Dragonhammer: Volume II (31 page)

“How would I know?”

“Doesn’t matter.  If it’s thin enough I can break it in.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“Want to give it a go?”

“Only if you do.”

I respond by ordering a couple of soldiers to pick up a boat and hold it sideways, so the side of the boat drags along the ground.  We will march upward, with the bottom of the boats facing the archers.

Before advancing, I study the entrance of the fort.  The gate is a medium-sized set of double doors, most likely with a single beam serving as a lock from behind.  A small overhang juts out just over it.  Perfect.

“Onward,” I command, unsheathing my hammer.  Water still drips from my clothes and armor, but I ignore it the best I can.

Then our line of boats starts forward.

The arrows cannot penetrate the wood, no matter how many are shot.  A couple of the archers aim low, to hit the feet or ankles of the soldiers carrying the makeshift shields, but their arrows prove ineffective.

I hear a cry and a body falls from the fort.  A whoop from one of our soldiers follows.

The arrow snaps from the body as it hits the ground and lies still.

I look up to the gate and an idea sparks within my head.  “We’ll use these as rams,” I say to Commander Magnus.

She ponders the strategy.  “Not a bad idea.  Don’t see why not.  Their archers can’t hit us while we’re under them.”

“Lift it up,” I command the soldiers.  They follow my lead, and within seconds we hold an upside-down boat over our heads.  It’s lighter than I thought it would be; there are enough of us underneath that the weight is distributed.  “The gate is straight ahead,” I explain.  “On my mark we all run.  Understood?”  The soldiers nod.  “Everyone got a good grip?”  They nod again, and some of them shift their hands on the wood of the overturned seats.  “Now,” I grunt.

Our little band charges up the remaining distance and the bow of the rowboat slams into the gate with a satisfying
bang
.  A couple of the soldiers yell as they lose their grip and stumble forward.  For a few moments the weight of the boat pushes down on me with an increased force, and then they take their place again.

“Again!” I command.  We back up a few steps, and then charge.

Arrows continue to thud into the boat and around our feet.  There is not yet a melee, but the shouting of the men would provoke an inference otherwise.

Again the boat cracks into the gate.  I command a third attempt.

After the sixth impact, we encounter a more dangerous dilemma.

An arrow blasts straight through the wood of the boat and into the lower neck of the soldier standing directly in front of me.  He dies instantly and falls to the ground.

Magnus voices what I have already concluded.  “Crossbows.”

“Steady!” I command.  “Now!”

The boat hits the gate for the seventh time and the sound of splitting wood makes me hopeful.  As we back up another comrade falls underneath a crossbow bolt.

I don’t need to voice the command to charge.  The men know the time and the boat hits the gate for the last time.

We tumble into the fort and I roll myself out from under the falling boat.  It plows over at least three of our enemies, at least pinning or stunning them, but they will be back up in moments.

My hammer whips around and smashes a soldier in the side, throwing him through the air and into the nearest stone pillar.

Genevieve’s sword lashes into sight as she parries an incoming blow, twirls his sword to the side, and jabs forward into his stomach.  She withdraws it just in time to catch an incoming strike on the flat of the blade and throw back her attacker.

An enormous sword swings widely from my left side, but I catch the blade with the spike of my hammer and twirl it up, then to the left.  He lacks the agility with such a cumbersome weapon to recover quickly enough, and he finds himself on the floor with blood seeping from his midriff.  The sight gives me chills, and I force myself to look away.

Magnus ends a short spar with a swipe, and then turns and gets her body within inches of the next enemy.  He is shocked and, with no room to maneuver, stumbles back and raises his sword, but not before her dagger has found a place in his throat.  She leaves it and knocks aside an incoming strike, but their blades once again collide.  With a powerful push, she shoves her opponent’s blade away and slices him across the stomach.  He keels over and lies still.

She brings her sword up to block a raised strike, but as it comes down, she knows she will not get there in time.

My throwing knife protrudes from his chest and he falls to the side with his axe clanging to the ground next to his head.

“Thanks,” she breathes, looking about for more of them.

I only give her a nod and walk to the body to retrieve my knife.  “Did the Jarl give you a plan once we got in?” I ask, yanking the blade from the steel of his armor.

“No,” she replies, similarly taking her dagger from the neck of a fallen enemy.  “I’m assuming he didn’t give any to you?”

