Hammerhold Tales: Thrallborn (3 page)

Sawain’s body ached, especially where the shackles rubbed against his raw skin. The salve did little to stop the pain. He could not imagine how bad it would hurt without it. Despite his battered body, the soles of his feet were in good shape still. He took solace in the fact that he could at least not complain of sore feet.

An hour into the march, Simir muttered to Sawain, “You were wise to do as Hilmr told you. He may be a gnoll, but he is still your new master.”

Sawain snorted, “Hilmr? So that beast has a name? He is not my master. I will never bend knee to a monster. I’m just biding my time. I’m going to kill him.”

“Keep your voice down,” Simir whispered in a suddenly nervous voice. “You’ll get us all killed if you start a fight.”

“No one will die because of me. I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

Simir chuckled, “You sound like your father.”

The pit of Sawain’s stomach grew sour. He could feel that same familiar fire building in his chest. He made a bitter face and spat on the ground, which was not the best idea, since he had not had any water since the night before.

“I’m nothing like my father. I’m not a scumbag Thrallmaster.”

All that could be heard for several minutes as they trudged along was the jangling of chains and the rattling of carts. Finally Simir spoke again.

“Your father was not as bad as you make him out to be. He took good care of all of us. We –“

“Are war criminals, I know. But I am not. Why did he put me into thralldom? You dare try to defend my father? If he loved my mother, why did he keep her as a slave? Why did he let her die? He was scum. The gnolls did us a favor.”

Simir’s response was tinged with anger, “You think the gnolls did us a favor? Do you know nothing of our customs? These monsters slew the kindest master you could ever ask for. Torval was a hero, Sawain.”

“Heroes don’t enslave people. Heroes don’t force those they love to work in the fields with no pay. Heroes don’t let their true love die.”

“There’s more to it than that. I've told you before. Yes, your father loved your mother, but he was bound by law, as we all are. He did the best he could for both of you.”

“The law is wrong. If he was a hero, he would have fought for us. He would have opposed the Segrammir and his customs. We should not even be bound to Jordborg. Where was Jordborg’s army when the gnolls ravaged the farm for hours? Where were their heroes when we were being driven like cattle from their territories?”

The stinging lash of Hilmr’s whip silenced Sawain’s tongue as it raked his back.

“Enough banter. I tire of hearing yer ugly language, thrall-born!”

Sawain’s fury was rising. All he could think of the rest of the day was how he would exact his revenge upon the gnoll called Hilmr. He put the beast’s face to memory. Black leather skin was covered with patchy green-gold fur. Most of the fur on his muzzle was gone, leaving it the same color as his black nose. His lips were heavily scarred, revealing his fangs at some points. A large, jagged scar ran from his left ear, down across his eye and down to his chin. His yellow eyes glowed with arrogance and hate. It was a face Sawain would not forget. It was a head he vowed to mount upon a wall so that he would never forget what hatred truly looked like.

Another hour passed. Now Sawain was growing weary. So were the others. He could see his elders limping listlessly along ahead of him. His bonds tightened as the weaker ones began to fall behind. Hunger gnawed constantly at his core. Thirst bit into him like a viper, burning his throat and tongue as they sought replenishment in vain. No one spoke, everyone conserved what strength they had left. The gnolls, who were silent before, began chattering nervously in their own tongue. Sawain could feel the sense of unsettled tension that was rising in the caravan. The beasts slipped on their oversized robes and hoods and grew quiet again.

“Simir,” Sawain whispered, “What’s going on?”

“We’ve passed into the hold of Anvilheim.”

Sawain felt something unfamiliar fill him. It brought new life into him. It made his steps lighter and his heart beat faster. It was hope. No civilized being in Hammerhold could hear the name of Anvilheim without feeling hope. It was the city of Heroes. It was a place where the weak were defended, where the slaves were made free, and where legends were born. Sawain could not help but to feel like their deliverance was at hand.

They made their way through a rocky outcrop in a shallow valley. The carts were not built for such rocky terrain. One of the wagon wheels struck a jagged stone hard and splintered on impact. They were stuck. The gnoll chieftain cursed and began barking at his crew. Once the wagons stopped, the weary thralls took this gracious circumstance as a blessing and all found a place to rest.

It took them twenty minutes to fix the wheel. Though he sat upon a stone, Sawain relished in the brief comfort it provided. Not long after the wheel was repaired, the gnolls were corralling the thralls to their feet again. Then chaos broke out.

