Dragonhammer: Volume I (28 page)

Sojourn in Tears

T
here are still a few hours of daylight left, and I use them to their highest potential.  Nathaniel, Percival, James, and Jericho join me.  Nathaniel seems almost as panicked as I am, and we lead the group at a pace quicker than we’ve ever traveled.

I’m reluctant to stop for the night, but I know we must.  We packed light, to travel faster, so my bedroll is not as thick or as warm as I would like.

We knew that we would need armor, so of course we wear that and our weapons.  No matter how this plays out, there will be blood shed, and I want to be prepared for it.

We come to Kera within the fourth day, but we only stop to buy some food and supplies.  It only takes us over an hour; then we leave the city and continue northward towards Terrace.

We pass the Living Vale on our left, and I stare into it the entire time it is visible.  Specifically, I gaze to the top of the great waterfall where my father lies.  “We must stop,” I say.

Percival almost runs into me and Nathaniel says, “What?!”

“We must stop,” I say, quieter.  Percival sees the direction I’m looking and something in his brain clicks.

“Yes,” he agrees.  “If you feel we must.”

Then we take the turn into the Living Vale.

I know this will take time.  It will lengthen the journey by just less than a day, and though we must make this journey as quickly as possible, this stop is just as important to me as the reason for the journey is.

The vale is even more verdant than when we saw it last.  Everything has had at least a month or more to grow and change, everything for the better.  Birds sing to us as we pass and our feet grind against the dirt of the path with scuffing noises.  The pine boughs rustle and the wind blows lightly.  A fox darts across the path and scrutinizes us from the cover of a thick hedge.

The air is fresh.  The cool wind brings a strong scent of pine and makes the air seem even crisper.  The path leads up the left ridge of the vale, and eventually we rise above the tops of the trees and walk along the rocky ridge towards the top of the waterfall.  We reach it much faster than we had the previous time.

We eat lunch a little ways from the opening of the cave.  There is little speaking, as the purpose of the sidetrack is obvious and unspoken.

“Would you like us to come in with you?” asks Percival.

“You may come if you want,” I reply softly.  “I expect nothing from any of you.”

Nathaniel is coming, but he does not need to voice it.

We walk to the mouth of the cave together and stop.  Unlit torches sit on the rocky walls just inside.  The water feeding the falls flows from the cave solemnly, like it’s respecting the occasion.  It seems too fast and deep to allow crossing at any point.

The cave is dark, so I take one of the torches from its sconce and light it with my flint and steel.

“We will wait here,” Percival says on behalf of the group.  “You can go on.”

I nod.  “Thank you,” I mutter.  Nathaniel nods.  Then we turn and start into the cave on the left side of the underground river.

I hold the torch steadily.  The fire casts orange light on the rocky walls, spiky shadows flickering over the floor and sides.  The tunnel turns right and the light from the mouth goes out of sight.

Then we turn left and behold the tomb.

It sits just as we left it.  The rectangular box is placed exactly in the middle of the room, and unlit torches sit on the walls in their sconces.  I light the ones to the sides with the torch I brought in.  Then I stand by my brother and study the stone tomb.

We say nothing.  I rest my unoccupied hand on top of the tomb as Father would rest his hand on my shoulder:  with tenderness and strength.

Are you proud?
I ask silently. 
Are you proud of me?  Of what I have done and what I am becoming?
  I stop and wait, as if for a response.  It doesn’t come. 
There are some who have taken to calling me Dragonhammer.  I fight for you.  I am well on my way to avenging you.  You will not have died in vain. 
I pause again. 
Mother is in danger.  The last thing you said to me was to take care of my mother.  I intend to honor that request.  She will be safe.  I have already lost you.  It would destroy me to lose her.  The enemy knows this and they mean to destroy me by bringing harm to her.  I would not be able to live with myself if such a thing were to happen.  I promise you now that she will be safe.  Nothing will happen to her.  I bring her love.  All will be well.

