Song of the Fell Hammer

by Shawn C. Speakman

  Sorin breathed deep. He had slept well. After the High King showed them to their rooms within the royal chambers, Sorin soaked in an enormous stone basin built into the pale granite of a private washroom. Cleansing the road grime from his body, he heated the travel weariness from his muscles as a healing assistant named Sari gently applied salve to the clean wound at the back of his head. She had also grunted in satisfaction at the healed wounds at his shoulder. Once within the grasp of his bed, sleep came swiftly at the first touch of his head to the feather pillow.

  Now, feeling at least partially refreshed from his bath and sleep, Sorin slid out of bed and wiped the grit from his eyes. After dressing in clean yet simple clothing, he crept from his room to investigate the livid argument that arose from the main audience room.

  Peering around a corner with quiet care, Sorin saw an older man with a nose like a hawk’s beak dressed in chain mail. He was as tall as Thomas and wore padded crimson pants, and a simple short sword lacking ornamentation hung at his side. Short-cropped gray hair stood spiky and receding along the top of his head, and the image of a diamond wreathed in flame was emblazoned on his chest, denoting him a Ward commander of the Kingdom. With shoulders back, chest forward, and chin held high, the man was the epitome of authority and precision, one who would never shirk his duty. Sorin knew immediately for a man whose entire life centered on maintaining calm under severe duress, for him to lose his temper meant there was terrible blood between the two men.

  Thomas was seated in one of the many chairs the audience chamber contained, but whereas Sorin had thought both men were contributing to the loud argument, he quickly realized the noise that had awoken him came only from the visitor. Thomas just sat there, looking up at the man with sad, quiet eyes.

  “I’m here, Rowen, as a promise given to Arvel Westfall many years ago,” Thomas said evenly, sincerity challenging the visitor’s ire. “There is no need for you to bark at me like a common dog, for that matter.”

  “You honor a promise to a blacksmith but not the one to your family?” the other man grated.

  With a hard look that could crack granite, Thomas leaned forward. “My family is dead, at the hands of an inconsiderate butcher of men. My promise to the Kingdom ended the moment their blood spilled. You would do well to remember that.”

  “Then you aren’t here to take back what is rightfully yours?” Rowen accused with a sneer. “Did you believe for a moment I wouldn’t know of your return?”

  “I had hoped we would see one another under better circumstances and not like this, Rowen,” said Thomas, the shadows around his eyes giving his face the spectral appearance of an animated skull. “I had hoped the past could be left there.”

  “What you did is unforgivable. The dishonor you’ve brought to your bloodline still haunts you at least, I see. Good. Penance is said to be beneficial for the fallen soul—good for those who fail. I’m not here to make amends or talk—you know why I am here.”

  It was then that Thomas rose, but instead of confronting the angry man who stood before him, he disappeared. Sorin had no idea who the man challenging Thomas was, but it was obvious something was awry. It was clear Thomas and the High King had known each other once and their relationship was strained.

  And now here was another person who knew Thomas intimately. Guilt had taken up residence within Sorin, guilt that burrowed deep at the knowledge his parents had been murdered for who he was. If the High King expected Sorin to go on a quest for some ancient artifact, he knew he would only go if all secrets were revealed to him and he could make up his own mind.

  Thomas returned shortly with the long bundle he had carried with him all the way from Thistledon. He thrust the clothbound object at his accuser and held it rigidly before him as though it were weightless.

  “Take it. It was never for me. I do, however, hope it keeps you safe.”

  Rowen took it, ignoring the offered bridge of friendship. “You are right about one thing. You never should have been given the honor.”

  “How can you hold so much resentment toward me after all of this time?”

  The Ward cradled the bundle as though it were a newborn. “Because Thomas, hard times befall all of us. Some are worse than others. What defines our lives is not the pain we have to endure every day but what we do to rise above our grievances, our woe, our mourning over life’s visited sorrows.

  Thomas could not look at the man. The floor seemed to hold his answers.

  “You know who taught me that?” the man asked through clenched teeth. “You did. When Marianne died, I was lost, but you picked me up by my boots and forced me to acknowledge the rest of the world—to live as though hope remained. Moris needed me and I was there for him, all the while afloat on a sea of anger and sorrow. What did you do when faced with the same situation? You abandoned your post, your responsibility, and your honor; you left to wallow in the mud. You are a shadow. I pity you, so much more now because I can remember who you used to be.”

  Thomas was mute, almost as if he had expected Rowen’s answer. “It isn’t the same,” he whispered.

  The Ward moved to the door. “I have a question for you. Why did you take the sword?”

  Without looking up, Thomas shook his head. “I thought by doing so it would dissuade you from the role and keep you from serving Nialls. I was wrong. Your own desire for glory won out over your common sense and your loyalty to me.”

  “Something had to replace the hole in my heart, Thomas. I saw valor, courage, and honor to be the very things that would save me. I suppose in a strange way, I should thank you for being weak. You helped give my life meaning beyond what it used to be. You’ve been wrong about many things.”

  “Peace, Rowen,” Thomas said, dismissing the man. “Luck be with you in La Zandia.”

