Song of the Fell Hammer

by Shawn C. Speakman

  Thomas nodded half-heartedly. “What did you find out?”

  “The shade in the Rosemere accepted responsibility for it. Said he was testing me.” Nialls shook his head. “I don’t believe that. The aggressiveness of the attack left me doubting its words. No, there was true intent to kill me. As I began looking for another explanation, Dendreth found what I am about to show you.”

  They climbed the steps, the High King lighting the way. In the confines of the tower, stone trapped Sorin. He was used to open spaces, not the weight of the city around him. The steps continued endlessly, and his legs began to burn at the King’s pace. What had happened to the High King had left him anxious for answers.

  The stairs led directly to a door and nothing more. It was well cared for—as the entire stairway and tower clearly were—and it looked thick as a Sentinel, so oiled and shiny it reflected the orb’s light and their images like a dingy mirror. As he ensured the entire company was present, the High King wordlessly took a thick key from his pocket and inserted it into the lock. Rather than turn and open the door, he pushed on a single stone that made up the arch of the doorframe. It sunk for a moment before a click snapped. The door opened with no effort, its hinges oiled and smooth.

  Sorin and the others stepped into the uppermost chamber of the tower. For as large as the room was, it was mostly empty, the high, glassless windows giving it a freedom and openness only the sky truly possessed. The night would be hitting its midnight stride soon, but the moon and stars shone with enough light to produce a world outside of the chamber. The view no one else seemed to notice transfixed Sorin; the ocean undulating in the briefest of light, the thin puffy remnants of clouds in the sky, the mix of stars at the edge of the sea. It was a place Sorin wished he could halt his life to pull its unraveling threads back together, and discover the truth everyone else around him seemed to know.

  Surrounded by five highly-cushioned chairs, a leather-bound book sat upon a simple pedestal of dark wood. The book was open to its end as if the previous reader had yet to finish up its last few pages. The High King moved to it and ran his hands lightly over the pages.

  “Do you know what this is, Thomas?”

  Thomas walked to the pedestal and after a cursory glance said, “It’s the Codex.”

  “Not just any Codex,” the Pontifex interjected at their side. “It is an edition not seen by the Kingdom for millennia, one I found on Westor locked deep within Memoria. Most of it is the same, with the exception of the Book of Iorek. It is there, embedded in the pages of prophecy, where additions have been made—or, more accurately, someone took the Book once and omitted a great many things from its original text.”

  Thomas seemed unimpressed. “That makes no sense. Why would someone go to those lengths at the onset of Godwyn Keep?”

  Dendreth pressed his finger gently against the text on the right hand page. “Here is the briefest mention of a High King’s fate when the end days have come: ‘behold, royal blood flows.’ It is our guess the kings of the First Reign had the revelation of an assassination attempt stricken from the copied pages of the Codex, among other passages. The wisdom of such a thing astounds me; but then again, if the populace knew that killing a High King was possible—even desirable—perhaps it would give them ideas. Many such passages have been omitted from the original, ones with portents just as dire.”

  Nialls stepped in again. “No matter the consequence, here I stand, saved from the fate that will befall one of the High Kings of this land—perhaps even myself in the near future. Until then, I have time to act. All of these events we have spoken here tonight—events ranging from La Zandia, to Blackrhein Reach, to the halls of Godwyn Keep, coupled with what Dendreth has discovered in the Codex suggest the Wrathful has returned and recruited Kieren to his hellish cause. Evil has a design, a purpose, and we think we know what it is.

  “In the meantime, there is something more dire in the world than what either of us can comprehend, and petty grievances from our shared past will only aid the Wrathful and his intentions. I fear our time may be limited already.”

  “What do you want from me?” Thomas asked Nialls.

  “You must help Sorin Westfall find the Fell Hammer of Aerom.”

