Hammers in the Wind (6 page)

Six men, the survivors of the house guard, marched in cadence behind the captains. Pallbearers, they bore the cleaned and prepared corpse of the prince. They’d all offered their lives in return for their failure to protect the heir to the throne, but Badron waved them off with mild praise. He insisted they carry the body. Tender breeze tousled the lad’s hair. The house surgeon had done his best. At least now he looked peaceful. The blood had completely drained, leaving him pale and cold. His hands were folded across his chest armor. They clutched his favorite sword and made him formidable should any foe beset him in the halls of the afterlife.

Two full companies of soldiers marched behind. Their dress was both functional for combat and ceremony. This was the color guard of the vaunted Wolfsreik, the army of the Wolf. Ten thousand strong, they were the predominant military power in the northern kingdoms. Their uniforms were a combination of black and grey, befitting the beast of their naming. Most wore beards and were the epitome of fighting strength. They had all been chosen as children and forged into a ferocious weapon wielded by the line of Delranan kings. There were no conscripts, no draftees taken from a farmer’s fields. These were professional soldiers the world looked up to and feared.

Through the winding streets they marched. Cries assailed them, perhaps Badron the hardest. He struggled to maintain composure even as the honor guard broke out into song. Gulls added their song. The sea was close. The sound of waves breaking echoed the cadence. Ahead loomed the ship that would bear his son to his fathers. A pair of priests stood at the bottom of the ramp, arms folded in black robes. The smell of incense choked the air.

Badron halted. A bell rang three times. Both priests took a step forward to greet their king. Each bowed deeply.

“Why have you come upon us this day?” asked the priest on the right. He raised his head enough for Badron to see that his eyes had been cut out.

The king choked back his emotions lest they betray him now. “To commence my son into the halls of my worthy fathers.”

“The way is prepared. The path is open. Are you prepared to offer his mortal host unto the flame?”

Badron bowed in return. “I am.”

The words were the heaviest he’d ever spoken. The admission was forced. There was no way to decay the love between father and son.
My son
, he wept inwardly.
I have failed you
. His nose crinkled at a whiff of incense. The priests turned inward and raised their arms towards the boat.

“You may pass. Escort this man to his final resting place.”

Badron boarded and immediately stepped to the side. The pallbearers came next. They gently placed the body on a constructed pyre in the center of the deck and marched off. Badron choked on his rising grief. Mastless, the boat had neither oars nor cabins. It was more of a barge than sailing vessel, but it served the purpose well. The wood smelled freshly cut. It rocked under the lapping sea. A priest boarded next and stopped at the foot of the pyre. He raised both arms to the sky and tilted his head back.

“Gods of air, water and flame, we commend the soul of this boy to your loving embrace. Guide him to his fathers so that he may take his place by their side where his sword shall make a worthy addition to their memory.”

The second priest struck a heavy staff on the deck. A strong gust of wind swept through the harbor. Badron took heart from this. It was said that the old gods often showed their favor by the kiss of the wind. The priests departed and were replaced by two iron-faced men bearing torches. Badron stood beside his son. Twenty-five years were not enough. He gently laid a hand on his cheek.

“Farewell my son. The song of your vengeance shall be sung for a hundred generations.”

The king turned and walked back to the pier. A bell chimed again, three somber beats that echoed down every alley and side street. The following silence was shattering. The torch bearers dropped their brands and left. Flames licked higher until the boat was ablaze. Badron stood upon the shore long into the evening. The boat had burned and sunk. Now the remaining fire burned in his eyes.

Nothol Coll and Dorl Theed watched the funeral procession with mild interest. Badron was the sort not known for his compassion. He was hard and bitter man with no qualms to imposing his own sense of justice. The sell swords figured the funeral was all for show.

Dorl took a bite of a green apple. “Who could have imagined? Our good king seems to have a heart after all.”

“He did just lose his only son,” Nothol scolded.

“Oh I wholly sympathize with the man. The prince was the best part of the royal family, ‘cept perhaps for that daughter of his. Now she was a looker!”

Nothol shook his head. The snap of teeth sinking into the apple sent a shiver down his neck. “Badron will do like any mourning father. I think he’s just been made into a tyrant.”

“You always find a way to dampen my day. Badron is evil. We all know that. This can only end badly.”

“For whom?” Nothol asked.

“Us and them.”

“You almost surprise me. There’s not even a ‘them’ yet,” he said in disbelief.

It was Dorl’s turn to shake his head. “Hopeless. Come on. We need to get back to Bahr.”

Taking the last bite from his apple, Dorl tossed the core and headed off. They’d seen enough and it was time to go. The Bane sailed at dawn. Neither man fully understood why they agreed to help Bahr. The look in Badron’s eyes as he watched the funeral boat burn scared them both. Insanity seemed to manifest in Delranan. Dorl Theed suddenly had grave reservations about tomorrow.

Nothol shifted uncomfortably, as if sensing his friend’s discomfort. “Why are we doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Putting our lives on the line for a man who could care less if we live or die. Delranan may be our kingdom too but it’s never been kind to us.”

