Dragonhammer: Volume I

by Conner McCall

“Am I alone then?” I ask. The soldiers close by look away as I turn to stare them down.

  Frederick says, “I fear for your life, Kadmus. Your actions are your own, however. You may choose to do as you will.”

  Percival winces as he tries to stand. His father grasps Percival’s shoulder and says something quietly. Percival ceases his attempts to stand and says, “If I could, I would gladly stand behind you.”

  “Thank you Percival,” I say quietly.

  “When will you go?”

  “What time is it?” I respond.

  “An hour or two after dawn,” says a soldier. “We’re probably going to get moving soon. We’re not out of the fire yet.”

  “Not ‘til night, then,” I say, answering Percival’s question. “Their soldiers will most likely clean up most of the mess this morning and then sleep all afternoon and night. We could use some rest ourselves.”

  Percival and his father Darius are discussing something, though it’s pretty obvious what about. Percival is upset and begins to speak louder. Finally the conversation comes to an end and Percival says to me, “I cannot come with you. But I will be here, waiting for you.” He stands with the help of his father and rests his hand on my shoulder, though I am several inches taller than he. “I have faith in you. I will not leave until you return.”

  Shortly after, the captains gather the horde of survivors and start off down the mountain path.

  Jericho’s words bring me hope: “I have to go, to stay with those who can help me recover. I know you’ll do it. Every step of the way, I’m behind you.”

  “I’ll see you again,” James had said. “You and your father.”

  Frederick only said, “I have faith in you, Kadmus.”

  Now I stand watching them from the crumbled gate of the old fort. It will take them at least three or four days to travel the length of the path to even get out of the mountains, and then another four to get to Kera once they are on the main road. I hope to catch them in a day or two.

  Percival stands with me, as does his father. Both are slightly irritable, but say nothing. They go back down into the fort after only a few minutes, but I stay and watch until the lines of men disappear around the mountainous bend.

  Tall pine trees decorate the small pass that leads to the front of the fort. Fallen rocks, that on closer inspection appear to be ancient carved columns, lie about the bases of the trees. The front archway is intact, as is the front wall, but the gate has long since rotted away. The hinges still hang on the sides, rusted and orange.

  The fort sits nestled in a horseshoe-shaped ring of rocky cliffs, the front gate pointing out of it. Remnants of towers stand like they’re trying to prove they still have some strength. The fort has a side door that leads through a small pass to the left, hidden from the front. I don’t know where it leads, but guess that it probably eventually ends up at some city or another at the other edge of the mountains.

  To pass the day, when I cannot sleep, I explore the fort. It’s not very large, so it takes only a few minutes. The entryway is wide, with five other arches leading into other parts of the fort: two on each side, and one on the far wall. At one time they must have been intricate, but now are worn and it is difficult to make out what the carvings are supposed to be.

  The closest of the arches, on each side, each lead up a flight of stairs and onto the second landing, where most of the damage has been done. Here the walls and ceiling are crumbling; there are gaping holes, some of them large enough for a troll to fit through. An old spiral staircase leads to an open landing that I figure probably had a roof many years ago. The same structure sits on the other side of the second floor, but half of the tower is in ruins on the ground below and the stairs are not navigable.

  Plants have crept up the sides of the structure and moss grows on some of the stones, making some of the bricks slightly green.

  I follow the second arch on the right of the main hall, which leads down into the room we came into from the waste passages of the Keep. The ancient heavy door sits quietly on the wall, almost foreboding. Through the other arch in the same room, I find a storage room full of barrels and crates of all kinds. Almost all are empty, and those that aren’t smell of mold, so I leave them closed.

  In this room I find myself on the other side of the metal grate that leads into the waste passages. The water runs in a stone trench along the side of the room and through another grate on the wall, but this one lets outside, to the right of the fort if you’re looking at it from the front. The bubbling sound is almost natural. The whole scene creates a sort of artificial stream that flows out from under the fort and forges its way down the mountain.

