Dragonhammer: Volume II (34 page)

I shake my head and turn over, forcing myself to fall to sleep.

“Where are you going?”  I rise from my bedroll and wait for Aela’s response.

“You’re awake?”

“I am now.  Where do you think you’re off to?”

She shrugs.  “Had to take a leak.”

“With your pack on?”

She shrugs again.

I shake my head and sit down.  She joins me.

The light of dawn is perpetrating the sky, forcing the darkness of night to retreat.  I glance at Aela again, but look away before she can notice.  I cannot gaze upon her enough.

“Why do you keep secrets?” I ask.  “You have nothing to fear from me.”

“I have no secrets,” she replies.

I snort.  She gives me a look and I say, “That’s a load of dingflies.”

She exhales slowly, looking down.  “Why does anyone keep secrets?”

“Because they’re scared,” I reply.

“What could they be scared of?”

“Of what others will think of them,” I answer.  “Of the consequences of bringing the secret to light.”  She doesn’t answer.  “I’m your friend, Aela,” I tell her, looking her in the eye.  She refuses to return the gaze.  “You know that, right?”

She looks up and nods.  Within her mystical blue eyes I do not see her as I have known her:  as a strong, fiery young woman with an attitude and a clever mind.  Instead I see a pleading child.

“How can I be your friend if you don’t trust me?”

“I do,” she says softly, looking down.  She drops her pack on my bedroll and begins to walk off.

“So where are you going?” I interrupt.

She turns and simpers, “I really do have to take a leak.”

“Ah,” I reply, slightly embarrassed.  “Best get that done then.”

She nods and heads deeper into the thicket.

That day we will reach Poalai, though most likely not until at least mid-afternoon.  James whistles a tune as we travel down the backside of a hill, which I hadn’t heard him do for several months.  The sound is refreshing and I find myself unconsciously humming along with him.  After he goes through the tune once or twice, he begins singing the words under his breath.

The city appears as the lake comes into sight.

“It’s enormous,” Percival breathes.

We cannot see the opposite shore; the blue stretches to the horizon far in the distance, waves rippling across the surface.  Poalai sits on the beach.

The walls are thick and well-equipped for defense, sticking out a little ways into the water, where I assume they must be guarding a wharf.  The city is large; I would guess probably a little bigger than Fragruss.  A river emerges from the lake on the left side of the city and winds south into the forest, past Amnigaddah and into the Gulf.  A bridge with a large gate leads into the city from that side, but the road that we follow, (which is now paved with stone), leads up to an equally large gate on the south end of the city.

Within minutes the gates open and we enter Poalai.

The Letter

T
he keep of Poalai is a relatively small building that reminds me much of Nringnar’s Deep back in Terrace, but it stands alone rather than against a rocky cliff.  Two large towers, equal in height, rise from the sides of the otherwise rectangular fortress.  From the gate at the south of the city, where we entered, I can only see the towers protruding above the rest of the tall buildings.

As usual, the market district is the first part of the town we pass through.  Stall owners stand at their respective stalls, selling fruits and vegetables and all other kinds of commodities.  Other, more permanent stores stand behind them with open doors.  Business is conducted at just about every stall, but not nearly as much as I would expect in a city of this size.  The war must be taking a considerable toll on the people and their livelihoods.

A large inn, grandiose in size and appearance, stands on the corner.  Only three of the stalls of the adjacent stable are filled, suggesting that there has been little travel of late.

The city is flat, which I am not used to in the slightest bit.  If anything, the road slopes down slightly.

The road leads us all the way through the city to a wide stone staircase.  The staircase goes up only four steps, plateaus for three strides, and then goes up another four steps to the huge gate of the keep.  To me it seems a bit exaggerated, but now that I see the fortress up close I realize that it may not be as small as I first realized.

About two-thirds of the way down the length of the fortress, the ground suddenly drops away, tall cliffs descending into the water of the lake below.  The fortress, however, sticks straight out over the water.

“Hold on,” I tell the group.  “I’ve got to see this.”

I walk along the side of the fortress, scoping the lake as I do.  I can hardly believe my eyes when I reach the edge.

Poalai’s fortress is built into the lake.  Stone walls descend to the waves, with an enormous hall-like structure jutting out into the water.  Waves lap at the stone walls probably thirty feet below where we stand.  To our left, the road meets the cliff as well, but continues down a long wooden staircase that ends on a wooden deck like a road over the water.

“Half of the city is floating,” Percival says.

“That’s incredible,” James acknowledges.

Wooden houses levitate on the water, held up by pillars of stone.  The roads become decks of dark wood connecting the houses.  A system of canals connects the decks, and I see a man paddling along in a canoe.  The biggest canal, remarkably like the main road, leads straight up to the lower levels of the fortress.

