Dragonhammer: Volume I

by Conner McCall

  “I am,” he replies softly. “It is the way of all the world.” I merely continue my whimpering. “I have only one request of you…” he says.

  “What?” I whisper; if I talk any louder, I know my voice will crack and I will begin to sob.

  He takes a deep breath and says, “Take care of your mother.” Then he smiles. His chest rises. Then it sags and his eyes close serenely. As his hand goes limp in mine, I hold on, as if holding will somehow tie him to me and prevent his passing. A single tear runs down the side of his aged face and into his beard.

  Thus was the life and death of Kadmus Armstrong Senior.

  The Way of all the World

  “Wait a little longer,” he says, holding me back. “There. See that color? That’s what you want.” My father pulls the iron bar from the fire and places it on the anvil as I nod. Orange and red sparks shoot from the bar as he hammers it. “See how my strokes hit it, Kadmus?” he questions. “I’m not just hitting a piece of metal.”

  “Yes you are,” I argue. “That’s what forging is.” My small childish brain has yet to wrap itself around the entirety of my father’s work.

  “That may be,” replies my father with a smile. “But it becomes more than just hitting a piece of metal.”

  “What do you mean?” My voice is small, especially when compared to my father’s.

  He pauses for a moment before responding, “I am shaping something, Kadmus. I am using only my strength and skill to turn simple iron blocks into something that others will use. Something with shape, color, sharpness, dullness, whatever I want because I am its creator.”

  “By hitting a piece of metal.”

  He chuckles. “Yes, by hitting piece of metal. Here, you give it a try.”

  I am walking. Our procession is slow. Memories flood my mind and threaten to overtake my will. I cannot let them. If I do, I will collapse into the road and die of grief.

  Our destination is a barrow in the Vale of Life. I, Bownan, and my two brothers carry the wooden casket in which my father lies, with his broadsword strapped on the top. The journey is about a day and a half, which gives me plenty of time to grieve and ruminate.

  The hour after my father left this life, I walked back up the steps to Stormguard. The guards let me in without questions. From memory I find my way back to the room where Hralfar and Kjunn had been counseling. They both had greeted me in a surprised fashion, though Kjunn seemed annoyed.

  “My father has died,” I had said.

  “I am sorry,” said Hralfar quietly.

  “My condolences,” Kjunn said. “I am sorry I could not help.”

  “I came for two things,” I continued, without waiting for either of them to ask. I almost told them that condolences were definitely not the reason I came, but did not want to offend them.

  I trip over a stone sticking up out of the road, almost losing my footing and falling underneath the weight of the casket.

  “You okay?” says Bownan.

  I shake my head, but continue walking. If I say anything tears will come out instead of words.

  I am not hurt at all physically. My entire emotional structure has just collapsed, and I don’t see rebuilding it a possibility in the near future.

  How will I tell Mother? I wonder. And Ethan and Nicholas? They are expecting us to return, but he will not. How can we anyway? They’re still in Terrace…

  “What?” Hralfar had said.

  “First of all,” I said, “I came to make a request.”

  “What is that request?” the Jarl pushed. Kjunn was silent, irritated that I have interrupted his meeting.

  “My home is taken by the enemy. Even if we could go back, it would take us more than a week to get back, and by then the body-” my voice cracks and I look down.

  “I get it,” the Jarl had said sensitively. “You can’t go back.” He waited a moment and pressed, “Your request?”

  “You’re the Lord Jarl,” I had pointed out. “You must own some land or have claim to most of it.”

  “Not personally,” he said. “But I can reserve land to use for specific purposes. What do you need?”

  “I came to request land for a barrow,” I had said. “It doesn’t have to be lined with gold or studded with jewels. I merely want a barrow of wood and stone in which I can bury my father.”

  The Jarl nodded. “Did you have a specific place in mind?”

  “Actually, I do,” I said. “The Vale of Life.”

  The Jarl nodded again. “I can help you with that.”

