Dragonhammer: Volume I (4 page)

I ask Nathaniel if he notices anything, but he asks me what I’m talking about and continues moving.  I shrug off the feeling and it goes away.

Finally, we see one.  A deer.  It’s a buck with a good-sized rack, and it stands tall.  But there’s another:  a doe.  It’s rather small, and a good distance away from the buck.  Nathaniel nocks an arrow and takes aim.

I see a funny movement out of the corner of my eye.  As soon as I turn to see, Nathaniel fires.  The doe bounds across the clearing and the arrow enters her side; the buck takes off into the trees before I can blink.

Nathaniel gives me a look.  “What were you looking at?”

“The doe,” I answer.  “It was running at the buck.”  I look at where the doe fell.  “Why’d you shoot the doe?”

“You distracted me!  I was aiming for the buck!”

“You’re that easily distracted?”

“Apparently.”

I stare at him.  “Well,” I say, “at least you got something.”

He nods and says, “Come help me get it.”

It’s just a little doe, so both of us grab an end and carry it without too much trouble.  But by the time we make it to the Fravora, we’re exhausted.

After a minute or two of rest, we get to work.  Using my trap ropes, we lash some smaller logs together and make some sort of crude makeshift sled.  Then we work quickly on the deer, readying it for travel and getting rid of its insides.  We have to start home quickly, before the doe spoils.

We take turns pulling the sled like a handcart.  It doesn’t take us too long, though the trip home is obviously longer than the trip there.

Once we get home, Nathaniel takes the deer to the shed to skin it.  He prefers to butcher his own meats instead of paying the butcher to do it.  I help him with the whole process, and then set about the drying and salting.  It takes multiple hours.

It’s a good thing we got home when we did.  If we had been a day later, our family would not have been there to greet us.

THe War Comes to Us

A
loud crack starts me awake and I shoot out of bed.  Outside of my window I hear yells but when I go to investigate, my father roars “WAKE!  ATTACK!”

I throw myself away from the window and dress in record time, then rocket down the ladder (because my room doubles as the attic) and into the den where my Father was yelling from.  Mother is there with him, and my brothers quickly follow.  I smell and hear fire, and outside there’s an eerie orange glow.

“What’s going on?!” Nathaniel yells.

“Bandits,” says Father.  He’s holding his old sword, a great steel claymore he made for himself many years before.  Normally it hangs above our fireplace, but now he holds it ready.  “Kadmus, come with me.  Everyone else stay here.  Get into the cellar and lock the trapdoor.  You will be safe there.”

No one moves.

“NOW!” Father commands.  “Kadmus, get your throwing knives.”

“What?”

“You heard me, get them!”

I run back into my room and grab my five throwing knives, sticking them into little loops on my belt.  When I come back down, Father is coming out of the cellar.  He hands me a sword, saying, “You will need this.”  Then he helps my three brothers and Mother into the cellar.  He hands Nathaniel a sword similar to mine and commands, “Nathaniel, if anybody aside from me or Kadmus comes in this house you will use this.  Do you understand me?”  He is speechless.  “Do you understand me?”  Nathaniel nods slowly.  “Good.  Stay here until I return.”  Then he shuts the trapdoor and locks it.

“Kadmus,” he says, resting his hand on my shoulder.  “These people will try to kill you and your friends.  We cannot let that happen.  You have to use this.  Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.  Now follow me.”  We exit the house and lock the door behind us.

There’s fire.  Screaming.  Clanging, yells of men.

I run down the hill, close behind my father, holding the sword in my right hand while my left hovers over my throwing knives.  The stars are still out; it must be hours until dawn.

It’s not until we get into town that we see people.  Townspeople run screaming.  My father cuts down a shadowy figure and we keep running.  “Bownan!” he yells.  “Leon!” 

Another few figures come down the street at us.  Father puts them down with ease.  Suddenly one jumps at me from a side alley, and I stumble back in fright.  My father gets him from the back and says, “Come on Kadmus!”

“Bownan!” he yells again.  “Leon!”  A reply comes from behind a nearby building, which I recognize as Leon’s butcher shop.  We make our way there, where we see Leon and Bownan each with their own sword, cutting through the bandits.  They are accompanied by two guards.

“How many are there?” asks Father.

