Song of the Fell Hammer

by Shawn C. Speakman

  As the eerie sound of the wolves’ approach reached them, Arianna leaped down from where she had been gathering the overripe berries and glanced at Sorin. No longer within the closed confines of the castle, Arianna was waiflike. The cloak she wore about her shoulders gave her the appearance of more weight than she actually possessed, and in the sunlight it was easy to disseminate her true form. Still, there was a power about her Sorin could not define, and it went beyond her obvious beauty.

  “Our time has run out,” she said, looking into the depths of the hilly woodlands at their back as if gauging how far their pursuers were behind. “Beasts that large cover a lot of ground. The forest will slow them down but not by much. They will be upon us soon.”

  “Where can we hide?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Nowhere. Wolves that well trained will find us no matter where we run, swim, or climb. Unless you know how to fly?”

  The High King’s Shadow was right, of course. There was nowhere they could go. He had seen Lin and his pagan allies riding the wolves like horses, and they would be able to cover a lot of ground in this terrain. Whatever the great beasts were ordered to do they would accomplish with ferocious tenacity and that included the hunt.

  “Will he come to protect you again?” she asked. Sorin did not have to ask whom she meant.

  “Artiq will come. Of that there is no doubt. He has been there every time I have been in danger.” He paused, looking into her eyes. “The question is, will he be here in time to prevent us from being torn to shreds. I have no doubt he could hold his own against the wolves; he took the flat of a blade against his head and the blade broke. But I can’t speak to his timing.”

  “You have no way of calling him? You are sure about that?”

  Sorin shook his head. “I’m sure about it.”

  It was something they had immediately talked about once the great horse had galloped into the surrounding hills and disappeared. The great horse had rushed from the castle at Keslich ’Ur and had not stopped galloping for long into the morning. At the beginning, adrenaline and fear of pursuit had served Sorin and Arianna well as they rode effortlessly into the burgeoning hills of the Reach. The path had rushed by in a blur, the trees and brush at either side shadowy smears of green and brown. With his hands balled in the horse’s black mane and his forearms aching from holding on, Sorin decided to forget where they were going and just be thankful they were no longer in Keslich ’Ur. Artiq had taken the lead, and he was the only one who knew where they headed. Relnyn had been left far behind as well and Sorin was angry such a powerful ally—one who could have helped to protect against the wolves—was lost to them.

  As Artiq had slowed into a trot, the power in his muscles undiminished, Arianna explained she had been following them ever since the group left Aris Shae. She had tracked them southward, maintaining her distance. The Wards had tried to discover her several times, but each time she remained hidden, unwilling to show herself. They had assumed whatever followed them was a threat; it turned out it had only been the High King’s Shadow. But when Sorin had asked why the High King had sent her, she recounted her efforts were to ensure their survival if they were caught or found themselves in a difficult situation. It had been an answer Sorin did not trust and one that nagged him even now, but it was clear Arianna had saved him from the dungeon, and one did not question such a gift.

  Artiq had eventually slowed to a walk as the early morning fog dissipated. A light sheen of sweat covered his coat, but the horse was otherwise normal, his breathing regular and each step he took filled with readiness. Fording a rushing river and unhindered by the boundaries and tenets of nature, Artiq heaved out of the cold water, shook his head in annoyance, and continued through the hills. Sorin still had no control over the animal, and it was beginning to worry him, but the more distance they put between them and the Woman King the better.

  It was at times like these Sorin missed the steady assurance Creek brought into his life. Arianna had freed his horse and given him to Thomas. At least Sorin’s chocolate stallion was safer than he was.

  Noon approached, and Sorin was beginning to feel safe for the first time during their flight. Almost in response, Artiq had pulled up, snorting into the air as though he were uncertain what to do. Sore and needing to stretch aching, tired muscles, the companions had dismounted.

  The horse had turned to Sorin with his shining obsidian eyes, and then taut muscles had leaped into motion and the horse disappeared from view, much as he had done in the Sentinel Glade of Lockwood.