  Our procession holds all of those that knew Kadmus Armstrong Senior. My friends are there for my support, namely Percival, Jericho, and James, who has shown considerable improvement. His arm is held in place by iron bars tied tightly to his skin and a tight sling around his neck. It’s apparently working because he shows little signs of pain.

  Each of their fathers accompanies us, as do Frederick and Leon. Several more of my father’s friends have joined us. Lord Jarl Hralfar leads the small procession.

  Throughout the day there are few words traded. We simply walk, wearing our black tunics.

  “You can?” I had asked the Jarl, slightly surprised.

  “Of course. I can spare a few men to build a small barrow.”

  “Thank you. When can they start?”

  “I’ll probably send them tomorrow morning. Is that when you’re doing the burial service?”

  “Yes.”

  “It will take you a day or two to get there. I’ll see how fast I can get them to build it. What was your second request?”

  Before we reach Dragongate Bridge, Jarl Hralfar turns our company onto a side dirt path to the left. No one argues.

  Pine trees are plentiful, but I do not find their scent or the sound of the river comforting. There is a gaping hole in my heart that refuses to be filled.

  We spend the night only a little ways down the path, at the base of the mountains. I can hardly sleep.

  The next morning we start up the incline of the mountains. It’s a hard hike, and I wonder why we’re putting so much effort into going up the mountain when the Jarl said he’d get a barrow built in the Vale. Still, I say nothing.

  Soon we come up above the trees. A steep cliff drops to our right, and a tall ridge rises to our left, splattered with pine trees. Now that our sight is not restricted, we have a fantastical view of the entire vale. The trees are a deep dark green and the waterfall is vibrant blue like the sky. I see no beauty.

  My father holds my shoulder as I hit the metal feebly.

  “Stronger. Don’t be afraid, Kadmus.”

  I try to hit it harder, but sparks hardly shave off of the hot iron. “It’s not working!” I complain.

  My father sticks it back in the fire and squats next to me so his eyes are level with mine. “Kadmus?” I look into his deep friendly eyes. “What do you want?”

  I’m confused by his question. “What?”

  “What do you want?” he repeats.

  “I want to be a good blacksmith like you.”

  “So how do you want to do that?”

  “Uh…” I think for a moment. “The same way you did.”

  “And what do you think that is?”

  I think for another moment and give him an exaggerated shrug.

  “I became a good blacksmith because I worked at it. I worked and worked in the forge until my steel was the best.”

  “So I need to work?”

  “Exactly. You won’t be a good blacksmith overnight, Kadmus. It will take some time. And you’ll have to pound that hammer extra hard.” He smiles at me. “Do you want to try again?”

  “Yes, father.”

  The memory brings tears to my eyes, but I blink quickly and they leave before they fall. I notice that the rocky dirt path we are following curves up to the head of the waterfall.

  “What was your second request, Kadmus?” the Jarl had said.

  “I have come to partially take you up on your offer.”

  He raised an eyebrow
. “Really?”

  “I don’t want the authority of captain. But if you will take me, I will serve as a soldier in your army.”

  “Accepted,” he had said immediately. “But,” continued the Jarl, “I do want to know what changed your mind.”

  The path narrows slightly and the cliff to the right becomes more sheer. Finally we reach the mouth of the cavern from which the water flows, and see an ox grazing on the other side of the falls. His cart lies parked just inside, and his owner sits on a rock next to him, rubbing his back. The man waves to us as we pass inside.

  The river flows from crevices deep in the mountain. It takes up most of the width of the cavern, though there’s a path large enough for us on either side. The paths are natural, made from dark soil and rocks.

  Lit torches hang on either side of the cavern. Evidently someone has been here, probably to build the barrow.

  After a moment of hesitation, to the Jarl’s question I had responded, “Because I am not the only one feeling what I feel. Sadness. Greif. Anger. Revenge.” I wait a moment and continue, “No one should have this forced upon them by war. By the evil people and their evil doings. I want to join your army to stop them. Though I hate it, it must be done, and I will fight to destroy all of those who do to people what they did to me and my father. I fight to find vengeance on those who took his life. I fight to kill Lord Jarl Swordbreaker.”

