Song of the Fell Hammer

by Shawn C. Speakman

  A movement in the trees behind Kieren caught Sorin’s awareness for the first time. It was a massive dragon, larger than the one he had fought at A’lum, and its scales rippled black in the weak light of the fire like the midnight around it. The beast had lowered itself on all fours amidst the trees, and its wings were tucked neatly against its back. Its spiky head was lifted into the air on a long, rustling neck and black eyes like Kieren’s glittered behind lazy eyelids as the creature blinked at the fire. It snorted when Sorin made eye contact with it. The dragon was Kieren’s, and like when surrounded by the wolves, a deep fear of the events crept into Sorin’s innards. Evelina had warned them shrikes of the Keslich ’Ur rookery could find them, but this massive creature was a far more dangerous predator of flight.

  If the dragon was so close and he was in danger, why had Artiq not come?

  “You are asking yourself right now why that manic, overzealous horse has not come to your rescue,” Kieren grinned, sitting forward a bit closer to the impotent fire. “I’ll answer. I knew to have this meeting it would require a level field for us to discuss matters. You have untapped, raw power, and that fickle horse is part of it. To keep things simple, I chose to do this in your dreams. After all, the beast cannot come to your aid if you have a nightmare.”

  “No,” Sorin replied, looking around.

  “It is. It was the only way I could protect my interests. That beast has a way of looking out for you and this meeting is far too important to be interrupted. Suffice it to say, it won’t be.”

  Sorin knew he spoke the truth. It made sense. The lack of heat and sound other than that of the two men’s voices; he was within his own dream, and the meeting with Kieren was taking place out of the physical world. He did not know what he would find if he woke up, but he knew Kieren and his dragon were nearby, and there was nothing he could do to stop what was happening.

  “Why are you here?” Sorin asked. “What have you done with Arianna?”

  “She is safe, at least for the moment, packed away as to not harm you.”

  “What do you mean to not harm me? I think it you and not her I need protection from.”

  Kieren smiled a bloodless grin. “On the contrary, Sorin, she was sent to kill you.”

  Sorin stared hard at the man, but his thoughts swirled. He could not trust Kieren; any word from him would be laced with deceit. But Sorin also knew the Kingdom’s Shadow was an instrument of the High King, and she had been hiding something from Sorin ever since she saved him from the dungeons of Keslich ’Ur. He had suspected something was going on, but he did not know who to believe. Maybe now he could gain some insight from the twisted half-truths Kieren would tell.

  “You know it is true, I see,” Kieren said.

  “I don’t believe you,” Sorin replied. “You are the one trying to kill me. Why not do it and be done with it?”

  “Is that what you think your entire journey has been about? If I wanted you dead, it would have happened long ago. Even my dragonmount Rashykh could have flown in and killed you and your little friend without so much as rustling the trees. No, killing you would defeat my personal interests.” Kieren stared at Sorin through the flames. “Your High King sent his little Shadow puppet to murder you in case you were to fall to the darkness within your own heart.”

  Sorin did not want to believe it. “That’s why the jerich has left me alone,” Sorin whispered. “You want me alive.”

  “It merely placed you on the path. Right to me. It took a while for that ungainly spirit to see the grander design in all of this after I had released it. He was most inhospitable when I succeeded in persuading the Master you could be an asset if given the right motivations. The jerich saw the right of it, and he is now serving the Master against your High King.”

  “If what you are saying is true, Arianna has nothing to worry about. I’m not evil nor will I ever become so.”

  “No, not yet, but you should not be so quick to dispel the notion. You are well on your way to it. Every human spirit has a breaking point—a crux if you will—where it snaps like a twig and alters one’s outlook. Your parents are dead because of who you are. The High King is using you as his pawn but has deemed your life unimportant if you sway but a little from his governance. You have no home, no family. Your friends—that pathetic old knight and the Giant—have abandoned you. Just as my life crumbled so will your life crumble, and you will see the error of your ways; you will see the truth of the entire world.”