  Arianna screamed at the horse to return, but only the rushing of the river’s current could be heard in the distance. Whereas he had told her he was sure he could not control Artiq, a part of Sorin’s soul knew he could if given enough time to discover what the horse was to him. Their connection was tenuous—and had been ever since Sorin understood what it was in the meadow where Nathan died—but if a link remained, there was a way to strengthen it.

  Another howl erupted in the early afternoon air, clearer and louder than before. Arianna ran up the slope away from the sounds of pursuit.

  “We can’t outrun them,” Sorin said from behind her.

  Arianna looked up. In between the canopy’s foliage, large black birds circled. “Shrikes,” she said. “Circling us. The wolves aren’t far behind.”

  “What do we do then?” he asked.

  Arianna turned, her eyes hard like granite. “I won’t sit here waiting—horse or no horse—and neither will you.”

  He said nothing and pushed his legs after her, the ache from the ride forgotten.

  The two ran beneath the colorful shadowy canopy of the early afternoon. Most of the forest animals were already prepared for the coming winter and had either fled to warmer climes or burrowed into the land, the storms and snow of winter harsh and unyielding. The companions were alone with the season; they would be alone if the wolves caught them.

  Sorin pumped his legs, his thighs and lungs burning with the effort. Although his heart pounded in his ears, he heard the sounds of deep barking coming from behind them. The wolves were closing in on their prey. A howl erupted nearby. Another joined it. Then a higher pitched one screamed from the opposite direction. It was dizzying to keep up. Suddenly a wolf howled as if it were right on their heels, a ringing bell of anger and bloodlust filled with the desire to rend flesh and gorge its enemies. The forest was alive with the wicked cacophony, overwhelming Sorin and his companion. They were being surrounded. There was nowhere left for them to turn. They would soon be finished.

  The two burst from the confines of the forest into a small meadow between forested hillocks. In the distance, white peaks rose into the pale blue sky, sentinels to their struggle.

  Halfway across the dewy grass Arianna pulled up in front of him. She froze and Sorin did so as well. He looked beyond her.

  Three large wolves stared at their found prey from three positions around the outer fringe of the glade, their black and gray fur rippling as the muscles underneath fought for control over their instincts. Like the other wolves he had seen, these were almost as tall as Artiq, their brute size bred by the masters of Keslich ’Ur and used to inflict fear in the populace of the Reach. Yellow eyes glowed faintly in the sunshine. Slavering muzzles were drawn back, revealing cruel fangs. They all crouched as though ready to strike. Instinctively, Sorin turned to flee, but another wolf crept from the shadowed woods behind them, growling so deeply within its chest Sorin could feel the shaking in his own.

  They were caught.

  Arianna pulled her rapier free from the folds of her cloak, stepping between Sorin and the three beasts that cornered them. In her other hand she held a slim glass tube filled with a transparent, orange fluid the young man had never seen before.

  “You have nowhere to run, boy.”

  Sorin spun to see Lin emerge from the woodlands, a wide grin splitting his pale face. His cowl was lowered, revealing his flaming red hair, and both of his sabers remained sheathed. At his back and
to either side, the same warlock and witch who had helped capture Sorin originally rode their own wolf mounts, their faces shadowed under the canopy of the forest.

  “You have a choice,” the wolf rider said in his thick accent. “Either run and be torn apart or save yourself for the Woman King. To be mauled by my pets is not the route you want to take, trust me.”

  “I trust no one in the Reach,” Sorin spat.

  The smile faded from Lin’s face. “Think about this. There is nowhere for you to run. Only prolonged pain and eventual death await you.”

  “As it does in the dungeon,” Sorin countered. “I won’t go back.”

  Lin sat, unmoving, but one of the wolves in the meadow stalked slowly closer, its teeth bared and eyes insane. Arianna waited on it.

  The wolf suddenly launched at her, all bristling fur and jagged teeth.

