The Battle for Jordborg Read online

  “He once told me he looked forward to the skirmishes with Skalda because it was their way of courting. He was always saying such things. Long story short, your mother must have felt the same, because one day, she bested Torval in combat and could have easily ended his life. Instead, she made him an offer he could not refuse. They became allies and fought together against Jordborg. Before long, they were married. Well, the war was nearly over and Jordborg was being forced into retreat. On the night of victory, Skalda and her Outriders rode into an ambush. A hundred of Jordborg’s elites waited for her. The Outriders were captured and scheduled for execution the next day. Word reached Torval that night. He and I rode hard to Jordborg and arrived just before the execution. The Segrammir owed your father a debt for saving his life on the battlefield and your father was fortunate enough to decide to save that debt for a future favor. After all, a favor from the ruler of a Hold is no light affair. He called on the Segrammir’s grace that day for the Outriders’ release. The Segrammir was still bound by the law, so he could not release them. The Outriders of Alfhaven had killed hundreds of his men. Torval revealed that Skalda was his wife and begged the Segrammir to make an exception this once. The Segrammir still was not willing to pardon her. He did, however, offer to sell Skalda to your father as a thrall in exchange for his promise that he would never set her loose again, knowing that she would finish what she had started. If he agreed, the Segrammir informed him that he must settle down to a sedentary life and expect visits from the royal officials to ensure that Skalda never left the new settlement. Torval agreed and left the clan forever. He was not aware at the time that separating your mother from Alfhaven was a slow and painful death sentence anyway.”

  Sawain’s throat loosened as he found the ability to speak, though his words were hoarse, “So . . . he thought he was saving her life? And the thralldom bit was only for show?”

  Jatharr nodded, “Of course. For five years, they lived happily as husband and wife on Mistveil Farm. Your father hired some of us from his old clan as farmhands and guards. Though our days as nomads were over, we still stayed together and lived happily. The year you were born was the same year Skalda grew sick. Torval called in a wizard from Alfhaven to help find a cure. It was then that we discovered that druids needed to make a pilgrimage to their home groves every few years or so to avoid a curse called the Witherplague. The Witherplague is a disease that rots a druid from the inside out if he or she neglects to return to his or her grove to commune with the spirits that birthed the druid’s powers. Skalda knew of the curse, but believed it to be only a story the druidesses used to keep children from wandering too far. Well, your father tried to devise a way to make a pilgrimage to Alfhaven for your mother. He tried for three years to get an appointment with the Segrammir to work out the details, but constantly received refusals or delays in the meeting. Eventually, he decided to try to smuggle her to the forest, but was caught by the elaborate network of spies the Segrammir had set in place. He was sold out by one of his own.

  “He and Skalda were allowed to return with a warning, but another opportunity for the pilgrimage never presented itself. Security grew tighter. A garrison of the Segrammir’s men surrounded the farm. Your father felt betrayed and, worse, deceived. He was convinced that the Segrammir knew of the Witherplague and that he used Torval to deliver a sort of extended execution for one of the greatest ‘war criminals’ of the last war. The day of your third birthday, Torval decided to stage an escape. We planned spur of the moment on fighting our way out in order to get your mother to the safety of Alfhaven. It was a suicide plan, and your mother knew it. I remember what she told him that day. It will haunt me ‘til I close my eyes forever. She told him, ‘You did the best you could for me so that I could live. It was a happy, though short, life. Now I want to return the favor. Live for me. Live for our son.’ Then she closed her eyes and died. She died to pay back the favor Torval enacted to extend her life. She died so that you and your father could live.”

  Hot tears involuntarily spilled down Sawain’s cheeks as he clenched his teeth and held his breath to keep the sobs from escaping his chest. All of those years he hated his father. All of those years he believed he was a heartless slave master with no love for his own blood. He still could not understand why Torval never told him this or why he remarried. Questions filled his mind, but when he opened his mouth, only the restrained sobs and conflicted cries escaped. He still wanted to hate his father. He still blamed his ignorance, his foolishness, any negative quality he could draw upon. He refused to forgive him for the lifetime of slavery to which he subjected his own son.

