Dragonhammer: Volume II (14 page)

A Message from Archeantus

T
he first thing I do, after shedding my sweaty layer of armor, is take a bath and a long nap, as do many of the other soldiers.  The next day is spent cleaning and polishing armor and weapons, which, despite our best efforts, still contained traces of blood and gore.

As soon as we finish, Percival says something about going out.  “I, uh… have something to do in the city.”

I wink and say, “I’ll come with you.”

His expression says, “Oh, please no.”

I chuckle and say, “I’m just joking, Percival!  Go ahead!”

“Dingflies,” James mutters.

I can’t help but be slightly curious of Percival and his girlfriend.  I am able to suppress the feelings well, however, because it’ll be much more enjoyable for him if we don’t make a big deal out of it.

I find Aela’s gaze upon me, but as I look, she looks down towards her blades.  They wear no trace of blood, yet she still polishes them.

Jericho settles back into the infirmary where he receives treatment for his leg, though it has had at least a few weeks to begin healing.  “You’re going to be alright?” I ask.

“Now that I’m here,” he nods.  “I won’t be able to fight anymore, though.”

“Do they know how permanent the damage will be?”

He shakes his head.  “It depends on how it heals.  I’ll probably be able to walk, but with a cane.  We’ll just have to wait and see.”

“I can’t imagine they’ll keep us stationed here for much longer.  With Tygnar out, we’ll get called into the west soon.”

He nods.  “I have accepted that I won’t be able to fight with you any longer.  I’ve, uh… I’ve been meaning to show you this.”  He takes a letter from his side table and says, “Read it.”

A few sentences in, I stop and say, “An honorable release?”

He nods again.  “I am no longer a soldier,” he confirms quietly.

“Good for you,” I mutter.

This time he shakes his head.  He begins to say something, but I cut him off, “You have served well, Jericho.  Your time here is done and you have another job to do elsewhere.”  He shuts his mouth.  Then I command softly, “Go and do it.”

Nathaniel and I get a letter the next day.

I grab the paper and hurriedly undo the seal.  In the back of my head there is always the fear that something may happen to my dear mother, and I will not be there for her.  Especially since the failed assassination attempt.  I am relieved to see that the letter is signed by her.

My boys:

Life is not the same here.  How I wish it to go back.  I miss you as I miss your father.  I visited him and am writing this letter upon my return.  That blessed place is indeed a fitting resting place for such a great man as he.  Give my thanks to Lord Jarl Hralfar.

Ethan and Nicholas send their love with mine.  Gunther and Rachel do as well, with exciting news!

Rachel is expecting a child!  By the time you read this letter, it will have been two months at least.  I am excited to finally have a grandchild!  I only wish your father were here to see it as well.

Respond quickly.  I need to hear from my sons.  Every day that passes without your words is agony to my soul.

Mother

I notice tear smudges dotting the page and can picture her writing the letter.  A smile crosses my face when I read the part about Gunther.

Mother,
Nathaniel and I begin.

We are happy to say that we are both alive and well.  We miss you as well and think of you daily, as well as Ethan and Nicholas.

Congratulate Gunther and Rachel for us!  That is excellent for them and we are excited for them!  Convey our love to them for us, please?

We have successfully eliminated Tygnar from the war and are one step closer to coming home.  The time does not come soon enough, however, and we ache for it to be done.

With love,

Nathaniel Armstrong

Kadmus Armstrong

“What are you writing?” Aela asks.

“A letter to our mother,” I respond, handing the quill to Nathaniel.

“She must love you a lot.”

I nod.  “And we love her.”  She looks away from my gaze and says nothing more.

The next day, Percival surprises me at breakfast.

“I want you to meet her,” he says.

I hesitate and glance at James and Nathaniel, who are stuffing their faces a couple of seats down.  Ullrog sits on my other side, using his fingers instead of the fork.  “Just me?” I ask.

“Yes.  I don’t think James and Nathaniel can handle it.”

“Agreed.”

“Do you want to?” he persists.

“Of course.  When do you want me to come meet her?”

“I’m going out just after our training session today.  You can come with me.”

“Very well.  I look forward to it!”  I finish the conversation with a bite of ham.

I train alone, as always.  For the time that I am not swinging my hammer or figuring out counters and parries, I am watching the others.

Percival practices with his sword and shield.  Though he is a powerful warrior, his attacks sometimes leave him open despite his shield.  This is the flaw that got him wounded at Dracynnval’s Pass.  His trainer is working with him to solve the problem.

I notice that James is working with Commander Magnus again.  He’s been able to plan it out so that he is training with her just about every day, and she has not objected.  They are an excellent match and teach each other through mistakes and sparring matches.  As far as I know, Genevieve’s interest is purely professional.  She respects James as a soldier, probably because he was able to best her in a spar during training several weeks ago.  James’s feelings, however, are a little less innocent.  He glances at me and winks with a smile before returning his attention to Commander Magnus.

How ironic
, I think. 
When we first met her he hated her with such fire.  It’s a different fire he’s tending now.

Nathaniel shoots arrows at a target.  After every third arrow, he drops the bow and unsheathes his hammer as quickly as his strength will allow, attacking one of the dummies behind him.  After completing a few different maneuvers, he picks the bow back up and does it again.

Despite his best struggles, his trainer cannot get him to go faster.  To prove a point, the trainer places himself as the dummy.  When Nathaniel draws to block the strike, he is always too late.  “Pick a lighter weapon,” his trainer says.  “The hammer is too heavy to draw quickly.”

