Song of the Fell Hammer

by Shawn C. Speakman

  * * * * *

  Watering Creek and resting his tired body from the day’s journey, Sorin gazed across the flat, grassy plain at Aris Shae. The city gleamed in the sunset, a swath of oranges, lavenders, and reds stretched far and wide across the sky. The spires of the main palace punctuated the colorful sky and absorbed all of those colors at once, lifting from the city as if to ward off the night. Aris Shae lay quietly beneath it all, already draped in shadow. Even at this distance, the arousal of bright bits of torch flame within the windows of the squat buildings pushing up against the palace flared to life as if seeking a way into its grandeur. Although the wonders of the west were known in tales, he had never seen such a sight, and the mammoth scene frightened him with its complexity just as a part of him was adamantly driven to unlock its secrets.

  Relnyn finished making camp within the darkening fringe of Grifforn Forest. They had stopped the previous night at the base of the Chilbrook Mountains and continued onward at first light. Their passage through the forest from Lost Pass had gone quickly, the dirt path wider than the mountain pass and smoothed over by centuries of travelers. Relnyn had remained quiet, a prisoner to his own fears and doubts. The Giant’s acknowledgment of his own angry nature weighed heavily on his mind, and Sorin doubted his friend would come to any conclusions about it until he was faced with adversity again.

  Thomas had also grown pervasively more silent, the lines of his perpetual frown growing deeper and more rigid the closer they got to Aris Shae. The capital city unsettled the old man, and Sorin could almost see the conflict that stirred behind Thomas’s dark mien. If not for his promise, Thomas would not have come here.

  With the sun gone and the stars beginning to peek out from their black velvet firmament, Thomas approached Sorin—his hair wilder in the failing light than Sorin had ever seen it—and looked at him with a critical mote in his blue eyes.

  “Ready?” Thomas questioned simply, holding his horse’s reins and turning his eyes on Aris Shae with what Sorin thought to be a peculiar and apprehensive grimace.

  Sorin nodded, mounting Creek. He turned to Relnyn. “We’ll be back soon.”

  “Take care of each other,” the Giant said, his eyes grave. “A city that large has more than its share of wicked seeds and rotten fruit.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Thomas growled. He pulled himself up into his horse’s saddle and wheeled away into the openness that surrounded Aris Shae.

  With a final wave to Relnyn, Sorin turned to follow Thomas. The Giant would stay behind, his massive stature a presence they could neither hide nor easily explain. To Thomas’s knowledge, no Giant had ever set foot in Aris Shae, and to do so now would raise suspicions they could ill afford. Instead, he would await their return on the outskirts of the Grifforn, and after Sorin met with Thomas’s contact, the old man reassured Relnyn the High King would learn of Lockwood’s needs and address them with the Giant.

  The high grass of the plain brushed against Sorin’s leather boots as Creek sliced a swath through the lowlands just outside the capital city. Rather than riding directly toward Aris Shae, Thomas led Sorin north at an angle until the land rose steadily and they left the golden wheat fields for the emerald grass of the hills. A massive body of water glimmered on their left, surrounded by land on three sides. He caught a tang on the wind and realized it was salty sea air.

  Far across the water and sitting at the jutting pinnacle of rock was a series of towers silhouetted against the bruised, western sky. The stone of the fortress seemed to be the same rock with which the immense palace of Aris Shae was built, but it glowed with a preternatural light that drew Sorin’s gaze and would not let him go. Even though it was far in the distance, the keep was as large as the Kingdom’s capital palace, and it dominated the long bluff, as solid and impenetrable as the stone it sat upon.

  “It is Godwyn Keep,” Thomas offered, his voice sounding old and tired. “It sits on the peninsula that juts out into the sea and helps form one side of the Bay of Reverence, the body of water you see there.” The old man pointed back toward the capital city. “And at Aris Shae’s base lies Dockside, a wharf town sprouted from the needs of those who live within the city. Two millennia ago, all of this as far as the eye can see was decimated land and obliterated forest, ravaged by the genocidal armies of the Wrathful. And on that hilltop, where the palace stands, is where Aerom is said to have sacrificed himself to stop evil from overcoming the world.”

