Song of the Fell Hammer

by Shawn C. Speakman

  The wide pathway angled up in a loose spiral, and the snow continued to buffet Artiq. The horse was unrelenting, charging through the snow with mighty heaves of its thighs and an ease that still amazed Sorin. Deep furrows had preceded them in the accumulated snow, evidence another animal as strong as Artiq had recently been this way. Sorin pushed the horse to gain the top of the mountain.

  The blizzard lessened with every step Artiq took, the sting and fury of the wind abating, and the steep slope leveled again. More of the mountain rose above him, but the top was near. Through the dying maelstrom, a faint aura glowed red.

  The Rune.

  Just as he came to that realization, Artiq pulled up, a long, angry whinny escaping him.

  In front of them, in the still swirling snowflakes, waited Kieren’s dragon.

  Rashykh was having a hard time with the conditions. The scales of its hide shivered in the frigid air, the muscles beneath in a continuous spasm, but smoke lingered in the air from its nostrils and its eyes held a flame of anger—a tenacity of will—stronger than the elements around it. The beast’s spiky tail was wrapped up close to it like a cat’s. Sorin doubted it had been able to fly in the blizzard, and had been forced to wade through the snow like Artiq. The dragon was a black stain in the swirling snow. It was directly in the way of where Sorin had to go.

  The dragon roared, setting the world trembling. Artiq reared in response before Sorin could settle the animal.

  Sorin looked around them. The fading snow no longer hid the abyss to the left of the path and the icy peak on his right. Danger existed all around him. Artiq stamped the snow with a foreleg. The great horse was not fearful for its life—that Sorin knew to be true—but Artiq was concerned for the well-being of its master and was cautious because of it. Even with the beast in their way and its size dwarfing that of the horse, Artiq wanted to attack. Sorin calmed his fiery mount. He had to think.

  The dragon jerked up its head suddenly as if listening to something coming. Sorin strained his ears; he heard and sensed nothing. Rashykh became more agitated, his tail thrashing, before it rose up on all four legs and sent another roar into the snowy ether over Sorin’s shoulder.

  Soon he felt it—a thunder quaked the ground beneath Artiq’s hooves, insistent and unabated. It did not come from the bowels of the world but only existed in the elevated climes. Sorin strained to listen. Whatever it was, the rumbling grew until it was right on top of them.

  A blur of motion different from the fall of the snow moved past Sorin on the mountainside above him. It was a flash of white and grey, a creature moving faster than Sorin’s eye could see. It was as large as Artiq but able to move with a deft and swift assurance on the steep icy slope. It stopped, camouflaged by the weather. The dragon roared again, straining forward as if looking for a fight but unwilling to leave the pathway open. From the shadows and in response to the dragon, the entity launched from the hillside and with a thunderous landing, fell between the dragon and the horse.

  Artiq snorted but held his ground. Sorin squinted through the snow in disbelief.

  Ganite stood there, facing the dragon, its tail thrashing angrily.

  Sorin stared at the stone monstrosity. If the grotesque was there, then…

  He looked behind him. Down the path, materializing from the storm like two ghosts solidifying once more, strode Relnyn carrying Evelina. The Giant towered over the old woman, the staff he carried in his right hand his only support. In the crook of Relnyn’s left arm, Evelina lay hunkered within a bundle of thick furs, her weathered face becoming clearer as the Giant progressed up the mountain. Relnyn also wore thick furs as his long legs moved him forward; he carried the old woman effortlessly like an armload of sticks.

  Even within the inclement weather, Sorin heard Evelina scream at Ganite.

  The stone behemoth moved instantly, catapulting forward in a rush of stone and churned snow. The dragon was ready and belched flame at its adversary. Ganite was consumed by it, and red and orange lit up the waning light of the afternoon. Sorin gripped Artiq’s mane tightly as he watched the conflict.

  In the flickering gust of fire, the dark shadow of the grotesque moved through it, unhindered. Fetid, warm air accosted Sorin. Ganite jumped at the dragon with the same ferocity Sorin had witnessed when Evelina’s protector had attacked the wolves, and the dragon disappeared in a flurry of white as it too tossed up snow while defending itself.