One gnoll yelped loudly as an electrified arrow struck his back. He fell to the ground, convulsing as the marauders turned their attention to the direction of the arrow. From the other direction, a volley of fireballs shot forth, setting several of the captors ablaze. Battle cries rang forth from near the front of the caravan, mixed with the death-screams of those caught off guard by the surprise attack. Confusion abounded as the marauders scattered in every direction, trying to engage their assailants. All the thralls could do was huddle together as the fireballs and arrows sped overhead.

Only a few minutes into the battle, the alpha barked in panicked tones at his remaining marauders and they fell back in a hasty retreat, leaving the caravan behind. Soon, Sawain saw four figures run by that were clearly not gnoll. After firing a few more pot shots, the ambushers let their prey go and turned their attention to the caravan. Sawain could see them better now.

One was an armored dwarf wielding a massive hammer, another, an elf with an elegant bow, another, a human woman in flowing robes, and a halfling in full plate armor, wielding a short sword and buckler. The dwarf approached the thralls, a thrilled twinkle in his ice blue eyes. He ran armored fingers through his light blue beard.

“Lookee here, laddies, Seems we’ve scored quite the haul on this raid!”

Sawain’s heart sank at the word, “raid”.

“Well then, best set about our business,” The halfling piped up. “Lets cut these folks loose so the bards can start their song writing!”

Chapter Three

Sawain marveled at the heroes that stood before him. The dwarf was broad and muscular. He wore black dwarven platemail that moved as naturally as his own body. The geometric shapes and angles of the armor made him look like a walking monument. His maul was made of the same black steel. Its oaken shaft had dwarven runes carved into it. They shimmered like ice when the sunlight hit them. He wore no helmet. His beard and hair were an icy blue and white color. Strands of his beard were woven into intricate braids. He was a truly impressive hero.

The elf was tall and slender, as is the average build for elves, yet he looked stronger than an average elf. He wore a sleeveless leather jerkin that revealed well toned arms. Blades of grass and leaves were woven into the jerkin to provide camouflage His dark brown, shoulder-length hair was wild and unkempt. Dirt covered his skin, which helped him blend into his surroundings. His eyes were as wild as the rest of his appearance. They were large and the color of amber. They glistened as he constantly scanned his surroundings. He wore a brown cloak that was covered in clumps of grass and rocks. His leather boots had pieces of bark attached to them. His bow was a beautiful yew-wood longbow. It was carved like an ornate serpent. The serpent’s tail coiled around the bottom end, holding the bowstring firmly. Its fanged maw clenched the other end of the bowstring and pulled it tight. His entire bow gave off a magical aura.

The human was clearly a sorceress. She wore long, flowing purple robes that had black flames embroidered into the seams. Her long hood covered most of her face. She twirled a silver dagger in her hand. The blade was of a wavy design. It came to a straight point. The hilt was also silver. The pommel of the hilt was the head of a dragon. In its mouth, it held a large sapphire. The sorceress’ garb was much less intricate than that of her counterparts.
Perhaps,
Sawain thought,
Her intricacies are in her magic, not her clothes.

The halfling was the most curious of the entire ensemble. He wore armor that shone like a pearl. Intricate white platemail covered his entire body. Colors danced around it when the sunlight shone upon it. It was unlike the dwarf’s platemail. It was more rounded and much less angular. It was trimmed with gold and gleaming white chain mail could be seen in the gaps of his armor. He wielded a short sword that looked to be made of the same material. Though it would be a short sword to Sawain, it was a mighty longsword to the halfling. His buckler was also more of a full shield than a buckler to him. The shield was made of the same white steel and bore a gold emblem of seven stars in a circle. Sawain thought he looked like a miniature knight.

The dwarf sauntered up to the thralls and surveyed the chains that bound them. He grabbed a length of chain and tugged firmly on it a few times. He nodded thoughtfully.

“Hmm, yep, this is human craftsmanship. Should be easy to break these chains. Looks like they’ve been exposed to the elements too long. They’re all rusty. I can break these pretty easily, but I’m gonna need some heat. Kyra, ye think ye could assist me with yer faerie fire, lassie?”

The sorceress sidled up to the dwarf. She scanned the chains and looked around for kindling.

“What, do you want me to start you a turf fire or something? If I try to melt the chain, I might cook some of these people.”

