Hammerhold Tales: Thrallborn (4 page)

Axel nodded slowly. He glanced at Kyra, then at Rylie, who had joined the group upon hearing the slave-born’s request. “What do you two think?”

Kyra crossed her arms and grinned. “I think we should keep him!”

Rylie chuckled, “Kyra just wants him as a pet. Just what we need: another youngster to trip over. Are you sure it’s not your hormones talking, Kyra?”

Kyra blushed visibly and pouted. “The only one being tripped over is you, squeaky!”

Axel laughed heartily as Rylie puffed up. Before he could retort, Axel broke in.

“Very well, Sawain Thrallborn, I hereby appoint you as shieldling of the Dawnstar Company. This means you are not much higher in rank than a thrall. You will eat, sleep, and work when I say. Your days will be full of labor and your nights full of training and study. I will take you as my protégé. Though I am your master, you must obey the other heroes of the company so long as they do not conflict with any of my orders. Once your training is complete, you will be tested. If you pass, you will be rewarded with a new name and the right to call yourself a hero, as well as a full-fledged member of the Dawnstar Company.”

Axel clapped Sawain on the shoulder. “Welcome to the Company. Now then, get these crates packed and load the horses up with as much loot as they can carry. It’s gonna be a long haul back to Anvilheim.”

Sawain gladly followed out the orders. For the first time in his life he was taking them as a free man. Yes, he had more or less signed away his free will to become a hero, but it was of his own choosing. That alone meant more to Sawain than all of the silver and gold in Anvilheim.

Chapter Four

The trip to Anvilheim was the best journey Sawain had ever taken. It was his first as a free man. He toted a crate full of silverware as he walked alongside Axel Rimebeard, his new mentor. They talked for nearly an hour about Sawain’s history. Axel asked many questions about his father, which Sawain hated to answer. He never wanted to say anything good about the man. If he did, he would say, “They called him a hero, but what kind of hero enslaves his own son?”

Sawain grew weary of talking about his past life. He had questions of his own for Axel.

“Tell me more about Anvilheim. They say it’s a city of stone and iron, with forges burning day and night. Is that true?”

Axel nodded, “Aye, laddie, it’s true. There are twenty one smithies in Anvilheim. Not all of them are weapon smiths, but most of them do specialize in weapons and armor. Some are blacksmiths that make the raw weapons, from yer average longsword, to blades that will one day be in the bard’s histories. There are even Mithril smiths that can put a deadly edge on any weapon.”

Sawain interrupted, “What's Mithril?”

Axel was staggered by the boy’s question. He ran his hand through his bushy beard and shook his head, “Bostovir’s Beard! You really are a sheltered one, aren’t you? There are creatures of great evil in this world. Some are naturally evil, while others are unnaturally evil. These unnaturally evil creatures were once regular folk who were corrupted by dark powers. Werewolves, vampires, the undead, these are only a few common examples. Mithril is the light of the gods in metal form. It can easily destroy the unnaturally evil creatures and is thus treasured by adventurers and heroes alike.”

Sawain scratched his head, trying to process this information. He had heard of werewolves. He thought they were just stories to scare children into going to bed or to take a bath.

“You’re testing me, aren’t you? There’s not really such a thing as werewolves are there? I mean, I know about dragons and orcs and gnolls, but werewolves? Vampires? Come on, Axel.”

“Oh, they’re real, laddie. I’ve killed my fair share of Lycans in my day. Alfhaven, east of here had a breakout a decade or two ago. They killed a lot of elves and a fair bit of heroes too. But we don’t have to worry about lycans much around here. No, our main threat is from the giants of the tundra to the north. They’ve been moving south for some reason.”

“What’s wrong with giants?” Sawain inquired.

Axel bristled at the question. His grip tightened around the sack he was carrying in one hand. “Tundra Giants are great stupid beasts that would just as soon step on you than say ‘good day’ to you. Most of them live in tribes of three to five, usually close relatives or mates. They are plunderers, squatters, savages, and brutes. They can’t grow their own food or make their own treasures. They are not welcome in Grosgur Fells.”

Sawain arched his eyebrows but didn’t say anything else about the matter. He assumed that Axel must have a good reason to hate the giants so much. He decided it would not end well if he pushed the topic farther. He decided to shift topics. As he opened his mouth to speak, he was stopped by the sight of Anvilheim rising to view as they climbed to the top of a hill.