  The Ward turned a shade of darker red. “I will bring peace to the land. No bedtime story can prevent war in the south. I leave to bring order to the chaos that envelops La Zandia. Despite what His Majesty told me this morning about what your presence here means, I hope your stay in Aris Shae will be a short one.”

  “I have promised him nothing,” Thomas gritted.

  “Even so, once finished with your quest, slink back to your backwoods patch where you belong before you damage more by your return.” He turned, and not looking back, opened the door and left the chamber.

  After moments passed and it was evident Thomas’s visitor would not be returning, Sorin moved his way into the audience chamber where an uncomfortable silence greeted him.

  “Who was that?” he finally managed to ask aloud.

  Thomas had seated himself once more and stared at the doorway the man just exited. “He was my friend once, and much more. He was one of several commanders of the Kingdom army when I knew him, and now has risen in ranks, believing himself important.”

  “You knew each other. Why were you fighting?”

  Thomas sighed, and he suddenly looked very much his age. “There are some relationships in life that are fated, that cannot be undone no matter how difficult they become, with ties so strong not even hate can sever them.”

  Sorin did not know what to believe any longer. Pontifex Charl thought him a Codex prophecy incarnate, and the High King believed him an assassin. Time had not offered Sorin the opportunity to wade through the dizzying array of information to make up his own mind. A part of him wanted to lash out, to scream at these people until they and the entire world heard his frustration. And now, with Thomas’s admission he had lived another life here in Aris Shae, Sorin knew it was time to learn the truth of things—all things—and to not leave until he did.

  “Who are you, Thomas?” Sorin whispered to calm the older man down. “What happened to you to make you leave Aris Shae?”

  “The persistence of youth.” Thomas snorted, as Sorin sat down in a chair directly across from the old man. “I used to be someone not to be trifled with, Sorin. I still am if angered, I suppose.”

  “You knew the High King well. Were you an
advisor of some kind?”

  “I was a military advisor,” Thomas conceded, and he looked frailer than Sorin had ever seen him. “Long ago. Now I am just an old man who lost a great deal and can’t seem to forget.”

  “Who murdered your family?”

  Shock and then lines of pain registered across Thomas’s face, and he stared at Sorin, appraising how much Sorin knew. Sorin flinched away from the aged blue eyes.

  “You were standing there too long,” Thomas chided. Sorin waited for an answer.

  Thomas brought his hands together with the solemn look of prayer Sorin knew to be false. “Some of this you won’t like, son.”

  It was Sorin’s turn to return the hard stare. “I have to know, Thomas,” he said.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Thomas said pointedly. “To answer your question, I must deviate from the story of your parents; that will be saved for later.

  “How can that be?” Sorin admonished.

  “Shocking, I know, but save your questions,” Thomas said. “You were born here in Aris Shae. A few years after your birth and after you had already left the city, my commander—who had only been in the role a few winters at that point—ordered me to ensure the Kingdom’s border with Blackrhein Reach was as secure as it could be. I spent an entire summer in the remote wilderness beneath the Falls, away from my family, using compliments of warden battalions to build warning lines and outposts across the wilderness. I remember it was hot that season, suffocating my men and engineers, and I worked all the more to achieve quickly what I was told the Kingdom needed. My commander had promised before I left that if I accomplished the duty he bestowed on me, I could take several weeks’ break from responsibility and spend it with my growing family.

  “At that time, my daughter Lorelein was fifteen winters, and my wife and I had twin boys—Jak and Jon—both nine winters old. Their mother, Synthia, was as beautiful as she had been the day I met her, and I was looking forward to being with them away from the palace, away from the city, and out where we could just be a family.

  “Upon finishing the job and returning to Aris Shae, I was preparing for our trip when I was called on again by my commander. A border skirmish had erupted along the very same area I just returned from, and he wanted me to investigate. It was rumor and something any number of commanders could have done; I didn’t need to be with them. He argued it was my role to see to the protection of the Kingdom, and therefore he ordered me to go. I told my wife to leave the city as planned, that I would meet up with them as soon as I could. The children were old enough to make the trip, and there was no reason for them to remain in the hot city.

  “I took command of a battalion and left, planning to end the skirmish abruptly, and once completed, I would meet my family and forego even entering the city.”

  Thomas grew quiet, then finally finished, “They never arrived in the country.”

  Tears welled within the old man’s icy-blue eyes as though they were melting. “I came back into the city to discover what had held them up. What I found was the end of my life.”

  Sorin was still. Waves of anger and guilt and sorrow were rushing from the old man as if a dam had broken within him. From the moment Sorin had seen him, a quiet, depressive cloud had hung about Thomas, so entwined with his spirit Sorin doubted it would ever be undone. Now, watching him recount his life’s worst moment, Sorin felt nothing but sadness for him.

  “I found my family murdered, their bodies long cold,” Thomas struggled on. “They had been killed on the street as they left, their possessions filched from them, their very lives stolen. After I could think coherently again, I used my authority to find out who did it. I swept the city in search and learned Merril—the Watchman—had ordered it.”

