Hammerhold Tales: Thrallborn (15 page)

Jatharr trailed off in the middle of his story. Sawain glanced over at him. Jatharr's gaze dropped to the handles of the barrow he was pushing. Sawain was afraid to push the story further, and was content to leave it at that, though curious still. After a brief moment of silence, Jatharr cleared his throat and began to speak again.

“Anyway, the news of Torval's boast reached Chief Gothur.”

Sawain stopped dead in his tracks. His blood ran cold and his mind went numb.

Torval. Torval.

Jatharr stopped mid sentence when he noticed Sawain stop, “You alright, friend? You look as if you've seen a ghost. What's got you spooked?”

Sawain blinked the mix of rage and shock away and took a deep breath before he continued walking, “It's nothing, I just got a little light headed. Must not be fully recovered yet.”

Jatharr gave him a concerned glance, “We can stop a while if ye need it.”

Sawain shook his head, “I'm fine, really. What happened when Chief Gothur found out your chief's boast?”

Jatharr turned face forward and went back to pushing the barrow, “Well, he flew into a rage, as Centaur are apt to do. As prone to tantrums as they are, their judgment during those fits is equally infamous. He took this foolish boast as a declaration of war. It is common belief among the Harthaz that when a prophecy is made, it can be stopped by killing the one who made the prophecy. Something about the spirit and the prophet being bound together until the spirit has enough energy to manifest itself physically and thereby fulfill the prophecy. Bunch of superstitious filth, if you ask me. Either way, their... diplomats came to our village one day. Demanded that we hand over the one who made the prophecy or face annihilation.”

Sawain's hatred for his father's foolishness was rekindled, “He handed her over?”

Jatharr shook his head, “Chief Torval was rash as a young man, but he was also fiercely loyal to our clan. He told the diplomats there was not going to be an execution of his people, nor annihilation. He slew one of the diplomats, beat the other within an inch of his life, then told him to tell his master that the Borsaal Clan would not be bullied by... a clan of half-breeds.”

Sawain spat on the ground. His father being unkind to half-breeds made too much sense in Sawain's mind.

Jatharr continued, “Gothur's forces bore down hard on us the next day. For all our might, theirs was greater. We were fortunate to have more in number, but it was not enough. Our people were slaughtered. To stop the fighting, my wife revealed herself as the prophetess. I... I tried to save her, but they were too much for me. Chief Torval had been gravely wounded and could not come to her aid in time either. Gothur cut her down unceremoniously, right in front of my eyes. A part of me was forever lost that day. As broken-hearted as I was, Chief Torval was the worst off. Once she was dead, the Harthaz pulled back, satisfied with leaving us for dead. Only, we did not die. Torval and I recovered, along with the remnants of our clan. There were not many of us left, but Torval vowed that the war was far from over.”

Sawain hated his father deeply, but he was not so hard hearted that he did not feel bad for the foolish old tyrant, “So, he did care for someone other than himself.”

Jatharr shot Sawain an odd look, “You speak as if you know Torval.”

“I know his kind. Wicked old tyrants who would rather cling to a dead and broken code than do what is truly right.”

Jatharr furrowed his brow, growing flush, “I'll not have you talk about my old friend that way. You do not know him. He is a great war hero and he is an avenger of my bloodline.”

Sawain was unable to hold back his hatred. His distaste for Torval erupted violently, “He was a tyrant! There's nothing heroic about enslaving others, especially not your true love. There's nothing heroic about turning a blind eye while you wife mercilessly beats a young child, just for looking like her husband. Torval was a filthy old goat who deserved the death he was given!”

Jatharr fell silent. No one in the caravan spoke. Sawain's outburst made all afraid to speak. They walked on quietly for many minutes. The guilt of Sawain's rage weighted heavily on him. He was not sure if he should apologize or not. What he said was true, even though he delivered it harshly. His father was a criminal in his mind and he could not stand to hear anyone talking about him like he was honorable.

The small entourage continued their journey for another hour. It was getting late. The sun was sinking beneath the hills. With the sun's light went the only warmth available to them. They had come across a small cluster of trees on top of a rocky hill. Jatharr pointed to it.

