Dragonhammer: Volume I

by Conner McCall

  Though we have little training, we fight for our homes. It makes us strong, and we fight harder and stronger than they. The small group of bandits tries to overcome our makeshift army, but they have little luck.

  I get into a sword dance with one of the bandits. Then there is an opening, and I take it. I don’t realize what has happened until he is already dead.

  I’m disgusted with myself. Then a voice inside me says, If you hadn’t, it would be you on the ground.

  Then the horn blows. Father looks in unbelief to the north, where the tower stands on the mountainside. “Four blows…” he says.

  He looks back towards the approaching bandits and says, “This is no bandit raid. There is an army upon us.” He looks about frantically for a moment, and then yells, “STAND STRONG, MEN! STAND!” The men look about in fear. Then he faces me. “Kadmus,” he says. “My son. Go, get your mother and brothers, and make for Terrace.”

  “What?”

  “Go!”

  “Not without you.”

  “Son, my place is here to protect you and our family. Get them to safety! Go now!” then he turns to talk to Leon, Bownan, and Jericho, I’m assuming to say the same thing. They run off in different directions.

  I run. Everyone who crosses my path, I tell them what my father told me. Get your women and children and get out. The town is lost.

  When I open the trapdoor in my home, Nathaniel about stabs me. I almost reprimand him, but instead say, “There is an army upon us. We have to leave. Now.”

  I help everyone out of the cellar and all of us get what we need. Mother takes some persuasion because she refuses to leave Father.

  “He said that his place is there to protect his family,” I retaliate. “He gave me the job to get you to safety. So that is what I am doing.”

  In minutes, we are headed out the door and on the road to Terrace. Once safely out of the town, I tell them to keep going. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t stop for anything. You can’t let them catch you.”

  Our family wasn’t the only one who had that idea. There are a few families fleeing the town, made possible only because the fathers are standing in the way of the encroaching army.

  I run past them all. I will not leave without my father.

  I follow the sound of fighting and make my way to the center of the brawl. Sure enough, there stands my father swinging his sword, along with the others.

  “Are they safe?” he says.

  “Yes.”

  “Good! Are other families making it out?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “Only about thirty.”

  He nods. “They will not kill all civilians. If they stay in their homes they will be safe.”

  “If we leave will they follow us?”

  “Most likely not out of the city. This army was not meant for us, however. It is meant for Terrace.”

  “Then they will follow.”

  “Yes. They will march on Terrace.” He turns and kills another soldier before yelling, “RETREAT! RETREAT! WE MAKE FOR TERRACE!”

  “Some of the families have not had time!” I reason. “What will befall them?”

  He answers, “Tygnar will not kill them all. They will need to keep workers for the farms and fields. Whether they run or not is their choice.”

  The men turn and run. Their numbers have been cut drastically. For many families, this will have been the last time they have seen their father.

  “What can we do?” I ask. “There must be something!”

  My father shakes his head. “Live to fight another day, my son.”

  The army does not follow us. We bought enough time to get most of the families out. Not all, however, will get to see the next dawn.

  We catch up with our families quickly. My father, as well as a few of the others, tallies the living. The numbers are excruciating. I find Percival and Darius with their family, a little beaten up, but okay. James and his sister Jessica are fine as well. Jericho has a bandage wrapped around his left arm and another wrapped tightly around his head, covering his right eye. He sits in the back of a cart pulled by an ox. Frederick has fled with us, though the soldiers are likely too superstitious to kill any of the priests or desecrate the temple.

  The dawn is blood red. Streaks of scarlet stream across the sky and pool together in large clouds. Most of the sounds are simply wails of the mourning.

  The guards of Terrace appear more than slightly alarmed when they see most of the population of Virfith on their doorstep. The commanding authority quickly makes himself present and commands the doors open the second he sees the multitude beneath him. Then he exchanges some words with the guards and disappears.

