Song of the Fell Hammer

by Shawn C. Speakman

After climbing an indeterminate amount of stairs and feeling his thighs burn from the ascent, Arianna stopped them at the tunnel’s end wall. With her free hand, she pushed one of the many stones. At first it did not budge, but then it sunk slowly inward as if her weight against it was magic. Their stone barrier gave way and swung open on oiled hinges while a small bell rang in the room beyond.

  The group stepped into a room of blazing light. It was windowless, with one door aside from the secret entrance they had just used. Four beautifully crafted sconces filled the four corners, their cradled, floating orbs casting all shadows aside with their blue-white light. The walls were lined with books and maps of all sizes, disrupting the plain walls with mosaics of multi-colored leather volumes. Thick rugs helped balance the vivid walls, and several chairs were bunched around an oak desk with three smaller orbs illuminating a menagerie of magnifying glasses, rolled maps, and a pitcher of wine with unfilled goblets. To Sorin, it seemed to be a quiet room with no time for revelry of any kind, a section of the palace devoted to study rather than catering to guests.

  Behind the desk, a man with graying hair and a kindly face bounded by a short-cropped, peppery beard was already rising to meet his visitors. He was younger than he first appeared, the gray in his hair belying a face that only hinted at the wrinkles of old age. He wore fine, simple clothing in solid colors. The only thing distinctive about him was a thin circlet of white gold that sat upon his brow, it’s apparent lack of weight inversely proportioned to the gravity found in the man’s gray eyes.

  “That took longer than expected,” the man said in a smooth, articulate voice as he stepped to meet the newcomers. Recognition at Thomas in their host’s eyes vanished as quickly as it had come. “Have some complications, did we, Arianna?”

  “I was not quick enough, Your Majesty,” the woman said, having left the lantern behind in the tunnel and closing the section of wall firmly behind her. “Before I had time to explain, the Watchman had taken Thomas’s young friend here to draw him out. It took the better part of the night and today to retrieve him.”

  “That’s unexpected. The Watchman will be gone by the time we return.” The noble man gave Sorin a cursory glance before noticing the dark, red stain on the woman’s shoulder. “What happened?”

  She shrugged, looking down to her shoulder. “I was wounded.”

  “On the morrow, I want you to help Rowen find the Watchman’s home. For now, have Riock look at your arm. I no longer require your service tonight.”

  Arianna bowed and turned to leave. Before she did, she gave Sorin a warm smile.

  Once she was gone, the man turned back. “Thomas.”

  “Nialls,” the old man said simply, removing any form of address to the High King of the Kingdom.

  Sorin had to hide the surprise at the two men’s familiarity with one another. They knew each other well—that much was apparent—but thick knots of tension now crossed the room and left him in the middle.

  “It’s been a long time,” High King Nialls said, treading carefully. “How are you?”

  “Living each day as it comes, as we all do.”

  “You haven’t changed much, I see.”

  Thomas’s gaze was unflinching. “And I see you are a lot grayer now than when I left.”

  The High King smiled briefly without humor. “I suppose time has its way with everyone.” He gestured to two of the chairs in front of his desk. “Will you join me, comfortably at least?”

  Thomas sat in reply. Sorin followed his friend’s lead. Nialls took his previous seat.

  “Arianna let me know the moment her people saw you come into town.” The High King looked at the boy’s soiled clothing and dirtied appearance, an eyebrow arching in question. “Still, she obviously didn’t catch you quickly enough upon your arrival by the look of the young man.”

  “Sorin was barely hurt—just some bumps and bruises,” Thomas replied.

  Nialls nodded. Sorin could tell the High King wanted to move on to another subject but was not sure how to do so. He finally asked, “Why have you returned?”

  Silence fell. The tension in the room tightened like the fall of a hangman’s noose. The pale white light of the orbs did nothing to dispel the growing annoyance in both men. Whatever had happened in the past was still very much in the present.

  Before Thomas had a chance to reply, a knock came at the door, firm and short.

  “Come,” Nialls said, cutting the thick silence in half with a word.

  An old man entered the room, a silver representation of the Illym pinned to his Godwyn faith’s robe. He had an excited spark in his eyes until he saw Thomas; then the glimmer changed to surprise.

