by Logan Petty
“GET OFF ME! GET OFF! I'M NO COWARD! I'M NO COWARD! YOU DON'T KNOW FEAR! I'LL SHOW YOU FEAR!”
Mari was by his side in an instant, humming gently to him in a soft voice.
“Calm down, dear friend. Cool your rage.
Let this fight end. Act your age.
We're all so tired, let's go rest.
In the morning, we'll be less stressed.
Let's just relax now, put down our fists.
Breathe real deep now, stop these fits.”
Mari's words filled Sawain, cooling the fire in is chest like a trickle of fresh spring water, pouring into his soul. The fires of rage subsided as his breathing slowed and clarity returned to his eyes. He blinked away the veil of red that had been tinting his vision and sat up slowly as the arms around him let go. He looked over at where Banth sat, propped up by his drake. He glared fiercely at Sawain as he pulled himself off the ground and stalked away, out of sight. Sawain regretted losing his composure on a teammate, but he knew he could not let anyone challenge his authority. He feared no one would take him as seriously now that he had acted so childishly. He knew that Banthan had got what he was after ever since Sawain decided to abandon Loraleth. He sighed and began to struggle to his feet. A gray, gnarled hand reached out to him as he sank back, winded. He looked up and saw the smiling face of Vrendr. Sawain grabbed the offered hand and was hoisted up. He dusted himself off, feeling heat rise in his cheeks as he realized everyone's eyes were on him. Vrendr broke through the awkward silence as he addressed Sawain.
“No Krugzub ever stand up for orc. You have good heart, Swerdbrekker. We be glad to serve you. We tear down this tower, then next and next. We tear down all towers from here to Grymhook!”
Sawain glanced over Vrendr's shoulder. Banthan was nowhere to be seen. He focused on Vrendr and smiled, relieved that his theatrics did not cost him an ally.
“Good, we have lots to tear down, so let's get started.”
Chapter 2
The survivors of the Swerdbrekker’s first raid did not have time to rest. Much work awaited the new army before nightfall. It only took the victors a few minutes to tear the tower down with the added strength of the orcs. Sawain set his new army to work shortly after a healing session that went much smoother thanks to his totem’s new power. They burned the corpses to prevent the Grey King from reusing them. It took them much longer to finish this task. They hauled timbers and ripped apart the other buildings around the mill all day long. They achieved utter destruction by the end of the day. Several pyres dotted the landscape. The haze from their smoke dulled the night sky and hid the stars from view.
The pale light of the moon cut through the gloom and illuminated the grisly battlefield. Sawain stood at the gates of the fallen fortress and stared out across the hazy hills to the forest beyond. He reflected on the events of the day as the scent of burning flesh filled his nostrils. He thanked Turin that there were not as many casualties on his side this time. He felt like his debut as a hero of Hammerhold was successful, since he managed to destroy an enemy lumber mill, a conversion temple, and kill a Grey Priest, all in one swoop. He imagined his mother. She smiled fondly at him from the ethereal realms of his memory. He was certain that she would be proud of him today.
I’m a hero, just like you. I will make everything right again.
Jatharr came up to him from behind and slugged him on the arm. “Good job today, Deathsbane. Everyone is inside the gates now. You should go and talk to your new followers. We need to know what to do next.”
Sawain's heart skipped a beat. He was too busy thinking about disposing of the dead to form a large scale plan. He was not sure if he was ready for this. The familiar specter of fear crawled up his spine. Whether he was ready or not, he could not show weakness now.
“Right, okay. Let’s go. Gather the Ghosts. Line them up in front of me.”
Sawain turned and strode into the camp with his chest out and his head held high. He felt like he stepped into a more primeval time as he strode into the large, open courtyard. Most of the inner structure from earlier now lay strewn across the courtyard, barely more than a few random carved stone blocks that now served as seats for the elderly. In the center, a massive bonfire roared fiercely. Dozens of figures danced wildly around the blaze, letting its orange glow wash over them. Human and halfling danced with elf and orc while Mari and Timbrel played along with a band of centaur playing improvised instruments made from small trees and timbers from the fallen tower. The driving, thumping rhythm the orcs beat out on the stone floor around the fire melded with Mari’s flute. The primal band sang a chant in a language Sawain did not know. It urged the revelers to dance harder while they offered up their own chants in different tongues. The mix of chants produced a cacophony that made Sawain’s spine shiver. The dance slowed to a halt when Sawain strode into the midst of the party. A riotous cheer from the patrons of the ceremony replaced the chants.
