At Storm's Edge Read online

  Hammerhold Tales:

  The Swerdbrekker Saga

  Book 4

  AT STORM'S EDGE

  Logan Petty

  © 2019

  Illustrated by Iris Petty

  Editing by Amy Forkner

  Books in the Swerdbrekker Saga:

  1: Thrallborn

  2: Ghosts of Alfhaven

  3: The Battle for Jordborg

  4: At Storm's Edge

  You can find more information and stories of Hammerhold at Hammerholdtales.com

  Tell us what you think by sharing a review on Amazon!

  I would personally like to thank everyone who has supported me as I share my stories with the world. Your kind words and desire to read more have encouraged me to keep writing. You are all great and I hope you enjoy this Hammerhold Tale!

  ~Logan Petty

  Chapter One:

  I can see you, Sawain. I have heard your name since the beginning. I saw you die that day at the hand of Hilmr Goretusk. Yet here you are, alive. By all rights, you belong to me.

  The giant’s voice echoed around the Swerdbrekker as he paced through icy darkness. He ran ice-cold fingers through his dirty blonde beard as he searched for a light, any trace at all, but found none. He covered his pointed ears as the Grey King’s voice boomed in his head.

  I watched as you crawled through the mire in Alfhaven, playing hero with your friends as the home you left behind fell so easily. One by one, those you hold dear have bent knee to me. Why must you be so stubborn?

  Two pale embers flickered to life, casting a dull, colorless light around them. Sawain’s stomach soured as the cold light spilled over hundreds of corpses at his feet.

  I watched as you slaughtered my family in Jordborg. I know it was you who opened the way and allowed that false king to kill Xifrieg, my faithful servant. All I want is to bring an end to the world’s suffering through my gift. I offer eternal life, and yet, you insist on delivering death. Even still, all you do is kill and destroy.

  Pillars of red flame burst to life around him as a jagged maw of rotting teeth formed a grin beneath the flickering gray embers. The screams of the dying flooded his mind as the horrid stench of burning flesh assaulted his senses. The corpses stirred to life, smoldering in the ashes. Familiar faces looked up at him from the piles of dead. Tobi, Loraleth, his father Torval, and many others reached out to him pleadingly.

  Listen to their cries, Sawain. Look upon their suffering. Because of you, this world is burning. When will you stop running? Stand still and answer for your crimes! Repent and suffer the same fate you have cast upon so many. Do this and I will forgive you. I will give you the eternal life you have denied so many. Just stand still… Stand still and die!

  Sawain gasped and sat up so fast that he threw Eldingbál’s head off him, causing the drake to awaken with a hiss and jump to his feet. As his senses returned to him, Sawain realized he had been sleeping. Eldingbál tilted his head, showing concern as his ruffled purple mane fell about his face. The Swerdbrekker let out a ragged sigh, glancing apologetically to his companion.

  “Sorry, Eld, I was dreaming again. I can’t shake him.”

  Sawain’s emerald eyes wandered around his surroundings. A thick fog swirled around the natural stone pillars of the Spire Forest. Through the fog, the dark outline of the Cobalt Mountains dominated the skyline. A small turf fire burned nearby, casting its light against the ghostly whiteness of the early morning. The tiny form of a grizzled old halfling with short gray hair and matching stubble hunched before the small blaze. His gruff voice drifted back to Sawain.

  “Same dream again, Deathsbane? That’s an ill omen if ever I knew one.”

  Sawain stretched his limbs out, flexing for warmth. He subconsciously ran his hand over his artificial leg, feeling its knotted wood muscles. He sighed as he spoke back to Jatharr.

  “I don’t know how, but it’s like he has constant eyes on me. How do we avoid an enemy that can predict our next move?”

  A thin, but lithe elf slunk out of the fog, slumping down by the fire. He scratched at the dark stubble on his face as he let out a dramatic yawn, wiping the long locks of brown hair from his green eyes. He wore the same black drake scale armor Sawain and Jatharr wore.

  “Maybe we should stop taking detours and head straight for that sword of yours? Just a thought.”

