Dragonhammer: Volume II (33 page)

There’s no way you learned to fight like that in Kera.

Even with the new soldiers, we continue to lose ground.

“We need to stay together,” I voice to my soldiers.  “Don’t let them isolate you!”

At my words, my men begin to congregate towards me.  James and Percival, as well as Aela and Ullrog, come in close.

“Where can we go?” Aela asks.  “We’re like a fox in a hole.”

“We’ll fight,” I reply.

“And if we die fighting?” questions James.

“We will not,” I reply softly.  “Jarl Hralfar charged me to protect this fort.  And protect it I will.”

“Fall back!” Genevieve bellows, gesturing wildly to make for the corridor in the center of the entrance hall.  Rather than go up to the roof, she has opted for the vaults.  “Fall back!”

Men finish whatever skirmish they are dueling and run for the corridor as directed by Commander Magnus, followed by those who would seek our destruction.

The head of my hammer clangs over a helmet and the body drops.

A roar resounds from beside me and I see an arrow protruding from Ullrog’s enormous right bicep.  Angrily he rips it from his muddy green flesh and stabs it through the eye hole of an enemy’s helmet so that the arrow’s shaft sticks out of the helmet grotesquely.  The soldier writhes as he falls to the ground.  Black blood drips from Ullrog’s arm, but he hardly slows.

Genevieve grunts as a sword glances off of her forearm.  Her gauntlet appears to have protected her flesh, but it has thrown her off-guard.

James hacks the stomach of the soldier encroaching on Magnus, but he does not see the other coming up on his side.

Though she was not able to defend herself from her own attacker, Genevieve has recovered and lunges forward, piercing the chest of the man charging at James.  He kicks the body from her sword and she pulls it back to smite down yet another of them.

The ground again becomes strewn with bodies of both sides.  Blood splatters the walls and floors.  Weapons, dripping with red, shining in the torchlight, lie scattered about.  One of the soldiers slips in the blood.

Still their line pushes against ours, forcing us further down the corridor and deeper into the fort.  Then I remember what lies at the end of the corridor.

Thank you, Magnus.

“Fall back!” I raise the cry.  “Fall back!”  Our line suddenly drops and runs down the corridor.

“Into the vaults!” I roar.  The soldiers sprint into the open door of the vaults, filling the lower levels of the fort.

I turn around and knock an attacker into the wall.  His head hits the stone and he falls to the ground, but I continue to run towards the door.

I throw myself through the door frame and the door is shut and bolted behind me.

The enemy bangs on it relentlessly and a soldier puts a beam across the door as an extra lock.  A sword stabs through the door twice, but on the second time James takes a large brick and hits the flat of the blade, bending the steel the smallest amount.  Unable to draw the sword back out, the frustrated soldier on the other side of the door violently wiggles it about.  Then James slams the tip of the sword with the brick and the sword flies out.  There’s a muffled, “Ow!” from beyond the door.

“You had quite the tag-team,” I comment lowly.

James only grins as he steps away from the shaking door.

The room is large.  Enormous barrels of ale lie on their sides along the right wall within scaffolds of wooden beams to hold them in place.  Other smaller barrels lie stacked along the left.  Straw lies everywhere.  Torchlight illuminates the dirt floor and the rough stone walls.

“What did you get us trapped in here for?” Genevieve says.  “There’s no way out through the vaults!”

“We don’t need a way out,” I reply.  “Just a little time.”

She raises an eyebrow, but I say nothing more.

“What are we to do?” one of the soldiers asks me.  “We’ve nowhere to go!”

“The Jarl set us up here,” another replies.  “It’s a diversion.  We’re just here to take the blows for ‘em.”

My expression hardens as I watch the morale of my soldiers fail.  We will not win a war like this.

“Who are they?” I bellow, speaking to the multitude of soldiers standing with me.  They look amongst themselves, wondering what I could possibly mean.  “Who are they,” I repeat, “to think themselves above us?”  I pause, jumping onto a crate to better see my men.  “What gives them the right to come to war against us as they have?  To take our lands and kill our people?  This tyranny must end!  What stands between our people and annihilation?”  I wait for an answer, but no one says anything.  “What stands between our families and the destruction that our enemies will bring upon them?”  Again I pause, but no answer comes.  “We do!” I roar.  “We are the ones that stand in the way of tyranny, that fight for the freedom of our families, and that stand immovable, with courage, in the face of our enemy!  Is that not our mission?  When you swore into this army, did you not say that you offered yourself as a protector of the values of Gilgal?  That you would take upon yourself all honors and responsibilities of that calling?