“We should stop there and set up for the night. It will be dark soon and we all need to rest. I know the children are exhausted.”

Sawain looked over the refugees. The two children he met earlier were half asleep, the girl clinging to her aunt's hand and the boy riding on his uncle's back. The uncle looked ready to collapse as well. He nodded in agreement.

“Yes, let's set up camp and try to get some shelter up. I can scout the area and gather any food or firewood I find.”

Jatharr furrowed his brow, “No firewood. We can't risk a fire. We are in wolf country.”

Sawain snorted, “I can handle a pack of wolves. I've killed a giant. We need some heat tonight or we'll all freeze.”

Jatharr's voice grew dangerous, “You don't have a magic hammer anymore. Besides, these are not like the half starved wolves around the hold. These wolves are touched by the wild magic of Alfhaven. Do not forget, you may have a touch of the divine, but I have a full plate of experience.”

Sawain's arrogance won out over his common sense, “Jatharr, I don't care if the wolves can breathe fire. I can handle them. I am the champion of Turin, god of storms. You trusted me in Underfell Town and I got you out, didn't I?”

Jatharr growled deep in his throat, fury in his eyes glowing like fire, “I don't care if you are chosen of the gods, I am the leader of this camp! These are my people and they are under my leadership! We nursed you back to health because we were grateful for your help, but if you are going to come in here and try to start running things, I am going to have to ask you to go your separate way!”

Sawain's anger was piqued at this. His eyes widened menacingly and he ground his teeth together. He opened his mouth to issue a challenge, but his mother's inherited wisdom stopped him. As much as he hated being under the authority of another, Jatharr was right.

“I'm sorry, captain. I was out of line. I suppose I let the hero thing go to my head.”

It burned his mind and heart to say that.

Jatharr stared him down viciously, “See it doesn't happen again. Now, get the tents set up. I will deal with weatherproofing the camp.”

They reached the grove in question and Sawain worked silently in the failing light. His pride was wounded and hurt more than even his feet. He was ashamed of himself, letting his brief moment of glory cloud his judgment and act like the tyrant he blamed his father to be.

I cannot allow myself to become my father. I have to learn to keep a level head, or I am no better than he was. If I abuse my power and make my allies suffer, I will be a tyrant, too.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought about the young boy who said that he wanted to grow up to be like Sawain, and how he probably heard his violent outburst about his father. He let the tears flow freely as he set up the larger tent.

My actions can no longer be selfishly driven. People are watching me, every move I make. If I am to fulfill my destiny and save Hammerhold, everyone's eyes will be on me. I want them to see a real hero, not a selfish, blood thirsty monster.

He looked back at the halfling refugees who were wearily limping around the camp site, scrounging for anything edible they could find. He felt a tug at his elbow. He turned to see Jatharr. He turned away and hastily wiped the tears from his face.

“What do you need, captain?”

Jatharr hesitated, then held out a handful of berries, “Here, eat this, these fire berries will help with the cold. I noticed the bush on the way in. Look, I'm sorry things got tense today. Everyone's just tired. I shouldn't be yelling at you like you were one of my militiamen. You are a hero and I should treat you like one.”

Sawain turned around and accepted the berries, “You should only treat me like one if I am acting like one. I was not acting like a hero earlier, I was acting like a selfish child.”

Jatharr smiled and patted Sawain's other arm briskly, “Sawain, you are a child. Unfortunately, you cannot afford the luxury of a childhood. We are at war now, and we need you to become a man.”

Sawain nodded, “I understand that now, and I will do whatever I can to become the hero our people, the people of Anvilheim, need and not the hero I think I should be.”

Jatharr grinned broadly, “You've already become more of a man than many warriors I've known in my life. When the time comes, I will gladly stand with you against the Grey King.”

Sawain felt happiness grip him again, this time by the throat. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat to respond to Jatharr. He did so with some difficulty.

“I would be happy to have you by my side, captain.”

Jatharr nodded, cleared his throat and turned to the other refugees, “Right, everyone, inside the big tent. We will need all the body heat we can get to not freeze to death tonight. That means you too, Deathsbane,” He said, looking back to Sawain with a smile.