  “It’s not . . . right . . . . It’s not . . . fair . . . . Why did he . . . not let me live? Why . . . why did he . . . make me a slave?” he shouted through angry tears to no one in particular.

  Jatharr answered him, “He was never the same after your mother died. Something in him died with her. He always tried to treat you favorably, but the Segrammir was always watching us. When the old Segrammir died five years ago and the new reign began, the old spy network dissolved, but by then, your father had already amassed a large workforce of thralls and soldiers. He had his own empire of goats and cider. I left his service when you were eight or so. About the time he remarried. I’d had enough of the broken man he had become. I could not bear to see my beloved leader reduced to a bitter merchant lord. He only remarried to inherit a wealthy shipping company in Jordborg after the death of the new Lady Torval’s father. I planned on returning to buy your freedom as a favor to your mother once I had made enough, but as fate would have it, you found your way to me before I could save up. Of course, I didn’t recognize you at first. Imagine my surprise when I finally realized who you were.”

  While Jatharr talked, Sawain was able to compose himself and wipe the tears from his face. “Why did you wait ‘til now to tell me all this?”

  Jatharr shrugged, still staring into the distance. “Since we began this adventure together, when have we really had a good time to sit and talk? We’ve had our hands full with this war and I imagine we will for a while longer. Anyway, it just felt like a good time, since I’ve had plenty of time to think, and we are so close to the place where your parents’ story began.”

  Sawain looked curiously at the halfling. “What do you mean?”

  Jatharr pointed at the place his eyes had been locked on the entire time. “See that hill there with the stone platform? That’s the old execution site the last Segrammir favored in the war. Used to be a village around it. I’m guessing the town was wiped out by Anvilheim at the end of the war. Lots of slave trading went on there, too. Either way, I still remember it well.”

  Sawain followed Jatharr’s gesture with his eyes to a clearing in the valley below where a large square stone rose from the green landscape like a gray phantom. He could make out brown stains on the stone’s surface, even from such a great distance. He shuddered at the thought of the execution that could have ended his own story before it began. He tried to force the thought from his mind as noises from the gorge behind him announced the awakening of the rest of his army. He sighed.

  “I wish I had more time to deal with this, but it’s time to move again. Perhaps we will find more time to talk later.”

  Jatharr nodded as he straightened up and looked at Sawain for the first time since they began. His eyes glistened with tears of his own.

  “I wish things could have been different. You know I do.”

  Sawain took in a deep breath and dismissed Jatharr’s mournful lament with a wave. “We can’t change the past, right? Just the future. So, let’s start changing.”

  Jatharr hesitated, then nodded. Sawain silently swore that he saw Jatharr smile for a brief moment. The smile quickly faded as his eyes snapped to an entity behind Sawain. The young half elf turned to see Binze meandering among the grove, running his fingers along the tree trunks as he made his way to Sawain. The bulk of the army filtered in behind Binze. Sawain cleared his throat as he spoke up.

&n
bsp; “Good morning, everyone. I trust you all slept well, especially those of you that are planning on risking your lives today.”

  Binze smiled as he approached the Swerdbrekker. Terina, his retainer, strode close behind, fitting her bracers and checking her weapons nonchalantly. The other Ghosts appeared by Sawain’s side as they melted out of the shadows. He looked around at the ex-thralls who still needed to become soldiers.

  “Alright, those of you who are coming with me and Binze, meet at the grove’s edge in ten minutes. The rest of you will be staying with Captain Jatharr. He will make sure you are all ready for the fight to come.”

  Jatharr’s sadistic grin inched across his face and Sawain noticed the berserker’s gaze flicker in his eyes. Sawain muttered to him as he strode past him to the meeting place.

  “Don’t kill anyone.”

  Jatharr muttered back, “I won’t, but can’t promise what the training might do.”

  Sawain sighed as he continued onward. Binze, Terina, and Eldingbál were waiting for him at the rendezvous spot. Banthan, Naralei, Mari, and Timbrel appeared at his side while he walked, already mounted on their drakes. Sawain shot a wary glance at Timbrell as he tried to hide under Mari’s cloak.