Dorl stopped midstride and nervously looked about. Thankfully they were alone. “Mind your tongue. This ain’t a safe place for talk like that. And don’t go getting all philosophical on me now, Nothol Coll. Keep it simple. We’re going along to watch our friend’s back, nothing more. All of this talk isn’t sitting right with me.”

Nothol snorted amusement. “As if he really needs it. Bahr is more dangerous than both of us put together. I think he’s up to something.”

“Of course he is! He’s just as hard as the damned king, which makes me feel pretty good about our chances. Besides, you don’t get to live as long as him by being cautious.”

Nothol’s face flushed with mild anger. “What are you talking about? Bahr’s one of the most cautious people I know! You talk too much sometimes.”

Dorl scowled at him but kept silent. They walked on. Dark clouds rolled in, bringing the threat of more rain. Wind blew leaves from the few trees still alive in the center of town. They sounded like fingernails scratching down broken glass.

“Something else has been bothering me,” Nothol finally admitted.

The older man rolled his eyes. “That being?”

“Why would the Shadow People come all the way to Chadra Keep to kidnap the king’s daughter?”

It was a valid question. It was also one no one in the kingdom had an answer for. The Pell Darga were enigmatic at best. They’d once been the scourge of the northern kingdoms. It took an alliance of nations to finally put an end to their tyranny. The cost had been terrible. Thousands lay dead on both sides. Whole cities ceased to exist. The Pell were no longer a viable threat, and nor had they been in the three hundred years that followed.

“That doesn’t seem like our problem,” Dorl replied after giving it some thought. “Like I said before, we’re just going to watch Bahr’s back.”

“Dorl, the Pell haven’t threatened anyone in a long time. So why now? It’s doesn’t make sense, not unless Badron provoked them.”

Dorl choked. Those were the last words anyone needed to be caught saying, not now, not ever. “Now you listen to me, this isn’t the time to go poking your nose into places it don’t belong. This kingdom is gearing up for war and we’re all about to get caught up in it. We need to look out for ourselves and the best way to do that is by sticking with Bahr.”

“All I am saying is that the Pell couldn’t have attacked.”

“You’re going to get us both killed.”

*****

Bahr. The Pell Darga. War. Skuld listened intently on every word. They were enough to make him rethink his brash decision from the night prior. Picking pockets was dangerous enough these days. Going off to find a war was sheer madness. In fact, it was almost enough to make him forget the mention of hidden treasure deep in the mountains. Skuld liked to think he was a simple man. All he wanted was a good life. His mother had died during a nasty bout of the flu a while back and his father was too drunk to stay on for long. He passed Skuld off to an elderly couple when the boy was five. That was the last time Skuld had seen anyone in his family.

The next few years passed quickly. Skuld ran off at ten and lived on the streets ever since. His life was hard and unfair. It had taken a soft boy and turned him into a lean man. His hair was unkempt and a greasy shade of brown. His features were hard, not quite crisp enough to be wizened. He had almost no fat on him: one of the benefits of scrounging for every meal. Lightly muscled and lanky, Skuld suffered from a war between pimples and freckles. He was never sure which one was winning on any given day. Still, he enjoyed life. And now the life he had spent countless nights dreaming about was within his grasp. All he needed to do was reach out and take it. He smiled grimly. Bahr’s boat was waiting.

“You’re going to get us both killed.”

Damn it!
He’d been caught daydreaming and missed half of what the two had been saying. He cursed his carelessness and scampered after them. Nothol Coll and Dorl Theed were too of the more well-known sell swords in the kingdom. Finding them had been a boon. It wouldn’t do now for him to mess it up before sneaking aboard the boat. Closer, Skuld remained far enough back to hear what they were saying but stayed out of sight.

“Don’t make light of the developing situation. Even you should appreciate what we are about to undertake.”

Skuld watched Dorl shake his head again.

“Politics aren’t my concern, and you don’t sound right using those big words. If Badron wants a war he can have one. Look at all these people around us. Right now they will do anything he tells them.”

“Because the king is manipulating them. Why can’t they see it? Badron is dangerous. He has a secret too.”

“Of course he does! He wouldn’t be a king if he didn’t,” Dorl practically repeated. “What’s gotten into you? You’re acting spooked on me. I need you frosty on this one, not daydreaming about ghosts.”

“I’m fine, Dorl. I am. It’s just…” he paused, suddenly unsure of what to say next. That bothered Dorl more than he wanted to admit.

“Just what?” His tone was overly cautious.

“I have this feeling down in the pit of my stomach. I’m afraid, Dorl. I am really afraid for the first time in my life.”

Nothol’s skin turned ashen. He was genuinely spooked and if he was spooked so was Dorl. They’d come to know each other’s mannerisms well over the better part of the last decade. Dorl Theed knew they were in trouble if Nothol acted like this now. They might be two of the best at what they did, but that meant nothing if karma was gone.

“What do we do?” Dorl finally asked.

Nothol shrugged. “What can we do? We’ve already given Bahr our word.”

