Dragonhammer: Volume II

by Conner McCall

  The door bangs shut behind them. I look at the calm ripples on the water, grasping the letter tightly. I can already feel my eyes getting hot.

  Mechanically my fingers pry the seal apart and pull the letter from the envelope. I must force myself to begin reading.

  Kadmus,

  Mother has fallen gravely ill. The news of Nathaniel’s fate has acted like a demon on her health and she is bedridden. I and Rachel are doing what we can, but Mother is simply losing the will to live. Were you to die, she would die of grief. And between you and me, now simply is not the best time for her to leave.

  I have tried to tell her that Father would want her to continue to take care of Ethan and Nicholas, and that seems to have made an impact. The reason she is still alive is that Ethan and Nicholas still need her.

  I am sorry I was not there for you and Nathaniel when he died.

  Rachel is about three months along in her pregnancy. She and I have decided that, if we have a son, he shall be named Nathaniel.

  Ethan has started attending a training required for boys thirteen and above. I do not dare think of what may happen if he is drafted. He and Nicholas do not know of Nathaniel’s fate.

  I would implore you to return home, but I know that you cannot. Even here we receive rumors of your deeds, Captain. Instead I wish you luck and the favor of Khaoth. I have faith that I will see you again.

  Your brother,

  Gunther

  I shake my head and lower the parchment, gazing out at the water. What am I doing to my family?

  You have done nothing. It isn’t your fault your father and brother are dead and that your mother lies in bed with grave illness.

  Then whose is it?

  Rage pumps through me and I feel a surge of bloodlust like adrenaline. I pound the door open and exit the Torrent, brazenly striding through the subsequent hall and up the stairs. My heart beats angrily, the maw within it gaping for the blood of my enemies.

  Ollgorath.

  The Light Goes Dark

  I feel the need to smash something. My hand takes hold of the shaft of my hammer hanging on my back, but before I can withdraw it-

  I see Aela.

  I soften and my grip on the hammer releases. My arms drop limply to my sides and I realize that I had subconsciously led myself to the place where I knew Aela would be.

  “What’s the matter, Kadmus?” she asks. Her worried countenance stays, but she is worried for me rather than herself.

  I take a deep breath and formulate my thoughts. Percival, James, and Ullrog listen to my answer. “My mother has fallen ill,” I reply. “Gravely so.”

  Percival nods solemnly. James looks down and Aela looks at the ground as if it will give her something to say. Ullrog’s pointed ears flick.

  “You’re not going back, are you?” Percival asks.

  “No,” I reply. “I’m staying. I just thought you should know.”

  James nods uncomfortably. “What did Archeantus have to say?”

  “We just discussed his plans for moving forward against Diagrall,” I reply. “That’s all.” There’s an awkward silence. “Well…” I continue. “He did invite us to dinner.”

  Later that evening, that’s exactly where we find ourselves.

  Archeantus sits at the head of the table in the entrance hall, which doubles as the dining hall. Jarl Hralfar sits on his right. I am next to the Jarl, followed by Ullrog, Percival, James, and Aela. On the other side of the table, across from Hralfar, me, and Ullrog respectively, sit Lucy, Vivian, and Veronica. I suspect that Archeantus arranged it this way intentionally so that Vivian could literally keep a hand on each of the twins.

  That also means she sits across from me.

  “I am sorry I didn’t properly introduce you earlier,” Archeantus says to those of us on his right side. “These are my daughters. The twins: Veronica and Lucy; and the elder: Vivian.”

  There’s a mingled hubbub of how-do-you-dos.

  Throughout the meal, Archeantus does his best to make small talk. He does it through asking each of us on his right side what has brought us to where we are, where we are from, and so on.

  He skips Jarl Hralfar.

  “Captain Armstrong,” he says. “Where are you from?”

  The servants of the fortress talk amongst themselves further down the table, making the conversation a little lighter. The clatter of silverware and plates is background noise.

  “Originally a little town called Virfith. That’s where all of us are from. Well… Me, Percival, and James anyway.” I gesture to the other two as I say their names.