“None,” I say, wiping the blade of my knife on the tunic sticking out from the armor of a dead man.  “Kill anything that fights back.”

She nods.  “That’s what I was going to say.”

“Perfect,” I reply, sticking the knife in my belt.  Our soldiers are beginning to flood the hall of the fort, and I hear the clash of steel down a couple of the hallways.

“Come on,” she says.  “We haven’t won yet.”

A defender jumps at me from the stairs, but quickly I knock the sword from his grasp and he finds himself impaled on the short spike on the end of my hammer.  A little disgusted, I throw his body to the side and off of the staircase.

Genevieve’s blade is glowing red, but doesn’t burst into flame until it scrapes against the edge of her opponent’s sword.

A couple of the soldiers fall back in fright and she advances, stabbing one through the chest and kicking the other over the railing, onto the floor of the entrance hall below.

Genevieve pushes forward towards the next flight of stairs, and I realize she is trying to get onto the roof.

“Careful!” I warn.  “Remember they’ve got archers up there!”

Where’s Nathaniel?  We could use his bow and-

Oh.

Angrily I push the thought from my mind and slam the helm of a soldier with the butt of my hammer.  He falls to the ground.

Genevieve throws open the door and sure enough, we find ourselves on the roof of the small fort.

One of our soldiers falls dead immediately, having taken an arrow.  One of our archers comes out into the open and returns the fire, downing one of them before taking an arrow himself.  He falls to his knees as the arrow pierced his thigh, but raises his bow again and shoots another of them, but not without receiving yet another in return.  This one sticks from his right shoulder and he collapses onto the ground.

Momentarily abandoning the fight, I run to his side and carry him back down into the stairwell where I lean him against the wall.  Blood runs from his thigh and shoulder.

“You’ll be alright,” I say, patting his good shoulder.  “You’ve done your job.”

He looks at me weakly.  “Thank you, Dragonhammer.”

“Get this man a healer,” I command.  Then I run back up the stairs and into the fray.

A throwing knife leaves my hand right as I step onto the stone roof of the fort.  An archer not twenty yards away crumples to the floor.

The sky is beginning to lighten.  Dawn is not far.

My hammer slams across the chest of a charging defender and he spins as he flies through the air, finally landing harshly on the stone.

I duck behind the structure where the stairwell surfaces, finding cover from the arrows.  Then I look for Genevieve.

She’s not hard to locate; her blazing sword gives her away in the dark night.  Her path has led her up the roof and towards the lighthouse tower, but she is open to fire from the archers.  Others of our army swarm around her, rallying with her and fighting beside her.

The sword also attracts the attention of the archers, and most of them are trained on her.  That makes it easy for me.

One of them doesn’t even notice my approach.  His companion sees me, but much too late.  The first dies quickly and the second grunts as my hammer hits him in the stomach.  The third unleashes an arrow into the multitude of men surfacing onto the fort, but turns as he hears the grunt of the second.  Panicking, he drops his bow and draws a dagger.

He pauses.  We stare each other down for a moment.  A nearby torch flickers on his eyes and I see fear.  He knows who I am.

Then he jumps over the side.

Shaking my head, I run towards Magnus.

More of our troops make it onto the roof through the lighthouse tower, which still shines light out into the misty gulf.

Genevieve fights along the crenellated wall at the edge of the roof, hacking and slashing through anyone to stand against her.  I near her position, still trying to dispose of all of the archers I can before one of them can hit her.

One of them sees me just when I get to his companion.  As his sight trains on me and he pulls back the bow, I dive in front of the other archer.  The sound of an arrow piercing flesh hits my ears like the arrow itself.  What an ill fate:  to die by the hand of a friend at your back.

The archer falls and I charge at his horrified friend, who is too astonished to even draw another arrow.

The light flaring from Magnus’s blade attracts my attention and I look to her.  She cuts across the chest of another victim and spins to meet the next defender, but she is not prepared for the strike he brings.

His enormous mace knocks the fiery sword from her hands and across the fort.  Frenzied, she pulls a knife and thrusts it at him.  He is not fast enough to evade completely.

The knife enters his left shoulder, but he snatches her arm tightly with his left hand.  His other holds the mace.