  “Sorry, Timbrell. We’ve got a full party. You need to stay with Naralei and Jatharr to watch over the army. If the good captain has another rage, we need a bard nearby to calm him.” Timbrell shook his head vehemently.

  “Nay laddie, I stay with Mari! She is my partner. Without me, her magic is but half its true potential. Please, Sawain, ye cannay separate us!”

  Mari stuck out her lower lip and looked at Sawain with tear filled eyes. “He’s right, you know! We’re two peas in a pod, two goats in a pen--”

  Timbrell cut back in. “Two pieces of bread, held together by the raspberry jam of friendship.”

  Mari perked up, “Ooh, and a side of eggs!”

  Timbrell grinned as he ran out of her lap and danced happily around her feet, tapping his hand drum. “And a big steaming bowl of oatmeal, topped with more raspberry jam!”

  Mari jumped off her drake and began dancing too. “Mmmmm! And in the summertime, fresh strawberries picked right from the little garden outside of the academy!”

  Timbrell chirped with joy. “Aye, strawberries!”

  Sawain sighed and raised his hands in defeat. “Alright, enough. I get the point, now please stop before everyone has to eat a second breakfast.”

  Timbrell’s head snapped in Sawain’s direction. His little eyes widened and his mouth hung open. “That’s an option?”

  The rest of the party laughed at the small pankin as Sawain strode to Naralei’s side. “Well, looks like you’re on your own in looking after the captain.”

  Nara’s eyes flickered with sadness, but she quickly looked away and nodded. “We’ll be fine here. Don’t take too long.”

  Sawain hesitated for a moment. Something felt off about Naralei still. He decided to let it go for now. He ran his hand over her drake’s shimmering scales, then made his way to Eldingbál. He climbed up the drake’s side and situated himself before looking around at his small team.

  “It’s best if we get moving as soon as possible since we have a lot to accomplish in such a short amount of time. Binze, you take point. The rest of us will follow you and watch for trouble. You set the pace and we will keep up.”

  Binze nodded, “As you wish. This way.”

  The centaur took off at a quick gallop with Terina at his side. Sawain urged Eldingbál onward. The other Ghosts followed suit behind their leader. The run was quiet, except for the clattering of hooves and drake claws against the earth. No one spoke for an hour as they dashed past rocks and streams and the occasional tree grove. Sawain could feel the tension the others exuded. The same thing that weighed on the back of his mind must have been affecting everyone. Facing any dragon was a terrifying experience, but he preferred fighting one over striking a deal with it. His stomach growled, but he decided to ignore it.

  He endured his hunger pangs for four more hours until he could feel Eldingbál breathing hard. He noticed the centaurs’ lope had changed too. They both looked winded. He assumed the other drakes were tired too. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and his stomach was empty. He noticed a stream beside them, so he signaled to stop.

  “Let’s take a quick break and recover our strength. We are no good to Binze’s plan if we die of exhaustion.”

  The entourage gladly complied and crawled to a halt. The drakes slithered to the water as soon as they were clear of riders and cargo, slumping down into the chilly stream. The centaur and riders rested on rocks or against the small trees that thinly sprinkled this region of the fells. They managed to snare a few waterfowl nearby and cooked up a quick meal of meat and bread from the supplies. Sawain gobbled his portion down as if he had not eaten in days. Banthan sat to his far right, eating his own meal silently as Mari and Timbrel danced around in the stream, splashing the drakes playfully. Terina watched her younger allies’ antics as she spoke to Sawain and Banthan.

  “Storm clouds are rolling in from the west. Looks like it’s going to be a cold night.”

  Banthan shivered visibly as a cold gust blew through the makeshift camp. “Ugh, can’t we just have one nice night out here?”

  Sawain shrugged. “Welcome to life outside the forest, Banth. Winter’s setting in. It’s just going to get colder every day.”

  Banthan made a disgusted sound in his throat as he scrunched up his face. “You know what? You can keep your sun and your breezes. It’s not worth it when you have to deal with all this weather stuff.”

