Dragonhammer: Volume I (22 page)

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

G
enevieve 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.

“I may be able to,” I mutter.

I kneel and glare into his eyes.  He looks down to avoid my gaze.

“Why are you afraid of me?” I ask out of curiosity.

He does not answer.

“What is Tygnar’s plan against us?”

Still he does not answer.

“…It’s not against us, is it?”

His eyes flick to mine, but he looks back down after less than a moment.

“It’s not…” I conclude.  “Then who?”

He seals his lips tightly, but I continue to stare into his unresponsive eyes.  “Why do you guard your secrets?” I prod.  “Why do you fight for a lost cause?”  He still does not answer.  “Why are you afraid of us?”

Then he speaks.  “Because you are Dragonhammer.”  Before I can respond, he continues, “You fight like every man is your mortal enemy.  You fight with a purpose:  to kill, but to protect.  You have a rage of some kind inside of you that cannot be extinguished; I saw it when you bested my greatest commander.  Your fire spreads across the battlefield, killing all you come across.  You cannot be felled.  You fight like a dragon.  And all of it done with a hammer.”

“If you are afraid, why do you keep your secrets?” I hiss.  “What have you to safeguard and protect?”  He doesn’t answer.  “We will win this war.  And you know it.”

Then I stand and move to the Jarl to converse.

“There’s definitely going to be an attack,” I say, “but it’s not on us.” 

The Jarl raises an eyebrow.  “Then who?”

“I don’t know.  Surely you have spies out?”

“Yes,” he says.

“What have they found?”

“Not much,” he replies.  “Only that their forces are leaving Fort Rugoth below the Kindred Forest.”  He points to the orange flag on the map in the corresponding area.  “And that Lord Swordbreaker himself is leading their armies from Nur’tokh, in the Ha’avjah Desert.”

“Obviously they are amassing all of their force,” I conclude.

“Yes, but that knowledge gains us nothing if we do not know where they will strike!” says the Jarl heatedly.  “An army of that size will overtake all of Greendale, even with the support we have from Mohonri.  It could just as easily march past us and straight to Mohonri’s capitol in the province of Watervale, turning the tide of the war there.  That plan, however, leaves their region of land open to invasion from us.”

“That’s a problem,” I observe quietly.

“Yes!” he seethes.  “And those are only two of the many possibilities I have foreseen!  We can do nothing to protect ourselves or others unless we can find out what they are going to do!”

I think for a moment.  “Unless it doesn’t matter.”

Genevieve gives me a funny look, but as soon as we make eye contact she looks away.  The Jarl looks down while he shakes his head and smiles.  “You’re going to have to explain that to me,” he says.  “Like all of your crazy ideas.”

“If we can force them to do something predictable, then it won’t matter what they’re going to do,” I clarify.  “We have to keep in mind what the goal is:  to defeat their army and force surrender, or die trying.  Let’s get rid of all that fighting in the middle, and bring them out.”

“You mean bring their entire force against our entire force?”

“Yes!” I say.

“How do you expect to do that?” he asks.  “Even if we can get their army out against us, how on earth are we going to win such a battle?”

“We can each send one person to fight on behalf of the entire army.  The loser goes home to stay out of the war, and the winner can continue in the war with no interruption.”

The Jarl thinks for a moment.  Genevieve voices his concerns, “But how do we get them to agree to such a thing?  Why wouldn’t they just destroy us?”

“Same reason they’ll come out against us,” I answer.  “Because what we offer them will be so enticing they won’t be able to say no.”

The Jarl’s face lights up.  “That might work,” he says.  “We give them an offer, that if they come against us and their warrior wins the fight, we will withdraw from the war and…”  He waves his hands as he comes up with something else that would be enticing.  “…and pay a fifty percent tax to them.  But if we win, all they have to do is withdraw.  Who wouldn’t take that offer, especially when the odds are so skewed in their direction?”

I nod.  “Exactly.  But our offer does not stand if they refuse to participate in the one-on-one match.  We will continue to fight against them, and they will have to kill every one of us before we stop.”

“However,” interjects Magnus, “that does put us at a great risk.  If our warrior loses, we have to withdraw and pay a tax, and then Tygnar will only have an even clearer shot at Mohonri!”  She refuses to look at me.

“But if ours wins,” I say, “Tygnar will have to withdraw and we will be one step closer to winning this war.  I will not lose.”

