“You don’t even have words for me!” the soldier continues. “I wish you to the darkest parts of the afterlife! Now leave me to my business!” He turns back to Aela as if nothing had happened.
Ullrog seizes the soldier’s arm and stops him dead. Then, impossibly, he seems to grow even taller and more menacing as he growls, “You no touch her.” The soldier’s face wrinkles in anger and his hand flies up, presumably to hit the orc over the head, but Ullrog reacts faster and simply throws him over the fire.
The soldier tumbles to a stop before hitting a tent, and then rises to his feet slowly. “You want to fight me?” he says. “Do you?”
“Enough,” says a voice. All eyes center on Jarl Hralfar, who is standing just on the edge of the firelight. He waits a moment and then says simply, “Remember who the real enemy is.” Then he walks away.
The soldier makes as if to run at Ullrog, but one of his friends snags his shoulder and holds him back, saying, “Come off it, Druam. It’s not worth it.”
Druam, the soldier, leers at Ullrog and says softly, “This is not over.”
“It isn’t,” Ullrog rumbles as the soldier turns his back and walks away.
That night, just as I am about to fall asleep, a great white flash threatens to blind me. A crash of thunder follows immediately, so booming it even wakes James.
I leap to my feet, but drop my dagger. Steel will do little good against this foe.
Another flash lights the sky farther away, followed by another a few seconds later. Thunder roars behind them respectively.
An orange glow flickers from the eastern side of the camp.
I throw on my cloak and leap out into the rain, towards the light and the yells. Despite the heavy rain, a tent has caught fire and it burns quickly. The center pole, which is likely where the lightning struck, has disintegrated. The tent’s occupants have fled the structure, grabbing what possessions they can before the elements consume them, be it water or fire.
Within a minute the downpour has quenched the fire, but the tent is destroyed. Those who had been inside are stunned, staring at the ground where they had been sleeping moments before. The Jarl, in his armor and wool cloak, strides to the scene and inspects it.
“You will have to split up,” he says, shouting to be heard over the rain. “Find another tent to squeeze into. Is anyone hurt?”
Everyone looks around, but nobody seems any more than shocked.
“Then get some rest. There is yet some time until morning.”
As I turn to head back towards my tent, I hear one of the soldiers mutter, “Khaoth is angry.”
“Or we’re in the middle of a lightning storm,” the other responds.
It is difficult to find sleep.
The entire army is tired and wet the next morning as we march. The rain is relentless and I thank the gods for my wool cloak, though I am still getting water everywhere.
By noon, the clouds finally seem to have rained themselves out. A light drizzle struggles to keep the rain alive for a few moments longer, but then the sun peaks out from the clouds. It’s a welcome sight and many of the soldiers give a cry of relief. Throughout the afternoon the clouds begin to disperse, but the sky remains mostly overcast.
The road leads us around a particularly large ridge, and as we emerge on the other side, our destination becomes visible.
Balgr’s Monument is an obelisk: a high pointed pillar of stone atop a pedestal inside a ring of tall rocks. Though we are still about a half-mile away, I can see it clearly because it stands upon a large rounded hill.
The opposing army sits on its other side, waiting for us.
We set up camp halfway between the ridge and the monument. Within the hour of our arrival a messenger astride a white horse rides to our camp; Jarl Hralfar, Commander Magnus, and I step forward to meet him.
“Titus sends his regards,” says the messenger. “He did not think you would come.”
My eyes narrow. The next part he directs at me.
“Nonetheless, Dragonhammer, he is thankful for your arrival. On the morrow you will meet Titus at the foot of the monument at dawn. He does not care what happens afterward. Only that you die.”
“You arrogant little-” begins Genevieve, making towards the horse.
I grab her shoulder and hold her back.
“I’m merely a messenger,” he says. “Lord Swordbreaker’s words are his own. He does not require anything from you, and he expects that nothing will be required of him, but to fight tomorrow. No negotiations.”
