Dragonhammer: Volume I

by Conner McCall

  Two thousand and five hundred of their force had lain in the first and second tiers, and had simply not had time to react to our surprise attack. The rest resided in the third and fourth, and half of those most likely were still asleep when we got there.

  I and Percival reunite with Nathaniel and Jericho just after the battle. We set about trying to find James and do so with hardly any trouble, as he was trying to find us as well. Day has broken by the time we get everything done that needs done, such as disposing of bodies, transporting all prisoners into the cells, and gathering all weapons dropped in the battle. Still, we and most of all the other men manage to get a wink or two of sleep in the bunkrooms of the Acropolis, after eating a hefty breakfast.

  We spend the day in a lazy limbo. Tonight, it has been announced, there will be a feast.

  All five of us attend: James, Jericho, Percival, Nathaniel, and I. We wear our armor and weapons as part of the celebration, as all of the others in attendance do.

  We sit in a huge arched dining hall. The table is shaped like a large squareish horseshoe, and soldiers sit all along the outside. Hralfar sits at the largest chair in the very center. Commander Magnus sits on his right side, and I sit on his left by his request. Percival sits to my left, followed by Nathaniel, Jericho, and James. Foods of all kinds sit on the table, waiting for the Jarl to finish his speech so they can be eaten. The center of the room remains clear.

  The Jarl stands and the room goes quiet. “We, and I,” he says in the silence, “Owe this victory to one man. Thanks to his intelligence, daring, and invincible spirit, we have taken the city of Amgid against all odds! Were it not for him, we most likely would not be standing here now, and definitely not so many of us!” He raises his goblet. “To Kadmus Armstrong!” he says.

  The soldiers in the hall echo his toast, “To Kadmus Armstrong!”

  Before they can drink, however, I stand and say, “I am thankful for the praise, Jarl, but I must admit that I did not do this on my own. I have to pay the tribute to my friends Percival, Nathaniel, and Jericho. Secondly, I thank all of you. It would have been extremely difficult for me to storm the Acropolis by myself! To you!”

  They call out after me, “To us!” Then the bottoms of their various drinking utensils go up in the air. As tankards, goblets, and cups hit the table, the Jarl announces, “Let the feast begin!”

  There’s a roar as the soldiers gleefully reach for roast pig, assorted fruits, potatoes, and soups. The clank of silverware becomes background noise and the soldiers begin conversations with one another, creating a constant, somewhat loud, hubbub.

  “It was your plan we followed,” says the Jarl as he sits down.

  I nod humbly, but say nothing.

  Commander Magnus gives me an ugly look from the Jarl’s other side, but says only, “Pass the rolls.”

  I grab one for myself and hand the platter to her with a fake smile.

  I hardly load my plate. Then I hardly touch my food.

  Jarl Hralfar looks at me when his conversation with Magnus comes to an end. “What’s the matter, Kadmus?” he asks.

  I shake my head and take a bite of roast pork.

  He reads my mind, leans over and says quietly, “Your father would be proud.”

  “Would he?” I ask.

  “Yes,” says the Jarl.

  “Would he really?” I reiterate. “The things I’ve done? The people I’ve killed?”

  “The people you’ve saved,” Hralfar corrects. “I would not be here right now were it not for you. That’s why I made the toast to you tonight. It’s to you that we owe our victory.”

  “If my father had lived, I might not be here myself,” I say quietly.

  He nods.

  “But he is not here because I failed that night.”

  “What’s done is done,” he says. “And we must move on.”

  “He said that he knew I would be able to do what needed done,” I reply. “He said that he knew I wouldn’t fail.”

  “Continue on this path, and you will do great things.”

  I think for a moment. “I want to take you up on your offer,” I say.

  He raises and eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. I will become a captain.”

  He smiles and nods. “Good, Kadmus. I need you here.” Then he corrects himself, “We need you here.”

  “Thank you,” I say quietly.

  “May I ask what changed your mind?” he prods.