“You?” she questions.  As soon as I glance at her she regrets asking.

The Jarl nods.  “I have not seen a man fight like you have, Captain Armstrong,” he says.  “I do not doubt your ability to succeed against them.”

“Thank you,” I respond quietly.

“We must do this as soon as time allows,” says the Jarl.  “Who knows how close they are to their goal?”  He grabs a blank piece of parchment and a quill and begins to write.  After a few lines, he crumples it up and starts over.   Few words in, he looks up and says, “Soldier!”

The nearest guard stands at attention.  “Sir?” he says.

“Get me our fastest messenger.  Tell him to come immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”  The soldier leaves quickly out the large doors.

“And somebody take him back to his cell,” commands the Jarl, gesturing to Theyor.  Four guards escort him out and into a different part of the Acropolis.

Hralfar signs the letter at the bottom, and then pushes the letter towards me.  “Sign it,” he says.

“Why?” I ask.

“Your name is becoming known,” says the Jarl.  “And this was your idea.”

Reluctantly I sign at the bottom.  The Jarl folds it, and then reaches into a drawer under the table.  He pulls out a little wax disk, which he melts slightly over a candle and then presses onto the letter with the ring he keeps on his left hand.  The insignia of Gilgal is imprinted onto the wax, sealing the letter.

The messenger enters the room.  “You called for me?”

“Yes!” says the Jarl.  “I need you to deliver this as fast as you are able.  It will take a matter of weeks, perhaps, before we see you again, but I need you to take this to Lord Swordbreaker.  If you bring it to the Tygnar leader at Rugoth, he should be able to bear the message the rest of the way.”

The messenger nods.  “Get on, then!” urges the Jarl.  Then the messenger runs out the door.

Hralfar shakes his head and sits down.  “It is done,” he mutters quietly.  “Let it play out how it will.”

The next few weeks we wait.  We train.

We wait.

The other side of Magnus

G
enevieve doesn’t talk to me until three or four days later.

I’m sitting at the breakfast table.  Then a messenger approaches me and says, “A letter for you, Captain.”

“What?”

“A letter for you,” he repeats, holding out a wrinkled, somewhat yellowed letter.  I take it slowly, and he bows and walks out.

“Who’s it from?” asks James, wiping his mouth.

I look at the name.  “My mother…” I say quietly.

“Well, read it!” Nathaniel pushes.

Upon opening it, I find that it is to both me and Nathaniel.  It reads:

My sons,

My heart is empty.  I yearn every day to have you back in my arms.  I grieve every moment for your father; I do not wish to grieve for another.  Look after yourselves and each other, for my sake.

I have heard of a warrior they call “Dragonhammer.”  I heard the name while I was in the square, and overheard an injured soldier speaking of a man who could not be slain.  Is this man true, and if so is he as the stories suggest?  I ask out of mild curiosity, and thought that if anyone could tell me, it’s the men who are fighting for us.

Gunther and Rachel have settled and Gunther is as busy as ever.  Though now he makes more swords than anything, it helps him pay for the family he plans to have.

Please write back to me.  I need to hear from my boys.  Ethan and Nicholas send their love, as do I.  Please come home to your mother when this is done, and let it be done quickly.

Love,

Mother

“What a beast!” says Nathaniel under his breath, referring to Gunther.

“Somebody have a quill and inkwell?” I call.  One is taken from the corner of the room and given to me.

Nathaniel and I immediately flip the letter over and write our own message on the back.  I hold the quill while Nathaniel speaks his own thoughts.

Dear Mother,

We are alive and well.  We too grieve for father every moment, and refuse to give you any more to grieve for.  Know that we fight for the cause Father died for.  We will succeed.

Send our love to Gunther and Rachel.  We are happy for them and wish them the best.

I make Nathaniel write the next part.

Yes, we have heard of this Dragonhammer, and yes, he is as powerful as the stories say.  We know him well and he truly fights like a dragon.  It gives us great comfort to know we fight alongside him.

Continue to write.  We each send our love; give it to Ethan and Nicholas as well.

Love,

Nathaniel Armstrong

Kadmus Armstrong

Throughout the day, I feel vulnerable.  My thoughts keep trailing back to my mother and the worry she must feel back in Terrace.

I train with more vigor than ever before.  I must keep my promise to my mother.  I will not fail her.  I will return to her.

