Hammerhold Tales: Thrallborn

by Logan Petty

  All Sawain could do was hide in the tree and pray that the gnolls didn’t like apples. He watched in silent terror as his mentor was quickly overtaken and pinned by one of the monsters. His shouts of alarm fell silent under the gnoll’s cudgel. The cries of battle soon rang out as the guards poured out to confront the gnoll threat.

  The ones that had made for the gate had already reached their goal and were heaving at the portcullis wheel. As soon as it was high enough, the rest of the gnoll army poured into the farm, met by a volley of arrows that dropped six or seven of them on the spot. The fallen were quickly overrun by their kindred. The gnolls outnumbered the guards and broke their ranged line within seconds.

  The farm defenders dropped their bows and drew their swords. They clashed bravely with the onslaught of invaders, but were soon surrounded. They continued to slash and hack at any gnoll that got close enough, but soon their defenses were penetrated by spear and claw. One by one, they fell.

  A blast of thunder rolled over the farm as a bolt of intense fire washed over the horde from the farmhouse gate. Master Torval had arrived on the scene. Sawain could not see him well, but he knew it was him. He wore a gleaming silver breastplate and matching helmet. He wielded a war axe in one hand and a small glowing red gem in the other.

  The horde turned on him and rushed the gate of the house. He met them with another jet of roaring flame that shot out from the crystal, dropping five of the assailants in a smoldering heap. Before he could recharge the gem, the gnolls had reached the gate. They used a familiar tactic to breach this defense. The first wave tried to get over the fence in a single bound, but most ended up skewed on the barbs at the top. Their sacrifice allowed the remaining forces to clear the deadly fence and pour into the inner yard.

  Torval fought with all his strength, hacking off heads and limbs with his legendary axe and blasting rows of would-be murderers that tried to get across the fence. For all his brutal fervor, he alone was not enough to stop the waves of hyena-like raiders. Maybe in his younger days, he could have succeeded, but today, on his own doorstep, he fell beneath a tide of fur and fangs.

  A few more minutes passed and the sounds of slaughter died away. From his vantage point, Sawain saw three gnolls dragging the badly wounded form of Lord Torval from the mob. The other gnolls gathered round him and blocked off Sawain’s view of his father. He felt his stomach drop as the gnolls fell on him in a yelping, riotous frenzy.

  A large gnoll emerged from the mass carrying Torval’s head. He took one of the pilfered spears from another gnoll and shoved the decapitated head upon it. He turned and waved the crude effigy before the raiders. A chorus of barks and laughter filled the air. Sawain noticed the headless body of his father laying on the ground. Its hand still clutched the gem. One of the gnolls on looting duty tried to pry it from the dead hand. When it did, the crystal exploded, taking the looter, the corpse, and four other gnolls with it. This simply triggered another violent fit of laughter from the other gnolls.

  Sawain felt sickness rising into his throat and he had to muster every ounce of will to keep from vomiting. He was now alone in this life and all he could do about it was sit helplessly in an apple tree while the gnolls pillaged and razed the rest of his world to the ground.

  Chapter Two

  Despite his terror, Sawain began dozing off from time to time during the long hard day. He quickly snapped himself back to consciousness when the yelping tongue of the gnolls came into earshot. Three hours had passed and they were still looting the farm. Near the carts, several of the surviving thralls were chained together and bound to the gnoll vehicle. Several marauders were busy loading loot into the carts while the leaders of the party stood around barking orders. The bodies of the guards had been pinned to the wooden gates by their own swords.

  Sawain saw the bloody and bent form of Simir tethered to the line of captives. The old fire of anger he kept kindled in his heart flared up. He could not leave his mentor to become a slave to gnolls. His mind raced with schemes to incite enough confusion to release his fellow thralls.

  The chattering of two approaching gnolls stirred Sawain into alertness. He could not tell what they were saying, but he could see them climbing the hill to the orchard. His heart skipped a beat. If he stayed in the tree, he was sure to be discovered, if he ran for it, he would be caught. If he could think straight, he could use this as the diversion he needed. The banter grew louder as his mind raced. He did not want to die a coward, so he couldn’t run. Finally, he decided he would rather die a free orphan than be a gnoll slave.