“That calling is now!” I continue.  “We are to fulfill our oath, and by Khaoth we will fill it, whether in death or in life!  Are you ready?”

A chorus of voices replies to me with one vigorous word.  “Yea!”

“Get two barrels of ale and bring them here.  No, it’s not for drinking.  And somebody get one of those torches.”  I get down off the crate and the soldiers set about filling my orders. 

“Impressive,” James says.

I shake my head.  “Necessary to win this.”  In the back I find a barrel of tar.  It isn’t warm, but we have no time to heat it up.  With a grim look on my face I dip the head of my hammer into the tar.  The thick substance clings to the steel as I pull it free, and the head of the hammer has been coated in a thick black skin.

I return to the door, which is still under ferocious attack.  It will give within the minute.

“Take the lids off,” I command the soldiers, referring to the barrels of ale.  They do so, setting them on the floor.  “As soon as that door opens,” I explain, taking the torch, “you are going to throw the contents of that barrel into the hall.”

I can tell by their expressions that they do not want to waste such precious cargo.

“And then we can watch the fire,” I finish.  I hold the torch underneath the head of my hammer.  The tar heats and slowly ignites.  Then the head of my hammer bursts into flame.

“Open the door.”

The beam is kicked out of the way and suddenly the door gives, exploding inward.  The enemy soldiers are more than surprised to find themselves drenched in ale within seconds.

The second barrel is thrown into the hall and the second wave of soldiers is soaked through.  Then I throw the torch.

The alcohol erupts into an inferno.  The soldiers who had gotten the full brunt of the drink burst into flame and run away screaming down the hall, igniting others as they pass in the halls.  The fire dies down to small embers quickly, but that’s when I charge.

The ale had gone further into the hall than I had anticipated, which is a good surprise.  Soldiers’ eyes widen when they see the flaming weapon I wield.  It has little more effect in a melee, but the intimidation factor is incredible.

With a roar my men burst from the room and fall upon our enemy, cutting down every last one with such ferocity that most turn and run.  Our charge continues all the way up through the hall, hacking through anyone to stand in our way.

One tries to stand against me, but he falters as the flaming hammer enters his vision and blots it out.

Soon we blast into the entrance hall, chasing them from the halls.  Fighting breaks out again, but it is scattered and the skirmishes are quick.

“He wields the flame!”

“Retreat!”

“Dragonhammer is upon us!”

The enemy throws such cries as we continue to slay them out the gate and onto the hillside.  Then we watch them run back to the forest, where they disappear into the shadows of the trees.

The Road to Poalai

W
e are left standing on the hillside and in the fort, breathing heavily.

“We did it,” one of the soldiers says.

“Indeed we did!” another exclaims.

“Do not doubt so easily next time,” I mutter, listening to the whoops that begin to arise from our men.

Once again, the duty falls upon us to clean up the fort.  There are too many bodies from both sides.  The sight saddens me and I think,
I wonder how many families will not be seeing their father again.

“Captain?” says a soldier.  I’m working with the men to haul bodies from the fort and down to the beach.  I gesture for another to come take my spot at the feet of a corpse, and then walk towards the man who had addressed me.

“What is it, soldier?”

“There’s a messenger here to see you and the commander, sir.  Says he’s from Lord Jarl Hralfar.”

“About time,” I reply.  “Have you informed Commander Magnus?”

“Another is doing so now, sir.”

“Where is he?”

“The messenger?  He’s waiting just outside for you, sir.”

I nod and start my way through the halls.  “Thank you, soldier,” I say on my way out.

Genevieve walks into the entrance hall the same time I do.

“I’m excited to get out of here,” she says.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” I reply.  “He might want to keep a strong leader here.”

“You’re the best pick, then.”

“Nonsense.”

“If it weren’t for you this morning, we probably wouldn’t be standing here.”

“Or you might,” I reply.  “We’ll never know.”

At that point we step out into the sun and confront the messenger, who stands tall to the side of the gate with a majestic chestnut horse standing next to him.  We step out of the way to allow the soldiers to continue their work.

“Dragonhammer,” he greets.  “Commander Magnus.”

“Afternoon,” I reply.  “What’s the message?”

He opens the satchel at his side and his hand emerges with a letter sealed with wax by Jarl Hralfar.  He clears his throat and says:

“To the leaders of the third current regiment of Gilgal, Captain Armstrong and Commander Magnus:

“If an attack has not already fallen upon the fort, expect one soon.  We have received word from our spies of ships heading towards your position.”

“We’ve been through that,” Magnus interrupts.  “You can skip that part.”