I cannot sleep that night.  A few hours after dark, I pick up my hammer and sheathe it on my back.  “Where are you going?” Nathaniel asks.

“I need to clear my head,” I say.  James snores loudly.

“Going for a walk?”

“Yeah.”

“With your hammer?” he questions.

I nod silently.

“Fair enough,” he says.  “What’s bothering you?”

I shake my head.

He waits for a moment before saying softly, “It’s Father isn’t it?”

I don’t answer him, but stare out the window at the thriving city beneath us.  The townspeople seem not to know or care that their city is under completely different rule.

“I miss him too,” says Nathaniel.

I nod, and with that I exit the bunkroom.

I would have gotten lost were our bunkroom not at the end of the hallway.  I turn left and head down the stairs, which still curve left slightly with the walls of the round citadel.  A few floors down I turn right and walk out of an arch onto the open balcony.  It’s larger here, like a small courtyard.  There’s a small circle of dirt, and in the middle grows a tree.  It’s a deciduous tree of some sort, with brown bark and big dark green leaves.  The ten-foot gates stand on the other side.  I stand and stare at the tree in the moon-lit night for several minutes.  I examine its leaves and its bark, its branches and roots, and wonder how such beauty could have been created.  I wonder at the sheer mechanics of it all, and how it is possible that a tree can live and grow.

I walk to the balcony edge, to the wall about as high as my midriff, and lean forward on it.  I study the stars and various constellations.  There’s one of Pheogg plucking an apple from a tree.  Another of Frejjl holding her newborn child, Oklir.  Another of a hammer and anvil.

That’s when I realize that I need a forge.  There’s a burning desire in me to smelt something.  In times of great stress, that’s the place I would go:  the forge.  All I’ve had for the past four weeks is stress, and no forge in which to work it out.  I need fire, and heat, and steel.  A small blacksmith’s hammer in my hand rather than the tool of death hanging on my back.

I hear footsteps behind me.  I turn and see a slim figure walking towards me.  As it approaches, I realize it’s a woman.  Not only that, but it’s Commander Magnus.  For one of the first times, she is not wearing armor, but instead is wearing a simple shirt and pants.  Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, but her bangs are up and parted to either side of her face.

“Hello,” she says as she stands to my left.

“What do you want?” I ask quietly.

“I’m wondering what you’re doing out,” she says.

“Well, what are you doing?” I ask.  She doesn’t answer.  “If this is about the bar fight, I-”

She cuts me off.  “It’s not.  I couldn’t sleep.”

“Really?” I ask sarcastically.

“Yes,” she says, slightly offended.  “I’m not totally devoid of feeling, even if it seems that way.”

Trying to maintain an air of sarcasm, I ask out of curiosity, “What has kept you up?”

She’s silent for a moment.  “I saw you up, and I had to…”

“Had to what?”

“…I’m here to apologize.”

I’m taken aback.  “What?” I question, turning to her.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats.

“For what?” I prod further.  The sudden change of character is bewildering me.

She’s silent for another moment.  Then she says, “For everything.  Ever since I met you, I’ve only treated you… well, badly.  What happened in the bar was necessary, I think, to…”  She goes silent.

“To what?” I ask.

“To make me realize that… I’m not the best.  There are others better than me.”

“The fight with Tyrannus didn’t teach you that?”

She looks down.  “I’ve been… jealous of you.  My jealousy and want for glory made me hate you and what you were becoming.  What you are.”

Despite my intense desire to reject everything she’s saying, I can’t help but know she’s telling the truth.  My response is only to nod.

“So I’m sorry,” she says with finality.

“Apology accepted,” I answer.

“I do have to ask you,” she says, “How are you… what you are?”

“How am I what I am?” I repeat.  “I don’t think I understand.”

“How did you become Dragonhammer?” she asks.  “What is your story?”

I hesitate for a moment.  “I’m a blacksmith,” I say finally.  “My town was raided by Tygnar over a month ago.  I and my family took refuge with many others in Terrace.  When we were attacked there, my father was wounded.  We fled to Kera, but my father’s wound was infected.”  I pause and look out over the silent city.

“What happened?” she asks.

“He died,” I say quietly.  As the words leave my mouth, anger pumps throughout every limb in my body.  “And I have sworn to destroy all those that are responsible for his death.  Tyrannus, first of all.  Second, Lucius Swordbreaker.”