Sawain nodded and quickly ate his handful of berries. They were not filling at all, but they did warm his belly. He smiled as he followed the rest of the survivors into the crowded tent. It really was a snug fit, and the amount of heat generated by everyone in the closed canvas tent did keep it from being frigid, though it was still cold. Sawain closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift to sleep with one thought on his mind.

I will not become my father.

Chapter Fourteen

Sawain awoke from his slumber. It was still dark. The soft snores of the inhabitants of the tent drifted through the frigid night air. Sawain was cold and stiff, but not frozen solid, to his relief. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes, ready to fall back into his sleep. Then he heard a twig snap. His eyes were open and he was wide awake again. He heard rustling in front of the tent.

He slowly and quietly as possible rose from the mass of sleeping halflings. He meticulously crawled over to the front flap, trying not to awaken anyone else. He slowly worked the flap open with one finger until he made a slit wide enough for him to see through. He saw Jatharr standing just in front of the tent with his back to it. He was wielding both of the wood cutting axes he salvaged from Underfell Town.

Sawain whispered to his ally, “Jatharr?”

Jatharr jumped slightly and glanced over his shoulder at Sawain as he emerged from the tent. He let one of the axes slide down his left hand until he held it by the head then held out his arm with the handle pointing to Sawain. Sawain took it as
Something's wrong, you'll need this.

He took the offered axe and scanned the surrounding grove. The freshly fallen snow on the ground played havoc with his elven eyes, throwing off a glare from the moon. It made it hard for him to see clearly. He squinted as he kept searching. A minute of dead silence passed.

Sawain heard it before he saw it. He heard snow crunch underfoot and turned just in time to see a monstrous wolf lunging at him, fangs bared. He only had time to turn and raise his axe in defense, taking it in both hands. The pouncing beast slammed him with a paw on either shoulder, effortlessly knocking him off his feet. He got the axe up in time to catch the monster's jaws with the handle. He hit the ground hard, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He fought with all the strength he had to keep the slavering, gnashing maw of fangs from ending his life in one deft bite.

It was too heavy, he couldn't push it off of him. Its eyes glowed with a strange green effervescence. its gray fur was broken at the joints by bony growths that made it look even more sinister. It snarled and gnashed at the handle, splintering it bit by bit. Panic rose in his chest as the axe handle began to crack. In a final act of desperation, Sawain mustered all his strength and pulled his unpinned legs up to his chest, tucking them against the wolf's underbelly and kicking as hard as he could, He kept the push going by bracing himself with his pinned shoulders.

The wolf's hind end lifted off of the ground and flipped over its head, twisting it around and breaking its pin. Sawain rolled to the right and scrambled to his feet, grasping the gnawed on axe firmly in his hand. The wolf quickly recovered from the maneuver and was crouching to pounce again.

Sawain was ready this time. The wolf flew at his throat again, but Sawain was quick enough to side step it. The massive wolf, which was twice as big as any wolf he had ever seen before, passed him harmlessly, skidding across the frozen surface of the grove. He saw a side assault coming from his right in the corner of his eye and swung the axe hard in the direction of the new assailant.

An agonized yelp escaped from the smaller wolf who caught Sawain's axe blade in the chest. He followed through with his swing and knocked the smaller wolf backwards. It crashed to the ground, limp and lifeless.

Sawain barely had time to regain his posture before the large wolf charged him again. He swiped recklessly with the axe and hit the wolf in the head with the handle, shattering the weapon on its hard, bony brow. It smashed into him again, digging its razor sharp fangs into his shoulder. Sawain crashed to the ground, the full weight of the gargantuan wolf pressing hard on him.

Pain ran through his body like an electric current. He could feel the warm blood running from his shoulder. The sickly metallic smell reached his nostrils. It awakened the berserker within him immediately. Unfiltered fury stoked in his chest and released a terrifying roar from his throat that loosened the wolf's vice-like clamp on his shoulder. That was all he needed.

