Dragonhammer: Volume I

by Conner McCall

  “Nothing,” I say quietly, anxious to get out of the situation. “I need to go get some sleep. I suggest you do the same.”

  Then I turn around and leave her in the courtyard.

  She pretends that the scene never happened. She does revert back to her old self, but she’s much less aggressive. She apparently meant her apology.

  “Hello,” she says with a slight smile as she passes me at breakfast, wearing her steel armor proudly.

  “That was weird,” James observes. “What happened?”

  “We had a little talk,” I say before taking a bite of meal.

  “Like a… talk?” he says as he punches his fist into his open palm.

  I shake my head. “A little different.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “A… talk?” he repeats, making a kissy face.

  I shudder and he laughs. “Heavens no,” I reply quickly. “She… apologized.”

  “Really?” says Percival.

  “Yes. We sort of… settled our differences,” I say.

  “Right,” says James. I roll my eyes and take a large drink.

  Genevieve comes back to our group and says, “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

  Everybody raises their eyebrows. James’s jaw drops.

  “I haven’t treated you fairly, and I’m sorry,” she continues. “What are your names?”

  It takes my friends a moment to compose themselves and answer her. Naturally, Percival is the first to recover.

  “I’m Percival.”

  “Jericho.”

  “I’m Nathaniel, Kadmus’s brother,” says my sibling, holding my shoulder.

  She looks to James. “You, soldier?”

  He smiles slightly. “James. My name’s James.”

  She nods. “I’ll do my best to remember. I’ll see you for training after breakfast.” Then she walks away.

  “That was really weird,” says James once she’s out of earshot.

  “Told you,” I say. “I wonder how training will be.”

  We meet in the training grounds in the southeastern part of the city, where stands a tall barracks against the city wall. A large courtyard, with the floor made of large stone tiles, lies in front of it. Stripes of dirt and grass line the courtyard and it is on these stripes that practice dummies are set up. A long dirt track runs along one side, where men bearing lances and spears ride horses into dummies at the end. We stand in the middle of the courtyard, subject to all the heat from the sun. The season is waxing, and though there is still some time until summer, the days are warm. The armor only traps the heat and exhausts us.

  Training goes well. Genevieve tests us each individually, teaching us different moves and techniques. I, Jericho, and Percival are each well-suited to this because we’ve already seen some battle and survived. We learn quickly. James, however, takes some extra help.

  Though she has changed for the better, her fiery attitude is still there. She pushes him as far as he will go, which isn’t far because he’s still recovering from the fracture in his arm. Still, he manages to learn and grasp concepts and techniques that will save his life.

  Jericho has a different trainer because of his axe and shield. Genevieve trains with a sword, and so Percival and James are each able to learn from her, though each carry shields. I and Nathaniel work with somebody by the name of Dorgr.

  Though I am, in his words, “a mighty warrior by instinct,” he is still able to teach me some useful tips and skills with the warhammer that I did not know before. I absorb the information and cling to it.

  All of us take a training class to teach us proper blocking, with and without a shield. As they teach us, I find that I had already been using some of the techniques and tricks.

  “Very good!” I hear Genevieve say as James blocks another hit and lunges at her. They’re using wooden swords, so as not to kill each other. “But not good enough!”

  She hits one of James’s legs and he drops to a knee. Then she holds the sword to his head. After a moment of triumph, she lowers the wooden sword and offers her hand to him. Reluctantly he takes it and she helps him up.

  “Good job today!” she compliments the entire group. “But we’ll have to see if it’s enough to keep you alive. You’ll have to work harder than that to keep yourself from dying in a fight. You are dismissed.”

  “I like this new Magnus,” says James once he thinks she’s out of earshot. “She’s still kind of mean, but she has a heart now.”

  Percival raises an eyebrow at him.

  “Oh, come on!” James says. “You don’t seriously think that-”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Percival interrupts quietly. James shakes his head as Percival turns away.

  On our way back into the Acropolis, James says so only I can hear, “I’m going to go for her if you’re not.”

  “Good luck,” I mutter. He gives me a sheepish grin.

  Yep. He’s still James.

  THe messenger returns

  Jarl Hralfar summons me to the council room ten days later.

  “We have received a reply,” he says before I can ask the question. Genevieve stands on his other side.

  “And?” I ask. “What is it?”

  “Read,” he says, handing me the parchment.

  The letter is written in spiky handwriting; Swordbreaker himself must have written it. It reads:

  Servants of Gilgal:

  I am of no mind to put myself in any situation that would destroy me or my soldiers without gain. Neither am I inclined to engage in any battle in which I believe the odds to be against me. That is why, however, I have decided to accept your challenge.

  As you read this I am marching to Fort Rugoth across the Rutgar Plains. We will meet on the plains half a league east of the fort. If you do not come, I will wreak destruction on all the land you have worked so hard to protect. My armies will destroy you and your fortresses, kill all in their path, raze your farms, and leave your wives destitute. By accepting I am giving you a chance to save yourselves and your people by simply sacrificing one of your soldiers to mine.