  Sorin thought about the Rosemere and the meeting he had with Isere the Witch. She had said he would not kill Kieren, but instead he would kill two Pontiffs. Thomas had said not to trust the imprisoned Witch, and yet Kieren was recounting almost what she said. Evelina was long behind him, and there was nothing that could happen that would force him to kill the old woman. Especially, he thought, with Ganite around. How could any of this come true? It made no sense. He thought about Evelina’s ability to look between the passages of the Codex to find the real truth; Sorin wished he had that ability right now.

  “Why meet me here now?” Sorin questioned. “Why do you even need me?”

  “I had to wait until that Godwyn Keep block of rubble could no longer interfere. Before that, it would be have been too early. I brought you here to twist you, to make you see what the world has become. It is no longer a place for the innocent.”

  “There is good in the world, Kieren,” Sorin said. “Don’t do what you have planned.”

  “No!” Kieren grated. “It is evil, has been made evil by men in authority and following religions. They murder in the name of their gods. Look at Laver Herid or Cwen Errich or Nialls Chagne or Erol Tal. What do they all have in common? They want the destruction of their neighbors in the name of their religion, and they will do anything to make it happen. They have grown extreme, and it is their people who suffer.” Power smoldered in the evil man’s black eyes and rage filled his face. “No more. Not when I am finished with this world.

  “You were to die, but the Master and I saw an opportunity,” Kieren continued, his anger cooling for a moment. “I saved you. You have begun to lose what I lost—home, family, innocence, future—and we will set it right. All was going as planned until you escaped from the Woman King. It was her role to hurt you, to make you see what I have seen. That will come in time, I promise you. You don’t even know how close it is.”

  “You want me to become like you, twisted and evil?” Sorin shook his head, his own anger rising. “What happened to you? How did you become this way? Was it Godwyn Keep? You probably don’t even know why it is you do the things you do. The Wrathful has made you its puppet instead.”

  The muscles along Kieren’s jaw clenched briefly, and his black eyes reflected more of the fire than what Sorin had previously noticed.

  “Godwyn Keep,” he spat. “Before I went there, my memories were pleasant. But my nightmare began there and continued after I fled the Keep and returned to La Zandia. There, I discovered Laver Herid’s father killed my parents. The pagan threat began rising and dissidents were executed. The Herid bloodline took my parents from me. I promised I would set it right. I learned during those hard days, nothing good comes from religion. Not from the All Father, not from the gods of the pagans, not from the Feyr who hoard their wisdom and keep it from the world behind a false pretense of damages done to them in the past. But Godwyn Keep took more from me than the pagans or the Feyr ever could.”

  “What happened at Godwyn Keep?” Sorin pried.

  “Pontiff Garethe,” Kieren said with an even greater disdain than he had shown Sorin. He looked as though he might scream in livid rage “He is dead now, thief of innocence. He can no longer harm children who can’t protect themselves. He now burns for eternity where grovelers meet their fate.”

  What Kieren recounted shook Sorin to his core. Sorin had heard of men who wanted to possess what they could not understand, to the point of crossing naturally forbidden lines. They were drawn to the power, the conquest, and when it involved a c
hild it often became destructive for both. Kieren had been a special young man possessing talents the world had only seen once before. How a Pontiff of Godwyn Keep—a church man with his promises to follow and teach the word of the Codex—could have succumbed to such needs, Sorin did not know, but when he looked into Kieren’s eyes and saw the pain mirrored there, Sorin knew it to be true.

  “I’ve seen who you are, at the very heart of your soul, Sorin,” Kieren continued, cutting off Sorin’s thoughts, his pain replaced once more by the fires of his rage. “We are more alike than you know. I know you care for the High King’s wench despite what I have told you. It will irrevocably be your undoing. Now, you sit there, free of her murderous hand. But I think your education has a few more steps to go.”

  “Where is Arianna?” Sorin hissed.

  “I have taken the girl. I will hurt her if you attempt to stop me. The destruction of the Rune is the surest way to end Godwyn Keep’s rule, and through the Hammer—directly and indirectly—I will bring pain to those who have wronged me. If you come after me, it will only accelerate your path to the inevitable.”