  When the scene had settled, Rashykh had Ganite pinned deep into the snow to the point the stone creature had almost entirely disappeared. The dragon tore at the grotesque with its razor-sharp claws, slashing the stone creature with violent swipes. The dragon’s angry growls filled the deadened air. Ganite made no sound, but instead grabbed a hold of one of the dragon’s hooked claws, and with odd stone fingers, Ganite twisted the talon with brute power. It bent the clawed digit back until a loud snap followed by a raging howl of pain from Rashykh filled the air. The dragon lifted up in anguish, and Ganite was free once more.

  The two went back and forth against one another, the snow torn up to expose the rocky mountain beneath. Ganite hammered at the dragon with unrelenting fists and bloody rents had appeared in the dragon’s black hide. Rashykh breathed hard in the frigid air but remained alert, its eyes never leaving the grotesque. At one point, the dragon sent its serrated tail at its enemy that would have sawed another animal in half, but Ganite was different. Created of Feyr magic and knowledge, Ganite was not a natural creature, and he broke the tail easily. Rashykh backed away, spitting fury at the stone monolith before attempting another fiery assault.

  Sorin did not know what do. The dragon was overwhelming in size, but Ganite was heavy stone and unmarked by the dragon’s ferocity or flame. He wanted to help, but this was Ganite’s fight, and he was not backing down.

  The dragon bellowed again, orange and red fire flickering in the depths of its opened maw as it faced Ganite anew. It limped noticeably, and blood from its many wounds sprinkled the snow, but hatred and loathing still flickered behind its obsidian eyes, and despite its injuries, it was still lethal. Ganite moved with precision and grace, waiting to strike at the opportune time. Evelina’s grotesque was destroying the dragon with purposeful, intelligent coldness.

  Kieren’s dragonmount knew it too. Wounded and angry, it would have to finish the battle soon. With a lightning quick strike, Rashykh struck at Ganite. The dragon’s serpentine neck shot forward and latched upon the grotesque with its jaws.

  Unable to avoid capture, Ganite struggled in the dragon’s maw. It broke several of the dragon’s teeth, but before Ganite could free itself or cause more damage, Rashykh flung the grotesque against the side of the mountain. Snow and the rock erupted in a shower and the ground shook beneath Artiq. Sorin shielded his face from the debris.

  Rashykh peered for its foe through the newly created cloud. When nothing stirred, the dragon turned its infuriated and pain-maddened eyes on Sorin.

  That’s when Ganite struck for the last time. With a mighty heave of its heavily muscled legs, the stone behemoth launched from the side of the mountain, pummeling the dragon like a projectile in the beast’s chest. Rashykh was caught unaware—its focus solely on Sorin and his horse—and the force drove both dragon and foe over the side of the pathway and into the abyss swirling below. The dragon’s plummeting roar and fiery flame could be seen as they dropped but ceased altogether as the wind and snow replaced where the dragon had once stood.

  Calm returned to the mountainside, and Sorin’s heart hammered in his chest.

  “Go, Sorin!” Evelina screamed above the wind as Relnyn carried her toward Sorin. “Before the dragon returns!”

  “I need your help,” Sorin replied. Relnyn looked ready for anything.

  “It is your path. Only you can walk it!” the old woman insisted.

  Artiq leapt forward like a bowstring finally released. The chasm to their left was a black void where nothing stirred, and Artiq passed it before Sorin could look deeper. The great horse move
d through the snow to the mountaintop, and his two friends disappeared from view.

  Every step Artiq took—every heartbeat within Sorin—brought a growing brightness like a fiery sunset held prisoner in winter’s embrace. The area was flat as though a great hand had removed the jagged top. Snowflakes shrunk and the red sky spat them out irregularly. The world had turned shades of crimson—even Artiq’s black coat had a tinge of the blood color. Whatever was within the glowing cloud before him was unlike anything Sorin had ever witnessed.

  Then, like he was stepping through a grey curtain into a colorful room, Sorin and Artiq moved from winter into summer. Awed, Sorin dismounted and looked around at the impossible.

