Dragonhammer: Volume I (5 page)

Mother and Father embrace one last time before we leave.  Guards are starting to mingle with the crowd to get things moving.  My father’s beard quivers as she says, “I love you, Kadmus.”

Trails of men make their way to the Keep at the back of the city.  By now it’s about midday, but I have no appetite.  The Keep is lit well during this time of day, though short shadows are beginning to lengthen and make the Keep seem dark and foreboding.

Guards stand on either side of the gates, which are about twice my height and as wide as the road.  We enter with the stream of people.  I can’t help but wonder where Gunther is.

The entrance hall is plain.  There are short narrow windows higher up, almost at the vaulted ceiling over twenty feet high.  Tables sit perpendicular to the walls lined with torches, leaving a wide aisle down the middle of the hall.  A balcony lines the walls about ten feet up, with doors leading onto the outer walls and into the next room.

The mob pushes through into a huge circular room that acts as an intersection for just about every hallway in the Keep.  The room has two stories; the second is a balcony that encompasses the entire circumference of the room.  Arched doorways lead from the balcony deeper into the Keep in every compass direction.  The lower floor mirrors the pattern.  Every room is constructed of stone.

The mob stops here.

“I wonder if men from Terrace are here as well,” Nathaniel thinks aloud, “And not just men from Virfith.”

I nod replying, “I would be shocked if there weren’t.”  Father stares straight ahead.

“Then where’s Gunther…?”

Eventually guards come out and line the second story balcony.  Three officers stride out of the largest arch at the farthest end of the room, positioning themselves on the balcony.  The one on the right speaks, “All behold Lord Jarl Hralfar, ruler of Gilgal!”

A figure enters.  He’s tall, wearing a cape with large fur shoulders that make him look broader.  He wears a steel polished breastplate and gauntlets, with leather boots.  His shoulder-length hair is light brown; his short well-groomed beard matches.  He has a solemn wrinkled face with a flat hawk-beak nose.  A sword of some sort hangs from his waist, on his left side.

“Men of Gilgal,” he starts.  His voice is richly baritone, but the sheer volume forces a somewhat scratchy tone.  “Our land is at stake.  Our lives.  Our families.  Our freedom.  All at stake.”  He pauses.  The room is deathly silent.  “Terrace, this thriving city, must stand.  There is no other option.  Tygnar will be upon us within a matter of days or hours.  You are the wall that will keep them out.

“Not all of you are soldiers, I know.  Some of you have done your time before.  The time has come once again to raise the sword against our enemy to protect our wives and homes!  Not all of you will survive.  But may you die knowing you die for the freedom of your brethren, wives, and children.  Thus in death or in life, you will be victorious.”  He glances around the room.

“Weapons and armor are available in the armories.  One to the left and one to the right.  All men of Virfith, to the right,” he points to our right, “and all men of Terrace to the left.”  He gestures appropriately.  “Be quick; we need to get everyone suited.  Disperse.”

With that, the men split into two groups and make their way down the appropriate halls.  It takes a bit of time to wait in the line, but once at the head, I see why. A guard studies my height and build and says, “You’ll be difficult to fit.”  Another guard is saying something similar to my father.

The chainmail shirt fits.  It’s not as loose as it’s supposed to be, but it works.  Then he helps me slip on a leather jerkin banded with strips of iron.  Simple shoulder guards sit snugly on my shoulders.  If anything, I only find the helmet slightly annoying.  It restricts my hearing and vision, and feels funny.

Then the guard takes me to a different part of the armory, where racks of weapons line the room.  “Favorite weapon?” he says.

I shake my head.

“Well, which one do you have the most experience with?”  I stare blankly into the room, shrugging slightly.  “Be quick,” he says, escorting me to a particular rack.  “A sword will do.”  I’m about to grab a random pick when something else catches my eye.  It’s a dull thing in the back, but I am drawn to it.

“This is it,” I say.

“A warhammer?” questions the guard.