  The cavern turns to the right, and the opening goes out of sight. We only walk for a little farther, and then stop. Here, the river flows from under an impenetrable wall of rock. We cannot go farther.

  To our left, however, a room has been carved out by the river, but now lies dry for whatever reason. It’s wide enough for three caskets to lie lengthwise on the floor and long enough for one to lie lengthwise along the wall. The ceiling lies about three feet above my head. In the center of the room sits a rectangular stone box, just larger than the casket. Its height is about to my waist, though it is only about a foot and a half deep. Intricate carvings make their way across the top and bottom edges of the sides, but otherwise the sides are blank and smooth. It’s cemented to the floor, and the lid leans on the opposite side of the box.

  We set the wooden coffin inside the stone. It fits perfectly.

  Bownan and Gunther take out the poles we had used to carry it, and the wooden box settles into the slightly larger stone one. Father’s broadsword is still lying on it, tied to the top. Torchlight flickers across it and it glints like it did in the Keep.

  “Is this suitable?” the Jarl asks me quietly. “It would have taken more time and effort to build a barrow, but to simply transport this stone was much easier.”

  “Of course,” I respond. “It’s perfect.” Hralfar walks to the other side of the stone, skirting the lid leaning on the stone coffin. I look down at the casket, take a deep breath, and remove the wooden lid.

  He is serene. Though paled and slightly sunken by death, his laugh lines are still visible and his beard is still just as full. I wish him simply to wake up and jump out of the casket, give me a smile and take up his sword. It does not happen. Instead he lies still with his hands clasped on his chest.

  I place the lid to the side and remove the sword from it. I simply hold it with the point on the ground as Jarl Hralfar begins the service. “We are gathered…”

  Father pulls the iron from the fire once again and lays it on the anvil. I step onto the little stool he built for me and swing the hammer with all my might while he stands, holding the iron. Sparks shoot from the iron, and a dent appears.

  “Ha!” I say, pleased. “Look!”

  “Good, son! It takes more than one hit, though, to make a sword!” He smiles as he says, “Again!”

  My little arms swing the hammer with enough force to dent the iron again. The same time the hammer makes contact, I wake from my memory in the present time.

  “…to celebrate, not the death, but the life, of this good man. Kadmus Armstrong the first.”

  Father is showing me how to craft. I am slightly older and more able. The hammer goes awry and hits my left hand, and I drop the hot iron. It falls and hits my hand as well. There is searing pain. Where two of my fingers should be there are only bloody stumps. My father is there, holding me, wrapping my hand, telling me it will be alright.

  “My good friend,” says Frederick. He’s not nearly as jolly as he used to be. “Lived what he taught, and he taught well. He believed in the highest morals and passed these down to his sons…”

  He’s taking me on a trip to Terrace, to buy supplies. He’s teaching me how to pack, what to pack. How to set up a tent and bedroll. How to make a fire and cook.

  “An excellent blacksmith,” Leon praises. “Never made a mistake that I saw. And he’s just as good a man as he is a blacksmith…”

  He’s lowering us into the cellar, hefting his sword. Then I run with him to protect our home and family. There’s fire and yelling. The scrape of steel on steel.

  Bownan rises next. “No one could ever extinguish his spirit. Though he was stubborn at times, he was always right, and he knew it. Yet he was humble…”

  Now we’re in the Keep. Father fights valiantly, and many men fall beneath him. He’s invincible.

  “He’s the quintessential father,” Nathaniel says quietly. “Always provided, always protected, taught us what we needed to know, supported us in our interests and hobbies, and loved our mother…”

  Finally I see us in the depths of the Keep, fighting to escape. The arrow pierces his stomach and I see him fall.