  He picked a few apples and readied to spring from the tree. The gnolls looked up in shock as the apple tree yelled at them and began flinging apples in their direction. The initial pelting startled the gnolls, causing them to raise their arms in defense and call for help. Before help could arrive, Sawain leaped from the tree, screaming like a madman. He planted a solid punch on the nose of one gnoll, causing it to go sprawling. He made a dash for the downed gnoll’s blade. He got a hold on the blade just as two overpowering furry arms found their way underneath his. He was locked in a deadly embrace that threatened to shatter his shoulders and back.

  The world turned sideways in an instant. Pain racked Sawain’s body as he came crashing to the ground. A knee in his back forced the air from his lungs. He wrenched his bloodied face out of the earth to see his attackers. All he could see were the paws and legs of the gnolls as they gathered around him, chattering wildly in a tongue he could not understand. The authoritative bark of the alpha stopped the uproar. He gave a few terse commands in the gnollish language, then Sawain felt the knee and arms release him from being pinned. He tried to struggle to his feet, but blinding pain shot through him as a clawed hand grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to his feet. A scream of anguish shot from his chest. The pain relinquished slightly, so he opened his eyes. He was on his feet and staring into the yellow eyes of the ugliest creature he had ever seen.

  “Hmm, ye look like an elf, but yer built like a man. Ye must be one of them ‘alf-breeds. Bet yer nice ‘n sturdy,” the gnoll growled in words Sawain understood.

  “Ye wear the garb of the thrall. Ye were hiding in a tree. Yer clearly no warrior. Well, we’ll find a buyer for ye yet. Can ye talk, thrall?”

  Sawain mustered up the courage and energy to spit in the beast’s face. This caused the gnoll to laugh. He grabbed Sawain’s left wrist and wrenched it backwards. The sheer pain caused Sawain to fall to his knees and let loose a choked scream.

  “Ye do understand something at least.” He turned to a nearby gnoll and barked an order in another tongue. More pain followed as Sawain was hurled to the ground, incapacitated by a couple of the alpha’s lackeys, and dragged off to be bound with the other thralls.

  Sawain sat huddled with the other slaves as the looters filled their caravan. He closed his eyes and listened to the sobbing women who lamented the loss of their children the gnolls deemed too small to sell. Chains rattled about him as the men tried to offer listless condolences. The smell of smoke mixed with another unholy smell he did not recognize filled his nostrils. The sting of a lash bit into his back and stifled shouts of terror from the captives rose with the welt. The growling voice of the alpha cut through the complaints.

  “On yer feet, dogs. Time to move out!”

  Sawain remained still and defiant as the others rose to their feet. The alpha noticed this rebellion and smiled.

  “Looks like we’ve got a dumb one here. Get on yer feet, boy!” He yelled, punctuating the command with a stinging lash of his whip.

  Lash after lash sent jolts of pain through Sawain’s body, yet he sat in grim defiance, not letting the pain show on his face. Finally, the alpha snorted.

  “Fine, boy, you don’t want to walk? You’ll just have to be dragged.”

  The alpha shouted at his drivers in gnollish and the caravan began to roll. Soon Sawain’s chains tightened and forced him to be dragged along the ground, also causing the men and women to whom he was bound to
be dragged along. He quickly realized the suffering his defiance was causing others as they wailed and cursed him.

  “Get up, Sawain,” One woman yelled.

  “Stupid boy, are you trying to kill us?” Another man inquired angrily.

  Sawain struggled to get to his feet, but the alpha that was walking beside him kicked the back of his knees sharply, causing him to fall again and several others with him. The caravan would not stop, but continued on at its steady gait. The alpha smiled cruelly.

  “I said you don’t get to walk. I’ll make sure of it. We will break that stubborn spirit of yours.”

  Sawain glared hatefully at him as he was dragged along, getting scraped up by the rough ground. Again, he tried to regain his stance and again, the gnoll kicked him to the ground. At this point, he was bruised and bloodied. The back of his legs ached intensely. The thralls stumbling around him moaned and complained, calling Sawain awful names and cursing his birth. Sawain grit his teeth as he bounced along, wincing when he would be stepped on by another thrall or when an open wound was dragged along the rugged earth. Those sorts of wounds were appearing more frequently as the long march continued.