“Hail Swerdbrekker!”
“There he is! The savior of the fells!”
“Nay, the savior of Hammerhold!”
“Hail Swerdbrekker! Savior of Hammerhold!”
The barrage of praises caused Sawain’s heart to swell, as well as his head. He strutted to a large stone that sat before the fire and climbed upon it to gaze out on his worshippers. Jatharr and the other Ghosts filtered in and stood in a line before him, facing the crowd. Sawain waited for the noise from the crowd to soften before he spoke.
“Hail, free folk of Hammerhold!” To this greeting, he received a hearty volley of hails. “Today, a blow has been struck! A blow against evil! A blow against tyranny! Today, the Grey King has been checked! Today, his blight has been staunched! Not only by my forces, but also by you! All of you fought for a free Hammerhold on this battlefield. We are one fight closer to realizing that goal now! That being said, there are many more fights to go.”
His speech was met with enthusiasm initially, but he noticed a sudden decline in gusto at this point. “A tyrant sits now on the throne of the north as I speak! He is a traitor king who has sold his land and his people to a false notion of immortality. This tyrant must be dethroned if we are to return Hammerhold to its people! I am the scion of Turin, chosen to carry out this task, but I cannot do it alone. Far to the west, beyond the dwarven citadel of Caer Teallagh, lies my next goal. It is a hard and long journey to the mountains, and many there will be who need relief from the tyranny of this Grey King. This unit you see before you,” he swept his hand over the heads of his Outriders, “are among the bravest heroes Hammerhold has ever seen. They left the comfort and safety of their homes to follow me into death and destruction. They are true heroes forged from the iron of legends, purified in the flames of hardship, honed by the hammer of the gods. This world needs more heroes like them, and I know that there are those of you among us today who are able to bear the tempering of war. Join us, noble souls, as we move forward. Help us reclaim our homeland! Return Hammerhold to its people!”
The crowd mumbled to itself. Sawain could feel the uncertainty radiating out from the thralls. An old dwarven man stepped forward. He wore tattered rags and his black hair clung to his bearded face in matted sheets.
“Tell me, laddie. Just how is it that following you to some place beyond the west with naught but a word of promise you won’t get us all killed a good idea? I mean, we know very little about ye. We don’t even know what lies beyond that mountain that’s so important to ye. What I’m saying is, why should we trust ye? Just because ye got lucky today?”
Sawain was taken aback by the sudden distrust. His inflated ego puffed up indignantly inside his chest as he frowned at the dwarf.
“You have seen what I can do yourselves, you saw what I did today on the battlefield. That should prove to you that I am not one to lead from behind. Tomorrow, I will ride to Jordborg and to the Segrammir’s side. I’m sure that with Jordborg behind us, we can cleanse this region of the undeath and make for the mountains with ease. I understand you are wary. After all,
I only rode into the midst of an army of hundreds with six warriors today. I only used those six to turn this camp inside out and bought your freedom with holy fire from above. It’s not like I’ve done enough to warrant your trust yet. I get that. But for those of you who do decide to follow me, I tell you this: I will lead the charge. I will be the first to feed my blade enemy flesh. If you are afraid, then leave. War is not for the weak-willed, nor is my army. There is no room among my ranks for cowardice. If you ride with me, your ride for glory and honor. You must have no fear of undeath and you have no fear of true death. I do not have time or patience for fear.”
Sawain heard the creak of flesh gripping leather and noticed Bantham digging his fingertips deep into the inside of his fist. He could only see the side of Banth’s face, but he either read anguish or anger in his eyes. He could see Loraleth, still curled up in the darkness of Alfhaven. The same regret he felt for leaving her there crept into him again as his gaze swept across the crowd and landed on the old dwarf, who stood at the front of the mass of people, studying Sawain. The old dwarf sighed, closing his eyes.