  “Sir Thomas,” the newcomer said with a smile, offering his hand. “Today is a day for miracles.”

  Thomas took the hand with a firm shake and a polite nod. “Pontifex Charl.”

  “What did you find, Dendreth?” The High King cut their greeting short.

  Easing his body gently into the chair, the Pontifex leaned forward, his initial excitement returned. “It is the horse. It is the only explanation.”

  “The reports I’ve had this evening have indicated he has gone. Where is he now?”

  “He is gone, Your Majesty,” Dendreth answered. “Disappeared with the setting sun.”

  “Where to?”

  “Into the Gifforn. No one had time to even try to follow him, he was that fleet of foot.”

  “This horse you speak of,” Thomas interrupted. “What are you referring to?”

  “A giant black stallion appeared outside the eastern gates before the sun rose this morning,” the High King answered. “It pummeled the gates with its hooves. Warden threw rocks at it, but when the horse wouldn’t leave they began shooting arrows into it. Nothing happened; they just bounced off like the horse was made of rock. The gates actually began to fold under its onslaught.”

  “Just as I got there, the horse fled into the Gifforn Forest,” Dendreth finished, turning his gaze back to the High King. “After viewing the damage to the city gate, I sent trackers into the woods. When they returned, they reported the horse had vanished, its tracks disappearing from the land entirely.”

  Sorin had thought he would never hear of Aerom’s horse again. After it had awakened in the Sentinel Glade, it had galloped away, gone like the wind and as difficult to catch. On his trip to Aris Shae from Lockwood, they had seen no evidence of the beast. Now it appeared he was wrong. “It was Artiq,” Sorin said simply, speaking for the first time.

  The High King squinted at Sorin, and all eyes were on him. “Thomas, who is this young man with you?” Nialls asked.

  Thomas looked at Sorin, and their eyes met. There, Sorin saw a struggle taking place. Finally, Thomas said, “He is Sorin Westfall, son of Blacksmith Arvel Westfall.”

  Thomas then explained with diligent detail the events that had befallen Sorin and his family at the hands of the jerich, the addition of Relnyn at the Monastery of A’lum, and the trip to Lockwood. Thomas finished with the events of the Sentinel Glade and the freeing of Aerom’s horse. Through all of it, Sorin felt exposed and raw, as if those in the room knew who he was but he alone did not.

  “You tell the truth?” the High King questioned.

  “Have I ever told you differently, Nialls?” Thomas answered with weary disdain as if he had betrayed himself.

  His eyes a little wild, Dendreth whispered, “Pontiff Evelina was right.”

  “What are you talking about?” Thomas demanded.

  Dendreth glanced at Nialls. After a few moments, the High King nodded.

  “If you’ll remember, Thomas,” the Pontifex began. “Pontiff Evelina abdicated her position several winters before you left. It was the fall season of the Crimson Tail, where much of the Kingdom bore witness to a falling star so angry it shone red. Superstition ran rampant. Some took it to be an omen of end days; others ignored it.”

  “I remember Pontiff Evelina took it to mean neither,” Thomas said. “It broke apart during
its fall, creating a smaller red streak in the sky that died as its parent did. Several years later, the smaller also fell.”

  “Exactly right, Thomas,” Pontifex Dendreth said. “In the Book of Iorek in the Codex, there is a single line referencing ‘fire will fill the sky chased by two tails separated by birth and time,’ and this would observe the delivery of the All Father’s last great action upon the world, one that would destroy the Wrathful and his darkness forever. Evelina divined Iorek’s prophetic rambling to mean another messiah would come. But like Aerom, this new Fatherhead would be beset by evil and tempted.

  “Evelina wanted to comb the land looking for this child, to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands. No one listened to her. Evelina was furious at her ineffectual efforts to persuade Godwyn Council the event was real.”

  Sorin had no idea what the Pontifex was talking about. These were people he did not know and events of which he had no comprehension. The Book of Iorek was a book filled with visions and dreams that many did not take stock in. But during the discussion, dread built inside Sorin. Something was not right, and he knew it.