  “He was- is,” Gunther corrects himself, “the greatest father. The greatest man I’ve ever known. And that I will ever know.”

  I see father’s face. He is speaking to me as he lies on his deathbed. Then his eyes close.

  I step forward to speak. It takes me only a moment to gather my thoughts.

  “When he was speaking to me…” I begin. “He told me that I will not fail. He said that through whatever trials and adversities I went through, that I must not, and will not, fail. I do not plan to let him down.” I lift the sword and move towards the stone coffin. “He also said that I would live to be something more than he. I have no regret saying that no man will be something more than he.” I set the broadsword down so the hilt lies beneath his hands and the blade points toward his feet. “And though I bury his blade with him,” I choke. “I will always carry his courage within me. And none can take it from me.”

  I leave the blade over his body and step back, having finished my words. Gunther, Nathaniel, Hralfar, and I each take a corner of the stone slab that will serve as the lid. As it slides across the top of the stone coffin, I look at my father’s face until the lid is in place and his body is sealed in the tomb of stone. Despite our beliefs in the afterlife, I know that I may never see his face again.

  The lid is decorated with ridges along the edges that stick out slightly over the sides of the box. The rest of the smooth stone is blank, but for an inscribed box in the very center that contains the words:

  Kadmus Armstrong

  Beloved Husband and Father

  Frederick says some sort of prayer. Then we leave.

  Just before the stone tomb disappears around the corner, four words run through my head. I will avenge you.

  Tactics and Women

  We make camp partway down the road from Dragongate Bridge. The next day we go back to Kera.

  I pick up my hammer in the barracks, sitting on the bunk where my father had died. Lord Jarl Hralfar visits me only a minute or two later. “I am sorry,” he says.

  “I will avenge him,” I say. “Swordbreaker is the name of Tygnar’s leader?”

  “Yes,” he responds, “Lord Jarl Lucius Swordbreaker.”

  “Then it’s him I’m after.”

  The Jarl only says, “That’s no small task.”

  “I will kill him.” I accentuate every word. “I will kill him.”

  “Well,” he says, “You’re not an official soldier yet.”

&n
bsp; “Why not?”

  “You have to take the soldiers’ oath to me.”

  “When?”

  “Normally in the throne room of Nringnar’s Deep, but because we’re not there, we’ll have to make due with the accommodations we have. Now would work.”

  “Well-” I begin, but just before I can respond a brown-cloaked soldier tears through the front door of the barracks. Seeing Jarl Hralfar, he makes his way towards us and says, “Lord Jarl Hralfar!”

  The Jarl turns towards him.

  “Jarl Kjunn requests a meeting with you immediately, sir.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, sir. Now.”

  The Jarl turns to me and says, “Kadmus, would you come?”

  “What?” I say.

  “Though you may not want to be a captain, I respect your valor and initiative. You may have something to say that I or Jarl Kjunn needs to hear. Would you accompany me as an advisor?”

  I think for a moment and nod.

  “Good,” he says. Then he turns to the messenger and says, “Lead.”

  The soldier leads us up the steps to the gate of Stormguard, and then inside and to the right. We follow the same course we had yesterday, stopping in the same room.

  The soldier leaves us as Kjunn looks up from the map.

  “Good; you’re here,” he grumbles. The sun shines brightly through the windows behind him, but his attitude contrasts it darkly.

  “What do you need?” asks Hralfar.

  “We are moving out in the morning,” he says. “Reinforcements just came from the south. Archeantus sent us eleven hundred men to aid us.” He moves a little purple flag on the map to a dot labeled “Kera.”

  “How’d you get the message out so quick?” I ask quietly.

  “Signal fires,” says Hralfar quickly. “With the retake of Terrace?” he clarifies.

  “Yes. We need that city.”

  “Farming?” I ask.

  “Forgive his lack of experience,” says Hralfar as Kjunn rolls his eyes. Then he answers, “Yes, farming advantages. Those farms provide a third of our forces with food.”