  As it leapt to eviscerate her, Arianna threw the vial at the creature, screaming unknown words. The glass struck and the wolf erupted in a fiery conflagration of orange color, the flames spreading across its fur. The odor of burning hair and flesh filled the meadow. The wolf fought through its pain and came on, unhindered, but Arianna stepped to its side just as she buried her sword’s hilt deep into the creature’s chest. Its weight and inertia clipped her and threw her to the ground as well, one clawed paw raking her shoulder. She went down, lost in a sea of fiery fur and deadening motion.

  “Angriff!” Lin screamed in his barbaric language.

  The other wolves obeyed the command and began to slink forward, preparing for the battle to come. None of them moved in quickly; none of them broke their training. They would attack in one concerted effort, leaving their prey paralyzed with inaction. With ears laid back and fetid breath scorching the air, they cornered the companions in the glade’s middle.

  Arianna was getting to her feet, her sword pulled free of the dead wolf’s chest.

  Sorin strained his ears beyond the growling to hear the coming of Artiq. There was nothing. He could feel the connection with the horse growing stronger as his fear grew, but Artiq did not appear. There was a gulf the great horse was unwilling to jump across unless absolutely necessary. Sorin had no time to think on it, as the wolves of the Woman King were only a dozen kingsyards away.

  Suddenly, the forest foliage exploded in colored leaves, broken tree debris, and a flurry of activity as something huge barreled into the wolves and scattered them to the wind. Sorin looked to see the majestic horse, but it was not Artiq.

  It was something else entirely.

  Sorin could not see it clearly but from its coloring, he knew it was not the horse. It moved quicker than Artiq did and faster than anything Sorin had ever seen, a white blur, all size and speed and brutal mass. It pummeled the wolves aside as it reached Sorin and Arianna and then it began attacking the beasts closest to the pair, the land beneath their feet trembling as though a giant boulder rolled along the ground. Howls of anger and pain filled the air as each trained predator was methodically destroyed, chunks of fur and bloodied flesh strewn everywhere. They were flung into the air and ripped to shreds.

  Sorin barely breathed, the carnage he was witnessing a force of nature. It reached another wolf and snapped its neck; it met another and obliterated its ribs with a punch. Growls turned to yelps of pain before even they were silenced. Several of the wolves attacked at once but bounced off the newcomer as though it were impervious, within easy reach of their destruction. The thing made no sound, its attack silent and destructive as it tore Lin’s group apart with its thundering weight.

  In moments, the wolves were decimated, their remnants scattered about the crimson grass. None were left alive. Whatever the animal was, it was more than a match for the monstrous wolves.

  Then Sorin saw it was not an animal at all. It was stone.

  As it came to rest, it towered over the two companions, with a thick chest, thin waist, and enormous hind legs. Blood spattered its white, marble-like exterior—the crimson darkest around the thing’s front legs and chest—and it walked like an overgrown cat but instead of having paws it had thick, three-fingered hands on its forelegs. The stone bunched and corded as though it had muscle, and it left huge indents in the grassy land from its weight. It swiveled its head from side to side as if looking for danger, but the stone made no sound.

  It was not living but rather carved rock given life, and Sorin could not tell if its bland face, nubs for ears, or slits for eyes had been worn down by time or if it had been created that way. A tail swished behind it, whipping the air in annoyance. Looking it over, Sorin saw no evidence of claw or bite marks left by the wolves on the thing’s stone surface.

  It lifted its head as if tasting the air. At the edge of the clearing, the witch was speaking and gesturing with her hands until a blue flame pulsed in the palm of her right hand, but Lin waved the attempt away. The flame died. The redhead sat in his saddle, his face livid with knowledge of his impotence. He whistled through his fingers and the surviving four wolves that had not joined the attack fled. The wolf rider and his two companions disappeared into the trees.

  The stone behemoth gave chase, bounding across the clearing, but stopped at the fringe of the forest as though leashed with an invisible cord stretched too tight. It waited a moment and then turned around, and—ignoring the bloodied bodies of the wolves—walked to the edge of the clearing toward the icy-looking mountains in the south.

  Sorin took his eyes off their savior. “Are you all right?”