  There’s one room that I assume must have been an armory, from the racks that line the walls and the assortment of weapons on the ground. Grass is starting to take over this part of the fort, as dirt has been eroding in through the open roof over the years. Somehow a small pine has taken root and sticks up through the hole in the stone ceiling, into the daylight.

  On the opposite side of the room sits an odd structure of stone: a half-circle about waist-high jutting out from the wall. The grass growing inside the structure is incredibly green. An old wooden beam stands to the roof, supporting a small iron wheel. What looks like a pile of small wooden planks lies behind the beam, next to the stone semicircle.

  I crouch down to pick up a peculiar object. As I lift, it uncurls and dirt falls from its form like water from a cliff. I am holding a very old rope.

  Another large rock catches my eye, but the reason I am drawn to it is that it is not a rock. It’s an anvil. This find proves my guess that this was once a forge.

  I pick up a hammer that hangs on one of the racks. It’s a small one, the kind I’m used to. The kind I’d bend metal with instead of bones.

  The way the hammer fits into my hand is comforting. Nostalgia fills my breast, even though I was holding one almost identical only a week earlier. It’s hard to believe that Nathaniel and I had gone hunting a few days ago, and now we are fighting and running for our lives in the midst of the Wolfpack Mountains.

  As I study the ancient forge, I am reminded of my father. It’s such an old livelihood; one that has passed down through my father to me. The forge represents to me all that I have learned, all that I have yet to learn, and all the legacies of my father. My father who still lives and breathes somewhere inside Nringnar’s Deep.

  Wrath boils through me and images of violence and chaos overtake my mind. Who does he think he is? Thinks he can kill whoever he wants, take whatever he wants, and get no consequences?! I’ll show him… I’ll give him the worst consequence he’s ever seen. Forever afterward my enemies will hear my name and flee, and none will ever reside in the hands of such darkness again!

  As my thoughts rage, my hands ball into tight fists and my knuckles turn white. My teeth clench and my jaw tightens. My heart quickens and my blood boils until the hammer hits the anvil with such force that the old wooden handle shatters and the head of the hammer flies dangerously close to my shoulder. A loud clang bursts over the mountainside.

  Then I calm.

  Only after this am I able to find sleep in the bedroll Gunther so generously offered me.

  Percival wakes me as the sun is setting. “You didn’t show any sign of waking, so I thought I’d help you along,” he says.

  “Thank you,” I say quietly. “I just hope I’m not too late already.”

  “What do you mean?” asks Percival.

  “He never said when he was going to kill the Jarl. It was going to be public, but he didn’t give a time. I just hope it wasn’t today.”

  “Who is ‘he’?”

  I think and respond, “I don’t know. A commander of some sort of the Tygnar army. I never heard his name.”

  I eat something quickly and then say, “Well, I’d best be gone. Do you know where the dungeons are?”

  Percival shakes his head, but Darius says, “Under the right wing of the Keep, I believe. I’m not sure exactly where
.”

  “Thanks,” I say, though it was little help. I glance at Percival and say, “I’ll see you later, then.”

  “I’ll be here, Kadmus. I won’t leave without you. I know you will succeed.”

  Percival’s faith in me lifts me. It’s the doubt I have in myself that sows my failure.

  Jailbreak

  It’s easy to find my way back through the waste passages. I merely follow the flow of water backwards, up the small incline. Soon I come upon the metal grates, and I let myself inside the Keep.

  The grates are loud as they open and shut. Thankfully there’s nobody down here to hear it.

  As I proved while out hunting, I’m not the stealthiest of all men. Fortunately there aren’t many guards, and I don’t encounter any until I get to the level below the circular room. Then there’s only one, but he’s asleep on the floor, leaning against the wall.

  Darius had said that the dungeons are under the right wing but first I decide I will need a few weapons. The armory just above the dungeons will be my first stop, so I must go up and through the circular entrance hall, and then down another hall.