  Sawain tried to return to his feet three more times in the first hour, only to be struck down again by his ruthless taskmaster. By the third time, Sawain did not have the strength to rise again. His tunic was torn ragged and soaked in blood. His legs were throbbing with excruciating pain. He did not have the energy to hold back his tears or cries of pain as he bounced along.

  Sawain fought with all he had left to stay conscious despite the wracking pain that constantly besieged his body. Small rocks had embedded themselves in the bloody gashes the ground tore into his flesh. They marched on for another hour. Sawain felt the life slipping from him. He was tired. Though he bounced along, things didn’t hurt as bad anymore. He was just going to sleep. His eyes drooped, but before he fell asleep, he felt two strong arms lift him from the ground. His first reaction was a jolt of fear until he opened his eyes. He saw the blurry image of an older man’s face. It was a well chiseled, heavily bearded and balding visage that he recognized. It was Simir, the Thrall-father. Though shackled and suffering the stings of the gnoll’s lash, Simir hoisted Sawain like a broken animal in his arms. Sawain was so grateful that the pain had stopped. He would have thanked Simir for his act of selfless compassion, but the line keeping him in the waking realm had been severed and he drifted into dark unconsciousness.

  “Sawain, wake up, child.”

  Light flooded into Sawain’s vision as he obeyed the familiar voice of a woman. A blurry face hovered above him. As it came into focus, it was the face of a beautiful elf with braided blonde hair. Her emerald eyes sparkled and her slim face radiated kindness. She smiled as he looked onto her.

  “M-mother?”

  Sawain felt her warm hand brush his face as her image began to fade.

  “It’s time to wake up, child. There is much to do still.”

  His mother’s face faded away like it was made of smoke. The light grew brighter as the world flooded his bleary vision. He was laid upon his back. He could smell the smoke from camp fires. He took a deep breath. As his lungs filled with air, his entire body sent waves of pain to his brain, snapping him to complete consciousness. He grit his teeth and let out a weak groan as he tried to sit up. A big hand pushed him back down.

  “Stay still, child. You’re in bad shape.”

  The gruff baritone voice of Simir comforted Sawain slightly. He looked around him from where he lay. He was underneath a small lean-to and lying on a bundle of old blankets. A small turf fire burned behind the old man. Other thralls huddled around similar fires and lean-tos. The gnoll raiders sat in a ring around the slaves, watching them closely.

  He was bandaged and wrapped in linens. He could feel some sort of sticky salve against most of his skin. It was uncomfortable, yet he was uncomfortable no matter how he turned. He decided to turn his attention to Simir.

  “You saved me. Why?”

  Simir smiled and let out a half chuckle, “You were slowing us down.”

  Sawain smiled, “Well, thank you, Simir. I am in your debt again.”

  Simir rubbed his balding head. His eyes twinkled like gems set in his weather and labor-worn tan face.

  “There’s no need for that, Sawain. Your mother put you in my care when she died. I would have dishonored her memory by letting her son die. If you want to repay your debt, do so to another soul in need.”

  Sawain nodded weakly. Simir reached for a gourd at his side.

  “Here, take a drink of water, don’t need to dry out.”

  Sawain accepted the water gratefully and choked on it as he attempted to drink laying down. Once he drained the gourd, Simir took it back. The old man stroked his black and gray beard as he leaned back. His eyes settled on the darkening horizon.

  “Gonna be a long night. Best get some sleep. The herb salve I used on you has some magical properties. It’s not much, but it’ll lessen your pain.”

  Sawain raised an eyebrow, “Where did you find that?”

  Simir smiled, “Old Southern Fells concoction made of a pair of herbs native to these parts. I had to do a lot of convincing the gnolls that you weren’t any good to them dead. Had to take a guard patrol with me, but it was worth it to keep my oath to your mother. Now, enough talk, you still need to let the salve do its work.”