  “What is your trade? Aside from…” He waves his fork around in the air, and I infer he must mean aside from being in the war.

  “I’m a blacksmith,” I reply. “I take after my father.”

  He nods, but says nothing about my father. He must remember our meeting in Fragruss several months ago, when he learned of my father’s passing. “Are you good?” he asks.

  I nod after a moment of thought.

  “He’s the best,” Percival barges in. “He made that warhammer he carries around.”

  Archeantus nods, chewing a bite of whatever he has set into his mouth. He swallows and says, “Impressive. Do you miss it at all?”

  “Always,” I reply.

  Archeantus senses something deeper, but chooses not to delve. I glance at Vivian and she looks down from my gaze abruptly. She must have been staring.

  “What is your name, master orc?” the High King asks.

  Ullrog looks up, surprised he has been addressed. Archeantus looks at him expectantly. Suddenly he comprehends the question and says, “I am Ullrog.”

  Archeantus acknowledges the answer and replies, “So, Ullrog, where are you from?”

  “Arthensgulf, tribe Grokh’naht. Felverar Yrgrothim.”

  “Fellhammer Stronghold,” Archeantus says. Ullrog’s brow furrows. “They say many of the greatest orc warriors hale from that stronghold.”

  Ullrog nods.

  “So you are a strong warrior?” Archeantus questions. “You must be to come from there.”

  The orc nods again.

  The High King realizes that conversation really isn’t likely with the orc, and so moves on to Percival. “Your name is Percival? That’s a good strong name.”

  “Thanks,” Percival says lamely.

  “And you come from Virfith?” Archeantus continues. “Where is that exactly?”

  “Next to Terrace at the northeastern tip of the Wolfpack Mountains,” Percival replies.

  Veronica giggles at something Lucy has said. Vivian, embarrassed, does her best to shush them.

  “What was your livelihood, Percival?”

  “I’m a baker.”

  “Ah,” Archeantus says with a smile. “My brother always said that we didn’t have enough of those. Good line of work. People are always hungry.”

  “Indeed,” Percival replies. Aela wiggles uncomfortably, picking at her food as he moves down the line towards her.

  “James,” says Archeantus. Before he can get out another word, James decides to take the conversation into his own hands and get it done with.

  “My father’s a shopkeeper,” he says. “When I get back I’ll take it over.”

  Archeantus nods appreciatively. “Very well then. And what is your name?”

  “Aela,” she says softly, not making eye contact.

  “Pretty name,” Archeantus says. “You seem about Vivian’s age. I’m sure you would be great friends were you not a soldier.”

  Aela nods uncomfortably.

  “You know, I can’t help but feel that we have met before. Your face seems familiar to me.”

  “No,” she replies quickly. I stop chewing. Then with a smile she adds, “I think I would remember that meeting.”

  Archeantus returns the smile and says, “Maybe so. Where are you from? I like to learn these things about my soldiers.”

  “Kera,” she says.

  “Good place,” he says. “Lots o
f good people. What was your father’s living?”

  She squirms and says, “I don’t know. I never knew him. I was raised in an orphanage there.”

  Archeantus nods slowly, trying to think of a way to brighten the conversation. “I am sorry,” he says. He studies her intently. “An orphanage, you say?”

  She nods.

  “Which one?”

  Her lips tighten. “Probably never heard of it.”

  “Oh, I might have,” Archeantus says. “Give it a go.”

  “Morgan’s Orphanage,” she says quietly.

  He nods. “So you must have done something with your time rather than stay there.”

  She nods. “I hunted.”

  Archeantus slows. “I’ve heard that you can fight well. Where did you learn?”

  “A man there in Kera taught me.”

  Archeantus rubs his bearded chin, scrutinizing her face. “And how came you to be in the army?”

  She shifts in her chair and inhales deeply. She answers, “I had nowhere to go.”

  “Very well,” the High King says. “I can’t help but think I have seen your face before. But I cannot remember where. You are sure we haven’t met before?”