Then the messenger turns and rides to their camp.
“Keep a heavy watch tonight,” the Jarl commands. “Sleep on your swords.”
Genevieve gets about setting a watch, with instructions to make sure that everyone keeps their sword and armor on hand. Rest with both, if you can.
“Are you frightened?” Aela asks in the dark of the tent. The light of a fire flickers just outside, casting a sliver of orange light onto her face. She sits up on her bedroll with her legs crossed. Her bedroll lies on the opposite side of the tent, against the canvas, and she has made sure that everyone’s packs guard her other side. She has made a little haven for herself away from all the men.
“Of course not,” James says from the other side of her barrier. “Kadmus is never scared. Sorry. Captain Armstrong.”
I shake my head. “Kadmus is fine, James.”
“I was asking him,” Aela argues coolly. Then she repeats her question, “Are you frightened?”
“No,” I respond.
“Why?”
“I have nothing to fear.”
“Even death?”
“I do not see death as an option. I do not see loss as an option. I will live. I have nothing to fear.”
“You have a lot of confidence,” she says. “Be careful. It’s a bad thing to overestimate yourself.”
“I’m well aware,” I respond quietly. “But I know what I can do. I know what must be done. And I know how to do it.”
She looks down and the firelight glints across her eyes. Then she lies down.
I think for a while before falling to sleep. Genevieve refused to let me have a watch because I’m the one fighting tomorrow, and apparently I need my rest. I didn’t find it worth arguing with her, and so I let her win. And here I think.
Eventually I am able to think myself to sleep.
I start awake at the tiniest noise. It’s simply a rustle, but it is no natural sound. I worm my hand under my cloak and then with a grunt jump to my feet, swinging the dagger.
Aela inhales sharply with wide eyes, her own hand on the pommel of one of her swords. My dagger had only just missed her nose.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, lowering my weapon. She relaxes slightly and says, “Couldn’t sleep.”
“So you’re going out for a walk while we’re in enemy territory?”
She shrugs.
I shake my head and sit down. She sits down on her bedroll. Now, instead of firelight, a slit of moonlight illuminates a sliver of her face.
Her eyes glance to the sleeping form of Ullrog. “What are you thinking about?” she asks.
I hesitate. “Why?”
“You seem lost,” she says. “What are you thinking about?”
I pause before answering her. “There has been enough blood shed,” I say. “Especially by these hands and this hammer.” She and I both glance to the hammer lying next to my bedroll. “Why shed more?”
“Why did you start?” she asks.
“Because they killed my father,” I respond. “They brought me hatred. Anger. Grief. They must die. Feel what I feel.”
“Revenge, then?”
“I will kill them with a vengeance they have never seen. No more will such atrocity plague the land as it has.”
“What wrong has Titus done you?” she asks innocently.
I think for a moment. “He believes in the same things his father did. He has brought himself to battle against me.”
“Because you kil
led his father. He fights for the same reasons you do.”
She’s right. I find myself mulling over her words, and realize that I myself had been thinking them before I had gone to sleep. “His father deserved death,” I respond. “He was the evil pawn of an evil ruler, doing horrible things.”
“Are you saying that Titus deserves to die for his father’s actions?”
“Of course not. I cannot blame Titus for what he feels. I feel the same thing.”
“It seems like you’ve already given this some long thought.”
“What’s your point?”
“Haven’t you already found vengeance here, with Tygnar?”
For a long moment I do not answer. “I do not know,” I whisper.
“Will you kill Titus?”
“I would rather not.”
She responds instantly, as if she had been expecting that response, “But will you kill him?”
I think. She’s about to ask again when I respond, “If I must.”
She nods slightly and says nothing more. She only lies back down.
“If I must,” I whisper to myself.
The Battle of Balgr’s Monument
I wake a little before dawn. My body knows the time and wakes me accordingly. Without wasting time, I eat something and don my armor, given to me when I was advanced to captain. I leave the cape off, as I find it bothersome.