The messenger’s eyes zigzag as he reads quickly, and then he resumes, “If my messenger is speaking to you after the attack, I would expect that you have had victory in your mission to protect the fort.  In any case, I require that the regiment stay in the fort and await further orders.”  Genevieve grunts like it’s a joke she doesn’t find particularly funny.  The messenger ignores her.  “However, I also require the presence of Captain Armstrong in Poalai.”  She snorts this time.  The messenger gives her a look, but does not slow his reading.  “I realize you will need an escort of some small size.  We will expect your arrival three days from the time you receive this message.  Please do not keep us waiting; the real war is about to begin.  Signed, Lord Jarl Hralfar of Gilgal; and High King Archeantus, Lord Jarl of Mohonri.”

Genevieve shakes her head, staring at the ground.  “Well, that’s that.”

“Indeed it is,” I respond, pleased that I get to be leaving the fort.  She shakes her head again as I state, “I’m going to appoint my escort.”  My gaze turns to the messenger and I say, “You are dismissed.”

His head bows.  “Thank you, sir.”  Then he mounts his horse and nonchalantly trots away.

“I wonder how long they’ll make me rot in this place,” Genevieve steams as we walk back into the fort.

“You’ve been here less than a week,” I say coolly.  “It could be much worse.  Just pray you’re not stuck here for another six months while we finish the war in Watervale.”

“Don’t even say that.”

“The Jarl values your skill in leadership.  I don’t think he’d leave you here for too long.  Expect an offensive order within a fortnight.  I’d give it a month at the most.”

She shakes her head again, but doesn’t respond.

“What was that about?” James asks as I enter the hall where we had been working.

I answer by turning to Percival and asking, “How badly do you want to see Poalai?”

The baker grins from behind his short dark stubble.  “That’s a good part of the world we don’t want to miss,” he replies.

“I’m coming too,” James says.  “Right?”

“Of course,” I reply.  “As are you and you.”  I point at Ullrog and Aela respectively.

Ullrog nods appreciatively, but Aela suddenly appears gaunt.  “To Poalai?” she says.

My brow furrows. 
What don’t you like about Poalai?
  Instead I ask, “Is that a problem?”

She sees the look in my eyes and replies, “No.  Not at all.”

I appoint six other soldiers to accompany us on our way.  That puts our total at twelve; Ullrog counts as two.

We set out that afternoon, heading north on the dirt path that curves from the shattered gate of Fort Rocksabre.  Each of us carries a bedroll, some food, and our weapons.  We wear our armor and dare not take it off, even when we sleep; one cannot be too careful in the wilds during times of war.

The sun shines brightly; the clouds have dispersed as the day waxed on.  Even so, there’s a chill in the breeze and it smells damp.

We enter the forest soon.  I recognize it as the forest we had passed through to get to Amnigaddah, but the leaves are no longer green; they are just beginning to die, turning all shades of red and orange.  Already some of them are on the ground, congregating in piles along the path or in the shrubs and thickets to the sides.  The smell of autumn is in the air.

Aela paces nervously at our first campsite.  I sit next to the fire, absent-mindedly fingering the little wooden token Nathaniel had given to me the night he died.  Most of the soldiers talk amongst themselves.  One stands, leaning against a tree, staring out into the dark night.  Ullrog stands similarly against a tree nearer to the fire, but he gazes into the flickering orange flames, holding the amulet that lies around his neck.

“Only three days,” James says light-heartedly.  “That’s nice.  Much better than the weeks we’ve been travelling back and forth across the plains and the desert.”

“It was only a few days from Gull’s Landing to Balgr’s Fall,” Percival says with the hint of mockery.  “And from there to Fort Rocksabre.”

“But then we were on ships.”  James spits the last word.  “And you know how I feel about those.”

“I didn’t before then.”

“Well, now you do!” James says a little hotly.

Percival chuckles.  “Passionate about that aren’t you.”

James grumbles something, but I can’t tell what.

“You know what else he’s passionate about…” I slip in slyly.  I watch a grin pull itself across Ullrog’s face as he watches James’s reaction.  Aela stops pacing on the other side of the fire to watch.

“Oh, shut up,” James commands flatly.

“Are you referring to his passion for sweets?” Percival asks me, though he is taunting James with the question.  “Or perhaps for his affinity to attract the rear end of bees?”

Even Aela’s lip turns up and a couple of the other soldiers chuckle.

“You may not know what I’m talking about,” I say ambiguously, “but he does.”  I give him a look that says,
Don’t you, James?

“Shut.  Up,” he commands.  Somehow he has managed to keep his face straight, but he’s gone redder than the sunset on a romantic evening.  Perhaps he really is a little angry.