It was an impressive stronghold city that spread out across the hilly country, its walls engulfing much of the landscape. The buildings beyond the wall were staggered in height, for some sat on hills while others rested in small valleys. A river cut its way through the city, entering at one barred gate in the wall. Buttressed towers stood along the wall like giant sentinels. The walls themselves were reinforced with black iron buttresses that gave the gray stone walls a foreboding ferocity. Columns of brown smoke rose in wisps throughout the city, creating a ring of haze above the stronghold. The building that sat above all others in the center of the city was a grand palace of marble and steel with a mixture of elvish and human architecture in its design.

The city sank beneath the horizon again as they descended the hill. Axel smirked at Sawain’s reaction to seeing the city for the first time.

“It’s a lot bigger than your farm, isn’t it, laddie?”

Sawain nodded weakly. “I didn’t know that strongholds were that big. I’ve never actually seen one. So many people…”

Sawain’s stomach twisted anxiously as he thought of the maze of buildings stretching on forever and people of all sorts. His breath shortened as he imagined a city full of harsh men like his father. His blood ran cold at the prospect of not being able to find a place to belong.

“Am I going to have somewhere to sleep? I don’t have any money. This was not well thought through.”

Axel laughed heartily and slapped Sawain across the back a little too hard, causing him to stagger forward.

“Relax, laddie. Ye have a bed in the Company Hall. Ye can have Errol’s bed. He won’t be needing it anymore anyhow!”

Sawain’s mind raced at the meaning of Axel’s cryptic words. Images of a man dying in an array of gruesome ways filled his psyche while he tried to keep from showing his discomfort on his face. Despite the implication of sleeping in a dead man’s bed, Sawain was relieved to know he would not be out on the streets.

Within the hour, the caravan of heroes approached the great gate of Anvilheim. It was the biggest door Sawain had ever seen. It was constructed of two large wooden half doors that were set into the stone wall. They were made of oak and banded with iron. They arched at the top, twenty feet from the ground. The doors of the gate looked to be four feet thick. They were currently open; the doors swung outwardly, welcoming travelers into the city like open arms welcoming an old friend.

The walls themselves reached thirty feet into the air and stretched in either direction for as far as Sawain could see. The walls were of Human design. They were solid, sturdy, intimidating. The iron pillars that braced the walls had carvings of great heroes on their surfaces. At the gate, massive runes were carved along the upper edge of the portal. Sawain recognized them as some sort of letters, but he could not read.

Sawain nudged Axel, pointing up to the characters, “Axel, what does that say up there?”

Axel’s face was a picture of puzzlement. “You mean you can’t read either? We have a long way to go with you, Sawain, my boy. It says
Aedro Eig Nie Stad Hir
. It’s Ald Tang for Fear Has No Place Here.”

“What’s Ald Tang?” Sawain asked.

The voice of Kyra lilted in Sawain’s ear from a few feet behind him, “Ald Tang means Old Tongue. It was the original language of the gods. The Mortal races could not speak in the beginning. We had no tongue of our own. Language was a dangerous weapon the gods did not want mortals to possess. Well, there was an elvish thief who wanted the power of language for her own. She sneaked into the palace of the gods and stole the Runestone, a magical stone that contained the Tongue of the gods. She used it and taught the leaders of the nine tribes its secrets. Thus the Ald Tang was passed down to mortals. When the gods learned of her treason, the elven thief was cursed. She and her tribe and all their descendants. The color was taken from their hair, their skin was turned to the color of midnight. Their eyes were cursed to not be able to see in natural light. They became the Dark Elves and they were forced underground, to live forever in the darkness of the earth.”

Axel chuckled, “That’s the story anyhow. Whether its origins are true or not, it was the first language of the nine tribes. Thank you for the History lesson, Kyra,” He added with a hint of aggravation.

“I thought it was a great story,” Sawain piped in, feeling the color rising in his cheeks.

Kyra was silent and Sawain was too embarrassed to look back. He quickly changed subjects, his mind ablaze with questions.

“What about these gates? How did they find trees big enough to make something like this?”

Rylie cut Axel off before he could answer. “There are trees in the rugged northlands that thrive in the frozen wastes. These Tundra Oaks can grow as tall as a hundred feet and as thick as twenty feet! They are the true kings of the Frostwylde. The first Segrammir of the city cut some down and brought them here himself. Or so the legend goes.”

Axel laughed cynically at Rylie.

“I'd believe Kyra's tale over that one, if I were you, lad. No one man can drag a Tundra oak hundreds of miles across frozen, giant infested wasteland. Least of all some human.

