by Logan Petty
HAMMERHOLD TALES:
GHOSTS OF ALFHAVEN
LOGAN PETTY
ILLUSTRATED BY IRIS GRIFFIN
Copyright © 2014
Additional Works in the Hammerhold Tales series:
Book one: Thrallborn
Short Tales series:
Reisim’s Revenge
Thanks to Michael and Alex for supporting
my writing from the beginning.
Thanks to Cas for making the Outriders
move like Ghosts.
Chapter 1
Sawain took in the vast beauty of Alfhaven forest from his vantage point on the sloping ridge. The white fells of Anvilheim melted into dark, lush green. Sawain wondered why there was no snow on the trees of the forest. It was a question he would have to wait to ask.
Marta, the halfling, stirred in Sawain’s arms. She was shivering violently. Sawain could feel the fever setting in again. He was glad she was shivering, since she was cold as ice moments before. This meant she was not dead yet. He held her tight against his chest.
He glanced over his shoulder and noticed a steady trickle of undead soldiers slipping past the deadly sea dragon, Hoskreln. Their numbers were so great that not even the Sea Tyrant could kill them fast enough. They did not pay heed to the murderous wyrm, but instead ran headlong for the far shore. They leaped from glacier to glacier, some of them falling into the frigid, watery tomb at their feet.
Sawain glanced at Jatharr, who wore a concerned expression on his face.
“At the rate those things are moving, they’ll be at the base of the ridge in a few minutes. We need to go, fast.”
Sawain nodded in agreement. He ran as fast as the slippery slope of the mountain would allow him. The forest edge was several hundred yards away still. He could not run nearly as fast as he wanted to. The snow here was powdery and a foot deep. He sank into it with every step, hindering his movement. The moon was nearly full as well, casting its light on the snow. This made seeing hard for Sawain, since the reflection of the light dazed his senses.
He looked behind him and noticed Jatharr had more difficulty keeping up the pace in the powder. It was to his waist. He cursed the cumbersome snow as he plowed his way slowly through it. Sawain did not want to get too far ahead of his friend.
He stumbled back to the spot Jatharr was plowing through and went ahead of him, kicking snow out as fast as he could manage. He heard Jatharr yell out behind him.
“It’s a noble effort, lad, but it’s not really making this easier. Save yer strength and just keep making for the forest. We have plenty of time.”
The forest did not look close to Sawain. He felt like they had not covered much ground at all. The ridge line they started from was closer still. He looked up at it, and felt despair set in. He remembered Marta and the warmth filled his chest. It was not the inferno of rage that turned him into a weapon, but something stronger. He held her closer, as if he protected a precious treasure.
His courage was restored. He turned and kept trudging through the snow. They pushed on for several minutes, steadily working their way to the forest edge. Sawain felt a chill run along his spine he could not explain. He turned to check the mountain and the chill spread from his spine to his limbs.
The survivors of the undead horde were at the top of the ridge now. They ran along the trails of snow at a dangerous speed. Sawain was not an expert at judging distance and speed, but they were only half way to the forest. It was not hard for him to tell that they would catch up before they got to the safety of the trees.
“Jatharr, we’ve got trouble! They’re gaining ground quickly! We won’t make it at this rate!”
Jatharr gave him a wave that said, Just keep running, “Leave em to me. I’ll slow em down when they get here.”
Jatharr still brandished the wood cutting axe that survived the excursion from Underfell Town. Sawain nodded, confident in the halfling captain’s abilities. He returned his attention to pushing through the powdery snow with all his might. He had to get Marta to the woods. He was weaponless now, so he would be useless in a fight. All he could do was push for Alfhaven.
He drew closer to the forest when he heard Jatharr’s battle cry ring out, accompanied by the crash of metal on metal. He chanced a backward glance and saw one of the undead soldiers struggling to pull itself out of the snow near Jatharr. The halfling would not allow it and chopped its arms and legs off brutally as it struggled in the snow. He picked up the creature’s long sword.