I look to Nathaniel and see a tear rolling down his cheek.  I take my hand from the lid of the tomb and place it on his shoulder.  I shake his shoulder softly and he looks at me.  I give him a small comforting smile.  Then I take my hand from his shoulder and say one last thing to my father.

There is a hole in my heart caused by your murder.  I ache every moment.  The hole refuses to be filled.  It cannot be filled.  You hold a place in me that no other comes close to.  I love you, Father.  I will return.

Then I quench the hanging torches and we turn and leave the tomb.

Nathaniel wipes his eyes before we reach the mouth of the cave.  His eyes are still slightly red when we walk into the sunlight.  Percival gives me a smile similar to the one I gave Nathaniel.  I nod to him and say quietly, “Thank you.”

“Let’s keep moving,” he says.  Then I remember the reason for our journey and I am filled with an entirely different emotion.

“Yes,” I agree.  “Let’s.”

Then we trek down the ridge from which we had come.  There’s a path that leads down the opposite ridge and out the other side of the Vale, but our trip would be made faster to go back down and cross Dragongate Bridge.  We make camp at the base.  The next day we will cross the bridge.

We wake early and break camp in only a few minutes.  There’s nothing to pack up but for our bedrolls.  Then we eat a quick breakfast and follow the road.

We reach the bridge before midday.  We can see it before we reach it because of the sheer size of the bridge.  Vines are climbing the ancient columns in the season.  The trees seem to edge away from the bridge like they’re scared of something.

As we approach, I see a peculiar rock lying across the road just in front of the crenellated arch leading onto the bridge.

James narrows his eyes at it as we approach.  “That’s not a rock,” he mutters.

We get closer and all agree that it is most definitely not a rock.  Part of it seems furry and Jericho says, “It’s an animal.”

“No,” I respond.  “It’s a person.”

And indeed it is.  I crouch down and study him.

His hair is short and black, and his face seems almost cruel.  He wears a dark traveling cloak with a fur collar and fur shoulders.  An empty sheath lies on his belt.  I look for the weapon for only a second, and then I find it lying under him; I can see the blade sticking out from under his arm.  It glints; there is blood dried on it, but it is not his own.  The sword’s edge has an odd sheen to it.  I study it and touch my finger to the blade.  “Poison,” I mutter.

His eyes are open, revealing brilliant green eyes.

“He died suddenly,” I say quietly.  I look down towards his chest and stomach.

A nasty slash carves its way across his torso from his right shoulder to the bottom of his ribcage on the left.  Blood soaks his tunic and undershirt; he wears no armor.

I look about him and find the shaft of an arrow.  The head has been broken off.

I inspect his body again and find a wound in his heart.  A broken shard of wood sticks out about half a centimeter.  The arrowhead must lie within.

“He must be only a day or two dead,” I say.  “He does not stink yet, but his eyes are beginning to sink.”

“Who is he?” James asks.

“I don’t know,” I respond.  “He wears no insignia or flag of any kind.  I would say that we must bury him, but we have no time to waste.”  I look towards the river.  “Somebody help me lift him.”

Percival takes his feet and I lift his shoulders.  “Where are we taking him?” he asks.

“The river,” I respond.  “Nobody deserves to be left dead on the side of a road.”

He nods in agreement and we take him onto the bridge.  The river flows violently underneath us around the arches supporting the bridge.  I nod to Percival and we lift him up and over the waist-high wall.  The dead man rolls over the side stiffly and is engulfed by the white water, disappearing into the depths of the river.

“Pity,” James says.  “I wonder who killed him.”

“And if he was killed in cold blood,” I add.  “Or in self-defense.”

“What makes you think that?” he asks.

“His sword was drawn,” I say.  “And it was poisoned.  It was premeditated.  He was going to try to kill somebody.  But they put up more of a fight than he thought.”

“But he got cut and had an arrow in him,” says James.  “Did he try to take out multiple people?”

“Possible,” I say.  “Or that one person is stronger than he ever had imagined.  Either way it is done, and we are not involved.  We should continue.”

They agree and we resume our journey.

At the opposite end of the bridge, we pass underneath the arch and I happen to glance to the left.  There, lying on the ground, is an unconscious woman.