  I hereby agree to the terms previously discussed. Upon my victory all members of the clan of Gilgal will owe to me one half of all of their increase, to be spent furthering the war and destruction in the west against your beloved ally Mohonri and its leader Archeantus. If this tax is not met, all of the aforementioned penalties will befall you and you will be destroyed. I expect you to honor the agreement you have presented before me. I do not wonder at what has urged you to make such an offer, but I am gratified that you have seen sense and wish to end the bloodshed before more of your lives are lost.

  In addition I expect a full withdrawal from the war when my champion stands victorious. You are to have no military with which to hinder my victory in the west. You are not to trade in any way, be it food, weapons, or any other good, with Mohonri or any of its allies. Your farms are to sustain my armies and none else. If you break this agreement, the aforementioned consequences will befall you with no mercy.

  I recognize the second part of the agreement. In the case that your champion does rise victorious, we will withdraw fully from the war, but I refuse to impart any of my increase to you. Also, I reserve the freedom to trade whatever I will, with whomever I will. This will not be a problem for us, I trust.

  I am Lucius Swordbreaker, Jarl and Lord of the clan Tygnar. I have spoken my word and will not take back what I have spoken. My word is order. My word is law. Upon the dawn of that day, I will rise victorious over you. Gilgal will lie beneath my feet. All will look up to me and know their lord and ruler. Meet me there or meet your destruction.

  Lucius Swordbreaker

  “It worked,” I mutter.

  “Yes,” smiles the Jarl. “It did.”

  I look up from the letter. “We have to march. As soon as we can set out. Gather all the men we can and march for Fort Rugoth.”

  “I’ve already sent messengers out,” replies the Jarl. “We march for Rugoth upon the morrow.”
<
br />   “But we’re grossly outnumbered!” I say. “We’ve got what- over a thousand men? What have they got? They had four thousand in this city alone!”

  “I’ve also called out for reinforcements,” he says. “I’ve explained our situation through letters to Jarl Kjunn. He fully supports us and is coming through the Kindred Forest with an army of at least three thousand. He’s also bringing reinforcements from Thrak numbering at least two thousand, leaving the city still guarded by more than three thousand men.”

  “When will they be there?” I ask.

  “As the crow flies, they are closer to Fort Rugoth than we are. However, they do have to traverse through the Kindred Forest, which will slow them down a little. They should reach the plains about the same time that we do, if not a day or two after.”

  “Why are we worrying about reinforcements?” asks Genevieve. “Isn’t this going to be a one-on-one fight?”

  “Let’s just say that Lucius is a little bit of a sore loser, so to speak,” the Jarl explains. “We need to be prepared in case he refuses to honor the deal.”

  He will, I think, but I do not utter it.

  “Then we are dead men!” argues Magnus. “Against all of the Tygnar force in one place!”

  “No we’re not,” I say. “We’ve got surprise. They are not expecting to lose.”

  “Neither are we,” she argues. “I am afraid we go to our doom.”

  “Have faith,” I say. “We will return alive and victorious.”

  I tell my posse about the plan, and they all stand behind me.

  “About time!” Jericho says. “I’ve been sitting here too long doing nothing!”

  “You’re talking,” retaliates James. “I haven’t been able to fight with you for a month and a half.”

  “It’s coming soon,” Percival mutters. “Too soon.”

  The next morning we march, fully clad in armor, through the back gate of the city, across the bridge, and down the plateau on the opposite side. The forest ends quickly and we are walking across the plains.

  The road to Fort Rugoth is plain, much like the one to Amgid, but without the trees. Large moss-covered boulders stick up out of the ground like the Wolfpack Mountains, leagues to the west, are trying to spread their domain. I’ve never seen terrain so flat, especially as expansive as this.

  The Kindred Forest covers the hills about a league to our right, several leagues thick. The hills are rocky and some are dangerous, with tall cliffs and precarious high places. Always the forest stays within sight, but we never enter.

  We set up camp to the left of the road, so as to stay away from the trees that may house malicious individuals or armies.

  Genevieve sits at our campfire, next to me. I’m slightly uncomfortable with the situation because of what had happened at the Acropolis, but she does not try anything. At least directly.

  She asks James, Jericho, and Percival what she had asked me: what their story is. They merely wanted to end the scourge and help our side win, they said. Seeming to have fulfilled her purpose there for the night, she strides off without a backwards glance. It strikes me as slightly peculiar.

  The next day, James asks us while we are walking, “What do you think of the new Magnus?”

  Percival raises an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I mean, she’s changed, hasn’t she? What made her do that? And do you think it’s for the better?”

  “I don’t think it matters,” he responds. “She’s our commander. The end.”

  “As far as you’re concerned,” James mutters under his breath.

  “I think it’s just because you haven’t seen a girl in a while,” I say.

  “I have!” he argues. “I’ve seen them around the cities we’ve lived in!”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t know any of them,” I say coolly. “You do know Magnus.”

  “Are you suggesting that-”

  “That what James?” Jericho asks with a funny look. Jericho looks at him quizzically.

  “Nothing,” says James. “It’s nothing.”

  When Jericho turns his head with a roll of the eyes, I mutter to James, “It’s certainly nothing if you’re defending it.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You know exactly what I’m saying.”