“Sawain, I’ve got you a gift!”
He hurled the sword at Sawain. It landed flat in the snow, a foot away from him. Sawain made his way to the spot the sword lay, dug it out, and knocked the clumps of ice from it with his thigh. It reeked of decay, but a sword was a sword, and a weapon he knew something about.
Now that he was armed, he felt more confident. He started to make for the battlefield when Jatharr noticed and yelled at him.
“No! What are you doing? Get to the forest!”
Sawain shook his head, drawing nearer, “I won’t leave you! We’re going in together!”
Jatharr ducked the blade of the next zombie that advanced on him, then chopped at its thigh, breaking the leg bone. He pushed backward, satisfied that would slow it enough to keep them safe.
“Are you trying to get Marta killed? We don’t have to win this fight, Sawain, just survive it! Get going, I’ll be right behind you!”
Sawain hesitated, then noticed the dozens more undead plowing through the snow. He decided Jatharr was right and turned back to the forest. The comrades pushed on, hacking limbs and dodging blades. Sawain heard a familiar whistle cut through the night air. Three dark arrows plunged into the snow like deadly needles. The snow swallowed them up to their fletching, but they were unmistakable.
Sawain yelled out to Jatharr, “Archers!”
Jatharr’s voice rang out, “Almost there! Their bows will be useless in the tangle of Alfhaven! Just keep moving!”
Sawain did as told. The forest edge was close enough to see into now. More arrows shot past him. One of them grazed his shoulder. It stung, but was not serious.
Their aim is improving fast.
The snow Sawain ran through lessened. This allowed him more mobility. He made a dash for the tree line. More arrows flew past him, burying themselves in the trunks of the trees. Sawain may have been delusional, but he thought he noticed the trees shudder with the impact of the arrows.
He finally made it to the edge of the forest and flung himself into the shelter of the trees. He slowed down after a few feet. Only now did he notice the painful stitch in his side. He gasped for air as he gripped Marta and watched Jatharr break from the snow bank.
Armored zombies were hot on the captain’s heels, swinging swords and hammers wildly. Jatharr swept the legs of the closest with his axe, knocking it on its back. The others stumbled over their fallen ally, giving Jatharr time to make a mad sprint for the forest. Another volley of arrows pelted the scenery, causing Sawain to take cover behind a tree.
Jatharr crashed into the shelter of the trees, not slowing down for a moment, “RUN!”
Sawain obeyed. He turned and took off through the forest. The deeper they got, the darker it got, until soon, Sawain could not see a thing. Behind him, he heard the hissing zombies. Soon after that, he heard the sound of metal crashing against metal. The more he moved through the forest, the quieter it became, until, finally, all was silent.
Sawain sat down to catch his breath on what he hoped was a giant root. He looked around in the darkness for any traces of Jatharr. He didn’t see any. He called out in a quiet voice.
“Jatharr?”
There was no answer. He picked himself up, Marta in tow. He stumbled t
hrough the darkness until he noticed a faint glow amidst the trees. He crept his way closer, stepped over roots, and past vines. The pale indigo glow grew as he approached. He stepped into a clearing in the forest where the trees were not as thick.
The grove he stood in had beautiful ferns whose edges glowed with the pale indigo color. Vines that glowed with a faint violet light hung down from the canopy to the ground. Sawain could barely see them in the indigo light. He stepped around them to get a better look at this beautiful place. A small pool of natural spring water adorned the edge of the grove. Small flowers with a deep crimson glow grew around it, their blossoms leaned toward the brilliant indigo glimmer the pool gave off.
That must be some of the water Jatharr told me about that makes the creatures here so tough. He said nothing would happen to us, but I wonder if he really knows that or not. I am really thirsty. Maybe I’ll risk it.
Sawain weaved through the vines, trying not to touch them. Something about them made him wary. He made it to the edge of the pool, sat Marta down, and propped her against a nearby tree. He placed his hand on the tree to straighten up. As soon as he touched it, two massive red and yellow eyes flashed open right in front of his face and made a loud clicking noise. Sawain jumped away from the tree, startled by the display. He stumbled back into one of the violet vines. It immediately wrapped itself around his waist, pinning his arms to his side as it coiled around him.