  Arianna nodded, her eyes filled with wonder. “It’s Ganite,” she whispered.

  “Who?” Sorin asked.

  “Didn’t you learn anything out in the wilds?” she said, shaking her head. “He is Godwyn Keep’s most precious defense, a grotesque given life, and so powerful none dared attack the Keep while it sat upon its walls. When the Feyr built Godwyn Keep, they gave it a protector born of their essence. But it vanished almost two decades ago, and no one has seen it since. The High King’s historian spoke of it often during my lessons of the War’s aftermath.”

  “A grotesque? You mean like some kind of gargoyle?” Sorin asked. She nodded. Sorin recalled bits of the stone sentinel’s story now. “Why did it leave?”

  “No one knows,” she said “But it disappeared around the same time Pontiff Garethe took his seat as head of Godwyn Keep.”

  They watched Ganite pause and then turn, waiting.

  “Are we to follow it?” Sorin asked.

  Holding her bleeding arm with a grimace, Arianna said, “I think so. After what it just did for us, I’m willing to take its intentions on good faith. If we are to follow it, though, what is our final destination?”

  Sorin did not know. The two companions walked around the carnage that littered the meadow. When the stone beast was satisfied they were following, it turned and pushed its way through the dense foliage of the forest.

  * * * * *

  Incoming cloud cover threatened to drown the late afternoon sunshine in a gray quagmire as Sorin and Arianna walked across a trickling creek to a cottage set within the folds of the darkening mountains. The longer they hiked, the more the land changed as they gained elevation; what had once been the start of autumn was now the middle of autumn, and the burnt leaves were falling to the forest floor, relinquishing their hold on the forest’s mantle. A vapid chill had entered the air as well, and Sorin knew if he did not find heavier clothing soon, no amount of physical exertion would keep him warm. He hoped whoever lived within the little house would be friendly and hospitable.

  It was a simple home, covered with cedar shingles and built from strong timbers. Two paned, circular windows stared out at the newcomers—one lit by flickering fire, promising warmth, and the other lifeless and devoid of movement. Flowers were planted in beds leading up to the door, but they lacked colorful blooms, and a dwarf maple rose next to the house, the top of its crimson canopy barren at winter’s approach. A lazy, continuous ribbon of smoke rose from a chimney at the side of the building.

  “Well
, someone’s home,” Arianna said. The bleeding from the slash wounds on her arm had stopped but the skin had reddened as if infected.

  They had not traveled far from where they had met Ganite, but the terrain steepened, and much of the Reach lay behind them in rolling hills and undulating valleys. Keslich ’Ur had long since faded from view during the flight of Artiq, and they had come upon no other cities or towns on their journey. The shrikes—half a dozen of them at one point—had recently flown north, aware of where their quarry had gone. Sorin wondered what happened to Artiq but had grown used to the idea that the horse was always nearby. It did not matter where, he guessed; as long as they stayed close to Ganite, they would remain safe.

  The grotesque laid down in the yard near the front door and became motionless.

  Arianna knocked on the door, and when there was no answer she entered.

  They were greeted by a warm, crackling fire set up in a small hearth, and an old woman with shale-colored eyes stared at Sorin. Her hair was finely spun and as gray as burnished steel, wrapped in an elegant bun upon her head. Deep wrinkles surrounded her eyes and sliced into the skin around her mouth. She wore a simple blue robe, and an afghan blanketed her lap. In her hand, she held a small leather-bound book, which she promptly closed as Arianna shut the door behind them. Sorin had never seen the woman before, but he was instantly set at ease within her presence.

  “I was hoping my friend would save you from those wicked beasts,” she said softly, but her eyes then fell on Arianna’s arm. “I see, however, not all was salvaged.”

  “Who are you?” Sorin asked.

  “No word of thank you?” the old woman asked, but her eyes twinkled as if amused. “My name is Evelina, although it has been a long time since I have spoken it.”

  “Your Grace,” Arianna said and knelt before the old woman. Sorin did not know what to do, at a loss for why the girl was deferring to their host.