  “You don’t believe it happened?” Sorin asked.

  Thomas did not turn in his saddle. “I only believe what I see on my own, Sorin. Nothing else matters anymore.”

  The disbelief and disdain in Thomas’s voice bothered Sorin. It was obvious Thomas had not only lost faith in himself but that he had in the All Father as well. Thomas was a shell only, his spirit long since withered and on the brink of disappearing completely. His beliefs would never be revived unless a drastic event turned him back. It still unsettled Sorin that someone could be that devastated by life’s tribulations, an entire existence of empty anger and fixated spite. But if Thomas had still been taking part in Godwyn services in Thistledon, maybe all was not lost. Sorin just hoped whatever had ruined the old man would not come back to face him now.

  Aris Shae loomed above them. Even as it finally fell under the spell of nightfall, the city was still quite visible, the orange and yellow light of candles chiseling the city into stark relief. It sprawled across the large hillside that overlooked the bay and surrounding countryside. Behind it to the north, the hillside transformed into a craggy, natural shield of the Chilbrook Mountains.

  As the men approached, Sorin saw that a wall surrounded Aris Shae, but its southern and eastern sections had been hidden from him until now. At some point, the capital city had grown too large to hold its entire people within its protective stone curtain. They had spilled over to the south and west, toward the bay, until the wall had nearly disappeared next to the homes, trade shops, inns, and taverns. Here they would not have to wade through the denizens outside the city proper to gain access to their destination, offering them a better chance of going unnoticed.

  “Once we are within the city walls, do not speak. Even though we are entering on this side, away from Dockside and its criminal element, we must still be cautious. There are ears everywhere listening for bits and pieces of information to sell. This is a very different situation for you than your country upbringing can comprehend, at least right now, and we only have one chance at doing this right.”

  Sorin ignored the rancor. “Who are we seeing? You said it’s someone you trust to give answers, but what does that mean exactly?”

  The old man chuckled without merriment. “Still you don’t trust me?”

  “You haven’t given me reason to.”

  The old man continued on his horse, and the city grew ever larger at their approach. “I just want to know, that’s all,” Sorin added.

  “Then trust me when I say this woman may hold the answers. Then again, she may not and this might be all for nothing.”

  Sorin looked out toward the south; he could barely make out the swirling, flat colors of the sea as it glowed with the last light of the sun. He had never seen a body of water of this magnitude, and he wanted very much to drive Creek around the city to glimpse the spectacular view beyond the peninsula. It would have to wait.

  Thomas led him to a large double-door gate that faced east, only half of the entrance open to the world without. Three men wearing the shiny steel breastplates and weaponry of warden watched the two approach under the blossomed light of flickering torches, preparing to close the gate completely for the night. The guards gave Sorin and Thomas an earnest appraising look but let them pass unhindered and without question. The gate swallowed Sorin, dwarfed by the city that surrounded him. Creek’s hooves met smooth cobblestone, the horse’s passage echoing off of the buildings that encircled them. Sorin had come such a long way to discover the truth. Now he would get the answers he sought.

  The gate
closed behind them with a booming finality, spooking Creek into a high squeal of surprise. Everything was as new and different as Sorin had expected—the buildings were squashed together to save room and formed veritable walls of their own, multi-colored signs hung from building fronts to entice patrons, and the palace towers punctured the sky with mighty authority. A prickle on the edge of his awareness, a voice remembered in the far past or a smell he could not quite place, teasingly kept itself outside the range of memory. It was the drone of voices in the distance; it was the dying smell of that morning’s baked bread mingling with the rancid odors of the deep alleyways. There was something familiar and yet altogether alien about Aris Shae.