“Laddie, I admire yer courage, but ye don’t understand the gravity of yer plan. There is no marching into Jordborg. It has fallen to the enemy. A sea of undead surround its walls for a solid mile all around. One of the Grey King’s puppet priests rules from behind the once proud Segrammir, whispering dark lies into his ear, directing his every ruling. Jordborg is a lost cause. Trust me, I was once a councilman who lived proudly behind the city walls, convinced by my hubris that no foreign army could break through our walls. Now look at me.”
This news shook Sawain. He was not aware of just how far the Grey King’s grip had reached. He grit his teeth and took a deep breath.
“This is disturbing news. Very well, before we make for the mountains to the west, we make for Jordborg, not to petition for aid, but to lend it. Those of you willing to fight for your home, be ready to march in the morning. Those who wish to leave, I do not hold it against you. You are all free to make your own decisions in this life. You are thralls no longer.”
The crowd dispersed with a low rumble of murmurs and whispers. Sawain was tired, he was sore, and he was covered in mud and ash. He kept his head high and his posture straight regardless of how much he wanted to collapse at this point. The Outriders gathered around him. He sensed tension in their shadow-cloaked faces. He pointed to the gate with a blood-soaked finger.
“Same applies to all of you as well. If you think I’m not worth following, you can leave. You’re all fine warriors and heroes in my book. I’m not forcing you to follow me on this warpath.”
A moment of silence passed before Banthan spoke up, “You think I’d still be hanging around with any of you toad lickers if I didn’t believe in the cause? I know I may not like many of your decisions. I even hate you to a fair extent. I hate what you did to my sister, but I know why you did it. I can’t say it was the wrong choice. Can’t say I’ll ever forgive you either, but I don’t expect you to accept it if I did. Beside all that, like it or not, Hammerhold is our home too, not just Alfhaven. We have to stop this maniac. You’ve led us alright so far. So… Yeah… I guess what I’m saying is… I’m not about to turn back now.”
Sawain was taken aback by Banthan’s sudden shift in attitude. He wasn’t sure if that was an apology for earlier or if he should be the one apologizing. Either way, he let it go for now. The others nodded and muttered affirmations. Naralei stepped forward and placed a hand on Banthan’s shoulder.
“We all feel the same. We’re in this through thick or thin. Whatever path you take, we will follow you. We’ve said it before, you are the only one who can lead us. We trust your decisions.”
Sawain’s anxiety left him and he allowed half a smile. “Thank you all. Now, let’s get some rest. According to our sources, it’s a several hour march to Jordborg. We will need our strength.”
The others nodded in agreement and dispersed. Mari brushed by Sawain and crinkled her nose at him, a huge grin on her dusty face. Her wide, blue eyes sparkled as she passed him.
“Banth’s right, you know. You’re the only boy I’ve ever taken seriously, even above Captain Nerelis.”
Sawain smiled, speechless for the first time tonight. Mari let her gaze linger on him a moment longer before turning to find her drake and a place to roll out her bed. Sawain watched her go, realizing after a moment that he was standing alone with a goofy grin on his face. He felt heat rise to his cheeks and shook his head to clear his mind. He then realized he was not alone.
A group of six centaur led by a large male approached Sawain. He was unsettled by the sheer size of these half horse, half human creatures. It was the first time he’d ever seen one face to face, much less six of them. The centaur leader was a deep mahogany hue, with long black hair that hung down his back. His human torso wore the rags of a thrall, with a pilfered chainmail shirt over them. His lower half was adorned with a woven blanket that acted as a buffer for the weapons and bags he had lashed across his back. The centaur knelt before Sawain, lowering his eyes to the ground.
“Hail, Swerdbrekker. We have yet to meet. I am Binze of the Harthaz, and these are my loyal friends. Among our people, we hold the belief of blood debt. You have saved us from the blight of undeath, so we are in your debt. Please allow us to fight by your side and assist in any way we can. We are excellent wayfinders, being native to these fells. We could serve as your guides if you would have us.”