  Sawain pulled himself to his feet with some effort. His body ached with fatigue, and sleeping on the stony ground of the Spires helped nothing. He glared at Banthan. “I told you before, they aren’t detours. The more of those temples we tear down, the weaker he gets.”

  “Do you really believe that?” Kyra’s voice broke through the gloom. “I mean, he’s undeath incarnate. Every time we destroy one of his temples, he raises two more. He controls a host of warriors that simply won’t stop fighting no matter how many times we strike them down.”

  Sawain glanced up at the spire her voice came from and saw her outline sitting cross-legged atop it. She slid down from her perch, pausing shortly a few inches from the ground before floating the remainder of the descent safely. She wiped a trickle of blood from her thumb as her piercing blue eyes met Sawain. Her once shining, curly red hair clung to the side of her freckled face in dirty mats. The tattered remains of her elaborate robes stuck to her form in the mist.

  “What’s holding you back?”

  Sawain sighed and turned toward the fire. He took a few steps forward before stopping as another voice called out.

  “The lady asked ye a question, laddie. I think we’d all like to know the answer.” Timbrell, a small red furred pankin wearing the green jerkin and trousers common to bards, sauntered out from behind a nearby spire, his tiny arms crossed as menacingly as a Pankin could ever wish to be. An elf maiden with blonde hair and a round face stepped out behind him, towering over the diminutive creature.

  Sawain hesitated, and then sat down beside Banthan without looking at Mari. A moment of awkward silence broke only after the half-elf’s stomach grumbled loudly. “What’s for breakfast?”

  Sawain heard the frustrated stamping of Kyra’s feet close in on his back, but he did nothing to stop her from grabbing the collar of his armor and hoisting him to his feet. She spun him around and placed a firm hand on each of his shoulders. “Hey, don’t ignore me, shieldling. I can turn you inside out!”

  Sawain grimaced as he shook off her grip. “Don’t call me shieldling.”

  She placed her hands on her hips, her upper lip curling in a fashion Sawain knew to associate with trouble. She shook her head, letting her frayed curls shake in the mist. “We’ve been out here for six months, Sawain. This war is no closer to being over. You’re not making a difference here just running around and killing zombies. We have to make a move worth something!”

  Sawain grit his teeth as his temper shot upward. “What do you know? This is my fight! I can’t just watch idly as he enslaves the free people of Hammerhold!”

  Jatharr rose to his feet, rubbing his balding head, “Listen to yerself, Sawain. This is Jordborg all over again. Ye know full well we are in this together.”

  Banthan piped up from his seat by the fire. “Actually, I’m just here for the sights.”

  “Shut up, Banth,” everyone shouted in unison.

  Kyra sighed in exasperation as she turned her attention back to Sawain. “I just don’t get it. The mountains are right there,” she gestured with a flash of her hand. “Let’s just go! We have to eventually if you’re going to claim the Sturmedge!”

  Sawain shook his head. “No… I told you. He… Tharixos would expect that. He sees everything I do. The reason I can’t go into the mountains is because he’s already there.”

  Kyra glared at him a moment in silence, shaking her head slowly. “So t
hat’s it. You’re scared of him.”

  Sawain clenched his fists as he raised his voice. “I’m not scared of him! If I make my move, so many innocents will die.”

  Kyra laughed, “What a sorry excuse! Innocents are already dying, Sawain! The longer you drag your feet, the less of a Hammerhold there is left to save!”

  Sawain opened his mouth to protest but another elven woman wearing similar scale armor burst from the mists, out of breath. Her straight black hair clung to her face, slightly covering her terrified green eyes. “We have to move, now!”

  “Nara, what—”

  She cut off Sawain’s shout. “Aerabis found us! He has a legion behind him this time and is hungry for a fight. We have to get to high ground or he’ll have us surrounded in no time!”

  Banthan jumped to his feet and kicked dirt and rocks into the fire in an attempt to smother it. Panic broke out as everyone but Sawain and Kyra scrambled to gather their belongings. The Swerdbrekker glared into Kyra’s eyes until Eldingbál nudged his elbow. As he glanced at his drake, he shot one last retort at Kyra before turning to gather his things. “Don’t tell me how to fight my battles.”