  “So strong were her convictions that Evelina decided to leave her position, to search for the child,” Dendreth continued. “Pontiff Garethe became the Keep’s new leader, and seven winters passed. People forgot the comet and Evelina. Then a small boy came to our attention, one possessed of abilities far beyond his age. His parents brought him to Godwyn Keep with hopes of teaching him.”

  “Who was the boy?” Thomas asked.

  “Whereas all Godwyn faithful with strong ability go through rigorous training to commune with the All Father, the boy demonstrated no need for this training,” the old Pontifex said. “He was like Aerom—attuned to the All Father and his wishes without using song. Pontiff Garethe took it upon himself to unravel the mystery of the boy, and over the next few years, we all saw hope for the future in the eyes of a child. His name was Kieren.

  “Then a massive explosion rocked the Keep, and the boy disappeared. Pontiff Garethe said the boy had grown angry with him, volatile, and had destroyed a section of the Keep’s wall in his anger. We all prayed he would return.”

  “But he did not,” Nialls added.

  “He did not. And ever since then, we on the Godwyn Council have known a possible threat loomed in the world far larger than any one to come before it, even worse than the Wrathful himself.”

  “What does any of this have to do with us now?” Thomas growled.

  “Several months ago,” Dendreth said. “Godwyn Keep was attacked late at night. The Pontiff was mortally wounded, but in that assault’s advent, something was stolen from the Keep’s Vault and whisked away by two men riding a shrike. Most of the Council—although worried our defenses had been breached—did not concern themselves with the theft. They think the item to be an artifact and nothing more. I believe, however, the theft to be a calculated move to attain a weapon of great power, one to be used for a sinister purpose.”

  “Are you saying Kieren stole the Hammer?” Thomas questioned.

  “Kieren is a probable option,” the High King said.

  “How can you know that?” Thomas inquired. “Has anyone seen him?”

  The High King looked to Dendreth before answering. “I think I have. The events swirling in my Kingdom have left me without answers, and the answers I do attain only lead to more questions. My father used to say a good King explores all possibilities. As one of my last avenues, I decided to visit the Rosemere.”

  Thomas turned to stone. “What did she say?”

  “Nothing. She didn’t appear. But another shade visited, one who exuded power and who hinted at his knowledge of where the item is as well as his allegiance to the Marcher Lord in La Zandia. How he was able to use the Rosemere not even Dendreth can surmise, but it could be no easy feat, and yet it is one Kieren could accomplish.”

  “The Marcher Lord moves through La Zandia like wildfire,” Dendreth interrupted. “Taking the Kingdom with him. There are too many events transpiring all at once, and Evelina’s worries are now finally coming to fruition.

  “And now,” Nialls continued, “the appearance of a horse impervious to arrows and this young man calling it a name from the Codex many thought to be legend lends weight to the fact he is also more than he seems.”

  Only the creaking of chairs broke the silence to fall on the room. Sorin did not know what to say.

  “Before she left,” Dendreth finally added, “Evelina also argued the fate of the twin stars from the Book of Iorek. She asked, why would the All Father send two? It is now my belief that the second star that fell winters later was meant to counteract Kieren if he was led astray into darkness.” The Pontifex looked at Sorin. “Have you done anything extraordinary you cannot explain, young man?”

  Sorin thought about it. Nothing in his life had been extraordinary. He shook his head. “I’m only a blacksmith.”

  “He has,” Thomas said, looking on Sorin with sad eyes. “At the Monastery of A’lum. He essentially saved us all from the dragon by calling flocks of crows to hamper the great beast long enough for it to be slain.”

  Letting the disbelief pass, Sorin thought back on the dragon’s attack. He had become dizzy and fallen to his knees, a rush of blackness flowing through him. The next moment he looked up, a swarm of black birds had unnaturally flown in to disorient the dragon long enough for Relnyn to kill it. He had done nothing overt.

  Dendreth looked at Sorin. “Is that true?”

  “Something happened.” Sorin paused. “I’m not sure what though.”

  “You felt it happen, Thomas?” Dendreth confirmed.

  “I did. Even though I was battling the beast, and it was for only a few moments, I felt it.”

  The three men looked at Sorin anew. He had never been so torn to want to stay to discover answers and yet flee before getting them.