“We don’t know!” answers Bownan, his beard shaking.

“Too many!” replies Leon.

One of the guards responds, “Enough to stretch all of our forces across the town.”

“Where’s Captain Ruger?”

The second guard says, “We don’t know.  He gave orders and then ran to the bridge with some of our men.”

Percival and his father, Darius, appear out of the smoke.  Both are holding bows.

Darius speaks to my Father, “They came from the south, over the bridge.  They’ve taken the tower there and are shooting from it, killing anyone they can!”

“Who are they?” he asks.

“We don’t know; their armor is different from any I’ve seen before.”

“We need to know their numbers,” says Bownan.  “If there are only a few, we can stand our ground and fight.  If there are many, we must fall back and fight elsewhere.”

“Or retreat,” says Leon.

Jericho, a tall skinny boy my age, appears with his father.  His black hair is speckled with ash and his brown eyes dart perceptively over everything.  I nod to him, and he nods back.  Formal hellos are for another time.

“Darius,” says my father.  “The old tower to the north.  It has the war horn inside, at the peak.  From there you can see their numbers.  One blow for less than fifty.  Two blows for one hundred.  Three for anything more.”

Darius obeys without question.  “Come, Percival!”  Percival nods to me and then follows his father back up the street.

“What of us?” says Leon.

“We go to the town square,” says my Father.  “Get the women and children safe.”

With that we take off at a sprint, the guards close behind.

Bandits pop out of almost every alley.  Too often we pass the unmoving body of an innocent, slaughtered in cold blood.  With every one we pass, my blood boils a little hotter.  Men join our band, each bearing their own sword.

Once in the town square, we split into pairs; me and my father, Jericho and his father, and Leon and Bownan.  “Find and gather as many people as you can!  Return here!”

My father turns and kills another bandit.  As of yet, I have not even swung my sword.

Together we make our way down the street, helping the men in their fights and making sure women and children are safe in their homes.  In only minutes we return to the town square with a band almost thirty strong, and Leon and Bownan have done the same.  About fifteen additional guards have joined us.

“Where have they gone?” asks Father.

Everyone looks about warily.  “Have we won?” asks one of the men.

“Where have they gone…?” Father growls.

Some of them appear out of the darkness and into the street; at least twenty.  Then more.  Then we hear the horn blow.

It’s a loud, baritone horn.  The sound has a bit of a rattle in it, but a constant pure tone.

The bandits are set back slightly.  The first ends and a few long seconds pass.  Then it blows again.

My father’s face hardens.  “One hundred strong…” he mutters.  “Where did you come from?”

The bandits are overcoming their fear of the horn, and they begin a charge down the street at our force in the village square.  To our terror, the horn blows a third time.

Though we have little training, we fight for our homes.  It makes us strong, and we fight harder and stronger than they.  The small group of bandits tries to overcome our makeshift army, but they have little luck.

I get into a sword dance with one of the bandits.  Then there is an opening, and I take it.  I don’t realize what has happened until he is already dead.

I’m disgusted with myself.  Then a voice inside me says,
If you hadn’t, it would be you on the ground
.

Then the horn blows.  Father looks in unbelief to the north, where the tower stands on the mountainside.  “Four blows…” he says.

He looks back towards the approaching bandits and says, “This is no bandit raid.  There is an army upon us.”  He looks about frantically for a moment, and then yells, “STAND STRONG, MEN!  STAND!”  The men look about in fear.  Then he faces me.  “Kadmus,” he says.  “My son.  Go, get your mother and brothers, and make for Terrace.”

“What?”

“Go!”

“Not without you.”

“Son, my place is here to protect you and our family.  Get them to safety!  Go now!” then he turns to talk to Leon, Bownan, and Jericho, I’m assuming to say the same thing.  They run off in different directions.

I run.  Everyone who crosses my path, I tell them what my father told me.  Get your women and children and get out.  The town is lost.

When I open the trapdoor in my home, Nathaniel about stabs me.  I almost reprimand him, but instead say, “There is an army upon us.  We have to leave.  Now.”

I help everyone out of the cellar and all of us get what we need.  Mother takes some persuasion because she refuses to leave Father.

“He said that his place is there to protect his family,” I retaliate.  “He gave me the job to get you to safety.  So that is what I am doing.”