  Moments later, the Ghosts had their camp broken and disguised. They clambered atop their drakes and quietly slithered toward the foot of the Cobalt Mountains. Eldingbál and his siblings expertly wove through the numerous stone spires that leapt from the thick mists to impede their progress. Mere minutes passed before the sound of war drums reached Sawain’s ears.

  “That troll is uncomfortably persistent,” the Swerdbrekker growled.

  Jatharr chuckled from astride Naralei’s drake. “Maybe you shouldn’t have cut his eye out.”

  Sawain grinned sadistically. “Maybe he shouldn’t have run headlong into Giltglim,” he said as he patted the enchanted sword at his side.

  Banthan rolled his eyes as he shouted from his rear position. “You also killed half his clan. Good reason to hold ill intentions toward you.”

  Sawain shrugged. “To be fair, that half of his clan tried to kill me first.”

  Jatharr jumped in again. “Because Torval killed the other half during the last war.”

  Sawain sighed, “Yet another wonderful gift I’ve inherited. Thanks again, father.”

  Naralei glanced over her shoulder, peering past Kyra, who shared her mount. “Will you boys shut up for a while? We’re supposed to be avoiding capture!”

  Songrandir, Mari, and Timbrell ran up beside Sawain. The elf maid signed to her friend.

  Sawain laughed, “I think we all do. It’ll have to wait, though.”

  Minutes later, the ground began to rise. The drakes clambered up the increasingly steep mountainside, scurrying quickly as the stony surface crumbled beneath their claws. The swirling fog soon subsided, revealing a bright and beautiful morning. The cold winter air bit Sawain’s lungs and stung his damp face. He looked over his shoulder to the valley below. The mist still rolled about the Forest of Spires. Hundreds of flickering lights surged through the rock towers, searing the fog. The war-drums pounded out a haunting cadence that echoed off the surface of the mountain.

  Sawain urged his drake forward, muttering into his scaly ear, “Come on, Eld, don’t let that ugly two-legs catch up to you.”

  Eldingbál’s mane stood on end and his pace quickened. The other drakes struggled to keep up with him. They found a twisting road moments later that they decided to follow. They rode in grim silence for half an hour, stealing nervous glances at the foot of the mountain as the troll’s small army emerged in droves from the white haze. Naralei pointed forward as she shouted back to Sawain. “Town ahead! Maybe they can help us!”

  Sawain grit his teeth, stealing one last look behind him at the swarming horde at their heels. He sighed and crouched lower. “We have no choice. Let’s go.”

  They rode quickly up the winding path as it opened up to a large flat shelf of blue-gray stone. Sawain counted roughly half a dozen houses made of the same material as the mountain. Despite their relatively unspoiled upkeep, the village looked empty. No smoke rose from any of the chimneys on this cold morning, and the doors of most houses stood wide open. The silence this far up the mountain chilled Sawain’s blood. Naralei turned her drake to face her cousin. She looked at him, trying to conceal her nerves. “What now, Sawain? Do we take up a fighting position here or keep moving?”

  Sawain sighed as his brain whirled with strategies. His eyes flicked from one building to the next, and the wide overlook along the town’s eastern side. He knew his team could not last much longer if he decided to run again. He swallowed the growing lump in his throat and glared at Kyra as he addressed Naralei. “We stand and fight. I’m sick of Aerabis following us. I’m burying him here today.”

  Kyra could not hide the smile that flashed across her face as the Ghosts of Alfhaven drew their weapons. Banthan sighed as he checked his blade. “Oh good, and I thought today would be boring.”

  Chapter Two:

  The freezing wind cut across the open plateau, whistling through the empty houses. Sawain drew his tattered cloak tighter as he looked down the mountainside. Hundreds of blades flashed the morning sun back into his eyes as the mercenaries wielding them clambered slowly upward. He estimated a fifteen-minute gap before their archers would be in range. He turned to Banthan as the elf shoved a boulder from the nearby mine deposits to the edge of the cliff.

