by Logan Petty
Sawain grinned at her nervously, “Uh, are you sure about that? I mean, last time I tried that, it seared my target’s leg like a red hot iron.”
Everyone glanced at each other uncomfortably. Sibilach waved it off.
“That was before you had the icon. Go ahead, try it out now.”
Sawain sighed and gripped his totem, “Alright, if you’re sure about it.”
Sibilach nodded, “Just ask Turin to pour his healing wind through you. He’ll take care of the rest.”
Sawain nodded and closed his eyes, “Turin, god of the Sturmforge, pour your healing wind through me and heal my friends and myself.”
The Icon pulsated with bright light. Sawain could feel a breeze like a gentle whirlwind kick up around him. The breeze circled out from him and blew over everyone on the porch. They all stared at themselves in awe as their wounds painlessly stitched themselves back together. Even Sawain’s wounds pulled themselves together. It did not hurt, but it was still a strange sensation.
Weariness took over and the whirlwind subsided. Sawain dropped slowly to the porch floor, breathless.
“I am exhausted. I’m glad my new leg worked out. Thank you, Sibilach.”
Sibilach waved, “You can thank me when you’re king.”
Sawain’s heart raced, “King? What do you mean?”
Sawain never even thought about being the king of anyone. All he wanted was to be recognized as a hero. The thought of being king did not sound like the life he really desired. Sibilach merely grinned and winked at him. She looked around the dock.
“Would you look at all those shattered weapons lying around. Looks like you are finally living up to your true name.”
Sawain arched an eyebrow, “My true name?”
Sibilach looked stunned, “You mean no one has given it to you yet?”
Sawain shook his head. Sibilach smiled fondly, then lifted her index finger toward the great sword stuck in the tree in a summoning gesture. The sword tore away from the tree and soared across the swamp. Sibilach stood up and snagged it from the air.
“Kneel, Sawain.”
Sawain’s heart beat faster and faster as he got on his knees and stared at Sibilach hopefully. She thrust the blade of the sword into the wood before him.
“By my authority as queen of Bitterdeep Bog, I give to you your true name, and with it, the title of recognized hero. You have certainly earned it. Arise, claim your sword and your name, Sawain Swerdbrekker.”
Ecstasy flooded Sawain’s mind as he wordlessly arose and took his sword by the hilt. He pulled it out of the wooden porch and everyone cheered and chanted his new name in unison.
“Swerdbrekker! Swerdbrekker! Swerdbrekker!”
It was almost too much for Sawain to handle. Joy swelled in his chest and a huge smile planted itself on his face.
“Thank you, everyone. I will live up to my new name and I will prove myself a hero time and time again! I will defeat the Grey King and restore peace to Hammerhold!”
The celebration after cleanup that night was the most festive one Sawain had experienced since his days in Dawnstar Manor.
Chapter 18
The next morning, Sawain and his friends awoke to the smell of delicious food. Sibilach sat at the end of a long oak table. Sawain had no idea where it came from and assumed magic was involved. The table was laden with plates of scrambled eggs, cured meats, and toasted bread. Everyone got up hastily and made for the table.
Sawain looked over the setup, impressed, “Sibilach, I’ve been meaning to ask you, how do you use magic without blood? I thought that the essence of magic was in the blood of the caster?”
Sibilach nodded, “That is true, in your world. I am not of your world, though. I am a being who was born on the Aetherial plane. Think of it like this: Your world is part of the Natural plane. Here, magic takes the form of lifeblood because it is used as a binding force that keeps everything in order. Where I am from, Magic runs free, unbound, and takes a more fluid physical form.”
Sawain nodded slowly, “Oh, I don’t understand.”
Sibilach sighed, “Let’s just say that I am made of pure magic. I don’t need to shed my blood because I am not made of Natural material like you or your friends are. I simply chose this form because I like it. I can actually change to any form I desire. It is one of the gifts of the Faeries.”