  Families trail into the city, congregating in the large space behind the front gate. Guards block the streets. The officer reappears on top of the gate and asks to speak to our leader. When no one else does, my Father steps forward.

  “Why have you come?” asks the officer.

  “We were attacked,” Father says blankly. “Tygnar from the east. We come seeking refuge and to provide warning. The army they brought was not for Virfith; it’s to mount an attack on Terrace and destroy Gilgal.”

  The officer nods and says, “Where is Captain Ruger?”

  “He did not return.”

  He nods again and says, “Keep the people here. I will return.” Then he sets off at a quick pace and out of sight.

  “Will we stay with Gunther?” Ethan asks.

  My father does not respond, so I shrug.

  An uncomfortable hubbub overtakes the crowd. Residents of Terrace are gathering on the other side of the wall of guards, just to see what’s going on.

  After what must have been an hour, the officer returns and stands in his spot on the wall. Then he says, “By order of Lord Jarl Hralfar, all able men of Gilgal at least of age fifteen are to report to Nringnar’s deep.” The hubbub gets louder. “Tygnar is upon us and we must defend ourselves. Bring only what you need. You will be expected to be there within the hour.” This time he stays on the wall and issues orders to a few of the guards.

  Nobody moves. The officer notices this and says, “Those who do not comply will be taken forcefully.” He gestures to the wall of guards. “If you do not protect yourselves, then who will?” Then he disappears for the last time.

  My mother is in shock. Every member of my family is looking at her, but for Nicholas, who is staring wide-eyed at my father. Then she moves and embraces Father.

  “You know I have to,” he says.

  She only sobs into his shoulder.

  There’s a similar experience that Nathaniel and I both get. She tells us how much she loves us and many tears are shed. Just about every family in the city must be having a comparable experience.

  Nathaniel and I each embrace Ethan and Nicholas. Father just picks up the latter and squeezes him. “Take care of your mother,” I hear him whisper. Nicholas nods.

  Mother and Father embrace one last time before we leave. Guards are starting to mingle with the crowd to get things moving. My father’s beard quivers as she says, “I love you, Kadmus.”

  Trails of men make their way to the Keep at the back of the city. By now it’s about midday, but I have no appetite. The Keep is lit well during this time of day, though short shadows are beginning to lengthen and make the Keep seem dark and foreboding.

  Guards stand on either side of the gates, which are about twice my height and as wide as the road. We enter with the stream of people. I can’t help but wonder where Gunther is.

  The entrance hall is plain. There are short narrow windows higher up, almost at the vaulted ceiling over twenty feet high. Tables sit perpendicular to the walls lined with torches, leaving a wide aisle down the middle of the hall. A balcony lines the walls about ten feet up, with doors leading onto the outer walls and into the next room.

  The mob pushes through into a huge circular room that acts as an intersection for just about every hallway in the Keep. The room has t
wo stories; the second is a balcony that encompasses the entire circumference of the room. Arched doorways lead from the balcony deeper into the Keep in every compass direction. The lower floor mirrors the pattern. Every room is constructed of stone.

  The mob stops here.

  “I wonder if men from Terrace are here as well,” Nathaniel thinks aloud, “And not just men from Virfith.”

  I nod replying, “I would be shocked if there weren’t.” Father stares straight ahead.

  “Then where’s Gunther…?”

  Eventually guards come out and line the second story balcony. Three officers stride out of the largest arch at the farthest end of the room, positioning themselves on the balcony. The one on the right speaks, “All behold Lord Jarl Hralfar, ruler of Gilgal!”

  A figure enters. He’s tall, wearing a cape with large fur shoulders that make him look broader. He wears a steel polished breastplate and gauntlets, with leather boots. His shoulder-length hair is light brown; his short well-groomed beard matches. He has a solemn wrinkled face with a flat hawk-beak nose. A sword of some sort hangs from his waist, on his left side.