  The High King tapped his desk, lost in thought. Nialls turned to the aged Pontifex. “This is unexpected. That explains the presence of the jerich, if what you say is true, Thomas. It has been sent to kill the boy before he can enact the All Father’s purpose.”

  The Pontifex nodded. “And Godwyn Keep does not have the power to harm the jerich. It is beyond our tenets, although it is written in early Kingdom Annals the First Warden has such authority.”

  “You mentioned there are now more questions than answers,” Thomas said.

  “The Marcher Lord is moving to the border of La Zandia,” the High King said, pointing at the map only he could see. “Rowen moves Kingdom forces to meet the threat. I am giving him one more opportunity to come to a bargaining table before I ride out to meet him.” He paused. “In Blackrhein Reach, Cwen Errich has crowned herself a king after her husband’s death on his pleasure barge. She is massing the pagan clans—for what, we do not know.”

  “All true, Thomas,” Dendreth said.

  “I called you here for a reason,” Nialls stared at Thomas. “I know you have misgivings about me that far transcend any possibility for healing. But there is a great deal more that you do not know. What I call on you to do is not personal, but for the good of the Kingdom and those who live within its borders. It is one of necessity and not choice, and—”

  “I am no longer in your service,” Thomas halted Nialls with a wave of his hand. “I’m not even in Godwyn’s service, at least not as the written doctrine demands at its most meager levels. If I had my choice about this, Sorin and I would not be here.”

  The High King looked perplexed. “Sitting beside you is prophecy incarnate, living and breathing, and yet you do not believe? You still cannot look beyond your own selfishness.”

  Thomas rose from his seat, his face reddened with ire. “I lost belief a long time ago. At your command, I lost the base of my faith! I will not subject Sorin—a young man whom I swore to protect long ago—to the same ”

  “That may be,” Nialls replied, softening his voice. “And perhaps he should be the master of his own decisions. But you are not the
only one to have lost loved ones. I have apologized to you; I have apologized to the All Father every day. I feel your pain almost as acutely as you do, but it changes nothing for me when it comes to the Kingdom.”

  With his fingers interlaced before him, Nialls stared hard at Thomas before rising from his chair. “I want to show you something.”

  Thomas was hesitant before following, his jaw clenched. Sorin and Dendreth joined him.

  The group of men traveled through several short hallways before coming to a wide corridor intersecting with a multitude of other passages. Nialls moved ahead quickly, and Sorin noticed the Pontifex limped to keep up, grating his teeth with every step. Whatever the High King meant to show them, Dendreth wanted to be there, and no injury was going to keep him behind.

  The passage ended in a short flight of stairs and they stepped outdoors into a small flower garden, the night’s humidity cooling beneath the starry sky. The spire Sorin had seen from outside the city rose in the middle of the garden, enormous now that he stood directly beneath it. Tall rhododendrons encircled the perimeter of the tower, their large-leafed branches interlocking to form one continuous trellis that clematises grew into and bloomed within. It was a simple, serene place, hidden in the middle of the palace, the ground on which the tower stood the place the Scholars first met after Aerom’s death. It was a holy shrine of sorts, a monument even the stars were forced to acknowledge.

  Sorin did not know what to think anymore. Oryn had told him Thomas was hiding the truth, and now that they were finally in Aris Shae, the truth seemed to be coming in an unending torrent. The things the men had been talking about were maddening. History had somehow come with its own agenda, and powers he could barely comprehend were aligning around him with more demands and expectations. He had so many questions, and yet he had no idea where to begin. He was a blacksmith from a small town far on the outskirts of the Kingdom; what could he have to offer the world? He did not feel different, but now a dark tide swirled, threatening to pull him under.

  High King Nialls entered the base of the giant spire through an oak door recessed into the stone. Picking up one of two orb-filled sconces that lit the doorway, he climbed. “An attempt on my life happened a few days ago—a boy, really—with no clear advantage for committing such a crime. As he was bringing the water from the Rosemere to the Bacilus Cathedral, he suddenly erupted in flame and attacked me as I sat in the front pew.” The High King pulled his arm sleeve up to reveal a band of scarred flesh. Sorin thought the scar half-resembled embedded fingers. “If it weren’t for his companion, who pulled the assassin off of me, I’d be dead.”