Panic shot through him as he struggled to break free. The more he struggled, the tighter the vine constricted him. He watched the pair of eyes nervously and cursed himself when they took flight, revealing themselves to be the wings of a large insect. It flitted off into the darkness of the forest.
Sawain felt himself being tugged upward. A drop of liquid spattered on his tunic sleeve. On contact with the material, it let off a faint sizzling sound. Sawain wrenched his neck upward. Directly above him, bound to a branch in the canopy, was a massive flower that unfolded itself after catching its prey. Six leathery petals stretched outward, revealing a glowing pattern of blue and pink, accentuated by dark violet spines that were glistening with some sort of liquid. Another drop of the stuff fell from the flowery maw and made contact with Sawain’s flesh, just under the front of his shirt. It burned like liquid fire. Sawain screamed and thrashed about as the acidic drop ate at his skin.
The world around him turned red as his rage boiled up in his desperation. Despite his increased strength, the vine held firm, getting tighter and tighter as it coiled around him. It lifted him off the ground. He screamed and thrashed like a wild animal, but it was no use. The more he thrashed, the more of the plant saliva rained down on him and burned him where it landed. It drew him higher and higher into the hungry maw. He strained and growled angrily as he came closer and closer to the deadly flower.
Sawain heard a twang and a sharp whistle. He fell through the air and crashed to the ground. He writhed and kicked until the constricting vine was off of him. He gasped for breath as he staggered to his feet, still ready for a fight. He picked up his sword and growled menacingly. He heard another twang. His sword was knocked from his hand by an arrow that struck the cross guard.
“The next one goes between your eyes if you make another hostile move.”
Sawain did not recognize the voice. It was wild, old, and authoritative. His rage cooled as he remembered he was in the territory of the Alfhaven elves. He sank to his knees, panting for air. His muscles burned, and so did his skin. He could see discolored marks on his arms where the vine dug into him. He looked up to see a dozen elves in leather armor and mottled garb. Their dark hair was wild, sticking out in every direction. It fell to their shoulders. Their night-piercing eyes reflected the indigo light of the glade eerily. They all had bows drawn and trained on Sawain. They also wore a look on their faces that begged Sawain to make a move.
One of the elves strode forth from the darkness. He had a curved longsword in hand. His dress was somewhat different from the others. He wore the same mottled clothing, but his armor was made of metal. It had the unmistakable gleam, though it was completely darkened by some sort of stain. He wore a pair of gauntlets that appeared to be made of tree bark. His boots were dark and were covered in stained metal plates. A hooded cloak was draped over his shoulders as well. Sawain could not tell the color in the pale light. He could not make out his face, but he could see the reflective glow in his eyes.
This elf was obviously the leader of the hunting pack. He strode over to Sawain and deftly placed his blade against his throat. Sawain did not dare move a muscle as the elf examined him silently. The tip of the blade moved up to the side of Sawain’s face. He felt the cold steel push his hair back. Finally, the elf spoke again.
“You’re an outsider to this place. Half-bred, too, by the look of it. Why are you in Alfhaven, man-elf?”
The derogatory name stung Sawain. He grit his teeth and tried not to let it show. He glanced around him again. He saw no sign of Jatharr and no hope of escape. Even if he managed it, he assumed these native-born elves would track him in an instant.
“I am Sawain of Anvilheim. I come bearing ill news. An army of the dead has cut across Anvilheim and is wreaking havoc on the land. They are destroying everything they come across. I have seen them with my own eyes. They are even in the forest as we speak.”
This revelation was met with snide laughter. The leader held up a hand to silence it.
“The undead are no threat to us here, man-elf. This forest is impenetrable by outsiders. They would not make it far before falling prey to the plants and animals in the tangle. Even if they made it close to the Heart of the Forest, they would be struck down by the Arborgard. I assure you we have nothing to worry about here. You, however? I’m afraid you do.”