I approach her immediately.  She lies on the shore near the water, like she had been trying to reach it.  She apparently had been too late.

She is young and beautiful.  Her skin is white, but not pale; she has freckles across her upper cheeks and the bridge of her nose.  Her jaw is prominent, but in an attractive way.  Her build is small, and she wears a dark indigo shirt with a similarly colored cloak and hood.  Her hair is dirty blond and somewhat curly.  She lies on her stomach, with her cheek resting on the moist dirt.  I find myself with the fleeting desire that I might need to resuscitate her, but shake it off and check her vitals.

When I don’t see her torso rising and falling, I place one of my daggers beneath her attractive nose.  Nothing happens for a few moments.  Then the blade fogs slightly.  “She is breathing,” I say.  Then I sheathe the dagger, roll her onto her side carefully, and put my hand under her neck, just above her collarbone.  I notice that she has a cut on her right forearm.  “Her pulse is faint,” I observe.  I withdraw my hand.  “But she is alive.”

Aela

“
C
ould this be the other man’s victim?” asks Nathaniel.

“I would guess so,” I say.  “We can’t leave her here to die.”

“What will we do?”

“I will carry her.”

They stare at me like I’m an idiot.  “The whole way?” asks Jericho.  “There’s no time to go back to Kera!”

“I know.  I can do it.”

Percival nods.  “Very well then.  Do you know when she will wake?”

I study her for a moment.  “I don’t know.  That depends on what the poison is.”

“I may know,” says Nathaniel.  “Judging from the symptoms here, the poison is that of the Glundloor Leaf.”

“What’s it do?” Jericho asks.

“Shuts your body down.  It basically puts you into a sleep so deep, you seem dead, but doesn’t kill you.  If you’re under the right care, that is.  Within a day or two you begin breathing again, but it depends on the dose.  If that’s the poison, then I have no idea when she will wake.  Only time will tell.”

I study the wound on her forearm.  It’s already beginning to heal, and dried blood lies in small streaks along it.

I roll her onto her back carefully, supporting her head.  I tilt her head back and take the lid from my waterskin.  Then I trickle a few drops down her throat.  I put my waterskin back on my belt and lift her with my right arm supporting her neck and my left under the crook of her knees.  Her head rolls slightly towards me and rests on my chest.  An overwhelming feeling fills me, but I do not recognize it and withdraw from it uncomfortably.

“All the more reason to make haste,” I say darkly.  “We make for Terrace as fast as we can travel.”

Although I am slowed, I still manage to not only keep up, but to lead the group.  Nathaniel carries the girl’s pack, as well as her bow and quiver.

That night I try giving her a little more water.  She is unresponsive.  I sacrifice my extra blanket to her and, though I do not sleep as warmly as I would like, I’m sure she is much warmer than she has been during her unconsciousness.

When we wake, the first thing I do is check her vital signs again.  Although she has not improved much, she has not worsened either.  I carry her the same way all of that day, resting only for lunch.

“Why are you doing this?” James asks.

“We can’t leave her to die,” I repeat.  “What else is there to be done?”

He only responds with a simple nod and the word, “Nothing.”

I rest her head on my cloak, rolled up to make a temporary pillow.  Then I cover her in the bedroll we found in her pack, and look into her eyes.  Though they are closed, they are moving beneath her eyelids.  She takes a deep breath, but does not move otherwise.  Her breathing becomes stronger.

What are you dreaming?
I wonder.

The next morning she has not moved a muscle from where I set her down.  We resume our trek, and I find myself hoping greatly that she will wake, though I do not know her.

She continues to drink water when I give it to her, so I trickle some into her mouth every time we stop.  The night goes much the same, and is slightly colder because of the higher altitude.

“I wonder who she is,” asks Percival during the next day.

I glance down at her helpless form and then back up at the road.  “So do I,” I agree.  “And why she was that man’s target.”

“Or why that man was her target,” he mutters.

“I doubt it,” I say.