I dart for her position, but am cut off by even more of the defenders.  I am forced to defend myself rather than run to her aid.

She ducks and the mace whistles over her head.  The soldier throws her arm to the side, spinning her, but before she can gain her balance his mace knocks her across the back.

I hear her yell of pain and she falls to the ground, lying on her stomach.

Using the spike of the hammer I snag an enemy and throw him into another, landing them in a neat pile on the ground.  One of my comrades helps finish them off and I run towards Genevieve, but I am not fast enough.

The mace rises into the air and Genevieve looks up with loathing in her eyes, lacking the strength to sit up or roll over.

Then the soldier, hit from the back by a sword, roars and turns to face his new opponent.  The mace smashes into the crenellation and my ally expertly steps back, dodging the blow, and then darts forward and jabs his sword into the heart of the beastly enemy.  With a kick he sends the soldier over the side and moves to Genevieve’s side to help her up.  It’s not until now that I realize who it is.

James.

My gaze is forced away from them to deal with the defenders at hand.  One of them I clout over the head and send over the side, and the other I block.  As he withdraws his sword to ready another hit, I smash his legs out from underneath him and then flick a throwing knife towards his throat.

When I look back, James is lifting Magnus on his shoulders.  He strides as quickly as he can towards the door that leads down into the stairwell and nods at me as he passes.

“I’ve got your back,” I comfort.  “Go.”

He nods again, too strained to say much of anything, and enters the stairwell.

Then the cry.

“Retreat!” the enemy yells.  Only one of them begins, but soon the cry is echoed throughout the fort and they are running for safety, leaping over the side of the fort and onto the ridge below.  Some of our archers shoot at them as they run down the dirt road and away from their ruin, but soon they pass out of range.

I take a deep breath.  Fort Rocksabre is ours.

Preparations

T
he first thing I do is walk down the stairs to check on Magnus.

James has set her down at the foot of the stairs, propped against the wall.  “You okay?” he asks.  I’m about to answer, but then Genevieve replies first.

“Fine,” she says.  “Just a little sore.”

“You’re sure?  You took a hard hit.”

“It’ll take more than one hit like that to bring me down.”  She’s breathing deeply and has removed her helmet, which lies at her side beneath her hand.  Her brown hair flows past her shoulders and her head leans on the stone of the wall.

James looks her in the eye, searching to see if she is telling the truth.  Finding nothing to hold against her, he nods slowly and says, “Okay.”  Then he rises to leave.

Genevieve’s voice stops him as he walks away.  “James.”

Slightly surprised, he turns, looks at her, and says, “Yes, Commander?”

She doesn’t reply for a moment.  The words freeze on her tongue and she changes them before they come out.  “Thank you.”

James bows slightly.  “Anything for you.”  With a slight smile on his face, he walks away.

The commander rolls her eyes and shakes her head, but I catch the smallest hint of a smile on her lips.

“You sure you’re alright?” I ask.

My voice startles her as if from a pleasant dream.  “Oh,” she says.  “Yes of course.  I just need some rest.  That’s all.”

“Good,” I reply.  “We likely won’t stay here long.”

Then I chase after James.

“Nice,” I comment when I catch up.

He nods with a large grin.  “You think so?”

“Yes,” I reply.  “Do you know where everyone else is?”

He shakes his head.  “I lost track of Percival when I ran up the tower.  Ullrog and Aela were with him though, so they’re probably okay.”  We walk down the stairs and onto the ground floor.

“Good to see you got away from that ship.”

“Good to see you survived it.  How’d you manage?” he asks.

“I’ll tell you about it later.  For now let’s find the others.  The ‘probably’ in your sentence makes me uneasy.”

“Understandable.  We were in this part of the fort.”  He leads me through a wooden door and through a hallway, where we come into a medium-sized room.  We go straight through and into the hallway on the left wall, and then continue on.  Bodies lie strewn about the floor with gory weapons and pools of blood lying about them.

We stop in the next room.  “The tower is up through there,” he says, pointing to a door at the top of a staircase that hugs the wall.  “But they stayed and fought the ones that were down in this corridor.”

I look at the gruesome scene on the floor.  “They’re not here.”  A torn breastplate catches my eye and I look away quickly, but the image of the torn flesh underneath has burned itself into my eyelids.  “Apparently Ullrog was though.”