“It’s for your own good,” Percival puts in.  “Don’t worry.  We’ve all got your back.”

“Well,” Ullrog growls.  “Most of us.”

That unleashes a flurry of laughter from almost all of us, Ullrog and Aela excluded.  The orc’s chest bounces slightly, but as the conversation progresses Aela begins to pace again.

Even James smiles with a feeble shake of his head and the words, “I’ll get you for that.”

We rise early and continue on our way.

The road climbs up a large hill for most of the day, twisting upward between trees, boulders, clearings, and rock outcrops.  We stop for lunch at a large rocky protrusion that sticks above the tree line, but has a small enough grade that we can climb it without much trouble.  Moss grows on the sides of the enormous formation, coloring it green and even blue in some spots.

I much prefer the clean air of the forest to the salty breeze of the sea or the hot doldrums of the desert.  Even more I wish to walk among the pines in the Wolfpack Mountains with my bow and my brother, to return home to a family that is whole, and to a forge that welcomes me with the heat of the fire and the temptation of the anvil.

But not so.

It’s as if the world had forgotten that it was time to change seasons, and is now trying to make up the difference in the span of only a few days.  I did not think trees could change color so swiftly, or any other plant for that matter.

I approach Aela on a subject that has been bothering me since I first saw her reaction to the name “Poalai.”  I cannot bring it up directly, however; the subject must be broached carefully.

She gathers sticks to use for the fire.  Warily I approach on her right side and, bending down to grab a rather large branch, say, “You said you were a hunter?”

She looks up and, seeing that I am the only person around for an acceptable distance, replies, “Yes.”  Then she goes back to her stick collecting.

“But you prefer swords to a bow?”

She straightens and formulates her answer.  It takes her a few moments, but she eventually replies, “No.  But a bow I associate with animals.  I am not killing animals…”  Something about her answer doesn’t seem right, but I accept it nonetheless.

I think on our last battle and wonder how she could be even more skilled with a bow than she is with her swords.  I know, however, that it is a conversation for another time, so I push the thought aside and instead ask, “What did you hunt?”

“Whatever I could get,” she answers bluntly.  “Depending on the season.”

“Of course,” I reply.  “How long were you out, usually?  My… my brother and I would go hunting, sometimes for a week or two at a time.”

“I was usually out longer,” she answers.  “Sometimes up to three weeks or a month, I think, was my longest.”  That’s definitely truth.

“And you were successful?”

“Always,” she replies with no hesitation.  “I wouldn’t return until I had gotten what I had set out to get.”  That was complete truth as well.  Then she continues, “Except once.”

“What happened?” I encourage.

She shakes her head.  “You found me by the bridge.”

“Can you tell me again what you remember from there?”

She looks at me narrowly.  “Why?”

“Just curious,” I cover innocently, sticking another branch under my arm. 
Probably doesn’t want to talk about her friend.
  Quickly I change the subject.  “Your favorite place to hunt was in the mountains?  And that was how you knew of Dracynnval’s Pass?”

She nods.  “It makes it more interesting in the mountains,” she says darkly.  “Gives me more of a thrill.”  That’s a truth.

“But you never went beyond them?”

She shakes her head.  That’s a lie.

“Why not?” I ask.

She shrugs.  “Didn’t want to travel too far.”  Also a lie.

I take a deep breath as we walk back towards our camp, each laden with a burden of sticks.  “You know you can trust me,” I comfort.

She looks up at me and nods.  “I know.”  That’s a truth.

I stop, confused. 
Get it together, Kadmus!  Why would she be keeping anything from you?  Just leave her be!

I do so and we walk back to camp in silence.

James gives me a look from his place next to the kindling, holding a knife and a little stick of flint.  I watch his gaze flick between Aela and me several times.  An idea sparks behind his eyes and he says surreptitiously, “You know what Kadmus is passio-”

I covertly kick a cloud of dirt into his face and his sentence is cut short as he coughs several times.  He gives me a dirty look from the other side of the fire, but can’t help but smile and shake his head as I sit next to Aela.  Then he lights the fire.

Dinner is hot, and I enjoy every bit of it.  A couple of the soldiers went hunting and rabbit stew is the result.

I lie awake in the dark night, staring at the stars above the canopy of colored leaves.  Sleep is something my body needs little of, and refuses to do until it is absolutely required.  I wish sometimes that I could sleep normally, but then I remember that it is such a condition that has saved my life.

I glance at Aela, who is sleeping soundly with her face illuminated by the orange light of the coals.  Even in sleep her beauty astounds me, and I find myself glad that she is not awake or she would catch me staring.