Percival, James, and Jericho each shake my hand with words of encouragement. Nathaniel does likewise. “Come back, okay?” he says.
“Of course,” I reply. “Our family will not lose another member this day.”
He smiles and claps my left shoulder. Aela only nods to me. Ullrog is nowhere to be seen.
“Fight well,” says Hralfar. “I know you will. Though I fear what the opposition will do when they are again leaderless.”
“There is no need for fear,” I reply. “Look forward with courage. Let them come or flee as they will. In either case, let us be standing, sword in hand.”
The corner of Hralfar’s lip goes up and he gives me a nod. A warhorn sounds from the monument: my cue.
Feeling oddly reminiscent of the time I walked out to fight Lucius Swordbreaker’s champion, I stride towards the monument. As I climb the hill I see that the area inside the circle of tall stones is paved with cobblestone. In the middle, the obelisk stands.
It’s only about three feet wide at the base, but it looms at least thirty feet above my head. A bronze plaque sits on the obelisk at about the height of my hip. It reads simply, “Herein lies Balgr the Great.”
I have no recollection of a character named ‘Balgr’ in any of the legends or stories I know. It matters little, however, so I shrug it off and wait for Titus to show himself.
He already stands next to the monument. “You came,” he says. As he walks toward me, I notice he wears the restored armor of his father. It’s made of steel, but somehow has a dark sheen. The edges are pointed and black, and in the center an orange scorpion is emblazoned: the insignia of Tygnar. The plume on his helm is orange, but his cape is black with an identical scorpion sewn into it. His hand rests on the pommel of his sheathed weapon.
“Of course I came,” I respond. “I’m offended you thought I wouldn’t.” My left hand moves towards a throwing knife on my belt and my right moves towards the head of my hammer, above my right shoulder. The makeshift sheathe holds it just high enough for me to take hold and unsheathe it.
He turns, revealing a large circular shield strapped to his left arm. It’s the same color as his armor, with similar patterns and the scorpion in the middle.
“I’ll come back to that,” he says cryptically. “But you are here, and that’s what matters.”
“I suppose,” I answer. “Now let’s get this done with. No need for words.”
“Very well,” he says. “As you wish.”
My hammer flies out of its sheath as he whips out his mace and slashes at me in one smooth movement. I jump backwards and grip the shaft of my hammer strongly, gaining my balance and waiting for him to strike again.
I don’t have to wait long. The shaft of my weapon blocks a strike, and on the second I push him away and counter to the right. He blocks with his shield and it dents with a loud ding. I block another strike and advance, pushing him further back. As he reaches around the side to beat in my rib cage, I knock his mace away with the butt of my hammer and thump him in the chest with a crack. He falls to his knees grunting, but I stop as his weapon clatters to the ground.
“Kill me,” he growls, clutching his chest, staring at the ground. “Kill me!”
“Why?” I respond.
“For honor’s sake,” he says lamely. “Let me go the way my father did.”
“Your father fell out of a window three stories high,” I reply.
“You killed him.”
“Yes. I did.”
“Finish it then!” he roars from the ground. “Kill me!”
“Surrender,” I reply.
He looks up at me with an expression that says clearly, “What?”
“Surrender,” I repeat.
“No,” he says.
“Why?”
“I cannot be a coward. I must accept death as it is given to me, and here it is plainly. If I surrender now, I will be labeled as the Jarl who would not die for his people.”
“For his people? If I kill you, your people will come to a war against us that they cannot win.”
“That they cannot win? I’ll have-”
“You know that is true,” I interrupt. “If I kill you they will come against us until there is nobody of your clan left. Is that heroic? Is that honor?”
“You killed my father!” he growls.
“And he killed mine!” I roar. “There is nothing we can do about past actions, but you do not have to die today! Do not condemn your people to an endless war! Make peace and retreat! Surrender!”