  “Go help Nara with those tar barrels we found in the thatcher’s house. It won’t be long now.”

  Banthan straightened up, stretching his back as he scowled at Sawain. “What are you doing that’s so important? Go help her yourself. I’m the only one on boulder pushing duty.”

  Sawain arched an eyebrow. “You’d rather pass on working with Nara to push rocks around? Are you feeling ill?”

  Banthan blushed as he frowned deeper, brushing past Sawain. “I hate the smell of that stuff. Besides, Jatharr’s waiting on me to get back.”

  Sawain watched his moody friend slink off before shaking his head and moving through the village. Kyra busied herself with drawing runes with her own blood on any stone surface along the perimeter of the town. Mari and Timbrell stoked a large fire with whatever fuel they could find. Jatharr strung fresh cords on a pair of longbows they found near the mine entrance. He hoped silently as he walked toward the thatcher’s house that the seven of them, thirteen counting the drakes, were enough to defend this large of an area.

  Three barrels of tar already sat outside the door of the home in question. Sawain stepped into the darkness beyond the doorway and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust. A scraping sound, mingled with Nara’s grunts of effort reached him as she moved into sight, heaving against a large barrel. She jumped slightly as she noticed her cousin in the doorway. “Oh, Sawain! How long have you been standing there?”

  He grabbed the barrel and started pulling it toward the door as she reluctantly pushed. “Just got here. How are you holding up?”

  Nara grunted as they shoved the barrel over the threshold and into the morning light. “Tired as everyone else, I suppose.”

  They both straightened up and Sawain glanced at the barrels lined up on the yard. “This will have to do. They’ll be here any minute.”

  He turned to grab one of the barrels as Naralei’s hand slipped into the crook of his arm and pivoted him back to her. She looked at him with fear etched into her green eyes. “We’re not going to die here, are we?”

  Her words pierced his heart. Sawain hesitated a moment as he looked away. “I don’t plan on it. Neither should you.” He broke loose of her grip and bent over to hoist one of the barrels upward.

  Naralei clenched her fists, the pitch in her shaking voice rose, “Did you plan on Tobi’s death? What about Lora?”

  Sawain straightened up again, glaring at Naralei as fury burned in his chest. “Are you challenging my right to lead? You think it’s time to clear the air now ten minutes before battle?”

  Naralei’s eyes flashed with rage
at Sawain as she shoved him backward. “We’re always ten minutes from battle! You’re always pushing us from one fight to the next! We’ve been at this for months with barely any rest!”

  Sawain staggered back, then drew Giltglim from its scabbard and pointed it at Naralei’s throat. “We’re at war, Nara. I explained this to everyone before we left Alfhaven. We can rest when this fight is over. If you have a problem with that, feel free to go take a nap somewhere else.”

  She shoved the tip of his blade away from her as she lunged at him. He did not have a chance to dodge as her fist contacted his face forcefully.

  “How dare you say that to me! I’ve fought for your stupid war since it started! You can’t just push me aside the moment I try to open up to you! What’s wrong with you, Sawain?”

  He wiped the trickle of blood from his mouth as he retaliated with his own fist. Nara ducked it and used his momentum against him, throwing him off balance. A swift kick to his organic leg brought him to his knees. The curve of her knife tucked under his chin as she growled in his ear.

  “Maybe I should take over. All you ever do is fight needlessly. We deserve a leader that understands how to manage a force’s energy.”

  Sawain snorted as he stared forward, at nothing in particular. “Go ahead. Kill me. Take your vengeance and fix everything. You take on Turin’s mantle. You can have the nightmares, the guilt of every fallen ally, the fear of sleeping. You know so much more than I do. So go ahead and take it.”

  Nara hesitated a moment. In a single, deft movement, Sawain grabbed her wrist and wrenched the blade away. She screamed in pain and surprise as he pulled her over his shoulder and slammed her onto her back. He drove a knee onto her sternum. His eyes burned with a mix of regret and anger as he pressed her dagger against her face. “But you’ll have to do it another time. Right now I have a fight to win so that my friends don’t die on this mountain.”