  I hesitate before answering. “I don’t want to be a captain,” I reply. “But I do not want to be a soldier either. Yet I fight. I will lead not because I want to, but because I am needed.”

  He nods, and then says, “We can take care of it tomorrow; I’ll announce it in a moment. For tonight, celebrate with ale.” He holds up his goblet and I clink mine against his. We drink, and then he looks away to answer something that somebody has yelled at him. After he answers, he stands again and most of the room goes silent.

  “I would like to announce,” he begins, “that Kadmus, after much long deliberation, has agreed to become a captain for the armies of Gilgal!” There are cheers and whoops. “The ceremony will take place on the morrow. To Kadmus!”

  “To Kadmus!” comes the response. Then the soldiers go back to whatever conversation they were having before.

  I look down at my plate. Then I fill it to the edge and feast.

  I sleep like a rock that night.

  The next day we laze around doing nothing really. All of us are still quite exhausted. I do, however, have the ceremony where Jarl Hralfar proclaims me as a captain.

  Genevieve attends, probably mostly out of duty than anything else. The look in her eye tells me she might have something nasty planned.

  I wear my new captain’s armor. It’s different in only a couple of ways: it’s heavier, first of all, because it’s thicker and offers better protection. The steel is of better quality, though it has a darker sheen than a soldier’s suit of armor. I wear shoulder pads that make my already broad build look even bigger, and each has a clasp at the bottom by the breastplate where each side of my cape fastens to the armor. The cape is brown and bears the symbol of Gilgal: the roaring head of a bear with a sword crossing its neck. I carry my hammer because my cape covers the sheath.

  Thankfully, the ceremony is short.

  I kneel in front of Jarl Hralfar, who unsheathes his sword and says, “By the authority of the Lord Jarl, and as the acting military Jarl of Gilgal, I hereby promote you, Kadmus Armstrong, to the rank of captain in the army of his highness Lord Jarl Hralfar, general of the armies of Gilgal.”

  Throughout, he rests his sword on each of my shoulder pads one time each, and then withdraws after he says the last word. “Rise, Captain Armstrong,” he says.

  I stand and smile darkly at the sound of that. Are you proud, Father? I think. Are you proud?

  The cape annoys me, so I drop it as soon as I have the chance.

  I’m allowed to keep my shiny new armor with my things, so I go to the bunkroom and try to dump it as soon as I can.

  “It’s the day of your promotion!” says Percival. “You’ve got to wear it all day.”

  “All day?” I question. “Really?”

  “Yes!”

  “Only if you agree to wear yours all day.” He agrees immediately, and I honor our agreement, but for the cape, which I fold neatly and put under my bunk, and the helmet. I put on my hammer’s sheath and carry the beastly thing of my own accord.

  “What do you say to a drink?” asks James after dinner.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I mean let’s go to a pub and get a drink,” he says. “Celebrate a little. You won us this city, and you’re a captain. Is that reason enough or do I have to come up with more?”

  “I like the idea,” says Jericho. “You, Percival?”

  “I could go for a drink,” he responds.

  “Me as well,” says Nathaniel.

  I think for a moment and nod. “Yes. I’d like th
at.”

  We walk down through the Acropolis and onto the bridge that leads towards the front gate. The guards there salute to me as I pass, each saying, “Captain.” I merely nod to them and continue on my way.

  We find a pub, entitled The Stone Hearth, not too far from the guardhouse.

  After we enter, we sit at an isolated table in the corner. The bartender soon attends us. “What ya need?” he asks. He’s got a full silver beard, but for under his lips and on his chin, where he is clean shaven. He’s missing one of his front teeth. His face is round and kind, and he has laugh lines by his eyes.

  “I’ll have an ale,” pipes James.

  “Me too,” says Jericho.

  “And me,” Nathaniel says.

  “All around I suppose,” I say. Percival nods his consent.

  I’m not much of a drinker, but I figured I’d let myself have a drink or two. Just as long as I don’t get drunk and make a fool of myself.

