Dragonhammer: Volume II (12 page)

Brother

“
M
oh theg mai nur
,” I repeat.  “That’s what he said before he fell.”

“It’s definitely the ancient tongue,” Aela says.  “But I don’t know how to speak it.”

We sit at the table in the dining hall of the castle, but I am not feasting.

Jericho lies unconscious in the infirmary.  Last I heard, his pulse was light and he had lost a lot of blood.  Right now the healers are working on getting water into his body, and they assure me he will live, but his right thigh is broken horribly.  Percival sits across from me now, filling his stomach like the rest of the soldiers are doing.

Ullrog eats the same way he fights:  viciously.  He tends to go for the meats rather than the fruits or breads, and his fangs tear the food violently.  Every minute or two, he wipes his mouth with his enormous forearm.

“Don’t let it bother you,” Percival says, his mouth half-full.  “It probably doesn’t mean anything.”

“That’s not what is bothering me,” I reply.

“Then what is?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say quietly. 

Nathaniel’s fork clicks softly on his plate, drawing my gaze.  His lamb and potatoes remain untouched.

“What’s the matter?” I whisper.

He shakes his head.

I nudge his shoulder with my own.  “Come on, brother.  You can tell me.”

He glances at me quickly with welling eyes.  Then they lock securely on his dinner.

I take a deep breath.  “I’m done,” I say, standing slowly.  “It’s… it’s been a long day.  I need an early night.”

Nathaniel says nothing, but rises with me.  Aela gives me an odd look as I leave, but Percival seems to understand and silently consents.

We exit the dining hall and turn down a blank sandstone hallway.  We say nothing until we turn right and enter a hall similar to the one Jericho had fallen in.  The windows lie on our right, and as we look out I can see the sleeping city underneath a vast indigo sky.  The stars are bright.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he whispers, leaning partway out of a window.  “I can’t.”

I only nod.  “None of us want to be here.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to be here,” he says looking at me.  “I said that I can’t.”

“Why not?” I coax softly.

“Do you know how many people I killed today?” he retorts quietly, staring blankly out at the city.

I shake my head, though it was a rhetorical question.

“Twenty-two,” he says, making eye contact once again.  His face crumples and he looks out at the sky as tears begin to fall.  “Twenty-two homes that will find themselves fatherless.  Twenty-two homes that will receive condolences that their father will never return.”  He gasps for air between sobs.  “I wonder how many of them had sons or daughters.  Are their wives and children in this city, waiting for them to return?”

I stare down at the quiet city.  Guards patrol the streets with torches.  A few house windows are still lit, firelight flickering behind closed wooden shutters.  Several men are at work, removing the bodies from the streets.  Blood has dried between the cobblestones and in the gutters.

When I do not answer, he chokes and continues, “Twenty-two mothers that will find themselves just like ours.”  His voice cracks and he looks down.  Then the sobs overtake him.

I put my arm around him and pat his shoulder tenderly.  No words come to mind.  All I can do is hold him.

He forces himself to stop, and then says.  “I looked into the eyes of the last man I killed.”  He looks up at me with his bloodshot eyes.  “Before my weapon hit, I saw only terror.  I saw someone that was helpless.  That could do nothing to protect himself or his family.  Then I killed him.”  He begins to break down, but pushes his emotions away and continues, “How could I do that?  How?”  His voice trails off and another tear falls.  “I looked at him after… after what I had done.”  I nod slowly.  “He had panic and fear frozen on his face.  His eyes were open.  The light had gone from them but they still seemed to ask me why.”

“I have learned not to look,” I confess quietly.

“How do you live with it?” he asks.

“I would not be standing here tonight if I had not killed the men that I have,” I reply.  He looks back out at the sky.  “You would not be standing here if you had not killed him.”

He nods.  “I want to go back, Kadmus.  I want it all to go away so everything can go back to the way it was.”

“As do I,” I whisper.

Suddenly he asks me a question I definitely did not expect.  “Do you know why I wanted you to come hunting with me?”

“No,” I reply.

“Because you’re my brother,” he answers.  “I wanted to spend some time with you.”

I nod, recalling the words my father had spoken to me concerning the same subject. 
He looks up to you, Kadmus.  They all do.

“It is the greatest decision I’ve ever made,” he says.  “That was the last time I truly spent time with you.  Ever since, this war has been driving a wedge between us.  All of our time is spent fighting, planning a fight, waiting to fight, or marching to a fight.  I don’t get to spend time with you anymore, or anyone else for that matter.”

“I’m sorry,” I reply.  “I didn’t realize.”

“I miss it so much.  I want to wrestle my brothers, go on hunting trips, take a trip to Terrace, and race barrels down the hill…”

I smile.  “Mom hates it when we do that.”

He grins, tears still piling in his eyes.  “That’s part of what made it so fun.”

I chuckle and after a moment my smile fades.  “I’m sorry,” I comfort.  “I want it too.”  I lean out the window next to him.  “Do you realize that if we had been a day or two later coming back from that trip, there wouldn’t have been a home to come back to?”

His eyes narrow.  “No,” he says.  “I suppose I hadn’t.”

“The war came to us,” I mutter.  “No one wants it.”

“No matter how much I want to go back,” he says, “I can’t.  Even if I survive this war, I can’t go back to hunting and wrestling and rolling barrels down hills.”

“You may yet, Nathaniel,” I answer.  “You may yet.”

“I don’t see how,” he says.  Then he straightens and walks away, dabbing his eyes with his sleeve.

I sigh, staring up into the stars.  “Please,” I beg to the night.  Without knowing what I am begging for, I repeat, “Please.”