  Chapter 25

  “Find the Hammer?!” The words exploded from Thomas before Sorin could even comprehend what the High King was suggesting. Thomas raised his voice even higher, his blue eyes and gesturing as wild as his hair. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “That’s what Laver Herid would have of me.” Undaunted by the anger Thomas displayed, Nialls did not back down. “The Hammer isn’t an instrument of innocent bedtime stories or relegated to the blind musings of ancient historians who have nothing better to do than debate.”

  “Indeed,” Dendreth said shortly.

  “The Hammer is power—nothing more,” Nialls said. “It drove the iron nail through Aerom’s hands and left him pinned to the tree in the Rosemere pool, rendering him stricken until his own pain and spilling life’s blood killed him. That blood—the blood of the All Father for all intents and purposes—splashed the Hammer, creating from a simple blacksmith’s tool a weapon the world has never seen. The Codex has said as much, and it will be used to end the All Father’s power here on this world.”

  “What proof do you have, if any?” Thomas demanded, unwilling to let it go.

  Dendreth stepped between the High King and Thomas and flipped through several pages of the Book of Iorek. He pointed at several passages. Thomas read them, and Sorin found himself being drawn to them as well.

  “You can’t know that is what’s happening,” Thomas said to both men, his anger replaced by a modicum of civility. “Everything I have seen doesn’t relate to this.”

  “Dendreth,” Nialls said. “Show him.”

  The limping Pontifex moved from the pedestal into a corner of the chamber. There, as a brisk evening wind stirred his robes, he pulled some cloth from a long, golden object—a cylinder Dendreth placed on a four-legged stand.

  He looked through one end of the tube, made a few adjustments with two knobs on its side, and when satisfied, stepped aside for Thomas. As he moved to place his eye to the end of the tube as Dendreth had, the Pontifex looked outside. “This is a spyglass. Molded glass at either end help bring things in the distance closer to the eye as if you stood right there with them. Lorien Silas of Westor built it and gave it as a gift to Pontiff Garethe.”

  Thomas looked through it and after squinting a few moments said, “It can’t be.”

  “It is,” the High King said, ushering Sorin forward for a view.

  Sorin looked through the tube, uncertain what he would find but sure it would not be pleasant from the reaction Thomas had. The star field immediately sprang into view, pinpricks of icy light dancing in their black bed. As he grew accustomed to the spyglass and what he viewed, a dark silhouette moved across his vision, its angles sharp and sinuous. He moved the tube to follow the movement and discovered dozens more with thick bodies and long wings riding the heavens, enough to blot out the stars in inky madness. He had seen this before, but in a different part of the Kingdom, as night fell and he and his parents traveled home from Thistledon. At that time, awe, wonder, and curiosity had filled him; now, disbelief and confusion melded with his blossomed fear.

  Dragons. Hundreds of dragons.

  “Every night they fly overhead, and every night they haunt my dreams,” Nialls said. “Thomas, if you need proof that an ill will is in the air, there it is. As far as we can tell, they travel to Falkind Island where the Soors tend to their flocks peacefully. Not any longer, I’d wager.”

  “And they aren’t doing anything?”

  “We do not know,” the High King answered, sitting down in one of the chairs. “I will be sending a delegation there by ship to discern what is really happening.”

  “How many have gathered?” Sorin asked.

  Nialls shook his head. “Thousands, if not hundreds of thousands.”

  “How d
id you discover this?” Thomas questioned, looking out into the night as if he could see the dragons without the aid of the spyglass. “They are flying at night, which is as unnatural as their migration. Was the Pontiff aware of it?”

  Nialls nodded. “So aware of it he sent me a note requesting my presence at Godwyn Keep the day of the attack. When I realized action had to be taken if I was to have a strong Kingdom to meet this brunt, Dendreth tried to resuscitate Pontiff Garethe from his coma. It didn’t work, but the Pontifex was given insight into the Pontiff’s memories. Those creatures out there in the night—they were in one of them.”

  Dendreth had turned away from the window, sorrow etched into his wrinkled face. Thomas sensed it too. “There is more you aren’t telling us, Dendreth.”

  The Pontifex shook his head. “It was a terrible aching within the Pontiff’s mind. I wish I could have done more for him.”