  While we’re waiting, I observe my surroundings. The windows, though slightly pasty, allow light in, even while the sun is setting. The fireplace on the wall to our left is quickly becoming the best source of light. A couple of candles burn at intervals on the walls and at the bar. There are only a few people here; the bartender, of course, a couple of soldiers at the bar, and some men who presumably reside in the city.

  Not long after we receive our drinks, Commander Magnus walks in wearing her armor with her sword on her belt. A couple of guards flank her. She talks to the bartender and then sits at the table nearest us.

  The soldiers talk amongst themselves. Then one of them looks at me and has to do a double take. I try to ignore it, but he seems to be talking about me.

  “You’re Kadmus, right?” asks one of the soldiers, getting my attention. I turn and look at him. “Kadmus Armstrong?”

  “That’s Captain Armstrong,” says James. Luckily, I’m sitting next to him and can elbow him.

  “Yes,” I respond. “That’s me.”

  “You’re the man who killed that troll?” asks the soldier.

  “I heard it was three of them,” says another.

  “All at once?!”

  “No of course not!” I butt in. “I mean, I killed three trolls but they were all at separate times. Not at the same time.”

  “Besting a troll in combat!” exclaims one. “I applaud you! And three times to boot!”

  “Did you see him in Terrace?” says yet another from the bar. “Took the arm clean off Lord Tyrannus and killed him with his own sword! That was a battle to behold!”

  The bartender doesn’t quite know what to think, but he might be waiting for a fight to break out.

  I’m bowing my head, almost trying to hide from all the praise.

  “Did you hear what they were calling you?” asks the first soldier. “In the Acropolis?”

  I shake my head. “What?”

  “They saw you- an enormous soldier, bigger than any man, wielding a hammer, invincible! They’ve heard the stories. They know who killed Tyrannus.”

  “What did they call me?” I ask curiously.

  “As you came upon them, they cried, ‘Dragonhammer’!”

  “I’ve had enough of this,” snarls Genevieve. I turn back towards my table with my back towards her, but I can tell she’s looking right at me.

  “All this talk!” she fumes. “I’ve never seen any of this! How do I know these aren’t stories that everyone just believes? How do I know that you haven’t made this up just for all the fame and glory?”

  “What are you saying?” I ask without turning my head. James looks like he’s going to explode, but I give him a clear signal to keep his cool.

  “I’m saying prove it! Do something we all can see to prove you are as mighty as your stories suggest! Dragonhammer!?” I hear her chair scoot out and the table bump slightly as she gets up. “If you’re as mighty as you say you are, you’ll fight me!”

  “I don’t want to do this,” I say. James is punching his fist into his hand over and over again. Come on! he mouths.

  “Why not? You afraid you’re going to get beaten? Afraid your frauds are going to be seen through, and that you’ll finally come to justice?!”

  “I don’t hit girls.”

  “Well, for your information, Captain, I am no girl. I am a commanding officer of the army of Gilgal. Fight me!”

  I still don’t look up or turn around. “You don’t want to do this,” I urge. “Sit down and drink.”

  “Not until I prove you are no warrior!” she presses. I hear her sword unsheathe. The sound is small, steel rubbing on the fur inside of the sheath, but still barely audible. There are footsteps as she approaches. “If you are such a great warrior, why don’t you stand and-” her words are cut short as she falls unconscious to the ground.

  I’m standing above her with my tankard in my right hand.

  “What the dingflies just happened?” asks James.

  One of the guards is smiling. “Didn’t she attack you?”

  Another answers the question, “Yes. She did.”

  “Then why is she unconscious on the ground?”

  James repeats himself. “What the dingflies just happened?!”

  “Knocked her out,” I answer. “Blocked her with my drinking hand and knocked her in the back of her head with my elbow.” I take a swig. “I’m going to finish my drink. Somebody take her out please.” Then I sit back down.

  A couple of the guards carry out my orders, no questions asked. James gives me an extremely satisfied smile and nods happily. “That’s what I was looking for,” he says. I merely return his nod and take another swig.