The walls enclose the entire perimeter of the city, including the half afloat in the lake.  A gate large enough to allow passage of a galleon interrupts the continuity of the wall at the other end of the main canal.  Presently the metal gates, which remind me vividly of prison cell doors, stand wide open, allowing the naval traffic to come and go.

“Quite the place,” I comment.  “But we have a summons to answer.”

“Well… you do,” James mutters.  He follows anyway.

The guards allow us into the fortress, and again I am stunned by the architecture inside.

The cavernous entrance hall is peaked, with ornate wooden struts providing support at regular intervals.  Extravagant columns, all sort of arcane runes etched into the dark stone, stand at the same intervals.  An iron-enforced pair of double doors stands at the back of the hall underneath a stone arch.  Multiple hallways lead to the sides.

“This way, Captain,” a guard says, gesturing for me to follow him.  We do so, and he leads us straight to the doors located at the back of the hall.

His knock is answered by another guard.  They trade a few words, and then the doors swing wide.  He then leads us into another hall.

This one is not as tall as the entrance hall, but just as wide.  Tall narrow stained-glass windows stand at intervals in the walls, with red, yellow, and purple as their primary colors.  Their designs are abstract, but beautiful and eye-catching.

The ceiling is still peaked, with the same wooden struts and columns as the entrance hall.  The columns stand between the windows.

Candelabras hang from the ceiling like chandeliers, but most of the light comes from the windows, casting multi-colored images onto the ground.  A particularly large window stands at the back of the hall, depicting a rising sun with rays flowing from the golden half-circle.  A majestic throne sits just in front of the window, but it is unoccupied.

Lord Archeantus and Jarl Hralfar stand at a table on the left hand of the throne.  Both look up at my entrance.

The Lord Jarl of Mohonri is tall and broad, but still has to look up to look me in the eye.  His black beard is groomed well, and he wears armor similar to the suit he had been wearing when I had first met him months ago.  The insignia of Mohonri is inscribed in a circle in the center of his breastplate, and he wears a thin violet cape.  Lightning blue eyes pierce me from beneath his thick black eyebrows, but his smile is wide and his teeth bright against the dark of his beard.

“Captain Armstrong!” he greets, his voice voluminous and booming.  I notice a gold circlet on his head, studded with emeralds.  His black hair hangs about to the base of his neck, but it has been pushed back behind his ears.

I kneel and reply, “My Lord.”

“Rise, Captain,” he says.  It’s not until I am again straight and facing Archeantus that I realize that my escort had knelt and risen with me.  “I am glad to see you are still in one piece.”

“As am I!” Jarl Hralfar says, stepping forward.  He is short, compared to Lord Archeantus.  “I was worried when I saw the strength of the force they sent to you.”

“And you offered us no assistance?”

“We lacked the men, presently,” booms Archeantus.  “Most are on their way back from a skirmish we had with the enemy in the fields north of Kaolaihah.  In any case, you have won the battle, I presume?  You are not coming to us as a survivor of a lost battle?”

“We had our victory,” I reply.  “Took too many casualties, though.  Fort Rocksabre won’t be able to withstand another attack of that magnitude without further fortification.”

“Do you know how many casualties?” Jarl Hralfar asks.

“Over a hundred,” I reply.  “On both sides.  They attacked from the forest and the sea.  It was a miracle we were able to hold them off in the way that we did.”

“But you did it, as I expected,” Archeantus replies.  “Fear not.  Soon they will lack the ability to strike us anywhere, assuming our strategy goes to plan.”

“Good to know,” I reply.  “What is your strategy?”

Archeantus eyes the soldiers that stand around me.  His eyes narrow when he sees Aela, but then the orc consumes his attention.  Ullrog looks the High King up and down, sizing him up.  The High King does likewise to Ullrog.

“What is an orc doing here?” he asks.

“Is that a problem?” I question.  Jarl Hralfar takes a deep breath, but says nothing.  He gives me a look and I recall when I had forced him to allow Ullrog entry into the army.

“Not if he is an ally,” Archeantus responds, his eyes flicking to me.

“He has proven himself within and outside of battle to be on the side of Mohonri,” I reply.  “I would trust him with my life.”

Lord Archeantus nods, satisfied.  “Then he is welcome, but it is his own choice.  Many will persecute him and I will not take responsibility for the actions of the people.”

Ullrog remains silent.

“But you wanted to know my strategies,” Archeantus continues.  “Let me show you and your escort to your quarters.  Then perhaps we can speak freely, without the burdens of your travels weighing you down.”