  He gives me a horrendous I’m-gonna-kill-you-look.

  “You know it,” I say with finality.

  We continue our march in silence.

  Commander Magnus stays at our campsite a little longer that night. I’m studying James as we sit, and I find that this is not merely a game he’s playing.

  I trade a few looks with him silently while he and a few others carry on a conversation of some kind or another. He gets irritated very quickly, and once Genevieve leaves, he and I both stand.

  “I know it,” he says quietly as he brushes past me. I give him a little triumphant smile.

  Within the next few days Jarl Hralfar talks to me in camp. “Captain,” he begins. “We are nearing the spot designated for the battle to commence. We will reach it tomorrow.”

  “What is the plan?” I ask. “I’ve never done one of these before.”

  “Tygnar will back themselves to their fort, most likely. They will keep their army out, no doubt. We will stand about a quarter of a mile away, and then we will each send out our champion, and they will fight. You know what happens from there.”

  “Do you know anything about their army or the champion they may have?” I ask.

  “I do not,” he responds. “Tygnar is a clan bred for war. They have many mighty warriors. I fear that the worst mistake we can make is to underestimate them, or overestimate ourselves.”

  The next morning, the fort comes into sight. Instead of following the road to Fort Rugoth, however, we walk to the left of the path and into the plain. A halt is ordered when we reach the designated spot.

  Immediately we set up camp. The air is tense and no one speaks, but to issue or answer commands.

  The Tygnar army sits camped at the foot of their fort. We see them clearly, as they can see us.

  Within an hour or two of our arrival, a messenger comes bearing the white flag of parley. Knowing the Jarl would summon me, I simply follow the messenger, who is riding atop a chestnut horse.

  “Lord Swordbreaker requests an audience,” says the messenger. “Bring no guards, and he will bring none. Bring only two of your most trusted advisors. He will be waiting at midday.” Then the messenger rides off.

  The Jarl chooses me and Genevieve. Together we walk out towards the fort, and find three lone figures standing midway between our army and Fort Rugoth. As we come closer, I see that the ones on the left and right are each wearing orange plumes and capes with their armor, but the middle, the tallest of them, wears a black cape ornamented with orange. His plume is striped like a tiger. His armor looks thicker and heavier, but more powerful and stolid as well.

  We stop about ten steps away from them. Then the middle one removes his helm.

  His hair is black like shadow. His eyes are the same color, but cold and cruel. His face is long and sallow, with high cheekbones and a pointed chin. He has not shaved in a few days, so his dark beard is only beginning to grow out.

  “Jarl Swordbreaker,” greets Hralfar. “I am glad to see you saw fit to accept our challenge.”

  “Hralfar,” says Swordbreaker slowly. His voice is deep and malevolent. “I am glad you saw fit to issue this challenge.”

  “As long as we are both happy,” mutters Hralfar.

  “Of course,” Lucius hisses.

  “What have you called us here to discuss?” asks Hralfar, already knowing the answer.

  “I have called you to finalize the terms of our agreement,” he sneers. “You obviously have received my letter, and have come, so you have agreed to those terms?”

  “More or less,” Hralfar answers.

  “Do you know who your champion will be?”

  Hralfar makes no sign that it could be me. “I have an ide
a,” he says darkly.

  “Send him out at midday tomorrow at the sound of the horn. They will meet here, where we are standing.” He gestures to the field around us. “And here they will do battle.”

  Hralfar nods. Then Lucius turns his attention to me. He eyes my left hand, where I am missing two fingers, and sizes me up. Then he spots the hammer hanging on my back. “Dragonhammer,” he says. “It is nice to meet you in the flesh.”

  “The pleasure is mine,” I seethe quietly. This is the man, I think. This is the one who ordered the attack. This is the villain responsible for the death of your Father.

  “I see,” he says quietly, scrutinizing every inch of me he can see. “Send your champion tomorrow,” he says. “I will speak to you when my warrior has his victory.” Then he turns and walks away with his two advisors.

  “I hope Jarl Kjunn gets here quickly,” Hralfar says. “Or we may be in very big trouble.”

  “We shall have a tournament,” announces the Jarl when we get into camp. “To see who our champion shall be. All those who are willing may come forth. Meet me and Commander Magnus at the Council Tent, and we shall begin there.”

  I give the Jarl an odd look as he passes. “Part of the plan,” he says. “We must allow every man the chance.”

  I make my way to the designated tent and find only a select few soldiers there. My friends stand with me.

  The soldiers give me wide-eyes looks as they see me walk towards the tent. “Dragonhammer,” I hear. “Dragonhammer.” Then they begin to back away.

  Soon I am left alone at the front of the tent with Jarl Hralfar and Commander Magnus. Even my friends have backed up to the line of soldiers, each giving me various nods and thumbs-up.

  “Is no one willing?” asks the Jarl.

  “It is Dragonhammer,” says one of the soldiers. “He is the mightiest of us all. If he does not win this battle, then no one will.” Other soldiers add their similar testimonies, nodding in agreement.

  The Jarl gives me a solemn look. “Then the burden is yours, if you are willing to bear it.”