  People are talking in the circular hall. I don’t have the courage to even peek around the corner, so I stand very still in the shadow just inside the arch.

  “Hralfar would be happy to know that his Keep is so nice and clean again,” says the first voice. I recognize it as the Tygnar commander. “Pity to see so many bodies spoiling it.”

  “Why don’t I let him know?” says the second voice. “And that the trolls have been well fed?”

  “Let me tell him before I take his life,” says the commander. I breathe a sigh of relief. Hralfar is alive. “My uncle will be proud of me.”

  “Lord Tyrannus, I’m sure your uncle will have the utmost respect for you when you deliver to him one of the strongest keeps of Gilgal.”

  “As well as the head of its keeper.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  They continue to talk about where and when such a thing will occur. The voices are moving, however, and it’s their positions I pay attention to and not their words.

  They are walking down through one of the far tunnels. Slowly their words fade into the hall and begin to disappear. Then I peek out of the hall.

  I make it quick, so as not to show myself. I only need to see where the guards are so I can plan accordingly.

  One stands on each side of the main gate, which is open and under repairs. The portcullis is in place. Each guard has a sword sheathed at their side and holds a torch lazily, leaning on the wall. Another patrols the balcony on the second level. I will need either to find an amazing distraction or another way around. I opt for the second.

  The Keep is deathly quiet. Torches flicker at intervals along the dark hallways, but their dull sound is dim and barely audible, if that. The few guards who patrol the halls are easily avoided. Tygnar obviously wasn’t expecting any kind of counterattack or prison break.

  I do eventually make it up to the armory, but it takes me a little longer than I would have liked. A guard stands just outside the armory door, but he’s the only one in the hallway. This is my chance.

  I’m standing in a side archway about twenty feet down the hall from the guard. I hear him sigh and he says something inaudible. Then I shuffle my boots loudly on the ground.

  “Hm?” he starts. “What?”

  I do it again.

  “Who’s there?” His sword unsheathes almost soundlessly as he advances. Quickly I duck to the shadowy sides. The guard looks down the empty flickering hall for a moment and then says, “Must have been a rat.” When he turns around, I jump out and slam the hilt of one of my daggers into the back of his head.

  He grunts and falls to the ground unconscious, much louder than I had thought it would be. In a panic I pick him up and drag him into the armory, where I take his armor and don it. It’s not until this point that I think that my height might give me away, but I shake off the feelings of doubt and hope that no one will question. I hide the guard in the back, behind a row of tall shields.

  The armor is heavier than mine, but it’s a better quality. The helm has an immovable facemask and some sort of crest on top. I take his sword, having left my hammer back at the old fort. I had originally come to the armory for such a disguise, but taking it from a guard works too.

  Now to find the dungeons.

  I start down the hall from which I had come, going down a flight of stairs and into another hall. “Evening,” says one of the other guards as we pass. I just salute. He double takes, but doesn’t question.

  I take a turn to go deeper into the right wing of the Keep. Then I turn around a corner and find a couple of guards sitting at a table in a square room. They appear to be drinking and playing a game of dice. My presence alerts them, but they don’t stand.

  “What’s your purpose here?” asks one.

  “The prisoners,” I say, advancing to the table.

  “What about them?”

  My response is simply to slam their heads together. They go unconscious and lie limp on the table. One of them spills his tankard of ale, making it appear as though they both got drunk and fell to sleep.

  I continue through the door on the right, and into a long hallway. Doors sit about every five feet, made of iron bars. The walls too are made of iron bars so I can see everything going on in every cell; each one holds three or four men. A stone pillar stands with every door, separating the cells. Torches hang on the pillars. The pattern is repeated on the other side.

  I look over as one of the many prisoners says, “What’d you come back for?! Beating him once wasn’t enough?!” I stare at him and notice another prisoner lying on the ground, bruised. I ignore him and walk down the hall.

