford the distraction.

  Balgr’s Fall has already disappeared into the blue horizon. We’re far enough from the shore that it only appears as a little gray line to the east. Soon it will be out of sight.

  It makes me nervous to be aboard a vessel such as this in the middle of the Gulf. I trust the mechanics of the boat to keep us afloat, but I am afraid of what may happen were we to sink. The water is a foe I cannot fight.

  Ullrog stands at the bow with his arms folded across his chest. His ponytail flutters lazily.

  Percival leans on the starboard railing, looking east.

  “You miss her?” I ask.

  He nods, but says nothing.

  My hand finds a place on his shoulder. “You’ll see her again, Percival. As sure as I’m standing here now.”

  “But how long?” he says. His stubble has gotten longer so he sports a very short dark beard.

  “It’s always too long,” I reply.

  “How do I know she won’t fall in love with someone else while I’m away?”

  “I suppose you don’t.”

  He nods, though that was obviously not what he wanted to hear.

  “But at the rate she’s been writing you, she misses you just as much as you miss her. If not more.”

  A goofy grin pulls at his lip, and I am reminded of the way Gunther beamed stupidly at his wedding. I recall the way Serena and Percival had looked at each other. Such a bond should never be severed. “You are lucky,” he says. “You have her here with you.”

  So far I have not admitted to him the correctness of his statement. I do, however, look back at Aela, who is still leaning on the opposite railing. “I can’t afford the distraction,” I say quietly.

  “That’s a load of dingflies,” Percival retaliates.

  I’m taken aback by his sudden sharpness. “You saw what happened when he killed…” I begin. “When Nathaniel died.”

  Percival nods slowly.

  “That’s what those feelings do to me,” I continue. “They make me vulnerable. They weaken me. I can’t allow myself to make more of those connections. It only gives them more opportunity to hurt me.”

  “Would you be here without them?” he asks.

  Without hesitation I reply, “No.”

  “That’s my point,” he says. “Those connections make you human. You need them to cope. If I’m right in my thinking, I’d say you need her as well. You need the distraction.”

  I do not reply.

  Percival changes the subject abruptly by saying, “I wonder if they regret it.”

  I’m puzzled and say, �
��If who regrets what?”

  “If Diagrall regrets attacking Virfith.”

  “Why would they?”

  “Because if they hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here. You’re a war hero, Kadmus. Our cause owes a lot to you. Many of us owe you our lives: myself, Commander Magnus, and the Jarl included.”

  My mind flicks back to a time probably six months ago, when I had been working in the forge with my father. I’m afraid, he had said, that the war is about to become much more real for us all. But we’ll get through it. No matter how it ends.

  So far his prophecy has proven half correct.

  A long breath is my only response to Percival’s remark.

  A smile begins to creep on his lip. “Or if they regret…” He stops.

  “Regret what?”

  Reluctantly he continues, “…taking your father and brother from you.”

  My brow furrows.

  “I don’t think it has damaged you in the long run,” he says. “It makes you stronger. And that’s the last thing they want.”

  I nod. “I hope so, Percival. I hope so.”

  The wind on the sea is cold. Summer is just beginning to come to a close, but the heat has not yet left the world. It clings like it feels sorry that winter must come upon us in the coming months.

  I run through our battle plan in the days I have before we reach the fort.

  We are sailing Diagrall’s ships, so they may recognize us as their own. If so, great. If not, too bad. We may be able to do some damage with the weapons aboard the ships, but they’d be ineffective against soldiers purely for accuracy reasons.

  A mist has fallen over the gulf: a thick fog through which I cannot see across the entirety of the ship. Convenient. We keep our fleet together through our limited sight, and through our voices. The ships stay within earshot.

  As night falls, the mist partly clears. The sky flickers with thousands of points of light, some of them colored and making fantastic shapes across the indigo canvas. The moon is gone. There are no clouds.

  Land comes into sight, directly in front of us.

  Some of the men get uneasy. They grip their weapons with white knuckles and rock back and forth on their feet. Most of them are asleep below deck.