  “Possibly when I was little,” Aela says, staring at her full plate. “But I do not remember.” Suddenly I find that my appetite has left me and I put down my fork. That last part was a lie. I know it. And so does Archeantus.

  “Indeed,” he growls slowly.

  I push my chair out from the table. “I suddenly feel unwell,” I say. “I must go and get some rest.”

  Archeantus turns away from Aela and says, “How unfortunate, Captain. If you are feeling up for it, breakfast will be here in the morning.”

  I stand. “Thank you, Lord.” I bow, and then stride out of the room without even the pretense of sickness.

  I think back. I think very hard. Where else had she not told the whole truth, or otherwise held something back from me?

  I remember when we had first rescued her from the bridge. I and my friend were travelling to deliver some goods from Kera to Terrace. That’s where I’m from: Kera. We were attacked by a band of thieves at the bridge. They took everything, including her. We killed one of them. I have no sword, so I used my bow. She used her sword. I was hit by one of their poisoned blades and they must have left me for dead. Didn’t she just tell me that she had been hunting before we found her? There is something missing or something added, but otherwise there is nothing I can glean from this passage.

  I remember a chess game from Fragruss. I was raised in an orphanage. In fact I had only just left when I made that trip to Terrace.

  How old are you? I had asked.

  I don’t know. Eighteen probably. That doesn’t seem right either. Why wouldn’t she know her age? Orphanages will still keep track, won’t they? And usually the orphans tend to leave before they turn eighteen.

  Frustrated, I continue to search my thoughts as I make my way to my quarters. There was the time on the ship. She told me she had seen the ocean aside from the Gulf by Amnigaddah.

  Did your hunting adventures bring you to the gulf? I asked.

  No. It wasn’t the gulf. It was…

  Where?

  I was so small. I do not remember. My brain reels. Where else could she have seen the ocean, if not in the gulf? She would have had to travel a month’s worth east of Kera to get to the ocean that borders Greendale. Surely she can’t have gone north to Hjallbrook. And definitely not west to Vjurkkstad, Rallunsea, or Arthensgulf. The ocean borders all three of those provinces but the distance from Kera is unthinkable.

  I open the door to my room, enter, and shut it forcefully. Then I pace furiously.

  I recall when I had first met her. She was skittish. Unsure of anything. Bad attitude. Unwilling to accept help.

  She advanced on me in Gunther’s forge. Then when he entered she suddenly turned and left. It wasn’t an impulsive romantic drive she had. It was something more insidious.

  I find myself twirling a throwing knife, pacing back and forth at the foot of my bed.

  That night I was waiting for the assassins in Terrace. Aela stepped from the hall and I almost killed her. Reviewing the image in my mind’s eye, I find that I had been too preoccupied to see the knife in her belt.

  Then the night they did come. There was that one word, said by one of the assassins before Aela screamed. Why.

  A pit falls into my stomach and realization washes over me. She was getting up in the night, always with a weapon by her side. Always I was there to stop her.

  I feel like I am falling. Then I remember our conversation only a few days past.

  I was usually out longer. Sometimes up to three weeks or a month, I think, was my longest. I remember her statement as a truth.

  And you were successful? I had replied.

  Always. I wouldn’t return until I had gotten what I had set out to get. Except once. I begin to feel sick to my stomach. Every word is clicking into place like a puzzle, and the picture is taking shape.

  What happened?

  You found me by the bridge. The knife stops in my hand. No, I think. She can’t.

  Your favorite place to hunt was in the mountains? I had asked. And that was how you knew of Dracynnval’s Pass?

  It makes it more interesting in the mountains. Gives me more of a thrill. It makes me sick to know that she had spoken truthfully. How had Diagrall gotten so far into our lands? How could they possess such a pass right under our noses? No, I plead with myself. No, please.

  But you never went beyond them?

  She lied to me by shaking her head.

  Why not?

  Didn’t want to travel too far.

  I’m screaming at myself in my head. A dangerous mixture of despair, betrayal, and anger blurs my vision.