  Green springy grass under his feet ran like a carpet into a large circular garden, a reprieve from the stormy outside world. Light blinded him as it fell from an azure sky, the clouds of winter’s first onslaught swirling in a circle around the blue. Four square granite pillars—as high as Sorin’s waist—were driven deep into the mountain at the points of an invisible square, carved with ancient runes Sorin found no meaning from. Small pruned bushes littered the garden in random places, and vines climbing thin stone poles grew into the light. The garden smelled of life, heady and rich. It was as though winter had never touched this place, a paradise Sorin could not define. But above all else, the vision at the center of the garden captivated Sorin.

  In the warm light, rising majestically into the air, was the Rune of Aerilonoth.

  It was not a slab of rock as Sorin had imagined but a tree. Bright red leaves similar to a maple spread out in a wide canopy, encompassing most of the garden. Black limbs angled like tributaries of a great river into the slate-gray bark of the tree’s trunk. As the tree broadened at its base, the bark changed from its unmarred skin to craggy, crystallized granite where strips of silver like horizontal veins shimmered in the light and ran deep into the world. Roots of the same rock broke the surface of the grass to submerge again. Sorin could hardly believe his eyes. The red leaves captured the afternoon light and sent it back into the world, a tree wreathed in an aura of flame that did not consume. Every leaf was perfect; all the limbs were symmetrical. It conveyed innocence and goodness and power. It was unlike any tree Sorin had ever seen, impossible in its beauty and implications. Sorin had no idea how the tree had come to be, but it was truly a magical, beautiful creation.

  Then the reality he was confronted with returned when he saw Kieren.

  The raven-haired man knelt under the canopy in the midst of the perfection, like a stain against a pristine white cloth. He had bound Arianna to one of the vine poles, and he was completing his ministrations there when he looked up. A white grin split his mouth open. Arianna sat at his feet, conscious but bound and gagged. She looked at Sorin with pleading eyes.

  “Here to witness the end, brother?” Kieren asked, curling his lip once again around the last word. He stood, grasping the Hammer of Aerom in his hand once more. “I guess you are if you overcame my dragon. No matter. I warned you of your involvement.”

  Sorin dismounted Artiq. “Let her go and let’s talk, Kieren,” he demanded.

  Kieren moved to the trunk of the tree, his black robes flowing. In his right, the Hammer glimmered in the sunshine, the light playing across his black head like rippling quicksilver. “I knew you’d come. My Master said you would. The All Father is all too easy to predict. What do you hope to gain by it? Do you think you can stop me?”

  “I believe you don’t want to do this,” Sorin said, showing both of his hands were free of any weapon. “Otherwise why show yourself to me and take Arianna? I know others have hurt you in the past. They were wrong to do so. Revenge is not an answer, and you inadvertently will cause more pain than—”

  “I want them to feel my pain,” Kieren screamed, his teeth clenched in anger and his knuckles white around the shaft of the Hammer. “The seeds of their destruction were buried and watered the moment that man entered my mind and craved my power—and later, when I found my parents murdered. The ills and sins of the world cannot be left unchecked, no longer should people turn their back on it. Right now, as we stand here, selfishness rules. Godwyn Keep, the religion of Light, destroyed my innocence and left my spirit harmed. Even now, a piteous Pontiff who only desires power rules the Keep. It is the same now as it was then.”

  “That is one man,” Sorin screamed.

  “It isn’t,” Kieren countered. “The High King and his Kingdom dare not go against the will of the church. Meanwhile the pagan threat murders those it does not deem worthy. The Feyr have left the land from fear, and the pacifistic Ashnyll are unwilling to lift a finger for what is good and clear and right. All will be swept up in the forthcoming conflict and reduced to ashes. The world’s powerful will wither, leaving only those who deserve.”

  Sorin breathed in the warm air. “The Wrathful desires nothing more than freedom from its prison, and that freedom is somehow tied to the Rune. Have you thought of that? Would you do that for evil’s cause? Don’t you see the extreme passion you use has the same birthplace as that which killed your parents? You are as wrong as the men you seek retribution from.”