Rylie glared indignantly at Axel and puffed himself up to look more intimidating.

“You naysayer! Don't you know your history? They say the first Segrammir of Anvilheim, Segrammir Brunhimn, was descended from dragons!”

Axel dismissed the halfling with a nonchalant wave.

“Dragon-blood or not, no man can drag trees weighing thousands of pounds each across the Frostwylde!”

Rylie muttered under his breath, tucking his head down in a pout, “Shows what you know, stone kisser.”

Axel made no response to Rylie's feeble attempt at fight picking and spread his arms wide in a grand fashion.

“Enough story telling! Welcome to Anvilheim, Sawain! I hope ye like yer new home!”

The Dawnstar Company passed through the gate and into the actual city. It was not as crowded as Sawain had originally imagined. There were several houses and shops lined up and divided by cobblestone streets, but the streets were broader and the houses were not so close together. There was room between each house for a narrow alley or garden. Lanterns hung from iron posts along each side of the main street. Sawain marveled at the variety of shops and services on this avenue alone. Vendors hawked their wares, the scent of fresh baked bread tantalized Sawain’s senses, the clanging of hammers on metal rang in his ears.

Axel drew Sawain’s attention to a wooden building that was larger than the others. A sign hung down from above the door that featured a golden muscular arm flexing on a green background.

“That there is the Strongarm Tavern, laddie. Best prices in town, best stew as well. Lotsa travelers stop by to stay at the inn. Great place to pick up jobs and to brag about deeds well done. You do enough, and the resident bard might write a song about ye.”

“I have one about me,” Rylie interrupted, “The Brave Knight of Estburrow. It’s about the time I led the Estburrow Militia in defense of our village against an ogre that had a taste for Halfling meat.”

“Yes, we have all heard the tale,” Kyra butted in, “You pay the bard every week to sing it.”

Rylie puffed up indignantly, as his regular custom seemed to be. He opened his mouth to protest, hesitated, then closed it wordlessly. He slunk to the back of the caravan and the others chuckled at the Paladin’s honesty despite being humbled.

They followed the main street for a mile, passing all manner of shops and stalls and wealthy homes. Axel pointed out each prominent place along the way.

“That is Borik’s Forge. He makes the finest masterwork blades in town.”

“Jarael is a master silversmith. His forge is that open building there. He’s pretty pricey, though. You’d be better off goin’ to Maltheus for yer silver needs.”

“Hod’s Chop Shop has the freshest mutton in town. Can’t beat their prices either.”

Soon, they came upon a modest sized manor. To the left of the door, a wooden sign with an emblazoned star hung down. The house’s foundation was cobblestone and the walls were white with brown wooden supports accenting the architecture. Two bay windows protruded from the far ends of the front of the house. The roof was dark brown and shingled. It reminded Sawain of the guard’s barracks at Mistveil Farm. Axel approached the cast iron gate that encircled the manor and pushed it open, beckoning Sawain inside.

“Welcome to Dawnstar Headquarters, laddie. This is where ye'll be staying.”

Excitement filled every fiber of Sawain’s body. He had never slept in a real house before. He imagined a large bed with a down mattress and large plush pillows. He envisioned warm baths and meals of exotic cuisine three times a day. He pictured himself actually becoming fat. He had always wondered what that would feel like.

As he let his imagination run wild, he stepped into the main yard, which was simply a grassy lawn with hedges against the house, just under the windows. Axel led him and the rest of his team to the door. He smiled at Sawain and pushed the green door open.

Sawain was surprised at the inside of the house. The foyer of the manor opened up into a large main room that took up most of the manor. It was mostly empty, save for a rectangular table that stretched across the center. Fourteen chairs surrounded the table, six on each side and one at either end. There were two doors on the left and the right wall, just before the two stair cases that ran along either wall, connected at the top floor by an open, railed hallway. There were five doors visible on the second floor: Three on the far wall, and one on the left and right wall, at the top of the stairs. Sawain noticed the dark green carpet that covered the floor and stairs was worn and slightly ragged. The house was relatively empty, save a grizzled old woman in a blue dress. She was sitting at the end of the table, wrapped up in a white shawl that was yellowed with age.

“Ahhh, You have returned, Axel Rimebeard. I see Rylimadon Copperworth and Kyra Wyteskornr. Where have you left Sydarion and who is this nameless one you bring into our hall?”

Axel bowed respectfully to the old woman. Sawain looked around and noticed the others bowing as well. He quickly and awkwardly followed suit, staring at his toes while he did.