Dinner consists of a rabbit Nathaniel shot, stewed with some vegetables he packed in the pot he’s stewing with.  Afterwards, while the others lie around the fire asleep, I sit upright against a tree next to the unconscious girl, on watch.

“Who are you?” I ask quietly.  She does not respond, though I was not expecting a reply.  “Where did you come from?”  No response.

“How did you get there?  Why?”

She does nothing.

I rest my head against the tree and think for a moment.  Then I look back to her and say, “I am your friend.  You need not be scared of me.”  Then she stirs.  It’s the first time she moves since I’ve first seen her.

She shifts underneath the blanket and her head rolls from her left cheek to her right.  Still her eyes continue to move beneath her eyelids.

The corner of my lip turns up.  It goes back down when she takes a deep breath and I realize she is not yet awake.

Percival watches me pick her up the next day and shakes his head.  “There are not many men that can do that,” he says.  “Carry someone from Kera to Terrace.”

I shake my head.  “I am not like many men.”

“Agreed,” he says.  “For the better.  If every man were as strong as you this war would be won as fast as we could march.”

I do not reply, made slightly uncomfortable by the praise.

“But they are not,” he says wistfully.  “We are normal men.”  He leaves it at that.

The road continues upward slightly, forging its own path through the trees and up the mountains.  We are nearing Terrace and will reach it in another day or two.

That night, just after we finish setting up our camp, she stirs.

I’m sitting next to her.  I feel an odd sense of protection over her, like I am her guardian of some sort or another.  As she stirs, I look sharply, but say nothing.  She continues and emits a groan, and then her eyes force themselves open.

She starts and looks around abruptly.  When her eyes make contact with mine, she freezes.

Her eyes are as beautiful as the rest of her.  They are bright and perceptive, seeing and analyzing everything about the surroundings and me.  They appear bright blue, with a little bit of a misty effect.  Only by looking into her eyes, I can tell that she is scared.

I give her a very small smile and say, “It’s okay.  You’re safe.”

She shakes her head, but does not break eye contact.

I nod.  “Do you know who I am?”

She sizes me up glances at my left hand.  Her eyes narrow and then she spots the hammer leaning against a log right next to me.  Her eyes widen and she nods.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” I say quietly.  Percival has noticed, but is observing from afar rather than approaching the situation.  “I- we- are your friends.  There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

She glances to the four other men in the camp, and then back to me.  There’s a moment where nothing happens.  Then she nods slowly.

“We have all of your things,” I say, gesturing to the pack lying close by.  “We only took out the bedroll for you to use.”  She looks and nods slightly when she sees the bow and quiver lying next to her pack.

“What is your name?” I ask.

Her brow furrows, like she’s trying hard to remember.  “Aela,” she finally says.  Her voice is music.  “My name is Aela.”

“I am Kadmus,” I introduce.  “These are Percival, James, Jericho, and Nathaniel.”  I point to each of them as I say their name.  I wait a moment and then ask, “Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” she says immediately.

I get up and get a bowl of stew and some bread.  I bring it back and say, “Help yourself.”

She struggles to get off of her back and sit up, but has incredible difficulty.  I make to help her, but she refuses with a wave of her hand.  I back off and let her struggle.  After a minute, she is sitting up leaning against a log.  She is breathing hard, but still accepts the food with ravenous hunger.

I let her eat in silence.  When she finishes, I offer my waterskin.  She grasps it and messes with the cap, but once she gets it off, she looks at the waterskin warily.  Then she looks with the same expression at me.

Saying nothing, I take it and take a swig.  Then I offer it back to her.

She drains it and hands it back empty.  I smile slightly and she asks, wiping her mouth, “Where are we?”

“We’re a few days north of Dragongate Bridge on the road to Terrace,” I respond.  “We’ll be there in another two days.”

“I was at the bridge,” she says.  “How did you get me here?”

“I carried you,” I answer quietly.

Her eyes widen.  “What?  Why?”

“Well, I couldn’t let you lay there and die,” I respond.

“Why not?” she mutters.

I answer her the same way I had answered one of my friends a few days earlier.  “Because nobody deserves to die by the side of the road.  I saw hope for you, so I decided I would help you get your best chance.”