Sawain’s eyes widened, “So, this isn’t your true form? Can we see your true form?”
Sibilach cackled, “No, silly boy, because I do not have a true form. That is enough with the questions. It is time to eat.”
Mari piped up, “But, if you’re not physical, why do you eat people?”
Sibilach grinned, “Oh, I just do that for the fun of it. Even we Fae folk enjoy a good meal now and then.”
Everyone exchanged nervous glances. Naralei cleared her throat.
“So, what makes a Faerie different from something like a pixie or another Aetherial creature?”
Sibilach shrugged, “Awareness, I suppose. Enough banter. Eat now before I eat all of you! Ah ha ha ha!”
Everyone piled their own plates with meat and bread, while they showered Sibilach with words of gratitude. Banthan looked at the sausages in front of him warily.
“Umm, sorry, but… This is… animal meat, and not… elf, right?”
Sibilach cackled and slapped the table, “Rest easy, young one, I would not feed you elf meat. I like you, after all. You did save my house. Now, eat up! You have a long journey ahead of you!”
Everyone did as they were told. Each elf, half elf, and halfling present ate their fill and still left plenty on the table. Everyone lounged and chatted about diverse topics for the better part of an hour, while their meal settled. It reminded Sawain of the easier days, when he would sit around in Dawnstar Manor and listen to Axel’s wild stories of fighting monsters or exploring lost temples.
Sibilach rose from her seat. All eyes were on her as she surveyed her house guests. She motioned for everyone to arise. They all obliged, though it was harder to get up this time.
“It is almost time for you to depart from Alfhaven. It may be a long time before you see it again. Some of you may never return. The road you will travel is a difficult one that will take you over many types of terrain. You will need mounts that can handle anything. Come with me.”
She led them outside and around to the back of the house. The swamp here was more shallow. It was easier for Sibilach to clear them a path as she led them to a long shack with a thatched roof. She pulled open the rough wooden door and led them in.
It took Sawain’s eyes a moment to adjust to the lack of light, but he was amazed by what he saw when they did. There were seven stalls along the length of the far wall. The inside of each stall held a sleek reptilian creature that looked like a small, wingless dragon, though their heads were more like the head of a snake. They stood at about five feet tall and around ten feet long, though they were curled up like cats in their stalls. Their scales were the same color as the armor Sibilach gave the Outriders. They each had a mane of fine fur that ran from the back of their skulls to their shoulder blades. Each one’s mane was a different color, save for two of them. One was crimson, one was shimmering blue, one was dark green, two were white, one was golden and one was iridescent purple. They all perked up and tasted the air with their tongues. Sibilach ran a hand over the red mane’s small head spikes. It looked like it enjoyed the pet.
“These are swamp drakes. Specially bred by yours truly from the indigenous drakes and Fae drakes. Their faerie blood makes them much more intelligent and longer living as well. They are already quite tame. They’re a bit young still, but so are you, for the most part.”
Jatharr shifted uncomfortably under her playful gaze. Sibilach continued as she unlatched the gates that held the drakes.
“Head back out. The back yard should be well drained by now. It’s time for you to meet your new partners.”
The Ghosts obeyed and filed out into the yard. Sawain squinted u
ntil his eyes readjusted. A moment later, five of the drakes scurried out of the shed. Sawain noticed the other white mane and the blue mane were not present. He wondered if they were meant for Tobi or Loraleth and were now without masters.
Sibilach followed them out. She spread her arms and spoke in a high voice.
“Call to your drakes! Each set of armor is made from the scales of one of these drakes. They will come to their rightful master according to the scent of your armor!”
Sawain smiled at the amount of preparation that went into this ritual. He squatted down and made a beckoning motion with his hand.
“Umm, here, drake. Come here.”