  Thomas was already moving through the wide street, unwavering in the pursuit of completing his promise. The buildings came in different sizes, shapes, and styles, the majority well kept and only a few dwindling in decadent negligence. Growing familiar with his new environment, Sorin picked out the subtle differences that marked each building—some were built with a simple, solid appreciation for workmanship that Thistledon’s buildings reflected. Some buildings were tall and lean, marked by curved roofs and rounded windows and doors; others were rounded in a style he did not recognize.

  The people in the street were as different as the buildings. Even in the darkness, men, women, and children went about their business. They walked, they rode horses, some carried items, most seemed to have direction and a reason for being out at night. They entered and exited taverns, inns, and homes. Clothing was the only way Sorin could distinguish a person’s station. He saw few beggars, and those he did see seemed to vanish immediately, the emptying streets no place for the wretched poor to gain society’s handouts. Momentary curiosity occasionally met Sorin, but the people saw nothing more than a boy with his grandfather visiting one of the largest cities in the known world and so just as quickly turned away.

  “So many people,” Sorin whispered.

  “You haven’t seen the half of it,” Thomas said.

  After traveling deep into the city, Thomas came to an inn called The Sleepy Drunk. It had the look of an older establishment—the paint faded, the roof sagging, and the thick oak door beaten around its bottom from decades of boots upon it—but the windows were intact and clean and the bell on the door still tinkled. A blaze of light and voices penetrated the night, inviting others in for the food, drink, and revelry only an inn can possess.

  Thomas led his horse to a stable area beside the inn and pulled some items from his saddle, including the bundled sword. After giving the stable hand a coin and instructions, Sorin and Thomas entered a side door of The Sleepy Drunk and were met by bright candlelight, raucous laughter, and the heady smell of a thick, simmering stew lingering with human sweat.

  Those closest to the door turned to the newcomers but seeing nothing of interest, quickly went back to their affairs. Awkwardness stole over Sorin as he followed Thomas past the two-dozen tables, the room’s din of conversation, merriment, and stench suffocating as the old man approached the solid bar at the room’s center.

  “What can I do ya for?” a short, middle-aged man asked, his graying hair greased back and stubbly jowls hanging low beneath his chin.

  “We need a room for the night.”

  The barkeep looked closely at the two. “Been here before?”

  “A few times, long ago.”

  “Look familiar.” It was said almost as an accusation.

  “You don’t.” Thomas towered over the sallow barkeep.

  The man shrugged and placed a key on the bar.

  Thomas threw down a handful of coins. “Have your kitchen send up two meals.”

  The barkeep nodded, his watery blue eyes squinting at the two of them as they turned to wade their way through the common room, up a set of sturdy stairs, and onto the second floor of the building.

  Halfway down the first hallway, Thomas wriggled the key into a lock and entered the room. It was small, containing a lone bed, a cot folded in the corner, and two wooden chairs set around a tiny round table. A single-paned window admitted the barest of illumination from the city.

  As they settled in the room, Thomas said, “I want you going nowhere near the inn’s main room. There are characters there that would just as soon cut you wide open as spit on you.”

  “It didn’t seem that bad to me.”

  “Well, it is,” Thomas snapped.

  Sitting together at the table, they ate a meager meal of stew and bread sent up from the kitchen. Thomas sopped the remnants of his stew with the last of his bread. “In the morning, we will make our way to the woman I told you of. When you are finished, we will contact the palace and send a message to the High King on Relnyn’s behalf. That is all we can do for the Giant. Then we can be finally gone from this place.”

  “It’s too late to visit this woman now?”

  “It’s never too late for her. But it is for me. We came in under darkness to escape notice. Now that we are here, we will wait on the morrow for the meeting.”

  Sorin thought about the fight he had had with Thomas. The old man had done so much for him and still he pressed for the truth. Even though Thomas claimed the contrary, Sorin did not believe for a moment that the old man did not care for him in some small measure. He had always thought he was patient, not as quick to fight or judge as some of the others his age, but he had grown angry at the obvious deception he was forced to endure. Sorin no longer wanted vengeance; he just wanted to know and understand how his parents’ deaths had come to pass. If he could learn that, he might be able to protect himself from the jerich and lead a normal life.