People
. This was the first time in Sawain’s life he was counted as a person and not as a thrall. Maybe his birthday wish was about to come true!

“Ye don't have a spell that just heats metal?”

Kyra shrugged, “I prepared for a fight, I didn't think I would need to heat metal today.”

The dwarf sighed as he scanned his surroundings.

“Rylie, Syd, help me look for some kindling to make a fire with.”

“There’s a busted wagon wheel the gnolls threw away behind that outcrop,” Sawain piped up.

The dwarf eyed him for a moment. Sawain could feel the color rising in his cheeks. The dwarf went to investigate the locale in question and came back with the broken wheel.

“This is a good start. Search the wagons for any barrels or boxes not being used.”

The other heroes scoured the caravan and came back in a few minutes with an old barrel that had some apples in it. They gave out the apples to the starving thralls, who accepted and ate them gratefully. Sawain was no different. He voraciously bit into the apple that was given him as he watched the dwarf bust up the barrel with his maul. The apple’s sweet juices ran down his parched throat and loosened his dry tongue. The fruit immediately gave him some renewed strength. He looked around and saw that the food was having similar effects on his brothers and sisters in bonds.

Soon, the heroes had a nice stack of firewood ready to be lit.

“Alright, lassie, light it up!”

Kyra hesitated and grimaced. “Are you sure about this, Axel? I mean, wouldn’t it be safer to just use flint and steel?”

Axel scowled. “It’ll be fine, Kyra, just… aim away from everyone.”

Kyra took a deep breath and drew her dagger.

“Okay,” she muttered under her breath, “Here we go.”

She lowered her head and began to mutter a language Sawain did not understand. He watched in awe as she grabbed the blade with her free hand and quickly pulled it across with barely any sign of emotion. As blood trickled from her hands, a rune that looked to be carved into her very palm began to glow with red hot fury. Waves of heat eminated from her upturned palm and soon a flame leapt from the rune and into her hand.

“Easy does it…” muttered the elf called Syd as he backed away from the magic user. Rylie lowered his helmet’s visor as the flame grew steadily larger. Kyra finished her incantation with a clear annunciation. The flame shot from her hand like an arrow from a bow. It struck the wood with such force that it scattered burning planks in every direction for several feet. One of the pieces of burning wood tumbled to the rim of the sorceress’ robe. The flame instantly attached to the fabric.

In a panic, Kyra jumped back and bent over to put out the flames. Axel was at her aid in an instant. He had loosed a waterskin from his side and was pouring the contents onto the flames. Soon, the fires were doused and the others had gathered the burning planks back to their proper place. Kyra’s hood slipped off during the ordeal. When she stood back up, Sawain saw a face he would never forget. Long red hair flowed down, tucked into her robe. Some strands fell about her shoulders. Her skin was fair and lightly freckled. She had a young, beautiful face with pink lips that presently formed a pout. Her eyes were like blue crystals. Seeing her for the first time knocked the breath from Sawain’s lungs.

She looked to be the same age as Sawain. He suddenly realized his jaw was slack. He quickly regained his composure, praying no one noticed. He watched quietly as Axel brought he first two thralls in the line to the makeshift forge and had them stoop down with the flames between them, placing the chain in the fire. They sat there for about ten minutes as the metal heated in the flames. During this time, Axel sought out a particularly large stone and set it near the thralls with the help of the other heroes.

Once the metal smoldered red, Axel directed the thralls to stand with the rock between them. They placed the hot links on the rock. Axel was wielding a smaller smith’s hammer. He took aim and brought the hammer down with skillful force. The link shattered cleanly after one strike. Axel grinned proudly.

“See? No human trinkets stand a chance against dwarven craftsmanship! What’d I tell ya?”

Once the links were cool, Axel was able to slide them out of the shackles. The system was a very simple one of gnoll design. Once the first shackles were removed, the remaining shackles could simply be slid out. Soon, all of the thralls were free of their bonds. Axel gathered them together and waited graciously for their praise to die down before addressing them.

“Good people, you are hereby released of your bonds and are free to return to your homes or make a life of your own. If you need, we would be glad to guide you to Anvilheim, where you will be safe. There, you may find work or prepare for your journeys homeward if you so desire.”

Sawain’s heart swelled and his stomach dropped at the same time. He was free. He was standing when the revelation hit him. His head began to spin and he had to sit down.
What do I do now? I don’t know how to be free. Sure, I’ve always wanted freedom, but now that I have it, I don’t know what to do with it.