Jarl Hralfar trails at the back while Lord Archeantus leads us through the entrance hall, into a hallway, down a flight of stairs, and into a torch-lit hallway.  “We are under the entrance hall,” he comments.  “The halls of this fortress do not only traverse the waters of the lake, but also the stone of the cliffs.”

“We’re underground?” James mutters.

“This will be where you stay,” Archeantus says, ignoring the question.  I make to walk in the door, but he interrupts, “Not you, Captain.  For you I have made special arrangements.”

The thought goes through my head that I must stay with my men, but I reject it.  I cannot let myself come close to offending Lord Archeantus.  “Of course,” I agree.

The High King watches my companions enter the room, and then says, “You are free to do as you will.  Make yourselves at home, but do not make trouble.  I’ll send a messenger down to let you know when it is time for dinner.  I will speak to your captain; do not worry, you will see him later in one piece.”  Aela’s expression conveys only anxiety as I nod to her.  Then Archeantus and Jarl Hralfar lead me away, back up the way we had come.

“Can I see the canal?” I question.

“The Torrent?” Archeantus clarifies.  “Yes, I suppose, after I have shown you to your room.  The Torrent is my favorite hall in this place.  Not as stuffy as the throne or entrance halls.”

He leads me up a few flights of stairs and into a hallway, where he turns left and gestures to a door in the wall.  “This is one of the finest rooms in the fortress,” he says.  “Fit for a captain of your stature.”

I open the door and enter.

The four-poster bed is kingly, with white linen sheets.  There’s more space here than I could ever need: two wardrobes, a desk, and a door on each side of the bed that lead out onto a balcony.  My room is inside one of the towers.

“Thank you,” I say softly, though I ache inside for a small simple room with a plain bed.

“It is my pleasure,” he says.

I hear giggling from the hall, but it stops as soon as the gigglers see Lord Archeantus.  “Veronica!” he says.  “Lucy!  What are you doing?”

I edge towards the door to see who he is talking to.  Cowering before him, but both trying to hide smiles, are two little girls.

“Captain Armstrong,” he says, “These are my youngest daughters Veronica and Lucy.”

“Hi!” they exclaim simultaneously.

They can’t be more than six years old.  My heart drops when I see them, and I suddenly yearn to see my own six-year old brother again.  I realize that his birthday has since passed, and he has turned seven.

Their hair is as dark as their father’s, but their eyes are bright green.  The two girls are identical.

“I told you to stay upstairs,” he reprimands.  “Where is your sister?”

“I’m sorry father,” says another voice from further down the hall.  The voice attracts my attention and I see a beautiful young woman running towards the twins.

“Vivian, I told you to stay upstairs!”

“I know, father, I’m sorry.”

“You’re pushing your luck.  You know I wanted you to stay in Venebor with your mother.”

“Yes, I know,” the girl says, abashed.  She glances at me and I see that her eyes have the same color and intensity as her father’s.

Archeantus takes a breath.  “Sorry, darling.  I’ll see you tonight at dinner.”

“Yes, father,” Vivian says with a small smile, bustling the twins up.  “I will.”  Then she hurries the twins back down the hall and up the stairs.

“Who was that?” I ask.

“My second-eldest daughter Vivian,” he says.  “She’s a sweetheart just like her mother.”

“You have only daughters?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says with a tone of derision.  “Apparently Khaoth thought I needed a lesson that has something to do with women.  Haven’t figured it out yet.  But don’t go getting any ideas,” he continues, penetrating me with his lightning eyes.

“Of course not,” I reply.

“Good.  Er…” he thinks.  “What were we saying?”

“The strategies, Lord.”

“And you wanted to see the Torrent.”

“Right.”

“Well then, let’s get to.”  He leads Jarl Hralfar and me down a flight of stairs, and then speaks.

“Captain,” he says lowly.  “I wish we had more men like you.”

“Thank you sir.”  I’ve heard that same thing many times, so the compliment has started rolling off my back.

“We’d have had the war won ten times over by now.  But we don’t, and so we haven’t.”  He leads us down another flight of stairs, and then another, into a torch-lit hall.  “I’ve summoned you here to discuss with you the tactics that I want to use to drive Diagrall from our lands.”  The hall has no doors until the very end.  Only one door stands in the wall on the right side.  Archeantus shoves against it and the door opens; we walk forward and into the Torrent.

“The truth is, Captain…” he says with a sigh.  “I have no strategy.”

Grimly I survey the hall.  The ceiling is enormously high, the walls made from huge weathered stone blocks.  The back of the hall is the unrefined rough cliff.  A stone catwalk makes its way around the perimeter of the hall, higher in some places than in others.  The floor of the hall, aside from the catwalk, is at least twenty feet under the water.  This allows for the ships to enter.