  “If dragons stir and are gathering,” the High King said, “It can mean only one thing. The Wrathful is once again going to war. Dendreth believes at some point after Kieren was born, the Wrathful seduced him. Not to kill him—as he would have done to Aerom if he had known the All Father’s plan—but to recruit him. What Aerom showed the Evil One was the savior was human. This time, the Wrathful waited. At some point when Kieren was at Godwyn Keep, he fell from grace and fled, leaving goodness and virtue behind. Years passed, with no knowledge of where Kieren might have been or what he may have been doing.”

  “What could have made a savior turn evil?” Thomas asked, perplexity drawn on his face. “Is that not blasphemy of the highest order at Godwyn Keep? Was not the Fatherhead the All Father in the flesh?”

  “In the Codex,” Dendreth replied, “Aerom reiterates he is a man and yet more than a man. If the All Father was a man, in this imperfect world, then he had all the faults we have—the capacity to sin, to anger, to be moved to violence, greed, and jealousy. These things are in each of us, and that is also true of Kieren. He could have become so damaged by the exploits of the Wrathful that he has now become the gravest of threats.”

  “If what you say is true about Kieren and he has indeed become the pawn of Evil, what does he want with the Hammer of Aerom?” Thomas asked.

  “During my Rosemere discussion with him,” Nialls said. “Kieren said he could possess the Hammer at any moment. He also said he was in league with the Marcher Lord. Whether I believe him or not doesn’t matter; what does matter is there are so many events swirling in the Kingdom that I have to embrace all knowledge—regardless if it is legitimate or not.”

  “And make the best decisions to protect our people,” Dendreth added.

  “Kieren might possess the Hammer; he might not,” Nialls continued. “I still must quell the province of La Zandia and Laver Herid must answer for his trespass. Rowen as we speak is building the Kingdom’s presence at the border of La Zandia, and soon he will ride there himself to carry out what is necessary. I will follow.

  “But that still leaves Blackrhein Reach,” Nialls continued. The signs of sleepless nights, worry, and grief were deep in the High King’s mien. “Two men riding a Reach shrike broke into Godwyn Keep and stole the Hammer. They had pagan witchcraeft by which they undid the protective measures on the Vault. It is possible the men were from La Zandia and even now the Hammer is in that province. But that is far away from what we believe their intent is.”

  “And that is,” Thomas asked.

  “They want it to destroy the Rune of Aerilonoth,” the High King said.

  For the first time, Thomas looked as confused as Sorin felt.

  “Yes,” Nialls said. “That was my reaction exactly.”

  “There are two passages in the Codex that refer to the Hammer and the Rune,” Dendreth said, sitting in a chair and stretching his leg out before him. “Once I had the unedited edition of the Codex from Memoria, I quickly disseminated the passages that had been taken out. In my hunt here in Aris Shae for the possible properties of the Hammer, I had seen reference to the Rune before in an obscure, ancient text written four or five centuries after the War of the Kingdoms. It was there I found what I believe is enough evidence to support the theory the Rune is deep in the Clennick Mountains.”

  “What does this Rune do?” Sorin asked.

  “No one knows what it looks like,” Dendreth began, “but what it looks like is less important than what it is. Early in the Godwyn faith, much was debated about the world and our faith—aspects of religion and science, what laws govern the world and how it came into being—but few of the debates were truly resolved. Centuries passed and slowly the arguments simmered into what formed as nebulous truth—the truth you and I know today. But that doesn’t change the fact that those truths are still based on unanswered questions no one found conclusions for.

  “The Rune of Aerilonoth was the focus of some of these debates. According to the book, there were some who believe it the means by which the All Father touches the world. They believed when one has had extensive training of soul, song, and faith, the soncrist that develops is a plea the All Father answers through the Rune. Some claimed to feel its presence in the Rhein Mountains; others swore on clear nights they could see its shimmering colors keeping the world safe. If the Hammer is used as the Book of Iorek implies, it can destroy the Rune—”

  "And hence destroy the connection the All Father has on this world, removing his efforts fully from the land,” Nialls finished.