  Sawain noticed Banthan staring at the dark clouds and seemed to be lost in thought. He tossed a pebble at the sour elf.

  “The longer you stare at them, the longer they will still be there.”

  Banth turned his stare upon Sawain, unfazed by his jibe. “Are you really comfortable with striking a deal with a dragon? I mean, all the stories say it is wiser to steal from a Segrammir, since that way you only risk destruction of your body.”

  Banthan shuddered and returned to staring at the rolling storm clouds. “They say striking a deal with a dragon is like giving away your soul. The dragon always takes you farther than you’re willing to go and keeps you far longer than you’re willing to stay.”

  Sawain waved dismissively. “Those are all just old-timer stories. According to my mentor, Axel Rimebeard, dragons are powerful allies as long as you can manage to keep them on a leash of promises. We just have to make sure the dragon stays tempted by the promise of the Runestone’s power.”

  Banthan’s gaze dropped to the stony ground on which he sat. He bit his lower lip and scratched his head nervously. He hesitated a brief moment before speaking again.

  “I don’t know, Sawain . . . . This seems like just as much of a suicide mission as attacking Jordborg head on. Maybe it would be best to fall back to Alfhaven and amass a larger force.”

  Sawain shook his head. “We can’t go back. We are all that is keeping the Grey King’s attention off Alfhaven now. If our hold falls, then who is to say that any will remain to stand against his onslaught? If Jordborg has fallen, it is safe to assume Anvilheim has as well. With two of the strongest holds in Hammerhold under his control, the Grey King would have the world by the throat. We have to break his grasp on Jordborg if we are to have a chance against him. If I have to make a deal with a dragon and risk my soul to do so, then very well.”

  Banth opened his mouth to protest, but the words did not leave his lips. Sawain heard a scream from the water and jumped to his feet, grabbing his great sword. He saw Mari and the drakes splashing helplessly in the stream, entangled by weighted nets. There was no sign of Timbrell. Before anyone else could react, a volley of arrows whistled through the air, clacking against rocks, thudding into the ground around them, and bouncing off armor. Not everyone was lucky enough to go unharmed. An arrow struck Banthan in the hand, pinning him to the ground. He screamed in shock and anguish as he st
ruggled to pull the arrow from his hand and the ground. Sawain saw Binze lurch as an arrow pierced his flank.

  He fought against the icy panic in the back of his skull as a dark figure appeared in his peripheral vision. He lunged at it, swinging his sword with all of his might. The mysterious assailant nimbly dodged his blade and leapt several feet back. The adversary wore a black cloak that billowed like wisps of smoke in the stormy wind. Sawain felt a blow to the back of his head that staggered him, though he kept on his feet. The pain from his head wound knocked the fear from him and replaced it with a burning rage that filled his head and spread into his chest.

  He spun around and slashed his attacker, who was not quite fast enough to avoid it. Blade connected with flesh and bone and cut through it effortlessly. The opponent screamed in anguish as its arm fell away from its body. The enemy glared at him with fiery reddish-orange eyes.

  “You’ll pay for that, thrallborn brat!”

  Sawain was shocked that this assailant knew he was thrallborn, but did not stop to question it. He rushed and slashed at it again. This time, it bounded over his blade, shapeshifting into a creature that was half-humanoid, and half-bat, with only one wing. Its missing limb caused it to lose control mid flight and it spiraled back to the ground, becoming fully humanoid again. Banthan had recovered in time to move behind the wounded attacker as it rose to its feet. He swung his sword and effortlessly removed its head from its shoulders. The dead creature crumpled at Banthan’s feet as he pivoted to catch another attacker’s sword with his own. Banth winced with pain as his other hand hung useless at his side.

  Sawain took a quick survey of the battlefield as his senses slowly returned to him. Dozens of the cloaked enemies surrounded his party. Binze and Terina exchanged arrow volleys with several of the creatures. Banthan struggled to fight off three on his own. Mari and the drakes were pinned. Sawain was surrounded by six of the enemy and more lingered on the edge of the battlefield, preparing bolts of unnatural darkness.