“The hammer is what I use,” Nathaniel responds.  “Let me try again.”

His trainer concedes.  After the third arrow, Nathaniel turns around once again.  Instead of reaching for the hammer on his back, however, his hand flies to his belt and comes up with a dagger.  He stops as soon as the point reaches his trainer’s gut.  His trainer nods with approval.

Before he sheathes the dagger and walks to retrieve the arrows from the target, I study the knife.  The blade is about a foot long, with a carved wooden handle that fits his hand.  My eyes do not betray me; I recognize the blade as the one I had forged for him months earlier, before the war had come to us.  Before I was a warrior.  When my father was alive and we lived happily.

How I miss it,
I think. 
How I want to see my mother.  Live in peace.  No more bloodshed.  No more death and destruction.  It’s all so horrible.
  I remember the forge where my father taught me everything I know about our trade. 
I wonder if it’s still there?
I ask myself. 
How I wish to return to that life.  To be a simple blacksmith with a happy home and family.

But I know that I can never return to such a life while such evil lurks in the land. 
Why?
I ask myself. 
Why?

Aela stands to the right of Nathaniel with her swords sheathed.  She has no trainer, probably by her own choice.  She takes her time to aim her arrow at the target a ways down the field, but as she looses the arrow I can see from the start that it will hit.  And indeed it does, dead center.

A trainer approaches her when he sees the shot.  “You should shoot faster,” he says.  “You will not have such time when they are running at you.”

She ignores him and takes her time, slowly pulling back the bow until her right hand rests on her upper right cheek.  Then she takes a deep breath, ignoring the continued comments of the man, and looses the arrow high into the air.  I wonder where on earth she was aiming, until it comes down and pierces the center of a target fifty paces behind the first.

The trainer’s eyebrows go up, but still he says, “Accuracy does not make up for speed!”

“Doesn’t it?” she mutters, looking him in the eye.  “Tell me, if I can get him before he reaches me does it matter how long it takes?”

He is stunned.  “I suppose not, if you get him before he reaches you.”

“Exactly.  There are some shots that require all the time you can get.”

“Well, let’s say that they’re an archer as well,” he argues.  I shake my head, wondering at the apparent need he has to argue.  “With a crossbow that will shoot straighter than any bow.  Then will you shoot quickly?”

“Perhaps,” she says, pulling another arrow from her quiver.  She pulls back the bow, listening to the soldier coolly.

“Perhaps,” the soldier seethes, angry that he’s arguing with a stubborn colleague, and a female one at that.  “What do you plan to do, then?”

She lowers her bow and drops the arrow, releasing the pressure she had been holding on it.  “Doesn’t matter,” she mutters.

“Doesn’t matter?” the soldier rages.  “Doesn’t matter?!  This is your life we’re arguing about.  If you wish to die in the battlefield then you shall.”

“If I wished to die, I’d be dead,” she says coolly, holding her bow next to her waist.  “I will fight and train how I choose, and no trainer will change that.”

The trainer is outraged.  “You mouthy little girl!” he growls, reaching for her.  “Let me show you what happens when you refuse to obey!”  He grips her arm and raises his hand to hit her.

I almost run to her to give her pardon, but there is no need.

She wrenches herself away and knocks aside his hands with her own in two quick punch-like moves; then she kicks him in the side, followed by a twirl and a slam in the chest from her elbow.  As she turns toward the target, her bow raises.  An arrow comes out of her quiver and fits into the bow in one motion, and then it is loosed and flying across the training grounds.  The trainer looks up from the ground to see it hit the center of the target twenty paces behind the second.

“I am no little girl,” she spits.  Then she walks away, leaving him on the ground.

I give her a small smile and a nod as she walks past me and I see the corner of her lip turn up as she looks at me.  Almost as if she is embarrassed, she looks down and hides her face from me as she passes.  “Good show,” I commend.  She doesn’t answer.

I hear a low rumbling sound from my left, and look to see Ullrog laughing to himself.  He looks at me and says lowly, “She warrior.”  He chuckles again and goes back to watching the training.

“Hey,” I hear from behind.  I turn and see Percival, who beckons.  “Come on,” he says.  “While they’re not paying attention.”

Aela glances at me as I slip away with Percival.

“Nobody saw you?” Percival asks as we walk from the fortress and into the heart of the city.

“Only Aela.  But she’s not likely to tell anybody.”

“Oh good.  I just don’t want to make a show out of it.  You know?  You’re just my best friend, and she’s asked to meet you.”

“Has she?”

“Yeah.  You remember her, though.  Right?”

I recall the first time we had visited Fragruss.  I had stopped a group of men from harassing a girl and her friends in a pub, and then we escorted them home.  The latter was Percival’s idea, I might add.  “Vaguely,” I respond.

“That’s okay,” he says.

“What do you like about her?”

He goes a little red.  “You’ll just have to meet her.”

“Fair enough,” I accept quietly.

I don’t have long to wait.  Percival knocks on the door and there’s a moment where the only sounds are those of a bustling city.  Then the door opens and Serena steps out.

“Percival!” she cries, leaping onto him.  He holds her in an embrace, and her feet don’t touch the ground until he stops spinning.  Only then do I get a good look.

Her hair is black and very curly, and it comes down only to her shoulders.  Her face is a little round and her eyes shining like emeralds.  She smiles broadly, revealing white teeth.  Freckles are splattered all across her cheeks and nose.  Her slim build still clings to Percival as she says, “This is Kadmus?”