  “So you see, Thomas,” the High King began anew. “The Hammer could also have gone to Blackrhein Reach. Not to be used on the battlefield of La Zandia, but for a different purpose altogether, one whose intent is far darker. Regardless of what you believe or if Dendreth’s theory holds validity, as High King I must look at all possibilities and that is one. Since I go to La Zandia with a large force anyway, there is no point in worrying if it is there—if it is, I will find it. But that leaves no one to ensure it is not in the Reach. And that is why I have asked you here tonight, Thomas.”

  “Why didn’t the Wrathful have the Hammer stolen before now?” Thomas asked.

  “We do not know, although Dendreth believes from a military point of view it makes sense. Why steal a Hammer and destroy a Rune when one can wait for a new messiah, convert him to your cause, and have the most powerful man in the world as general to your armies? The Wrathful did not have that kind of presence in the War of the Kingdoms; it is conceivable the Evil One is placing a Fatherhead-type figure before his own army this time in hopes of achieving dominance over his nemesis. He also knows the Hammer may be the only thing in this world that can kill Kieren, and for the Evil One to know his plans are going forward smoothly, He left the Hammer in the care of the one place it was secure and unknown—Godwyn Keep.

  “We must secure the object that can take victory from him. The Rune, we believe, cannot be destroyed by the will of mankind. The Hammer is the tool by which that can happen, as it is no longer only part of this world, but—after being splashed by the blood of Aerom—a part of the All Father’s world as well. The Wrathful has corrupted a man who should have been this world’s hope.”

  A cold stone sunk in Sorin’s stomach, freezing his innards. Events were spiraling out of control. “Why doesn’t the All Father keep all of this from happening?” Sorin asked the group. “Doesn’t He have the power to change anything He desires in this world?”

  “He can’t actively place his hand upon the world,” Thomas said. “Imagine the All Father creating a world that was perfect. Then Wrath entered it through the hands of your creation and it is imprisoned there. The world is imperfect at that point, and for perfection to suddenly enter it again would undo the fabric from which it was made.”

  “And allow the Wrathful freedom to wage war on the All Father,” Dendreth added.

  “For all we know,” Thomas said, “the Wrathful intends to force the All Father’s hand into doing just that.”

  “No,” Dendreth said, “The All Father trusts His own design. So do I.”

  The
High King nodded, looking at Sorin. “The All Father obviously has decided to remedy the situation in the only way He knows how. The second star was your deliverance, Sorin Westfall. It is your role to discover the Hammer as the Codex has prophesied and kill Kieren before he can destroy the Rune.”

  “It can’t say that in the Codex,” Thomas interjected angrily. “Killing is not part of the Godwyn way.”

  Dendreth looked to the floor but did not speak. Nialls was stern. “I command it.”

  “Why me?” Sorin gasped. “It’s not possible.”

  “You, seemingly, are the only one who wields enough power to get close enough to Kieren and destroy him. He is the greatest threat the world has ever known. If he is as strong as Dendreth remembers, and he has grown into a mantle of evil, you may be the only person able to counteract his power and rid the world of his presence.”

  “Find the Hammer, and you’ll find Kieren,” Dendreth added. “And save the Rune.”

  “The trail for the Hammer starts in Blackrhein Reach,” Nialls said. The High King penetrated Sorin’s soul with eyes the color of a fog bank, and they held him fast.

  Under the scrutiny of those around him, any semblance of Sorin scattered like leaves in a stiff breeze. For the entire discussion, parts of who he was had been inexorably pulled apart, like his entire life had been a string of lies and deceit and now the truth was undoing that which bound him together. Even though the tower chamber was open to the elements, the walls shrunk upon him, constricting his breathing, paralyzing him with fear. He was being asked to perform the impossible because the men believed Sorin was something he was not. What good would he be against ultimate evil? What good was he if he could not even kill a Feyr in self-defense?