  “The Master said you might try to cross words with me, that your deceit was as pervasive as Godwyn Keep. It’s over.” Kieren pointed the end of the Hammer at Arianna’s head. Sorin stopped moving toward Kieren. “I’ll give you a choice as I said I would: the girl’s life or that of the Rune.”

  Sorin did not look at Arianna; he knew to do so would only pain him. The fate of the world and the power of his creator were in jeopardy—conflict within his soul—and he did not know which path to take.

  “Don’t you see this is not your plan but your Master’s plan?” Sorin renewed his logical assault on Kieren. “He has corrupted you for this purpose alone. He is the one who set you on this path and not the All Father.”

  “If the All Father did not plan for this, how is it He let it happen? Did I have a choice in the matter?” Kieren growled. “Was I not destined to become this? You are wholly ignorant if you believe the All Father has any love for you. He plays puppet master for his own enjoyment.”

  “That’s not true,” Sorin replied.

  Kieren’s black eyes bore into Sorin’s. “Why did you come here if you knew you’d fail?”

  Sorin slowly approached. “I won’t fail.”

  “You don’t see it, do you? You already have. And once the conflict begins, you will be asking yourself those same questions.”

  “Don’t play into your Master’s hands,” Sorin said, keeping his voice even and clear as he approached Kieren slowly. He shook his head. “Don’t do it.”

  Some of the rage drained from Kieren’s body, and the Hammer dipped.

  Sorin continued to hold Kieren’s gaze and decided to try a different approach. “We are the same, Kieren. We are cut from the same cloth. My parents are dead, murdered. My entire life has been stolen from me, and I am being used as a puppet, just as you are. I felt the tang of anger and revenge; I know it as you know it. I was used and still feel used.

  “But it isn’t the religion or an entire people that are the problem. It is individuals who have driven us to this point. Specific people have done this to us and people can be judged accordingly. They can answer for their crimes without having to resort to world destruction.

  “That is why I know you can still turn from this,” Sorin added. “Because I did. You have free will to choose the path you—and not your Master—believe best.”

  Just when Sorin thought he was making sense to Kieren, his adversary’s eyes darted over Sorin’s shoulder. Behind him, Relnyn and Evelina appeared, attaining the sanctuary the Rune offered. Fury flashed over the evil man’s countenance, and any semblance of thought disappeared in a hail of anger.

  “I warned you,” he snarled. “If you came after me your destruction would be at hand. Since you have not chosen what lives or dies, I will do it for you!”

  With both hands on the Hammer’s leather-bound handle, Kieren raise
d it high.

  “No!” Sorin screamed.

  Kieren began to swing.

  A light blossomed in Sorin’s mind, clear and intuitive. Rather than attack Kieren, Sorin focused inward on the terrible event that was about to happen. As the Woman King had done to him, he reached out with need and instinct and drove into the other man’s mind and consciousness with his own.

  With a sickle born of necessity, Sorin cut down Kieren’s ability to swing the Hammer of Aerom. Kieren was aware of what happened immediately, but once Sorin had invaded him, there was no pushing him out. He would not fail. Sorin sensed the Hammer had stopped in mid-swing and Kieren’s seething anger confirmed it. Time slowed, then stopped. The two men faced one another—not under the fiery canopy of the Rune of Aerilonoth but as shadows—one filled with rage and experience of his powers, the other combating with passion and faith.

  —I will not let you destroy it, Kieren—

  —You know not what you’ve done. You are as wrong as I am. You are in my mind, attempting to force me to stop. Is that your ineffective answer—

  —I am trying to save the innocent people of the world—

  Kieren chuckled and the sound reverberated within his mind.

  —Innocent? None of them are innocent. You can’t even save yourself. From me—

  Kieren pressed down upon Sorin’s consciousness, bearing his hate on the young man with savage intensity. Although there was no sense of physical pressure, Sorin’s mind was being squashed, thinned out, until he must flee or his death would result. He brought his own power to bear, from the pit of his nature, and although he stopped the menace’s intent he knew it was a matter of time. Kieren would win out, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  But through the hissing anger Sorin was confronted with, a new sound intruded. It was a melody on the fringe of his awareness, potent but soft, waiting to be discovered. He focused on it, pulling the song close to him, and he realized it was the Hammer.