  “Men of Gilgal,” he starts. His voice is richly baritone, but the sheer volume forces a somewhat scratchy tone. “Our land is at stake. Our lives. Our families. Our freedom. All at stake.” He pauses. The room is deathly silent. “Terrace, this thriving city, must stand. There is no other option. Tygnar will be upon us within a matter of days or hours. You are the wall that will keep them out.

  “Not all of you are soldiers, I know. Some of you have done your time before. The time has come once again to raise the sword against our enemy to protect our wives and homes! Not all of you will survive. But may you die knowing you die for the freedom of your brethren, wives, and children. Thus in death or in life, you will be victorious.” He glances around the room.

  “Weapons and armor are available in the armories. One to the left and one to the right. All men of Virfith, to the right,” he points to our right, “and all men of Terrace to the left.” He gestures appropriately. “Be quick; we need to get everyone suited. Disperse.”

  With that, the men split into two groups and make their way down the appropriate halls. It takes a bit of time to wait in the line, but once at the head, I see why. A guard studies my height and build and says, “You’ll be difficult to fit.” Another guard is saying something similar to my father.

  The chainmail shirt fits. It’s not as loose as it’s supposed to be, but it works. Then he helps me slip on a leather jerkin banded with strips of iron. Simple shoulder guards sit snugly on my shoulders. If anything, I only find the helmet slightly annoying. It restricts my hearing and vision, and feels funny.

  Then the guard takes me to a different part of the armory, where racks of weapons line the room. “Favorite weapon?” he says.

  I shake my head.

  “Well, which one do you have the most experience with?” I stare blankly into the room, shrugging slightly. “Be quick,” he says, escorting me to a particular rack. “A sword will do.” I’m about to grab a random pick when something else catches my eye. It’s a dull thing in the back, but I am drawn to it.

  “This is it,” I say.

  “A warhammer?” questions the guard.

  “All my life, I’ve been swinging a hammer. The only difference is the size. And instead of an anvil, I’m swinging at a…” My voice fades.

  He nods. “Give it a try before you take it-”

  I’ve already picked it up and am testing it out. The head is a big simple iron bar, with a blunt end and a spike end. I heft it and say, “This is it.”

  The guard nods, eyeing my left hand where my two fingers are missing. “Okay.”

  Nathaniel comes in and says, “Whoa that thing’s a beast.”

  “It’s the one I’m going to use,” I say coldly.

  Nathaniel looks among the remaining hammers and comes out with one similar to mine, but with a shorter handle and a smaller head. “Not as big,” he says, “But I’m not as strong as you.”

  “It’s okay. Don’t try to lift more than you can.”

  We join my father, who was waiting just outside the armory. He only needed armor, as he possesses his own claymore. He looks approvingly at my choice of weaponry. When he sees that Nathaniel has the same thing, he raises an eyebrow.

  “It’s alright, father,” he says. “I can use it.”

  Father’s expression softens, but he doesn’t say a word.

  Leon finds us and says simply, “I never thought I’d find myself here. I’m meant to butcher cows, not…” He leaves his statement unfinished, looking grimly at his longsword.

  Percival holds a sword and circular shield, which hangs loosely from his left hand. He has sheathed his sword. His father holds similar items.

  Percival eyes my hammer. “Interesting choice,” he says.

  “I like it,” interjects James, who is also carrying a sword and shield. “It’s just a little heavy for me.” For the first time James has nothing more to say.

  Jericho appears only a moment later. He’s still bandaged around the head, but carries a shield and one-handed axe.

  “You’re fighting?” I ask.

  “Not planning on it,” he says simply. “But I feel okay. If I have to I will. My wounds were minor; just a cut on the arm and the right side of my head. They’re healing quickly. If they don’t attack for another day or two, I should be able to fight.”

  I nod, unsure if I should be excited or afraid for him.

  “We need to have each others’ backs,” suggests James. “Us five. We need to stick together. Watch out for each other.”

  Percival responds, “Agreed.”