  It was Sorin’s turn to be shocked. “Why did you let him live then in the dungeon?”

  “It is complicated,” Thomas sighed, the tears drying. “Not many know this, and it is very important you keep it to yourself. The Watchman is the crime lord of the city, but he didn’t get his name from being the leader of the underground. He was given the role by one of the first Pontiffs of Godwyn Keep.”

  “Godwyn sanctions crime?” Sorin ask, bewildered.

  “In a way, yes,” Thomas answered. “When the War of the Kingdoms had taken its toll, the smoke cleared, and the populace was ready to heal from the onslaught of the Wrathful. The leaders of that time discussed limiting authority from the corruptible hands of a single person. Godwyn Keep placed into power three Watchmen. These men were responsible for establishing the Order of Kirzan Knights and organizing the crime elements of the Kingdom, and what began as a faction of the Keep became a ruthless political-balance mechanism. If a kingdom, country, or group becomes too greedy to the point that they are infringing on the basic rights of other lands, the Watchmen use their power and authority to influence the wayward kingdom back to a path near the status quo.

  “They do this in a number of ways, from assassinations to well-placed spies to concubines. They are no longer knights of any sort really; they are the shadows we walk upon and help maintain the balance of power on this continent.”

  “Why would a crime lord want stability?” Sorin questioned, confused. “I thought they enjoyed chaos.”

  “A stable kingdom economy is easy to pilfer, Sorin. In the heart of crime resides the need for routine; people who are routine are prone to planned thievery. If the economy is good, people possess more to be taken. It’s all linked together and the Kirzan Knights are as important now as the Warden of the Kingdom, the Council of Godwyn Keep, or the High King himself. In the end, Merril killed my family as a warning, a warning that was meant for my commander: do not break the status quo, and do not make plans to attack Blackrhein Reach. It is for that reason I didn’t kill Merril; he was merely doing his job—as misdirected as that may seem—and he and I should never have been placed in that position anyway.”

  “You let Merril live because it is better to know who the viper is,” Sorin charged.

  “Right, and better to not kill him than to have to find his replacement in the darkness of the city. Two of the Watchmen I knew, the third a mystery. If one dies, the other two find his replacement to maintain the balance.” Thomas paused, the veins in his forehead bulging. “Make no mistake, Sorin. I wanted to kill him more than anything for what he did to my family. But having thought about it for winters on end, I know to do so would only endanger more families than it would be worth. Maybe one day he and I will cross paths and he will no longer carry the mantle of Watchman.”

  “How do you know all of this?” Sorin asked. “Is the man who was just here part of that past? Was he the commander who ordered you away from your family?”

  “No,” the old man said, shaking his head. “The man who just left is my brother.”

  Sorin was stunned, stiff in his seat. For some reason, he had never even assumed Thomas had any family, let alone a brother. It just reminded Sorin he did not know Thomas at all.

  “He is now First Warden of the Kingdom,” Thomas continued, unhindered by Sorin’s reaction. “He is bound by bloodline and law to uphold the tenets of High King Nialls Chagne and give aid and protection to those who cannot seek it themselves.”

  “Then, from what I gathered of your argument, you were the First Warden before him?”

  Thomas nodded. He remained silent.

  “And the man commanding you could only be the High King.”

  “He never should have sent me away from them, Sorin,” Thomas said, anger replacing his sadness. “The High King of all people should have held true to his promise. Instead, he failed to listen to me. If he had, I would have been with them when they were attacked. It might have been different.”

  “Could you have made a difference?” Sorin questioned, his heart going out to the man even though the tragedy had happened decades ago. “You could have shared their fate.”

  Thomas looked Sorin in the eye, and all the young man saw there was a grief so fresh and undeniab
ly potent that if it could, it would crush every stone in Aris Shae to dust.

  “I believe the outcome would have been different, and they could have been saved, even at the cost of my own life.”

  “And you moved away, leaving the duty of First Warden to your brother?” Sorin asked, trying to change the subject.

  “Sorin, a man should never have to follow someone he does not respect. Nialls was rash and ignorant—twice—and my family paid the price for it.” Thomas stood. “In a way, I’m saddened by what has happened to Nialls’s family over the years, but a part of me believes he deserves every misfortune for the death of my family and the sorrow I’ve endured.”

  Sorin thought back to Thistledon and the day before his entire life changed. Thomas had been standing in the back of the church, an old man who appeared there every so often like a ghost that wandered in from the outskirts to view the world of the living before vanishing again. The people of Thistledon stayed away from him, whispering improvised stories about the old man. No one had known Thomas’s history, giving fuel to the imagination, but his father had never joined in on the rancorous musings others displayed. He had seemed indifferent. Now years of mystery faded, and a new man emerged as Thomas opened up; Sorin thought he could at least partially empathize with the hardship life had placed before the old man.

  “And you hid all of this from me.”

  “It was not yours to know,” Thomas stated.

  “Would you deny me knowing my father as well?” Sorin demanded, his lips pursed.

  “No, I would not deny you that.” Thomas moved to the door and took a deep breath to steady himself. “Now, we must realize our reason for coming to Aris Shae.”