“Our word but not the contract. Badron doesn’t know one way or the next who is going to do this. We can slip away now and find another job.”

Dorl was disgusted with himself for even considering such. He’d never run from a fight and prided himself on his keen sense of honor. Soldiers were nothing without their honor, that and discipline. Right now those are the only two things keeping me in Chadra, he mused. He loved what he did, but the thought of dying for the wrong reasons ate at him.

Nothol stared at him in shock. “I’ve never heard you talk like this. Don’t get carried away on me. I’m just telling you I’m scared.”

“Yeah, well, if it’s enough to raise the hair on your neck I’m smart enough to take heed. This is a crazy world, my friend.”

Nothol broke out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Dorl asked.

“An hour ago you were the one trying to convince why we needed to do this. Now look at you!”

Skuld let them walk on. Their destination was no big secret. Captain Bahr frequented the same tavern each time he made port. Skuld’s problem was going to be sneaking aboard the boat. The Dragon’s Bane had to be a bustle of activity right now as she prepared for the journey. A man like Bahr was sure to have guards in place as well. This was not a friendly port. Oh well, the boy shrugged, where there’s a will there’s a way. Skuld went back to the crowds hoping to find enough money to buy his next meal. He was hungry.

Night dropped on Chadra with the force of a hammer. Perhaps it was the pall of the funeral or perhaps it was the dying summer. The short autumn days left a harsh chill to the air. Skuld stared over at the Bane and wondered how in the world he was going to sneak aboard. The water was cold. It was always cold this far north. The double black sails made his heart race. Just the thought of missing his chance at glory and fortune twisted his stomach. It wasn’t until then that he realized he’d entered the harbor from the wrong direction.

“Stupid,” he whispered under his breath.

Now I have the whole harbor to cross
. Skuld was still distracted by the conversation of the two sell swords. He didn’t care for the direction their tone went. Visions of dark things crowded in on the warmth of becoming rich. Any future he chose now offered great danger. Skuld recognized this moment for what it was. He had to make a decision that would forever affect his life. He prayed he lived long enough to learn whether it was the right one.

The street thief crept through the shadows. Long years on the streets taught him how to use the environment to his advantage. Unfortunately he hadn’t counted on the additional security Badron had ordered across the kingdom. The gate house, normally holding only one or two old men at the most, was filled with guards. Not the grisly old men who were more for show than anything else, but young men with fast reflexes and the desire for justice. All of them were heavily armed and sober. He frowned. If what Dorl and Coll said was true, nowhere was safe in Delranan.

“How am I going to do this?” he murmured.

The answer, not the one he necessarily wanted, was evident. Skuld’s dark brown eyes shifted back to the cold waters lapping against the shore. He shivered. It looked really, really cold. Skuld suddenly doubted his eagerness to join this adventure. He was no soldier, no great warrior capable of bright and terrible deeds. So why was he about to crawl into freezing waters only to risk beheading by the ship’s captain? Was it really all for the vague promise of money? All thoughts fled as the frigid waters swelled up past his thighs.

The cold stole his breath. His lungs constricted violently. Muscles rebelled. Skuld cleared his head and pushed on. Guard patrolled the pier, but made little notice of the waters. No one in their right mind would try swimming at this time of year. So they failed to notice the smallish head floating on the surface. Skuld pushed himself faster. The cold was already getting to him. Hypothermia was already moving through his system. It took much longer than he wanted, from a combination of cold and the fear of discovery, but Skuld finally managed a handhold on the side of the Bane.

He couldn’t stop from chattering. His body trembled. Darkness closed in around the corners of his sight. Much longer and the guards were going to find a body washing ashore at dawn. Skuld pulled himself up by the anchor chain. The sound of the incoming waves masked his climb. After what felt like hours Skuld poked his head over the edge. Relief washed through his numb body. Not a guard in sight! He used the last of his strength to climb onto the deck where he collapsed. He wished the warmth back, but it was slow in coming. He knew he was going to die if he didn’t move fast. Heavy footsteps shook him from his thoughts. Rolling onto his stomach, the thief searched for the man responsible for the footsteps. A drunken deckhand stumbled up the gangway. Skuld lay directly in his path.

Using the last bit of energy, he pushed off the deck and half slid down the stairs leading to the crew quarters. The drunken mate stumbled closer. Skuld wasn’t going to make it. He moved faster, until he felt the hardness of a door at his back. His heart fell. The only thing he could pray for was that this was to a storeroom. Terror and relief clashed within him. Footsteps thumped closer. Skuld reached behind, fumbled with the knob. The door swung open, surprisingly quiet for such an old ship.

Skuld ducked inside and shut the door. Darkness shrouded everything. He listened for the sound breathing. His heart pounded, threatening to give him away. Nothing happened. The deckhand stumbled back to the crew quarters and collapsed on his hammock. Skuld was safe for now. Impossibly dark, he felt his way through the room. Burlap sacks and barrels filled the floor. Skuld allowed a deep breath. He had stumbled into one of the ship’s storerooms. Exhausted, he rearranged a few stacks of rice and lay down to sleep. The easy part was over.