  “Best dang bar fight I’ve ever seen,” laughs the old bartender. His laugh is wheezy and breathy.

  “There is no doubt in my mind,” says one of the soldiers, “That you have done what you say you’ve done.”

  “Thanks,” I say. Then I finish my drink.

  The guards had just dumped Genevieve outside, next to the door. She leans up against the wall, still unconscious. “Think she’ll sleep through the night?” asks James.

  “Doubt it,” I answer. “She’ll come ‘round in a few minutes.”

  “I just hope we’re not around when she does,” he continues.

  “I don’t know,” says Percival. “I’d like to see what she does next time she sees Kadmus. Er, sorry. Captain Armstrong.”

  I shake my head. “You know you don’t have to call me that, right?”

  “Right,” says James. “Call him Dragonhammer.”

  “I like it,” says Nathaniel. “It’s got a nice ring to it. Dragonhammer.”

  Dragonhammer, I think. Dragonhammer.

  Stagnant Tactics

  Genevieve avoids me for the next few days. When we’re at dinner she avoids making eye contact, even to glare at me. She finds longer ways around the Acropolis just to stay out of my path.

  James takes off the iron brace and sling, and begins to use his left arm again. He still won’t fight for another week or two, but now he’s not so helpless.

  Right now we’re waiting for orders from the leaders of Mohonri before we take any action. It’s getting on my nerves slightly because I want to get out and accomplish something. Those responsible for the attack on Terrace are still out there. Those responsible for my father’s death.

  So consequently I immediately accept the Lord Jarl’s summons to the council room.

  I’m still having a little bit of trouble finding my way around the Acropolis, so the messenger who brought the summons leads me up to the roof of the third tier, where we enter the ten-foot doors.

  It’s a big room with an arched ceiling at least twenty feet up. At the rear, easily forty feet back, long narrow stained-glass windows run the length from ceiling to floor. A lengthy oblong table takes up most of the floor with chairs all along its sides. Bookshelves line the walls from the floor to several feet above my head, some of them stocked with collections of books and others stocked with rolls of parchment. Books and scrolls
lie open and shut, scattered across the table. At the end lies a map. As I near, I observe that it shows the province of Greendale, where we reside.

  “There you are!” says Jarl Hralfar. “You’re late.” He wears a cloth tunic and a long blood-stained bandage that hugs his chest and left shoulder tightly. Genevieve stands on his other side, but she ignores my presence. I give her the same favor.

  “I was eating,” I respond.

  “And well deserved,” he grants. “I wanted your opinion on this, however.”

  “What?”

  He gestures with his head towards Jarl Theyor, who sits in a chair to our left. His hands are bound behind the chair and he wears only simple clothing.

  This is the first time I get a good look at him. He’s somewhat chubby, with a little bit of a gut and some baby fat on his cheeks. He wears a short brown goatee and his hair is long, pulled back into a ponytail. His fingers are sausages, and his limbs are thick.

  “Dragonhammer,” he says when we make eye contact. Hralfar appears confused.

  “Why do you call me that?” I ask.

  “Because you fight,” he answers quickly.

  “Of course I fight!” I argue, slightly agitated. “That’s what everyone does in a war!”

  Theyor doesn’t answer.

  “I’m having trouble getting him to talk,” Jarl Hralfar explains.

  “About why he calls me Dragonhammer?”

  “No,” the Jarl corrects patiently, “about what Tygnar’s next plan of action is. We just took their most powerful stronghold in all of Greendale in a single night. We cannot expect there will be no retaliation. I thought maybe you could get something out of him, because I’ve been trying for the last three days with no luck.”

  “Why me?”

  He shrugs. “You got us into this city,” he answers. “It was your plan we followed and it worked almost flawlessly.”

  “It was your plan?” interrupts Theyor. We ignore him.

  “I thought you could work some of that power here,” he finishes. “Get him to talk.”

  I look Theyor in the eye. At first his gaze is strong and malignant, but after a few moments the beast inside him cowers and I see fear.