  Sawain nodded again and closed his eyes to await sleep. Simir’s voice filled his ears as he struck up an old song he had heard many a night throughout his life. As Simir sang, one by one, the other thralls joined in.

  We slave, we toil for the setting sun

  Through sweat and blood and pain

  Rest now, my child, your work is done

  Until the sun rise again.

  Sleep now and remember the hero foretold

  The freer of thralls and imprisoned!

  The defender of justice from faraway hold

  His someday appearance envisioned!

  The Hero who wields the keening blade

  Slayer of the tyrant king,

  Riding forth from forlorn glade

  For his rising do we sing.

  For freedom does this hero-lord fight

  Against tyrants and slavers and greed

  With sword and spear, he brings forth light

  Before him, night’s shadow recede.

  Sawain scowled at the song as he drifted into a troubled sleep. What good would a hero king do for us now? The only ‘hero’ I’ve ever seen in my life was my slave-holding father. If that’s what a real hero is like, I hope I never meet another hero again. Some birthday this turned out to be.

  Sawain stood on a moonlit hill overlooking a forest glade that glistened with snow. He could hear the crackling of fire, but it was soon replaced by the thundering of hooves. An armored figure bathed in light riding a gleaming horse emerged from the dark glade. Sawain had to cover his face to keep from being blinded. When he dropped his arm, he stood before a king in his great hall. The king’s face was bathed in light.

  The king called out a strange name.

  “Here I am,” Sawain was surprised that these words came from his mouth.

  The king spoke again, but the words were unfamiliar. He spoke in a tongue that was old. Perhaps it was as old as the world itself. Sawain spoke, but the words did not come. The king placed his hands on Sawain’s shoulders and shook him violently. Sawain snapped awake. Simir’s face came into focus.

  “Time to rise, child.”

  The gnolls were prodding the thralls to their feet, barking commands and yanking them along. Simir helped Sawain to his feet. It was a painful process. The salve deadened some of the pain, but it was still a miserable experience. The Alpha gnoll appeared beside the two thralls. He shoved Simir to the side as he stared Sawain down. The monster’s smug grin stirred a fire within Sawain’s chest.

  “Well, well, the dumb child can still walk. Good. Get in line, child. Show me you can obey my words, unless you don�
��t feel like walking today. That can be arranged.”

  Sawain grit his teeth hard to keep from lashing out and forfeiting his life to the gnoll. He hesitantly walked over to the other thralls, glaring hatefully at the alpha the whole way. The alpha grinned and shackled Sawain to the others. Simir fell in beside him and was bound. He did not show any emotion as the gnoll snarled at him. Once the bully gave up trying to get a reaction, camp was quickly broken and the caravan was on the move again.

  Sawain’s body ached, especially where the shackles rubbed against his raw skin. The salve did little to stop the pain. He could not imagine how bad it would hurt without it. Despite his battered body, the soles of his feet were in good shape still. He took solace in the fact that he could at least not complain of sore feet.

  An hour into the march, Simir muttered to Sawain, “You were wise to do as Hilmr told you. He may be a gnoll, but he is still your new master.”

  Sawain snorted, “Hilmr? So that beast has a name? He is not my master. I will never bend knee to a monster. I’m just biding my time. I’m going to kill him.”

  “Keep your voice down,” Simir whispered in a suddenly nervous voice. “You’ll get us all killed if you start a fight.”

  “No one will die because of me. I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

  Simir chuckled, “You sound like your father.”

  The pit of Sawain’s stomach grew sour. He could feel that same familiar fire building in his chest. He made a bitter face and spat on the ground, which was not the best idea, since he had not had any water since the night before.

  “I’m nothing like my father. I’m not a scumbag Thrallmaster.”

  All that could be heard for several minutes as they trudged along was the jangling of chains and the rattling of carts. Finally Simir spoke again.

  “Your father was not as bad as you make him out to be. He took good care of all of us. We –“

  “Are war criminals, I know. But I am not. Why did he put me into thralldom? You dare try to defend my father? If he loved my mother, why did he keep her as a slave? Why did he let her die? He was scum. The gnolls did us a favor.”