There’s a snarl from an adjacent room, followed by a sickening scraping sound and a grunt.  In seconds I bolt through the door and find Ullrog withdrawing his blade from a corpse that slumps to the ground.

“Kadmus!”  My name is thrown into the air with an anxious sentiment and a relieved tone.  Then Aela clamps herself around my chest.

She only holds me for a moment, and then lets me go and steps back.  “Sorry,” she mutters.

I glance at Ullrog, who is smiling behind his fangs.  “Not a problem,” I reply.  “I’m just happy to see all of you alive.”

“How’d you get off the ship?” asks Percival, striding towards me.  “You gave us a scare!”

“Jumped,” I reply shortly.  We exit the room and walk back towards the entrance hall.  “Made it to the beach before I drowned.”

“Impressive,” he replies.

“Good see you,” Ullrog says.  “Next time come with.”

“Agreed,” James mutters.  “Now I know to drag you along when you say no.”

I shake my head but offer no response.

The Jarl meets us in the entrance hall.  “Nicely done,” he says, eyeing the boat on the floor, several feet from the doors.  “The fort was taken in good time.”

I nod.  “Do you have orders for us, sir?”

“Where is Commander Magnus?”

“She’s upstairs.  She took a bad hit in the back with a mace, but she’ll be alright.  Just needs some rest.”

He nods and answers my question, “Clean out the fort today.  Let’s get the supplies off the ships and to the shore; did you have time to save anything before your ship went down?”

“No,” I reply.  “I had no time.”

Hralfar shakes his head.  “Well then, we will have to make due.  We’ll stay the night.”

“When do we march for Poalai?”

“So far I do not know.  Commander Magnus will stay here with you in the fort, as well as most of the men.  I will set out for Poalai and send word as soon as I make council with Archeantus.”

“Understood,” I reply.  “When will you move out?”

“If not tonight,” he says, “then tomorrow morning.  Expect word in about five days.”

“Is that everything?” I ask.

He nods.  “That I know of currently.”

I bow my head.  “Thank you, Jarl.”

He returns the gesture.  “No.  Thank you, Captain.”

We dump all of the enemy bodies unceremoniously into the ocean.  For our own, we build a funeral pyre on the beach, using wood from the forest only a little ways west.

Most of the armor taken from dead men is not salvageable.  It is rent, bent, or otherwise made unfit for use, but some of it we keep on the offchance that we can repair it.  The weapons however, we keep, clean, and store, as well as most of the boots.

Most of the supplies are taken from the ships and stored in the lower levels of the fort.  The ships will sail back to Balgr’s Fall; we have no further need of them.

There is a feast in the entrance hall of the fort that night.  The soldiers break open one of the large kegs of ale they found in the cellar, and soon most of them are drunk.  I allow myself only a drink or two.  There must be some celebration, after all.

Jarl Hralfar leaves the next morning, having decided that he did not have enough rest to leave the night before.  He takes a small amount of men with him.

“We will travel faster with fewer men,” he says.  “I’m not as likely to be detected.  You will need all of the men you can get, should you be attacked.”

“I understand,” I reply.  “Travel swiftly and safely.”

“Of course,” he says.  Then he leaves.

Genevieve is feeling well enough to be up and about that day, but she walks slowly and slightly bent.

“We’re finally out here,” Percival says.  We’re on the roof of the fort, looking out at the gulf.  The ships have since begun sailing back to Balgr’s Fall.

“West?” James clarifies.

He nods.  “On the main front.  It’s been a long time.”

“Almost six months to the day,” I reply.  I glance at the forest to find that it reinforces my claim; the leaves are just beginning to trade their jade color for shades of yellow.  Soon they will be all kinds of red and orange.

The sun is still warm, but the air is slowly losing heat to the grasp of autumn.  A breeze sends a chill up the back of my neck and goosebumps crawl up my arms.

“What are you thinking, Kadmus?” Aela asks.

I sigh and stare out at the rolling wake of the ocean.  To our left, some of our men repair the catapult that had been destroyed when we took the fort.  The other is in almost perfect condition.  All three of my friends look at me for an answer; Ullrog has confined himself in the lower levels of the fort.

“Many things,” I reply.

“Good thing that’s not mysterious,” James quips.

“Kadmus?” Percival jests.  “Never.”