“Thank you,” she says quietly.  Then, a few seconds later she adds, “I owe you my life.”

“I was only helping a friend in need,” I respond.  “Why were you there in the first place?”

She ponders for a moment.  Then she replies, “I and my friend were travelling to deliver some goods from Kera to Terrace.  That’s where I’m from:  Kera.  We were attacked by a band of thieves at the bridge.  They took everything, including her.  We killed one of them.  I have no sword, so I used my bow.  She used her sword.  I was hit by one of their poisoned blades and they must have left me for dead.”  Her voice trails off.  As I study her eyes, there seems to be something wrong, like she is not telling the entire truth.  However, I get the inkling that everything she has told me is truth.  She looks away and breaks my gaze.

“I see,” I answer.  “Do you have family in Terrace?”

She shakes her head.

“In Kera?”

She shakes her head again.

I nod and ask, “Do you have family?”

“I have none…” she mutters.

“Will you be able to walk tomorrow?”

She hesitates.  “I do not know.”

“Well, get some sleep,” I say.  “We will see in the morning.”

The next morning, she refuses to have help.  “I can do it,” she says.  “I can do it.”  She’s stronger than she was the night before, but she is still weak.  To stand, she pulls on a tree to help her get upright.  Once standing, she takes a few deep breaths and then lets go of the tree.  She’s still standing.

“Will you be able to walk?” I ask.  “We cannot afford to lose time.  Our journey requires all the speed we can muster.”

She does not answer, but takes a step forward.  She wobbles slightly and holds her head.  On the next step, she begins to fall over backwards.

I catch her before she hits the ground.  Immediately she struggles away from me harder than she had to stand up.  Her struggles somehow land her upright about a foot from me.  She gives me a glare that says, “I can do it.”

I merely smile slightly with an expression that say, “Are you sure?”

Her next expression gives me no answer.

“We’re leaving in just a few minutes,” I say.  “Be sure to get some breakfast.”  Then I turn and walk to my pack across the camp.

She joins us a moment later.  “Hello,” Percival says.  “Are you feeling better this morning?”

She nods.  “A little.”

“You’re standing and walking,” he observes.  “That’s a step forward.”

She nods again and declines a chunk of bread that James offers.  “I have my own,” she says.  Then she hobbles back to her own pack a little ways away.

“Think she can keep up?” James asks.

“No idea,” I respond.  “We’ll find out, I suppose.”

“If she doesn’t?” Nathaniel asks.

“No idea,” I repeat.  “I’ve known her since last night and I know she’ll refuse to let me carry her.  She might accept support.  Probably a crutch.”

“What’s the plan once we get to Terrace?” Jericho asks.  “You’ve got to have one.”

“I and Nathaniel stay with our mother,” I respond.  “And we will kill anybody that tries to harm us or her.”

Jericho nods appreciatively.  Aela’s brow furrows; she’s obviously eavesdropping.

“And with her?” James asks quietly.

I hesitate before answering.  “She’s been through a lot, but has no family.  Maybe we can be one for her.”

Aela leans back and her brow stays furrowed.  She swallows whatever she had been chewing and turns towards her pack.

“Us?” asks Nathaniel, gesturing to the group.  “Or us?”  he points between me and him.

“Both,” I answer.

A twig snaps and we look to see Aela standing nearby with her pack and bow on her back.  “We leaving?” she says coldly.  “I thought you were in a hurry.”

I raise an eyebrow and look at Percival, who shrugs.  As one we stand and join her.

She has trouble for the first part of the day.  As I predicted, she finds a suitable stick to lean on, but she is slow.  Her pace is persistent, however.  She plows forward without stopping or complaining.

After lunch she begins to improve.  Her strength begins to return, but she still is slow and the pace is painstaking for me.  Every so often she stops and leans heavily on the stick.  “Poison still hasn’t worked its way out of my system yet,” she gasps.

“Do you need help?” I ask.

“No,” she retaliates.  “I’m fine.”  Then we continue.