  “Once I get in there,” chuckles Jericho.

  They look to me for my response. “With my life,” I say. Each of our fathers stands silently behind us, listening. They are grim and look to the floor contemplatively.

  Then my father says, “And we’ll be right there with you.” He gives me a small smile.

  The room begins to go quiet. As we turn around, we see why.

  Lord Jarl Hralfar is walking down the middle of the room. When he reaches the center, he stops. He looks around for a moment, waiting for silence. Then he begins.

  “Men of Virfith. You know better than most of us the hostility Tygnar will bring. It is to them that you lost your homes. I cannot promise you that you will ever see them again. But what I can promise is that you can bring upon them the same fate. Each of you will have sections of the wall or city designated to you. The men of Terrace will garrison the South Fort, as you will garrison the North Fort.”

  “Where’s that?” whispers Nathaniel.

  “In the city, like a tiny version of the Keep,” I whisper back. James elbows me.

  “Some of you will be assigned to the wall, above the gate. Some will stand below, to brace and hold the gate. The men of Terrace will stand with you. The Clifftowers will be manned with the best archers from both groups. Who among you is skilled with a bow or crossbow?”

  There are some slow hands that rise. Nathaniel is hesitant. Father rests his hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder, and when Nathaniel looks to him, Father only nods. Then my brother’s hand rises.

  The Jarl continues, “Archers meet in the room to the right. All of those who are above the age of fifty, or below sixteen, will go to the left. All else, remain here. Go.”

  Father and I each say a farewell to Nathaniel, who follows the smaller crowd of archers into the next room. A more elderly group makes their way through the door on the opposite side. Our numbers have been cut by over a third.

  The Jarl waits for the doors to close. Then he speaks again.

  “You are the mighty of men,” he states simply. “The strong. Tygnar’s men will show you no mercy. They are here to take from you your lives and homes. So you must show to them no mercy. You will be stationed at the gate. Fight well.” Just before he turns to leave, his eyes flick to me. For just a moment, he is staring into my being. Fight
well, he is saying. Then he turns and leaves.

  A guard stands where the Jarl had been. His words are short. “Go and get some rest,” he says. “The bunkrooms are located on the right through the main hall. The sound of the horn will signal the need for you at your posts. Until that time the armories and training grounds will remain open and manned. Attack is imminent. Be ready.”

  Later, all of us stand in one of the bunkrooms. I see Frederick, but he is uneasy and solemn. We had managed to find Nathaniel in the midst of the makeshift army. Some of the officials had brought around food rations because evening was quickly becoming night. I sit on my bunk, thinking.

  “What are you thinking about?” asks Percival, sitting next to me.

  I wait a moment before I answer. “I’m thinking about seeing the world, Percival. Will I – or you – live the week through, and even if we do, will we be able to see beyond these mountains?”

  He nods. “I can’t answer that, Kadmus. I can just hope. I won’t let myself die. I’ve got the rest of my life ahead of me, and so do you. But I have a feeling that if we survive this war, we’ll get to see much more than merely beyond the mountains.”

  The night is rough.

  Guards wake us early. We are rationed breakfast and then given the freedom to do what we will, given that we stay within the Keep. The Jarl wants to keep us on task with the war on mind, instead of meeting some pretty girl in the city. We can’t afford the distraction.

  Nathaniel goes to the archery range. My father, as well as James, Jericho, and their fathers, practice combat in the training grounds, which sit on the flat roof of the Keep. Percival and I join them for the morning. Percival proves himself with a sword and shield. James, having decided that he feels well enough, has done well with his weapon of choice. Jericho at least proves capable. I, however, have a difficult time with the concept of battle.

  Something about the footwork, swinging, and crushing doesn’t quite come together in my head. By lunchtime, I get frustrated and leave the grounds. Percival follows.

  We eat lunch almost silently. Percival doesn’t speak until afterwards, when he asks, “Would you like to go back and try again?”