  Kieren stood, and the folds of his cloak moved aside long enough for Sorin to see the Hammer of Aerom looped into the man’s belt. It was a simple hammer, one used by older blacksmiths to pound raw, heated iron into thin ribbons, and its handle spanned the length of Kieren’s thigh, just past his knee. The Hammer’s black metal head glinted orange and yellow in the fire’s light while the artifact’s leather-wrapped wooden handle looked as though it had recently been replaced. It was plain and simple and had no carvings. Although it looked heavier than many of the tools in Sorin’s father’s forge, Kieren was unencumbered by the weapon’s weight. If this were not a dream, the object of his quest would have been within his immediate grasp. He trembled inside, angry at what Kieren meant to do with it.

  “Yes, the Hammer is no longer Cwen Errich’s weapon. Her part in this is almost over. Now it is just you and me. Your friends can no longer help you.”

  A warm sensation began to overcome Sorin’s thoughts, and he found it hard to concentrate on Kieren’s words. He felt light-headed. No matter how he fought it, he was falling back into normal sleep while a powerful, alien song not of Kieren’s making reached out for him and reassured Sorin the path was right.

  “Sleep,” said Kieren, his voice following Sorin down into the depths of darkness.

  When Sorin awoke in the morning, the cold had returned and tiny snowflakes sifted to the forest floor from a drab sky. Kieren and his dragon were gone.

  And Arianna was gone with them.

  * * * * *

  Other than the thickening snowflakes, Sorin was alone.

  He had risen from his sleep and searched the area for Arianna. It was as though she had vanished into thin air, with no trace of her leaving in the surrounding grass and soil of the forest. Her bedroll, pack, and other supplies were where she had left them before falling asleep. A large indentation at the edge of the forest where Kieren’s dragon had sat in the dream remained, but there was no evidence of where the beast or its rider had disappeared to. It had all been real. If that were the case, Kieren had done what he had promised to do and was on his way to the Rune of Aerilonoth to complete his mission.

  The fire had long since vanished, its embers still smoking but buried within a blanket of dead ash. Although it was cold, Sorin sat next to the fire anyway. He had Arianna’s belongings, his bedroll and pack, and nothing else. He had food and warm enough clothing if the weather did not become too chilling, but he had no mount to help him in his journey. Even if he had one, how could he possibly catch up to Kieren and his dragon? The snowfall might hinder the beast some—dragons migrated to the warmer regions during winter in the Krykendaal Mountains—but there was no guarantee a dragon under the influence of Kieren would even care. He would have to pray the cold temperatures would be enough to allow Sorin a chance.

  The snow thickened and began to stick, and the visibility of the land around him worsened as the morning progressed. Sorin had no idea how long it had been snowing but it would undoubtedly have begun sticking earlier in the elevations above him. He consolidated the supplies and shouldered his pack; every moment he waited was one he would never gain back.

  He took a deep, cold breath. He would try to call Artiq.

  Evelina said he had to believe in himself. When he had been frantic in the dank dungeons of Keslich ’Ur, he had created light from nothing more than a thought. The power buried within him had answered, but it had not come easily. Now he was in need once more. Sorin had to get Arianna back and stop Kieren from using the Hammer. He was desperate. He hoped now his desperation would see him through in his moment of need.

  Sorin closed his eyes, the outcropping of rock shielding him from the sky, and drove down into the same place he had found the power before.

  The link he and Artiq had shared was there, but it was broken. Sorin called to the great animal, trying to entice Artiq to cross the void out of Sorin’s need for him. The horse stamped and whickered with annoyance, unable to answer the call. Sorin reached out, bringing his will to bear, but nothing happened. The horse and rider could not come together.

  Opening his eyes, Sorin stared at the thin layer of snow gathering in the clearing and thought hard. Evelina said there were sometimes different paths to go by, and sometimes it was one a person did not know they were on that resulted in their destination. The light in the dark dungeon had come only after he shirked the idea that he had to sing like other members of Godwyn Keep to bring his power to bear. It had just been there, but there was no link he had to create. Here he was trying to connect with another entity, and maybe a different approach was required with Artiq. Closing his eyes, he tried again.