Sawain offered a relieved smile. “Of course Binze. We would be honored to have you on our side. I am certain we could use the guidance. Tell me, what do you know of the situation in the fells?”
Binze looked up, grim sorrow on his face. “For generations my people have fought against the prophesied rise of the one you call the Grey King. It is a constant humiliation day in and day out to see his undead hordes ravage our beautiful home. They have spread far, conquering all the land, save Alfhaven. We fought them, tried to hold back the tide of destruction, but we were finally captured and put into thralldom. They planned on working us to death then bringing us back to work more. Were you a few days later, we might not be here. But now you are here, and we have a fighting chance once more! We believe in your cause, Swerdbrekker and pledge our lives to it.”
Sawain rubbed the back of his head as he digested Binze’s words. He regretted leaving Dawnstar Hall now. Perhaps if he’d stayed, somehow he could have stopped this. He sighed.
“Thank you for your support, Binze. I know I will need it. We head out first thing in the morning. I need to rest for now, if you will excuse me.”
Binze nodded as he rose to his hooves. “Of course. Sleep well, Swerdbrekker.”
The camp grew quiet as, one by one, the resident revelers curled up in odd nooks or by the fires. It took minutes for Sawain to find a place to spread his freshly pilfered bedroll, but much longer for him to fall asleep, despite his fatigue. He stared at the night sky as he lay on his back. He thought about Loraleth. He wondered if he actually had made the right decision. He closed his eyes and thought about the innocent bodies that lay buried beneath the ice of Glacier Lake because of his decisions. That night, he had a strange dream that stuck vividly in his mind the next day.
. . .
He was on a frozen battlefield, littered by thousands of corpses. The black night sky weighed on him like a smothering blanket of frost. He stood alone. He looked down at the ice between his feet and saw a face. It was the round face of Tobi. Tobi’s small eyes stared fearfully up at Sawain as his chubby fists pounded helplessly on the ice. Sawain dropped to his knees and began to pound the ice from his side. His heart raced and his breath hung around his face, expelled by new frenzied puffs as he screamed. No sound escaped his lips, which frightened him further. He ran his numb hands along the frosted ground to find something to break through the ice. His hands uncovered more faces beneath the ice. Loraleth’s pleading eyes gazed longingly at him while she pressed an open palm to the ice. Banthan glared up from besi
de his sister and turned his face away as he sank to the depths. Jatharr’s face appeared as well, disappointment spread across his aging features. Mari and Timbrel floated inches from the ice. All he could see of Mari were her blue eyes as the happiness and brightness faded from them. He desperately pounded at the ice as more faces from his memory emerged into view. He looked up and saw Nara standing before him. She looked down on him with disgust.
“I should have led them. Not you. Now look what you’ve done.”
He tried to call out to her, to ask for help, but no words would form. She turned an arrow-filled back on him and walked away. A trail of blood stained the ice in her wake as she left him to freeze. He tried to scream but only found deafening silence. He kept screaming silently as the dark sky fell on him, extinguishing everything.
. . .
Sawain awoke with a gasp as his eyes opened, letting in the morning light. The smell of roasting meat greeted his nostrils. He found himself curled up on his bedroll and beneath a blanket made of what looked like goatskin. He had no idea where the blanket came from, but he was thankful for it. He sat up and stretched his stiff muscles. Pain seared his joints.
Feels like I got more of a workout yesterday than I realized.
His chest was sore from where the orc’s arrow struck him. He silently thanked Sibilach for her craftsmanship again. Eldingbál lay curled up like a cat at his feet, breathing gently. Sawain smiled at the sight. He could feel himself growing fonder of the beautiful drake that fought so bravely by his side yesterday. He looked around and his eyes fell on the great sword Sibilach also gifted him. It lay at his left hand, gleaming with an otherworldly finish. Looking at it brought back the memory of his dream from the night before. He wondered if he deserved such a marvelous weapon. If he stayed dedicated to this campaign, how many more friends would die before the end? Would there even be an end to the death and destruction this war generated daily?