Everyone else followed Sawain’s example and called out to the drakes. The drakes let their tongues flicker in the air and their heads rapidly tilted from side to side, like giant lizards. Sawain’s eyes locked with the round eye of the purple maned drake. It did not hesitate to run to him. It stopped short of him and let its tongue run over Sawain’s chest and shoulder. It nudged him with its nose after the confirmation taste. Sawain smiled and ran his hand over its smooth, scaly head. It felt softer than he expected. It closed its eyes and cooed like a bird as it cuddled with Sawain’s hand. He took note of the four small horns that sprouted behind the drake’s brow. They were slightly lighter than its black scales. Its bright green eyes darted from one of Sawain’s features to another. He could sense that it was smarter than the average animal.
Sawain was instantly attached. He glanced around and noticed that he was not the only one that had fallen for his new drake partner. Banthan ran his fingers through his drake’s white mane. Mari and Timbrel hugged the green mane. Jatharr tickled the crimson mane’s chin, which caused it to open its mouth happily and reveal rows of needle teeth. Naralei giggled as the gold mane ran its tongue across her cheek.
Sibilach smiled warmly at the drakes and their new comrades, “Take care of your drakes and they will take care of you. You are now bonded together. These drakes will do anything for you. Do not abuse them. Now, Take them into the stalls and saddle them up. I am going to prepare one last parting gift while you do.”
The Outriders led their new mounts into the stalls and found the saddles easily enough. They were cloth and leather with hardened plates of bone that served as armor for the drakes’ soft underbellies. There were also hooks for saddle bags and pouches sewn into the harnesses. It took them about fifteen minutes to equip all of the drakes with their saddles. The Ghosts of Alfhaven proudly rode their drakes out of the shed and into the yard, which was flooded swamp again. Sawain was pleased to see the drakes take to the swamp like it was natural.
They waded to the front of the house. Sibilach waited for them on the dock. Five satchels were set in a line along the edge. She folded her arms and smiled.
“Just look at you! You all look like true Outriders now. I packed you each a satchel of rations. Mari, yours has twice as much, for Timbrel. These should last long enough to get you back out to the fells at least. Just head west from here. The edge of the bog is a day’s swim from here. Be careful. There’s no telling what you will find beyond the forest, though I sense much evil in the direction of the fells. Expect more of those barbarians and, of course, undead. Stay vigilant, friends. Hammerhold’s fate rests upon your shoulders.”
Sawain smiled, though his nerves grew, “Thank you for all that you’ve done for us, Sibilach. We are in your debt.”
Sibilach laughed, “Don’t say that. You do not want to be debtor to a faerie. Have you not heard the stories? They are not all lies.”
The elven compatriots in the team laughed nervously. Each rider swam by and picked up his or her satchel of food. When they were all ready, they waved to Sibilach and said their farewells. Sibilach waved back as they disappeared into the treeline.
They were back in the darkness of the forest again. Their drakes wove expertly through the murky, tree filled depths of Bitterdeep Bog. Sawain did not like being so close to the ground, especially as night fell, hours into the trip. He pulled on his drake’s reigns.
“Let’s go up, Eldingbál. I’m not comfortable if I’m not in a tree.”
His drake nodded, then scurried up a nearby tree, which turned Sawain horizontal. He held on tight until he was vertical again. Banthan shot Sawain an odd glance as he followed suit with his drake.
“Eldingbál? Did you name your drake?”
Sawain shrugged, “It just came to me. I didn’t pick it, I just knew it. Don’t you know yours?”
Banthan gave him a skeptical look that faded into surprise, “I do, actually. It’s Huggan.”
Mari popped up in the tree beside Banthan, “Huggan? That’s a silly name! My drake has an awesome name! Songrandir!”
Sawain smiled, “That’s a befitting name.”
Mari shot a strange glance at him, “You mean you actually know what it means?”
Sawain nodded, “Sure, it means Song Spirit. It’s Ald Tang.”
Naralei appeared on Sawain’s other side, “You mean to tell us you know Ald Tang? Since when?”
Sawain shrugged, “Sibilach indirectly taught it to me, I guess. Long story. What’s your drake’s name, Nara?”