  After they finished their meals and Sorin opened the small cot to sleep, a knock at the door startled him. Thomas produced a dirk and moved to the door on cat’s paws. After a few moments, he opened the door a crack to look out. Sorin waited, barely breathing.

  The old man stepped aside and a tall, lithe figure in a hooded black cloak entered the room. The figure lowered the cowl, revealing a woman with shoulder-cropped brown hair with red highlights that absorbed the light and shimmered like fire. She was pale but a smattering of light freckles populated the skin around her nose and gave her a youthful look. She held herself with unforgiving authority, her pointed chin high and her shoulders set back and strong. An air of importance swirled about her.

  Thomas was surprised at first, and then quickly annoyed as the woman flashed hand signals at him with thin, delicate hands. His fingers responded in a flickering blur. Sorin wondered what else the old man hid from him.

  As their hand gestures became erratic and frenzied, the tension in the room reached a fevered pitch. The woman soon dropped her hands within her cloak and said, “He requests your presence. Now”

  Contempt laced Thomas’s voice. “I no longer care for his requests.”

  “There are those who could make it happen, sir,” she said, eyes flashing.

  Sorin barely breathed. Someone with her bearing very well could have a group of men waiting outside if Thomas did not acquiesce to the request.

  “You’d cause a scene?”

  The woman shrugged, her expressive green eyes never leaving the old man.

  “I should have known better,” Thomas said. “And you are his new lapdog then?”

  “If you want to put it that way, that’s fine by me. I still have a duty to fulfill. The attempt on his life a few weeks ago placed a blanket of caution over all of Aris Shae.”

  Interest sparked in Thomas before it was quickly dowsed. “It’s too bad whoever tried didn’t succeed, I say.”

  She ignored him. “We still have items to speak of, in private.”

  As Sorin really studied her, he saw she was young, near his age or a few winters older. Her language, body position, and stature were the mannerisms of an older woman with mature authority on her side, but this woman’s eyes showed no lines at their corners, and her skin was still unmarred by age. If she was truly no older than Sorin, she had a hardened rod of steel through her soul to confront T
homas and put him on the defensive like she had.

  Then it dawned on him. Thomas was either afraid of her or what she represented.

  “Wait outside the door, Sorin. If I catch you eavesdropping I’ll have your hide. This girl and I have things to discuss.” After a moment, he added as if preparing for what would be a speedy resolution, “And don’t go too far. This won’t take long.”

  Sorin left and shut the door, leaving an uncomfortable, stale silence behind him.

  He wondered if her presence had anything to do with him. It did not sound like it. And who was almost murdered? Someone of import—that much was obvious—and definitely someone with power to employ a woman like her. Sorin considered what might be occurring inside their room. A part of him wanted to place his ear against the door.

  He walked down the hallway and stopped at the top of the stairs, viewing the inn’s main room. A thick haze of reeking smoke and noise assailed him while he waited.

  “Hello, feller.”

  Sorin turned to view an old, rotten husk of a man standing in the midst of the second-floor hallway, grinning through vacant holes where teeth should have been. He was wiry, his clothes hanging from his frame like a scarecrow.

  “What do you want?” Sorin questioned in a low voice. “I want no trouble.”

  “You don’t have trouble. You have troubles.” Another man—this one a great deal heavier and looking as strong as a bull—stepped up behind Sorin from the staircase, brandishing a long knife that glinted dully in the smoky light. Sorin was trapped between them. No one from the common room seemed to notice or care.

  “My friend is just on the other side of that door,” Sorin backed away and tried to put on his best bravado as the man on the stairs approached. “All it will take is one word from me and…”

  Sorin did not finish the sentence. When he turned to get Thomas, his breath rushed out of him as a bony fist from the first man twisted Sorin’s insides into fire. The air in his lungs exploded from his body after the punch to his stomach, and he crumpled to the wooden floor, gagging amidst a black sea that washed over his sight in waves.