He sat there for a moment, trying to sort out the swarm of thoughts and questions that buzzed around in his mind. He noticed that he was not the only one that had to figure out what to do. Several freed slaves had confused expressions on their faces. Simir stood with his arms crossed, looking down at the ground. Many of the thralls looked to him now.

“What should we do, Simir?”

“How will we survive?”

“What home do we have to go back to?”

Simir looked up, as if awoken from a dream. He gave them all a sympathetic smile. He looked around at the mess and wreckage around him.

“We must salvage what we can. I will return to Mistveil Farm. Those of you willing to work for a proper living may return with me to restore it under our control. Those of you not interested in a life of farming should return with the heroes to Anvilheim.”

Simir turned his attention to Axel. “We are forever in your debt for securing our freedom. As payment, we offer you the contents of the caravan. All I ask of you is to leave us with some weapons and supplies for our journey home.”

Axel pondered the offering before nodding sagely. “That is a fair offering. There are still some angry gnolls skulking about. I would not be comfortable sending you and your family back alone. Which brave hero of the Dawnstar Company would like to volunteer for this mission?”

Syd, the elven archer, stepped forward, holding his bow aloft. “I’ll go, Axel. I’m fast and sneaky. I can get back to Anvilheim without anyone knowing I was out.”

Axel nodded grimly. “So be it, Syd. Be careful. Those of you coming with us, come with me, we have to clean this mess up before we go.”

With everyone working together, the new Mistveil settlers were quickly outfitted for their return trip. Only two or three were not going back. Sawain was one of them. He approached Simir silently, with his eyes downcast. Simir put a hand on Sawain’s shoulder. “I understand and do not hold you to blame. May the gods bless your new life. Use it well, Sawain.”

Sawain looked up and smiled. “Thank you, master Simir. May the gods bless your new life as well. The farm is in much better hands now.”

Simir returned the smile, and then turned to the travelers and their elven escort. “Right, let’s go home.”

More farewells were exchanged before the settlers broke away from those remaining. The parting was solemn and the remaining men began their grim work. They first built the pyre bigger by scrapping more crates and barrels, then began looting the fallen gnolls before heaving their corpses into the fire. By evening, the job was done and the pile of bodies burnt to ashes in the intense blaze. Sawain watched the spectacle reflectively. He had seen a funeral like this before when a thrall died on the farm, but never had he seen a mass burning before. He enjoyed watching the creatures that so badly treated him burn to cinders. Yet, he was not truly satisfied. There was one gnoll missing from the day’s carnage: Hilmr.

He found Axel and Kyra sorting valuables into crates near the wagons. He felt his legs fill with lead at the sight of Kyra, but forced them to keep moving. He put all of his will into it, gritting his teeth and holding his breath as he approached the two. They stopped what they were doing when he was still several feet away and locked eyes on him. At this, his legs won the battle. He opened his mouth and his mind went blank.

Axel raised an eyebrow at the young half elf standing before him, stiff as a board.

“Are ye alright, laddie? What’s the matter?”

“I-I want to be a hero.” Was the best Sawain could muster.

Axel grinned as he twirled a silver bracelet around one finger. “
You
want to be a hero? Have ye ever lifted a sword in yer life? Can ye cast a spell? Are ye chosen of the gods?”

“I, n-no, but—“

“But ye want to learn. Lad, if I took on every boy who wanted to learn, I’d never get anything done. What makes you so special? Ye’ve got nothing to offer. You don’t have anything to yer name.”

“I don’t have a name,” Sawain’s courage was returning. “They call me Sawain. To the world, my name is
boy
. Sawain Thrallborn. That is no name, it is a label. All my life I've been nothing but a tool, a piece of property. You made me more than that. You've already made me a person. Now you have the chance to make me a man, or even more. Give me a chance to earn a real name for myself. You won't regret it.”

Axel opened his mouth, then closed it again, his gaze fell and he spun the bracelet slower as he became lost in thought. After a few moments, he looked up and spoke again.

“Can ye follow orders?”

Sawain smiled broadly, “Yes sir, been taking them my whole life.”

“I trust ye can lift heavy loads and swing a hammer?”

Sawain nodded, “I used to lift hay bales for the master. I’ve never used a hammer before, but being born a slave teaches you to learn fast.”