He grasped the broken shaft of the axe and drove it into the side of the wolf's neck, just under the toughened skin. It let go, howling in lupine rage. Sawain did not hesitate as soon as the wolf let go. He pulled back and punched the beast as hard as he could in the chin. It recovered quickly from the blow, but looked surprised. It snapped at his throat this time, but met with resistance from his fist again. This punch caused it to reel back, staggering off of Sawain. He sprung to his feet and grabbed the broken shaft protruding from the dazed wolf's neck. He ripped it out with great force, spraying wolf blood all over the white snow

This sudden loss of blood made the wolf sway back and forth. Sawain took this opportunity to drive the shaft under the beast's ribs, wrench it ninety degrees, and tear it out again. This grievous wound spilled more of the wolf's blood on the ground. The wolf jumped back after the last attack and tried to turn and run, but Sawain fell on it before it could. He roared like a fiend as he pummeled it with the broken handle. It finally stopped struggling beneath the rain of blows and lay still on the crimson ground.

Sawain stepped away from the broken corpse of the wolf and remembered Jatharr. He pivoted around to where the halfling was and found four smaller wolves scattered across the grove, with various limbs and heads detached from their bodies. Jatharr was panting and dripping in blood, yelling at the retreating mongrels.

“What's wrong, ye mangy elf-hounds?! Bite of more'n ye can chew? If ye want another helping of Jatharr, you'll know where to find me! I'll be the one skinning yer mothers!”

Sawain's rage subsided as he marveled at the bloody halfling who continued to sling threats and insults at the wolves' mothers. When Jatharr finished, he took a few deep breaths and spat on the snow. He remembered Sawain and turned to him, looking quite jovial for someone who was just fighting for his life.

“Well, that was fun. Haven't tussled with the Siethtakar wolves in a while. You alright over there, Sawain? Didn't mean to leave you alone with the alpha, but looks like you can handle yerself.”

Sawain shrugged, grabbing at his tattered shoulder, “I've had worse.”

He walked over to the fallen alpha and studied its bony shoulder armor. Heads poked out of the tent once the commotion died down. A flurry of questions rushed Jatharr.

“What's going on?”

“Are we under attack?”

“Is everything safe now?”

“Are there any more wolves?”

Jatharr raised both hands to end the barrage of interrogations, “Steady everyone, the situation has been dealt with. You are not in danger, we have everything under control. Just go back to sleep.”

“Is that blood? Is it your blood?”

“How can we sleep with wolves about?!”

Jatharr sighed and spread his hands out in a comforting gesture, “Friends, friends, there are no more wolves to worry about. We killed their alpha, they will be sure to avoid us at all costs now. The Siethtakar are smarter than that.”

The fellow refugees did not seem thoroughly satisfied with Jatharr's response, but settled down regardless. He sighed with relief as they withdrew into the tent. He grinned at Sawain, giving him a look that said,
That wasn't so bad.

“We'd best get patched up and clean up this mess. At least we have breakfast for tomorrow.”

Sawain was appalled, and his face clearly showed it, “We're going to eat these things? Is that even safe? I mean, look at the bones sticking out of them.”

Jatharr gave Sawain a dismissive wave, “They're plenty fine to eat. The meat's not bony, just leaves a strange after taste in yer mouth. Kinda like blood, and it makes your tongue tingle a bit. But I've eaten lots of Siethtakar animals in my time.”

Sawain raised an eyebrow and scratched his head, “Siethtakar?”

Jatharr nodded, “Aye, creatures that have been exposed to the magic that protects Alfhaven Forest. Sometimes, it changes them, they absorb the natural magic and get bigger, stronger, meaner. Those wolves were mostly just your average Anvilheim curs, but a few of them had the glow, and the alpha was certainly a Siethtakar.”

Sawain nodded as if he was comprehending this information while he stared at the dark splotches melded into the snow. Jatharr waited for a response, but when he didn't get one, he continued explaining.

“Think of them as sponges that can absorb magic. When they eat Alfhaven plants and animals, drink Alfhaven water, or even breath Alfhaven air, the natural magic that flows through the forest gets into them. Once it does, it changes them. Makes them smarter, stronger, tougher. It's sort of a way for the forest to develop new creatures to protect its borders.”

Sawain looked more confused, “So, it turns anyone who enters into a monster?”