“All my life, I’ve been swinging a hammer.  The only difference is the size.  And instead of an anvil, I’m swinging at a…”  My voice fades.

He nods.  “Give it a try before you take it-”

I’ve already picked it up and am testing it out.  The head is a big simple iron bar, with a blunt end and a spike end.  I heft it and say, “This is it.”

The guard nods, eyeing my left hand where my two fingers are missing.  “Okay.”

Nathaniel comes in and says, “Whoa that thing’s a beast.”

“It’s the one I’m going to use,” I say coldly.

Nathaniel looks among the remaining hammers and comes out with one similar to mine, but with a shorter handle and a smaller head.  “Not as big,” he says, “But I’m not as strong as you.”

“It’s okay.  Don’t try to lift more than you can.”

We join my father, who was waiting just outside the armory.  He only needed armor, as he possesses his own claymore.  He looks approvingly at my choice of weaponry.  When he sees that Nathaniel has the same thing, he raises an eyebrow.

“It’s alright, father,” he says.  “I can use it.”

Father’s expression softens, but he doesn’t say a word.

Leon finds us and says simply, “I never thought I’d find myself here.  I’m meant to butcher cows, not…”  He leaves his statement unfinished, looking grimly at his longsword.

Percival holds a sword and circular shield, which hangs loosely from his left hand.  He has sheathed his sword.  His father holds similar items.

Percival eyes my hammer.  “Interesting choice,” he says.

“I like it,” interjects James, who is also carrying a sword and shield.  “It’s just a little heavy for me.”  For the first time James has nothing more to say.

Jericho appears only a moment later.  He’s still bandaged around the head, but carries a shield and one-handed axe.

“You’re fighting?” I ask.

“Not planning on it,” he says simply.  “But I feel okay.  If I have to I will.  My wounds were minor; just a cut on the arm and the right side of my head.  They’re healing quickly.  If they don’t attack for another day or two, I should be able to fight.”

I nod, unsure if I should be excited or afraid for him.

“We need to have each others’ backs,” suggests James.  “Us five.  We need to stick together.  Watch out for each other.”

Percival responds, “Agreed.”

“Once I get in there,” chuckles Jericho.

They look to me for my response.  “With my life,” I say.  Each of our fathers stands silently behind us, listening.  They are grim and look to the floor contemplatively. 

Then my father says, “And we’ll be right there with you.”  He gives me a small smile.

The room begins to go quiet.  As we turn around, we see why.

Lord Jarl Hralfar is walking down the middle of the room.  When he reaches the center, he stops.  He looks around for a moment, waiting for silence.  Then he begins.

“Men of Virfith.  You know better than most of us the hostility Tygnar will bring.  It is to them that you lost your homes.  I cannot promise you that you will ever see them again.  But what I can promise is that you can bring upon them the same fate.  Each of you will have sections of the wall or city designated to you.  The men of Terrace will garrison the South Fort, as you will garrison the North Fort.”

“Where’s that?” whispers Nathaniel.

“In the city, like a tiny version of the Keep,” I whisper back.  James elbows me.

“Some of you will be assigned to the wall, above the gate.  Some will stand below, to brace and hold the gate.  The men of Terrace will stand with you.  The Clifftowers will be manned with the best archers from both groups.  Who among you is skilled with a bow or crossbow?”

There are some slow hands that rise.  Nathaniel is hesitant.  Father rests his hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder, and when Nathaniel looks to him, Father only nods.  Then my brother’s hand rises.

The Jarl continues, “Archers meet in the room to the right.  All of those who are above the age of fifty, or below sixteen, will go to the left.  All else, remain here.  Go.”

Father and I each say a farewell to Nathaniel, who follows the smaller crowd of archers into the next room.  A more elderly group makes their way through the door on the opposite side.  Our numbers have been cut by over a third.

The Jarl waits for the doors to close.  Then he speaks again.