I shake my head with a small smile because they know that I am completely serious.

“Care to talk?” Aela asks.  “Something you need to get off your chest?”

“There will be an attack,” I say.  “They will not lose this fort so easily.  We simply took them by surprise.  They will attempt to retake it soon.”

“You’re worried?” James asks.

I hesitate.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says.  “I’ll go engrave my headstone, then.”

I shake my head and reply, “Only a little.”

“Oh, that makes it better,” he says sarcastically.  “Well then, I’ll engrave a little of my headstone.”  Percival can’t help but to chuckle.

“And I’m only worried because I don’t know how they’re going to do it.  That’s how we won this battle.  They weren’t expecting us to come from the sea.”

Aela nods as James says something else sarcastic.  “What else?” she says.

“What?”

“You said there were many things.  What else are you thinking?”

The forge comes to the forefront of my mind.  How I miss the fire, the heat, the bellows, the hammer and anvil, and the steel.  Especially the steel.  In the forge I can shape it to my every will, envision an object and mold it to perfection.  Whatever is left of my father is inside of me and the forge.  It represents his life, as well as mine.

I refuse to mention it to her, however.  My father’s legacy is none of her business, and my own worries are none of her concern.

James says something to Percival and I notice they have moved a little further away.  They have intentionally left me alone with Aela, and I am not sure whether to tell them off or thank them.  I make a mental note to figure it out later.

“Soon we will march to Poalai,” I say.  “Then we can turn the tide of the war and finally begin to bring Ollgorath and his clan to justice.”  I glance at her and find my words have had an odd effect upon her.

“Did you say Poalai?” she asks.

“Yes,” I reply, confused.

“When was it decided we should go there?”

“It has always been our goal.  Once we defeated Tygnar, we were to come out to Poalai and help Lord Archeantus and his armies.”

She is very obviously affected by the news.  “Is there no way to bypass it?”

“You act as if you do not wish to go.”

“No!” she exclaims.  He attitude changes suddenly and she continues, “I mean, the news merely took me by surprise.  I thought we would go straight into an offensive strategy, that’s all.”  I scrutinize her.  She is unable to hold my gaze for very long, and looks away to the crenellations under her fingers.  Her hands ball into fists, but continue to rest on the stone blocks, and she uncomfortably shifts her weight.  She is not telling me something.  And she knows I know.

“Have you ever been to Poalai?” I ask casually, remembering vividly the time she had said she was a hunter by trade, based in Kera.

“No,” she replies, but she does not look at me as the word leaves her lips.  Once the word is out, she gazes at me innocently.

I search her eyes.  “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am sure,” she says, looking away again.  Her blonde hair partially obscures her face.

“Of course,” I reply softly, my brow furrowed.  “Of course.”

We sleep wherever there is room.  Magnus and I each have claim to one of the bunks in the bunkroom, and so we each take one.  The others are occupied by soldiers who had acted quickly enough in the race to beat any others to the luxurious cots.

The commander does much better the following morning.  She forces herself out of bed just as early as normal and refuses any help offered to her.  Her back is no longer bent, but she still walks stiffly.

We have plenty of food.  The vaults of the fort are full of barrels of wheat and ale, and some apples.  We even find a shelved room stocked with dried or salted meats, fresh and ready for cooking.

Many of the guards make themselves merry and I intervene when one of them almost tumbles out of the window while trying a trick that had something to do with a stool, a wooden plate, and a burlap sack.  After that I severely cut their ration of ale.

I have no time for merriment.  My empty heart won’t allow it, and neither will my distant mind.  There is too much at stake here.  I have come too far to suddenly fall into stupor.

That day passes uneventfully.

Ullrog finds me in the room beside the armory the next day, fighting a stuffed scarecrow soldier.  He watches for a moment, and then says, “
Khuar
.”

I stop.  “What?”

“Test,” he says.

I face him and ready my stance, expecting him to pull his sword.  He stares at me with his arms folded across his chest.  It takes him another moment to realize what I am waiting for, and then a smile tugs at his lips and he says, “
Rü.  Khuar thiem shrakna
.” 
No.  Test my language.

I lower my hammer, feeling a little silly I had made the mistake, and reply, “
Shkem, blaknie.  Thien tum’kha.
” 
Sorry, brother.  I am ready.