  Everyone glares at me as I stride down the hall quickly. All but one, who sits on the bench in his cell looking down at the ground.

  “Father,” I say quietly.

  He looks up. “What devilry is this?”

  I come to the bars, but one of the other men grabs me through them. Brutally I shake him off, almost twisting and breaking his arm in the bars. “Leave him be!” says the man.

  Once again, I ignore him. “Father, it’s me!” I take off the helmet and tuck it under my arm.

  He runs to the bars, his beard quivering. “Kadmus! Why- why have you come?!”

  “To get you out!”

  “I’d object, but you’re already here! Get about it, quick!”

  I take the ring of keys that the captain had given me and try the keys until one fits and turns. The prisoners run out into the hallway, and my father embraces me. “I’ve never been so happy to see you.”

  “The same to you,” I say.

  I unlock every cell in the hallway, releasing all of the imprisoned soldiers, though there cannot be more than fifty. Bownan claps me on the back as he leaps from his cell. Afterward I unlock the room in which all of their possessions have been stored, and every man runs in to grab his weapons and armor. I do not see Jarl Hralfar in the small crowd, however.

  “Is there a lower cell block?” I ask. “Does anyone know where the Jarl is being kept?”

  There are a few “no’s” and my father shakes his head. “We don’t,” he says.

  I shrug through the crowd of men that has filled the hallway and get to the other side, where sit the unconscious guards.

  “Their replacements will be here soon,” I say. “We have to get out before they’re here.”

  “Which way?” asks Bownan.

  “You will go forward, turn right, and head down the staircase. From there you should know the way. Get out through the waste tunnels.”

  “Are you not coming?” he asks.

  “I have to find the Jarl,” I answer.

  We hear footsteps in the hallway. “Who’s there?” says a voice. We freeze. Two guards run into the room and are quickly subdued, but not before making a little bit of a ruckus.

  “We have to go,” I say. “Is there anyone willing to come with
me to find the Jarl? Who best knows the passages of the Keep?”

  A few men step forward. One of them says, “I know where the lower dungeons are. If the Jarl is anywhere, it’s probably there.”

  “Good. Everyone else, follow Bownan and get out.”

  Bownan nods. “Haste my brother,” he says. Then he leaves into the hall, followed by almost the whole horde. A select few stay with me, including my father.

  “Names?” I ask.

  “Landon.”

  “George.”

  “Spencer.”

  The last to speak is the one who claims to know the workings of the Keep. “Leif,” he says, holding one of the guards’ swords.

  “Kadmus,” I introduce. “Lead us, Leif. You’re our best bet now.”

  The soldier leads us down a hall and to the staircase, where we travel down two flights. The walls become carved stone, as opposed to stone bricks.

  “What the-” a guard starts, but he never gets any farther.

  We hear the roaring of trolls.

  “Oh good,” says Spencer. “Just what we need.”

  “It’s okay,” says Leif. “They’re probably stored down here so they don’t eat all of the townspeople. Just as long as we stay out of sight.”

  We continue down the hall quietly.

  “Here,” says Leif, ushering us into a small square room. Then he leads us down the adjacent hallway, which is constructed much the same as the above cell blocks, but the doors are thick, each with one tiny horizontal slit for a window. The walls are made of carved stone.

  We peek in every cell, calling to the Jarl every time, but are unable to find him. The hallway lets us into another room, but here we all stop dead in our tracks.

  A troll sleeps soundly in the middle of the circular room, lying on his stomach. We might have slit his throat if it was visible, but unfortunately the position he liked made it quite impossible. None of us wanted to chance that a single stab was going to kill him, and even if it did it was going to be loud and somewhat messy.

  We skirt around the edge of the room, hardly breathing. It snores loudly and wetly. A large tunnel, I’m assuming just for the purpose of getting the troll in, leads to another part of the Keep at an upward slant. It is closed with a portcullis.