  Her ability in combat. Her unwillingness to show me her skill. To talk about the orphanage.

  I’m not the perfect person you think I am.

  Then there’s a knock at my door.

  “Kadmus?” her voice says. “Can I talk to you?”

  The Friend among Friends

  WhatdoIdo?

  Pretend I’m not there? No, she’ll have heard me pacing. Tell her to go away? I weigh the option, but decide I don’t want to do anything out of the ordinary that would let her know that I know. This must be handled carefully.

  What do I do, then?

  “Come in,” my voice croaks.

  The door opens hurriedly and Aela scrambles inside, bolting the door behind her. That makes me uneasy and I keep the throwing knife in my hand.

  “What did you want to talk about?”

  She takes a deep breath. I scan her for weapons and find a dagger in her right boot and another hidden beneath her pants along her left thigh. Other than that, I find none.

  “Kadmus, I have to leave.”

  I hadn’t expected that. I prepare my response carefully and reply, “I know.”

  She takes a small step back, watching my right hand tighten on the warhammer that leans against the bed. Slowly I lift it so that it hangs at my side. “You do?” she breathes.

  “I know what you are.”

  She looks at the ground. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kadmus, but-”

  “Oh, drop the act,” I growl. She falls silent and her stance suggests an offense. “I know why you kept the secrets from me.”

  She nods.

  “I think I’ve put it all together. You weren’t on a trip to deliver goods. You weren’t even out hunting, were you?” She shifts her weight, but continues to stare at the floor and says nothing. “That life you said you had was fake,” I continue. “You didn’t come from Kera.” Still she says nothing. “There was nothing benign about your presence at that bridge. And that last-minute trip up to Dracynnval’s Pass. That was no chance happening, that you happened to know a pass that conveniently would be our only hope and full of Diagrall soldiers. That was a trap.”

  “If you know who I am,” s
he says, “then say it.”

  “Look me in the eye,” I command. She shakes her head and stares at the rug on the floor. “Aela,” I breathe softly. She doesn’t respond. “Please look at me.”

  Her ethereal eyes gaze up at me. For the first time since I have met her, they are misty with tears. “Say it,” she whispers.

  I exhale slowly. Then I respond, “You are an assassin sent from Diagrall.”

  She sags and looks down. “I’m sorry,” she breathes.

  “I’ve figured out everything,” I continue, “but for one thing.”

  She looks up at me, her eyes continuing to well. “What?” she asks, shaking her head.

  I continue to search her eyes. “Who was your target?”

  Her face crumples and tears begin to fall. “Oh, Kadmus…” she says, her arms wrapped tightly around her own chest.

  “My best guess is Archeantus. You’ve had a chance to kill every other man in the company, including Jarl Hralfar.” She continues to shake her head, her squinting eyes dropping tears onto her flawless cheeks. “Who is it?”

  She looks at me, still shaking her head. “Kadmus, no…”

  I take a step back, realizing. “It was me,” I whisper.

  Then she begins to sob. My thoughts are a whirlwind, and some of them begin to throw themselves from my mouth.

  “You were at the bridge to intercept me. You weren’t after my mother. That was a diversion. You were leading me away. Going to kill me when I was away from the company.”

  She is crying, still shaking her head, saying my name over and over under her breath.

  “But something went wrong. A fight among you. You woke and found me, your target, had been your savior. You lacked the strength to do it then, so you tried to stay with me until you did have the strength. You tried in Terrace. Twice. Multiple times throughout our travels.”

  “But you were always ready,” she whimpers, tears streaming down her face. “There was never a time when you weren’t expecting something.”

  “Why didn’t you do it?” I ask. “You could have killed me months ago. I trusted you.”

  The last statement sends her into another fit of sobs and her shoulders shake. She forces herself to calm down, and then she draws a dagger. I jump into a defensive position, readying my knife to throw and my hammer to swing. But she stops and stares at the dagger’s shining edge. The room is lit only by candles, but the flickering light reflects off of the edge and her eyes. The moonlight gazes down from the sky, illuminating her softened face.