In minutes, we are headed out the door and on the road to Terrace.  Once safely out of the town, I tell them to keep going.  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.  Don’t stop for anything.  You can’t let them catch you.”

Our family wasn’t the only one who had that idea.  There are a few families fleeing the town, made possible only because the fathers are standing in the way of the encroaching army.

I run past them all.  I will not leave without my father.

I follow the sound of fighting and make my way to the center of the brawl.  Sure enough, there stands my father swinging his sword, along with the others.

“Are they safe?” he says.

“Yes.”

“Good!  Are other families making it out?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Only about thirty.”

He nods.  “They will not kill all civilians.  If they stay in their homes they will be safe.”

“If we leave will they follow us?”

“Most likely not out of the city.  This army was not meant for us, however.  It is meant for Terrace.”

“Then they will follow.”

“Yes.  They will march on Terrace.”  He turns and kills another soldier before yelling, “RETREAT!  RETREAT!  WE MAKE FOR TERRACE!”

“Some of the families have not had time!” I reason.  “What will befall them?”

He answers, “Tygnar will not kill them all.  They will need to keep workers for the farms and fields.  Whether they run or not is their choice.”

The men turn and run.  Their numbers have been cut drastically.  For many families, this will have been the last time they have seen their father.

“What can we do?” I ask.  “There must be something!”

My father shakes his head.  “Live to fight another day, my son.”

The army does not follow us.  We bought enough time to get most of the families out.  Not all, however, will get to see the next dawn.

We catch up with our families quickly.  My father, as well as a few of the others, tallies the living.  The numbers are excruciating.  I find Percival and Darius with their family, a little beaten up, but okay.  James and his sister Jessica are fine as well.  Jericho has a bandage wrapped around his left arm and another wrapped tightly around his head, covering his right eye.  He sits in the back of a cart pulled by an ox.  Frederick has fled with us, though the soldiers are likely too superstitious to kill any of the priests or desecrate the temple.

The dawn is blood red.  Streaks of scarlet stream across the sky and pool together in large clouds.  Most of the sounds are simply wails of the mourning.

The guards of Terrace appear more than slightly alarmed when they see most of the population of Virfith on their doorstep.  The commanding authority quickly makes himself present and commands the doors open the second he sees the multitude beneath him.  Then he exchanges some words with the guards and disappears.

Families trail into the city, congregating in the large space behind the front gate.  Guards block the streets.  The officer reappears on top of the gate and asks to speak to our leader.  When no one else does, my Father steps forward.

“Why have you come?” asks the officer.

“We were attacked,” Father says blankly.  “Tygnar from the east.  We come seeking refuge and to provide warning.  The army they brought was not for Virfith; it’s to mount an attack on Terrace and destroy Gilgal.”

The officer nods and says, “Where is Captain Ruger?”

“He did not return.”

He nods again and says, “Keep the people here.  I will return.”  Then he sets off at a quick pace and out of sight.

“Will we stay with Gunther?” Ethan asks.

My father does not respond, so I shrug.

An uncomfortable hubbub overtakes the crowd.  Residents of Terrace are gathering on the other side of the wall of guards, just to see what’s going on.

After what must have been an hour, the officer returns and stands in his spot on the wall.  Then he says, “By order of Lord Jarl Hralfar, all able men of Gilgal at least of age fifteen are to report to Nringnar’s deep.”  The hubbub gets louder.  “Tygnar is upon us and we must defend ourselves.  Bring only what you need.  You will be expected to be there within the hour.”  This time he stays on the wall and issues orders to a few of the guards. 

Nobody moves.  The officer notices this and says, “Those who do not comply will be taken forcefully.”  He gestures to the wall of guards.  “If you do not protect yourselves, then who will?”  Then he disappears for the last time.

My mother is in shock.  Every member of my family is looking at her, but for Nicholas, who is staring wide-eyed at my father.  Then she moves and embraces Father.

“You know I have to,” he says.

She only sobs into his shoulder.

There’s a similar experience that Nathaniel and I both get.  She tells us how much she loves us and many tears are shed.  Just about every family in the city must be having a comparable experience.

Nathaniel and I each embrace Ethan and Nicholas.  Father just picks up the latter and squeezes him.  “Take care of your mother,” I hear him whisper.  Nicholas nods.