  Nothing happened. The chasm remained. Instead of concentrating on the animal and forcing it into service, Sorin decided to focus on himself and the soul that empowered him.

  In the depths of being, he saw a black edge to his essence and he knew it was not his capacity to be evil but his inability to believe in himself and the role he was to play in the world. It was benign in nature, but he believed it was also what was holding him back. Thoughts of Evelina and her departure from Godwyn Keep intruded into his mind. She had one of the most powerful positions in the Kingdom, but it was because of a conviction she gave it all up. She believed in something so powerful and beyond herself, she was willing to give up her life for that of a destiny she could hardly prove as fact. He had to want to help the world as much as she did—as much as the High King did although he no longer had a family to fight for, as much as Thomas did although coming along on the quest had been in direct conflict with his beliefs. With the knowledge he could fail—fail at keeping Arianna safe and the world free of Kieren’s influence—his resolve strengthened and flame born of his conviction burned the fears and doubts he had away, leaving him whole. He was the person his parents had always wanted him to be; he was the son the Codex had ordained.

  Sorin turned back to the void, but instead of calling the animal he merely pulled the two links together, dissolving the darkness between them and its coercive banalities. The link drew him to Artiq and the horse to him. Artiq hesitated for only a moment before a wash of emotions Sorin had never experienced from the great animal before entered him—pride, purity, and unerring power. Other foreign thoughts entered Sorin, but he embraced them and made them his own.

  The horse was his now, an element of the land, and Sorin understood these things were now his as well, and nothing would shatter the link they shared again.

  He reached out to the great animal, wherever it was in the world, asking it for help. The thundering spirit that drove the horse responded immediately to its new master, the churning of its hooves echoing in Sorin’s head. It drew close. The snow fell in puffy white flakes, but Sorin ignored it. He was only aware of Artiq. The horse arrived from within the dark boundaries of the forest exactly where Sorin knew he would, a patch of powerful midnight amidst the snowfall. I
t waited patiently, settled, its eyes no longer rolling in their sockets but composed and ready.

  Not knowing why, Sorin bowed to the creature. Artiq whickered softly and pawed the snow. It had come for him, steadfast and willing and true.

  With the knowledge time was against him, Sorin pulled himself up onto the black stallion and adjusted his pack before grabbing the silky strands of Artiq’s mane. With a thought, Artiq leapt forward in a flurry of hooves, the wet snow and soft dirt flung into the air behind them.

  The icy, snow-covered mountains were invisible in the distance, enshrouded in the fury of winter’s first storm, the tendrils of mist awaiting Sorin and Artiq.

  Chapter 38

  When the intermittent, large drops of rain began to fall onto the traveling battalions of the Kingdom’s army, High King Nialls Chagne was reminded of the tears he had shed. The expansive grasslands of the Strelock Plains engulfed the group, and the grey gloom of the low-lying clouds mirrored the land below into the distant horizon. Other than the army, nothing moved in the plains. It was as if the plains were a wasteland frozen in time, devouring any hope Nialls still had, and the army moved ever forward through it toward its confrontation with the Marcher Lord and the men and women of La Zandia.

  The march had gone as smoothly as it could with a host this size, and its passage through the land had been uneventful. The High King and his army had been on the move for days, and Nialls had spent his nights under the counsel of his First Warden and the Pontiff of Godwyn Keep. Together they had formalized their plans for once they arrived in La Zandia. But when his advisors would leave, and the emptiness of his tent echoed the lonely aspects of his heart, Nialls was plagued with visions of Rayhir’s slack face as the High King had held his son’s dead body.

  The smattering of raindrops ceased almost as quickly as they had come, but the smell of rain remained. Storm clouds followed the High King’s army out of the west. Nialls breathed it in. Rayhir had loved this season more than the others—autumn, with its colorful changes and moody weather, its cooling touch and deliberate, slowed pace. The land became bountiful for the farmers as the rest of the Kingdom’s populace prepared for winter. The autumn hills were alive with color, the humidity lessened, and the hunt—a favorite pastime of the Royal Prince—was in full swing. Rayhir should have been at his father’s side during this trial of hardship; now he would never ride or hunt again.