Dragonhammer: Volume I by Conner McCall

Gunther?” Ethan asks.
    My father does not respond, so I shrug.
    An uncomfortable hubbub overtakes the crowd.  Residents of Terrace are gathering on the other side of the wall of guards, just to see what’s going on.
    After what must have been an hour, the officer returns and stands in his spot on the wall.  Then he says, “By order of Lord Jarl Hralfar, all able men of Gilgal at least of age fifteen are to report to Nringnar’s deep.”  The hubbub gets louder.  “Tygnar is upon us and we must defend ourselves.  Bring only what you need.  You will be expected to be there within the hour.”  This time he stays on the wall and issues orders to a few of the guards. 
    Nobody moves.  The officer notices this and says, “Those who do not comply will be taken forcefully.”  He gestures to the wall of guards.  “If you do not protect yourselves, then who will?”  Then he disappears for the last time.
    My mother is in shock.  Every member of my family is looking at her, but for Nicholas, who is staring wide-eyed at my father.  Then she moves and embraces Father.
    “You know I have to,” he says.
    She only sobs into his shoulder.
    There’s a similar experience that Nathaniel and I both get.  She tells us how much she loves us and many tears are shed.  Just about every family in the city must be having a comparable experience.
    Nathaniel and I each embrace Ethan and Nicholas.  Father just picks up the latter and squeezes him.  “Take care of your mother,” I hear him whisper.  Nicholas nods.
    Mother and Father embrace one last time before we leave.  Guards are starting to mingle with the crowd to get things moving.  My father’s beard quivers as she says, “I love you, Kadmus.”
    Trails of men make their way to the Keep at the back of the city.  By now it’s about midday, but I have no appetite.  The Keep is lit well during this time of day, though short shadows are beginning to lengthen and make the Keep seem dark and foreboding.
    Guards stand on either side of the gates, which are about twice my height and as wide as the road.  We enter with the stream of people.  I can’t help but wonder where Gunther is.
    The entrance hall is plain.  There are short narrow windows higher up, almost at the vaulted ceiling over twenty feet high.  Tables sit perpendicular to the walls lined with torches, leaving a wide aisle down the middle of the hall.  A balcony lines the walls about ten feet up, with doors leading onto the outer walls and into the next room.
    The mob pushes through into a huge circular room that acts as an intersection for just about every hallway in the Keep.  The room has two stories; the second is a balcony that encompasses the entire circumference of the room.  Arched doorways lead from the balcony deeper into the Keep in every compass direction.  The lower floor mirrors the pattern.  Every room is constructed of stone.
    The mob stops here.
    “I wonder if men from Terrace are here as well,” Nathaniel thinks aloud, “And not just men from Virfith.”
    I nod replying, “I would be shocked if there weren’t.”  Father stares straight ahead.
    “Then where’s Gunther…?”
    Eventually guards come out and line the second story balcony.  Three officers stride out of the largest arch at the farthest end of the room, positioning themselves on the balcony.  The one on the right speaks, “All behold Lord Jarl Hralfar, ruler of Gilgal!”
    A figure enters.  He’s tall, wearing a cape with large fur shoulders that make him look broader.  He wears a steel polished breastplate and gauntlets, with leather boots.  His shoulder-length hair is light brown; his short well-groomed beard matches.  He has a solemn wrinkled face with a flat hawk-beak nose.  A sword of some sort hangs from his waist, on his left side.
    “Men of Gilgal,” he starts.  His voice is richly baritone, but the sheer volume forces a somewhat scratchy tone.  “Our land is at stake.  Our lives.  Our