Sawain furrowed his brow. This unfair treatment roused the fire in his chest.
“I may be half-elf, but I still share a bloodline with the elves of Alfhaven. My mother was a thrall who was stolen from the forest. I demand fair treatment.”
The elf’s blade dropped for a moment. Sawain allowed a fleeting feeling of hope pass into his heart. It was vanquished when the cold flat of the elf’s blade struck him hard on the cheek. Sawain spat out blood from the puncture wound in his mouth and looked up at the elf with the growing fire of rage in his eyes. Red filled his vision and clouded his judgment. He began growling like a feral beast at the elf. The elf hummed to himself.
“Interesting. Very well, man-elf. You want to be treated fairly? You are hereby under arrest by the authority of the Triumvirate on the charges of trespassing and taking aggressive posture against rangers of the Alfhaven border. You will appear before the Triumvirate to plead your case. Get on your feet, you’re coming with us.”
Chapter 2
Sawain planted his right foot firmly in the earth and kicked off, launching himself at the leader of the elves. He knocked the blade away from him with his right arm and threw a punch at the elf with his left fist. His punch missed as the elf shifted away from the assault. Sharp pain shot from the back of Sawain’s skull and his vision went dark.
Sawain opened his eyes. He was moving. The back of his head ached. He saw streaks of pale glowing light dart into and out of his vision. His sight regained focus and he noticed the dark outlines of trees rushing past him on either side. He was jostled roughly, like the time Syd tried to teach him to ride a horse.
He realized he was being carried as his senses returned to him. He was slung across someone’s shoulder, but he could not see his captor. His wrists were tightly bound together by some sort of rope. He began to struggle in a panic. The one carrying him halted and skidded to a stop. Sawain was tossed to the ground. He hit the hard surface on his back. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the murky darkness of the forest.
His captor was one of the elven rangers. His eyes glowed menacingly in the phosphorescent glow of the fungi growing on the trees around them. Sawain tried to get to his feet, but his ankles were bound by the same cords that bound his wrists. H
e tried to shuffle away from the ranger, but did not get far before he reached the edge of the platform they were on.
He felt the mossy wood against his palms as he stared into the dark abyss beyond the edge of the massive tree bough he was on. He heard the ranger’s voice cut through the darkness like a knife.
“Better watch your step, man-elf. It’s quite a drop to the forest floor from up here.”
Sawain heard rustling in the trees around him and the sounds of boots on the wooden surface. The familiar voice of the cloaked ranger captain reached Sawain as he was lifted off of the ground and set on his feet.
“That was a stupid stunt you pulled back there, man-elf. I doubted your intelligence, since you were stupid enough to enter the forest of your own accord, but attacking the captain of the Border Rangers? I did not imagine you were insane.”
Sawain pivoted on his heels once the strong hand let go of his collar. He came face to face with the captain. At this proximity, he could easily make out the elf’s features. His face was chiseled and angular. His eyes flashed a turquoise glare in the forest’s dim natural glow. A patch of dark hair covered his chin in a neatly trimmed goatee. Sawain found his ability to speak again.
“I am not stupid, nor am I insane. I came to the forest for help and was greeted with aggressive force. My mother always spoke of the pride of our people and their kindness. Things must have really changed around here since she left.”
The captain scowled, “More than you can imagine, man-elf.”
Sawain’s temper flared at being called ‘man-elf’.
“Stop calling me that! I am Sawain, son of Skalda. I am a hero of Anvilheim and demand to be treated as such!”
The elf’s eyes narrowed on him, “You want to be treated as a hero of Anvilheim, Sawain, son of Skalda?”
The ranger captain moved so fast, Sawain barely had time to flinch. The air rushed from Sawain’s lungs as the elf’s fist slammed into his diaphragm. The loss of air and sharp pain of the blow sent Sawain to his knees. He hit the bough’s surface and the elf lashed out with a deft kick to the side of Sawain’s face.