“You are the mighty of men,” he states simply.  “The strong.  Tygnar’s men will show you no mercy.  They are here to take from you your lives and homes.  So you must show to them no mercy.  You will be stationed at the gate.  Fight well.”  Just before he turns to leave, his eyes flick to me.  For just a moment, he is staring into my being. 
Fight well
, he is saying.  Then he turns and leaves.

A guard stands where the Jarl had been.  His words are short.  “Go and get some rest,” he says.  “The bunkrooms are located on the right through the main hall.  The sound of the horn will signal the need for you at your posts.  Until that time the armories and training grounds will remain open and manned.  Attack is imminent.  Be ready.”

Later, all of us stand in one of the bunkrooms.  I see Frederick, but he is uneasy and solemn.  We had managed to find Nathaniel in the midst of the makeshift army.  Some of the officials had brought around food rations because evening was quickly becoming night.  I sit on my bunk, thinking.

“What are you thinking about?” asks Percival, sitting next to me.

I wait a moment before I answer.  “I’m thinking about seeing the world, Percival.  Will I – or you – live the week through, and even if we do, will we be able to see beyond these mountains?”

He nods.  “I can’t answer that, Kadmus.  I can just hope.  I won’t let myself die.  I’ve got the rest of my life ahead of me, and so do you.  But I have a feeling that if we survive this war, we’ll get to see much more than merely beyond the mountains.”

The night is rough.

Guards wake us early.  We are rationed breakfast and then given the freedom to do what we will, given that we stay within the Keep.  The Jarl wants to keep us on task with the war on mind, instead of meeting some pretty girl in the city.  We can’t afford the distraction.

Nathaniel goes to the archery range.  My father, as well as James, Jericho, and their fathers, practice combat in the training grounds, which sit on the flat roof of the Keep.  Percival and I join them for the morning.  Percival proves himself with a sword and shield.  James, having decided that he feels well enough, has done well with his weapon of choice.  Jericho at least proves capable.  I, however, have a difficult time with the concept of battle.

Something about the footwork, swinging, and crushing doesn’t quite come together in my head.  By lunchtime, I get frustrated and leave the grounds.  Percival follows.

We eat lunch almost silently.  Percival doesn’t speak until afterwards, when he asks, “Would you like to go back and try again?”

“No,” I say.  “I need to go for a walk.”

“We have to stay in the Keep.”

“The Keep is plenty big.”

Percival accompanies me.  I don’t object; he is my best friend.  We wander aimlessly around the Keep, wearing our armor.  Guards don’t question our presence anywhere.

From the main hall, we go straight into the center of the Keep.  We find all kinds of different rooms for various purposes, but most of them for food storage or sleeping.  Down two flights of stairs, we find a dead end with a locked door.  For a few moments we wonder where it could possibly lead.  Then we turn back.

Instead of going back up the stairs, we continue down the hallway in the opposite direction.  There are no guards down here.  Gradually a sound begins to enter my ears:  running water.  It’s only a slight trickle, but it’s definitely there.

At the end of the hall, we find a metal grate.  The bars are similar to the ones we found in the dungeons earlier.  A door made completely of the same bars sits in the middle, with a large rusting padlock sealing it tight.  Within, the ground inclines downward.  Water trickles from pipes protruding slightly from the walls, running down the shallow incline and through a replica of the iron grate and door.  The second door is also padlocked.  It is difficult to see beyond, but I can make out a passage.  An unpleasant stench reeks out of it.

“Where’s that go I wonder?” says Percival.  His voice echoes downward into the passage eerily. 

“Probably waste passages,” I say quietly.  “Like a sewer.  The kitchens and bathrooms have waste pipes in them; it would make sense for them to come out here.”

“No wonder it stinks,” he whispers.

“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be,” I say.  “They must have redirected an irrigation canal through it to wash it out.  Keep the smell down and keep everything from piling up too much.”

“Genius,” he says.

“It must come out somewhere,” I continue.  “But not in the city.  We’re down too low.  Water just flows down, so it must come out…”