Jatharr shook his head, “No, the magic doesn't affect us, or any of the intelligent races. It only affects animals. Though, Druids can draw from it too. My wife tried it once. The week before she made the prophecy. Rumors were that it was the wild magic of Alfhaven that caused the prophecy, and after the war, my people hated that forest.”

Sawain's gaze dropped to his feet, “I see, so it must be hard, going back to a place you hate and fear.”

Jatharr shook his head again, more vehemently, “No, not at all. I said my people hated it. I never blamed the forest for what happened. I thought that was silly superstition. Anyway, enough of the heart to heart for tonight. Let's get these beasts skinned and gutted. We need the meat and fur.”

Sawain spent the next two hours helping Jatharr clean and skin the fallen wolves. He watched in suppressed disgust as Jatharr expertly butchered the animals, getting every single piece of edible meat off of their bones.

“We can use some of these bones too. I hear these magic infused bones make good medicine. 'Course, I can't make it, but maybe there's an elf in the forest who can.”

Sawain grinned, “No sense in wasting it, I guess.”

The sun was rising over the snowy hills by the time the duo finished preparing the meat and a fire. Sawain sat on a log, staring sleepily at the slabs of wolf meat roasting on the spits that were set over the fire.

The groggy refugees emerged one by one from the tent, each stretching his or her stiff, cold joints. They huddled around the fire, mumbling to each other in sleepy tones. Jatharr was busy breaking camp already. Sawain ran a hand over his recently bandaged shoulder. Jatharr used an old shirt as wrapping and had to tie it under his arm. It was very uncomfortable and Sawain complained adamantly about it when it was being applied. Even now, he shifted it, trying to get the knot out of his armpit. Moving the rag sent jolts of pain down his entire arm. He winced and stopped messing with it, focusing on rotating the cooking meat instead.

When the meat finished cooking, everyone was divvied out a portion of the food. Sawain chewed dutifully on the strange tasting meat as he watched the aunt of the youngsters coax them into eating their portion.

“Go on, Timneas, you must eat. It's all we have now. If you don't eat...”

Her voice trailed off, trying to come up with a fib the child might believe. Sawain stood up, meat in hand and walked over to Timneas. The small boy's eyes grew wide and he bashfully hid behind his aunt when he noticed Sawain approaching. Sawain knelt down in front of Timneas and gave him his most winning smile.

“Hey Tim, do you like your breakfast? I made it myself.”

The little one scowled shaking his head wildly. Sawain chuckled. At least the child was honest.

“Now Tim, this meat is very special. It has magic in it! It's very good for you. If you eat it, you'll be able to grow up nice and strong, like me. Come on now, give it a bite! I'll eat with you!”

Sawain's promise of growing into a hero made the boy excited. He bounced happily up and down as he grabbed the slab of meat with both of his tiny hands, making sure he ate it exactly like Sawain. Sawain took his own meal in both hands and raised it to his open mouth, tearing a chunk of it off animatedly. He made sure to chew it more than he normally would, so that his mimic would not choke on the oversized bite he took.

The two companions played this game until their breakfast was eaten. Timneas broke away from the adults as soon as the last bite was taken and ran around the camp, brimming with unbridled energy.

“Imma be a hero! Imma be a hero! Imma be a hero!”

Sawain watched in amusement as Timneas went from one refugee to another, until he told everyone in the camp the good news. The boy's aunt chuckled and patted Sawain on the arm.

“Yer a golden one, mister Sawain. Gods bless ye. The boy needs a good role model like you. We all do. Thank you.”

Sawain smiled at her, feeling the unfamiliar warmth in his chest again, “I really appreciate that. I hope I can live up to everyone's expectations.”

She continued to pat his arm, smiling warmly, “I know you will, young one. I know you will.”

The rest of the morning was spent breaking camp and hiding any traces of their stay. The morning sun was climbing high into the sky when the caravan of refugees continued their venture east, laden down with goods and now bundled up in makeshift wolf-skin cloaks. It was a long, tenacious walk. The farther east they went, the more wild the terrain grew. Six hours of climbing hills later, they seemed no closer to Alfhaven.