He glares holes into the ground. I offer my right hand, hefting my hammer in my left. Then he takes it and I help him to his feet. As he rises, he grasps his mace. It dangles to his side.
I nod to him. “You have chosen wisely,” I say.
Then I turn to walk back towards the army. I stop when I hear his voice.
“I will not rest…” he seethes. “Until either you or I lie lifeless in the earth!”
He charges and his mace flies out of his hand with a single swing from my hammer. I knock him off-balance and then slam my shoulder into his chest, breaking at least a couple of ribs. He yells as he falls to the earth in a crumpled heap, “Now!”
As I stare, his form begins to rise. Hideous laughter erupts from his throat as archers step out from behind the stones, each one bearing a crossbow trained on me.
I grimace at him as one of them helps him to his feet. “Surrender,” he snarls.
“You cheated,” I growl.
“Is that a no?” he asks mockingly. “Well, let’s see if the great Dragonhammer can make his way out of this one.”
The corner of my lip turns up as I count out the number of archers and judge some distance. Titus raises his hand with an open palm. As soon as he closes his fist, they will fire.
I drop my hammer and spin around him, grabbing him around the chest and pulling him down. Then I hold a throwing knife to his neck.
“I think I just did,” I seethe.
“Don’t fire!” Titus shouts frantically. “Don’t shoot!”
“That’s what I thought,” I mutter. “Tell them to unload their crossbows.”
“Kill me,” he says viciously.
“Unload your weapons!” I command. “Or he dies!”
Most of the archers loose their bolts into the ground at their feet.
“Now get them to put down their weapons,” I mutter.
“Never,” he gasps.
“Put down your weapons!” I dictate. The archers look at each other and some of them make to put their weapons down, but don’t. I tighten my grip and begin to press the blade into his throat. “
Put them down!” I roar. As if to accentuate my command, Titus gasps as the blade puts pressure on his throat.
Their crossbows hit the ground.
“Good,” I mutter. Then I walk backwards, holding the knife to Titus’s throat. I don’t walk far before I find that Jarl Hralfar and many of my men stand with me, some of them archers.
“You can let him go now,” the Jarl says. “He is of no use to us.”
“But he will always be fighting us,” I reply. “He will not stop. I may as well kill him and end it here.”
“What about what you said out there? His people coming to fight you?”
“They may be a little less hard-headed as he. In any case, I grow weary of his empty words.”
“Do as you will,” says the Jarl. “Let the consequences come.”
Three words ring in my head. If I must.
Then I release him. I throw him forward so that he lands on his hands and knees, coughing blood into the ground. “No…” I hear him whisper.
“You are to leave the war,” commands the Jarl. “You have sought our destruction, and we have sought only our own defense. If there is any more offense against us or our people, we will seek your destruction as you have sought ours. Is that understood?”
Titus shudders.
Hralfar takes a deep breath and repeats, “I said, is that understood?!”
“Yes,” he whispers.
“Good,” the Jarl says. Then, turning to me, he says, “Come. We are done here.”
I retrieve my hammer from the ground and return to the Jarl.
There’s a rustle. I look back and see Titus sitting up, leaning on the monument. Slowly he worms his way up until he is standing. Then he raises his open palm and glares at me with vile loathing. As his fist closes, the archer closest him blows into a curved horn, blasting one long baritone note into the sky. There’s a roar as his army begins to charge and their line runs forward.
“No matter which way this was going to turn out, he was going to attack,” the Jarl realizes. “Perhaps there is no other way to resolve this but by bloodshed.”
“Very well,” I mutter. “If it’s a war he wants, it’s a war he’ll get.”
Their line runs up the hill and around the monument as we make our way down to our army on the other side. “Stand strong!” the Jarl commands. “Stand strong!” He waits for the enemy to reach the base of the hill before shouting, “Charge!”
Dragonhammer: Volume II Page 5