The next day, I stand in a large room with Jarl Hralfar and Commander Magnus.  A few other leaders are there, both from our army and the Tygnar army, but I do not recognize them.

An armored Tygnar officer steps forward.  He’s tall and skinny with a short pointy beard extending from his chin, but his lip and cheeks are clean-shaven.  His face is long and noble, with a hawk-like nose.  Wavy black hair covers the top of his head.  His armor is rounded and silver, with a large orange scorpion emblazoned in the middle.  The cloak strapped to his shoulders is yellow.  He states, “Our leader is dead.  Titus Swordbreaker had three children, but none of them are yet of age.  The eldest will come of age in ten years, and during that time, I, Mavon Vaelus, Jarl of the Southern Cities, by popular vote of the high council, will become acting Lord Jarl of Tygnar until that time.  As the highest authority, I begin the council of the treaty.”

We then take our seats at the long table and the council begins.

Mavon Vaelus sits at the head of the table, and Hralfar sits at the other end.  I sit on Jarl Hralfar’s right side, with Commander Magnus across from me.

Jarl Vaelus, I find very quickly, is most definitely not anything like either Swordbreaker that I knew.  Though he has good qualities, he is still stubborn and a little brash.

The council is unexciting and tedious.  The Jarls take a while to work out all of the details, and by the time we’re done an hour or two later, we’ve only come up with a draft of the first section of the treaty.  I make a mental note to excuse myself from any other treaty councils.

“How long until we leave?” I ask Hralfar on the way out.

“Only until the treaty is complete,” he replies.  “It shouldn’t take too long.  Only a day or two more.”

“Then we go west?”

“Most likely.  I sent a messenger to Lord Jarl Archeantus as soon as the city was ours, but I hope to be in Fragruss before we receive a reply.”

“Good.  I don’t want to stay here longer than I have to.”

“Neither do I,” he agrees.

Suddenly I ask, “Jarl, do you know anything of the ancient tongue?”

“I know some.  Why?”

“Because Titus spoke it before he died.”

“What did he say?”

“
Moh theg mai nur
,” I say, imitating the inflections I had heard Titus utter before he jumped.

The Jarl’s brow furrows.  “It’s not bad or dangerous…” he says.  “But… they’re fitting for his last words.”

“You know what it means?”

“From what I know,” he says, “it means ‘I come to you Father.”

I nod.  “Fitting indeed.”

There’s much more roiling in my head than simply those two words.

I walk into the bunkrooms and see Ullrog sitting contemplatively on his bed.  James and Nathaniel are both asleep, and Percival is reading something, most likely a letter from Serena.  I leave him alone and sit on the bed across from Ullrog.

He’s wearing a dirty white tunic and his fur pants, but nothing on his feet.  His hair is still pulled back into a ponytail that flows to the base of his neck and I notice he still wears the amulet around his neck.

He looks up at me and greets me with, “
Mkollah dreynur, blaknie
.”

I raise an eyebrow and he repeats in his thick accent, “Well met, brother.”

“Indeed,” I reply softly.

“Something wrong?” he asks.  I know it is a question, though his accent forces him to phrase it otherwise.

I shake my head and glance at the amulet hidden behind his shirt.

He looks down and pulls the little slab of wood from behind his clothing, holding it up so I can get a better look.  It’s of authentic orcish make, but that’s all I can tell.  For all I know the designs wrought on its surface could be runes, pictures, meaningless, or any combination of the three.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Don’t know word your tongue,” he growls, fingering the wooden object.

“What’s the word in your language?”

He studies the amulet and says, “
Shirokh
.”  He seems to detect the questions in my head and continues, “Bring me strength in battle.  Spirit with me.”

I ignore the last part and ask, “Did you make it?”

He shakes his head and pauses, staring into the floor.  “Brother,” he says.  Then he stands and leaves the room, grabbing his sword on the way out.

As he goes through the open door, another soldier bumps into his shoulder harshly.  The orc ignores him completely and continues down the hall.

“What a flower,” the soldier mutters.

My eyes narrow and I glare at the soldier until he sits across the room, but he doesn’t notice.  “Haven’t seen him fight, have you?” I wonder aloud.

The soldier looks up.  “Did you say something, Captain?”

“He’s a person too,” I reply.  “If we lose him we lose a great ally.”

The soldier shakes his head as I exit the room.

What is your story?
I ask Ullrog silently.

I and Percival go to check on Jericho that night.  He is still unconscious and lies rigid on his bed in the infirmary, but he is breathing.

At breakfast the next morning, Jarl Hralfar approaches me and says, “We will be finalizing the treaty in an hour.  I would appreciate your presence there.”

“Why?” I ask flatly.

“You have a lot of good to say,” he says.

I glance at my friends sitting around me.  “I appreciate that…” I say, “But I have previous engagements I need to attend to.”

One of his eyebrows goes up, but he doesn’t argue.  “Very well, Captain,” he says.  Then he walks away.

“What could you possibly have going on?” Percival asks.

“Something a little more important,” I say vaguely.  Aela gazes, puzzled, into her half-empty plate.

“Alright,” James shrugs.  “Just don’t drag me out to do anything dangerous.  I do enough of that as it is.”

“I won’t need help,” I clarify, standing.  “Except for you, Nathaniel.” 

He looks up.  “Me?”

“Yes.  Come on.”

He stands and accompanies me out of the dining hall and into the outer hallways.  Once we turn a corner and the doorway goes out of sight, I ask him, “What do you want to do?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” I say looking at him coolly.  “What do you want to do?”

His eyebrows go up and he stops walking.  “You’re serious?”