“You want to kill Lord Swordbreaker?”

I nod darkly.  “I can and I will.  I will not let what has happened to me happen to others.  I will kill him.”  There’s a moment of silence.  Then I ask, “Why are you jealous?  You’re a commander as a woman.  I’m hardly a captain.”

“I had to fight for my position,” she says.  “They did not want me here.  Still I fought.”

“Why?”

“Because my family is victim to their armies as well.”

I nod in understanding.  “Go on,” I invite after a moment.

“I’m from a small town outside of Thrak,” she says.  “I’m assuming you know where that is.”  I nod.  “Tygnar wiped us out.  Spared a select few.  Took everything.  I killed the soldier who had destroyed my family.  Then I escaped from them before they could find me.”  She waits before continuing, “I pledged into the army under the guise of a boy, with my hair cut short and pads in my clothing.  They accepted me, but I was discovered shortly after my first battle, in which I was wounded in the side.”  She rubs her left side at the bottom of her ribcage.  “I was discovered when I refused to let the healers help me.  Immediately they tried to kick me out, but I told them to give me a chance.  They gave me that chance and I proved myself in the defense of Fragruss only a few weeks later.”

“How’d you do that?”

“I saved the life of the previous commander,” she explains.  “Commander Orpheus.  That’s when they decided to keep me.  Since then Orpheus always liked me.  And I’ve worked my way up ever since.  I replaced him when he was killed in a surprise attack while we were travelling back to Thrak.  And here I am.  I’m jealous because you’re advancing quicker than me.  I’m not as good a warrior or tactician as you, and not nearly as honorable.”

I nod.  “I may have misjudged you.  You have made yourself plenty honorable by apologizing tonight.”

“Are you willing to accept my friendship?” she asks.

I look at her outstretched hand.  After a second I take it and reply, “Of course.”

She hangs on a little longer than I would like, but I do notice how pretty she suddenly looks underneath the moon.

“It shows,” she says suddenly.

“What?” I ask, a little perplexed.

“That you’re a blacksmith.  Has it been in the family for a while?”

I raise an eyebrow.  “Yes.  Everything I know was taught to me by my father.  Why?”

“Well…” she begins.  Even in the dim light I can see her cheeks turning red, which I didn’t even think was possible.  “You’re big,” she says.  “Got it from your father?”

“Yes.  And from the hammer.”

“No wonder you can swing that thing around with such ease,” she says, eyeing the beast on my back.

I nod slowly.  “I suppose.”  The direction of the conversation is beginning to take a turn I don’t exactly like.

The final straw is laid when she asks the question, “Do you have a girl waiting at home?”

My eyes narrow slightly.  I look at her and say slowly, “Do you
fancy
me?”

She’s taken aback.  “No!  Of course not.”

That answers my question.  “Whoa,” I say quietly.

She denies it again.  “Of course I don’t!  Sure, you’re big and strong, but I don’t
fancy
you!  What gave you that idea?!”

“Nothing,” I say quietly, anxious to get out of the situation.  “I need to go get some sleep.  I suggest you do the same.”

Then I turn around and leave her in the courtyard.

She pretends that the scene never happened.  She does revert back to her old self, but she’s much less aggressive.  She apparently meant her apology.

“Hello,” she says with a slight smile as she passes me at breakfast, wearing her steel armor proudly.

“That was weird,” James observes.  “What happened?”

“We had a little talk,” I say before taking a bite of meal.

“Like a… talk?” he says as he punches his fist into his open palm.

I shake my head.  “A little different.”

He raises his eyebrows.  “A… talk?” he repeats, making a kissy face.

I shudder and he laughs.  “Heavens no,” I reply quickly.  “She… apologized.”

“Really?” says Percival.

“Yes.  We sort of… settled our differences,” I say.

“Right,” says James.  I roll my eyes and take a large drink.

Genevieve comes back to our group and says, “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

Everybody raises their eyebrows.  James’s jaw drops.

“I haven’t treated you fairly, and I’m sorry,” she continues.  “What are your names?”

It takes my friends a moment to compose themselves and answer her.  Naturally, Percival is the first to recover.

“I’m Percival.”

“Jericho.”

“I’m Nathaniel, Kadmus’s brother,” says my sibling, holding my shoulder.