Nara stroked the gold mane’s head, “Authitmál. What’s it mean?”
Sawain’s blood ran cold. He tried to hide his shock. It translated to Fated Hour, which was an old doom-phrase. Sawain forced a smile.
“It means time of fate. I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds heroic.”
Jatharr emerged in the tree tops beside Naralei, “What about mine? Ohrædr?”
Sawain nodded approvingly, “It means unafraid, oh, and yours means Comfort, Banth.”
Banthan smiled and looked down at his drake, “Comfort… What about yours, Sawain? What does Eldingbál mean?”
Sawain rubbed his drake’s head affectionately, “It translates to Dawnfire. Pretty neat, right?”
Banthan snorted, “Of course the leader’s drake has a mysterious name like Dawnfire. I mean, how does that reflect you?”
Sawain shrugged as they darted from tree to tree, “I don’t know, but I like it.”
Jatharr laughed, “Of course ye do, lad.”
They moved quickly through the trees and stopped once at daybreak to eat and rest for a few hours. They did not waste time with breakfast when they woke up. Everyone was anxious to reach the edge of Alfhaven.
Banthan sighed, “Tobi would have been so ill if we told him we were moving without breakfast.”
The group fell silent. Sawain tightened Eldingbál’s harness as he tried to look unfazed by the mention of Tobi. His heart sank into the pit of his stomach.
I really miss you right now, Tobi.
Eldingbál nudged his hand and slipped his head under Sawain’s arm. He cooed softly. Sawain smiled. Somehow, it was like his drake sensed something wrong. He stroked Eldingbál’s scaly neck.
“Come on, It will be nightfall in a few hours. Let’s try to make it to the Jordborg border by then.”
Everyone nodded silently and finished breaking camp before any more unpleasant memories could be brought up.
The day moved on slowly as they moved from tree to tree. They had to move silently because they already stumbled once on a sleeping Eagle ape. Naralei assured them that it was not something they wanted to wake up.
They tread silently for two hours before the darkness of Alfhaven brightened again. The trees grew thinner and thinner, which allowed golden evening light in. The Outriders moved quicker now. The edge of the forest drew closer. The smell of smoke reached Sawain’s nostrils. He held up a hand to signify caution.
The others slowed down to a cautious creep. The drakes held onto the thinner branches with their grasping claws. Their weight began to be a problem in the smaller trees. Sawain signaled to head to the ground and everyone dropped. The ground here was still swampy, but not deep enough to swim in. The drakes waded along quietly. Sawain scanned the area ahead for movement. He gave another signal and the Ghosts fanned out.
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The smell of smoke grew stronger as they reached the tree line. They approached the edge of the forest quietly and synchronously. Sawain peered out and his stomach turned at what he saw.
The tree line they hid behind was actually a cut line. Row upon row of tree stump-covered hills stretched for as far as Sawain could see. Hundreds of tents dotted the ruined landscape, as well as dozens of bonfires. Once grand trees now lay on their sides, stripped of limbs and bundled together in groups of six or seven. There were several workers with axes that labored under the cold mid-Autumn sun. They hacked away at the fallen trees to remove limbs or dug up the massive stumps to throw onto the bonfires.
Sawain also noticed packs of the berserkers meandering on the backs of their Bjornhunds by the score. Several makeshift cabins were set up on the hilltops as well. A simple cobblestone wall about four feet tall stretched around the perimeter of the lumber camp.
Sawain grit his teeth as the rage churned in his stomach. He glanced at Naralei, who looked more distressed than he felt. She looked at him with tear-filled, angry eyes.
Sawain’s face was grim as he signed back.
END OF BOOK TWO
Table of Contents
HAMMERHOLD TALES:GHOSTS OF ALFHAVENLOGAN PETTYILLUSTRATED BY IRIS GRIFFIN Copyright © 2014
Additional Works in the Hammerhold Tales series:
Thanks to Michael and Alex for supporting
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
