Dragonhammer: Volume I by Conner McCall Page B

one-handed axe.
    “You’re fighting?” I ask.
    “Not planning on it,” he says simply.  “But I feel okay.  If I have to I will.  My wounds were minor; just a cut on the arm and the right side of my head.  They’re healing quickly.  If they don’t attack for another day or two, I should be able to fight.”
    I nod, unsure if I should be excited or afraid for him.
    “We need to have each others’ backs,” suggests James.  “Us five.  We need to stick together.  Watch out for each other.”
    Percival responds, “Agreed.”
    “Once I get in there,” chuckles Jericho.
    They look to me for my response.  “With my life,” I say.  Each of our fathers stands silently behind us, listening.  They are grim and look to the floor contemplatively. 
    Then my father says, “And we’ll be right there with you.”  He gives me a small smile.
    The room begins to go quiet.  As we turn around, we see why.
    Lord Jarl Hralfar is walking down the middle of the room.  When he reaches the center, he stops.  He looks around for a moment, waiting for silence.  Then he begins.
    “Men of Virfith.  You know better than most of us the hostility Tygnar will bring.  It is to them that you lost your homes.  I cannot promise you that you will ever see them again.  But what I can promise is that you can bring upon them the same fate.  Each of you will have sections of the wall or city designated to you.  The men of Terrace will garrison the South Fort, as you will garrison the North Fort.”
    “Where’s that?” whispers Nathaniel.
    “In the city, like a tiny version of the Keep,” I whisper back.  James elbows me.
    “Some of you will be assigned to the wall, above the gate.  Some will stand below, to brace and hold the gate.  The men of Terrace will stand with you.  The Clifftowers will be manned with the best archers from both groups.  Who among you is skilled with a bow or crossbow?”
    There are some slow hands that rise.  Nathaniel is hesitant.  Father rests his hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder, and when Nathaniel looks to him, Father only nods.  Then my brother’s hand rises.
    The Jarl continues, “Archers meet in the room to the right.  All of those who are above the age of fifty, or below sixteen, will go to the left.  All else, remain here.  Go.”
    Father and I each say a farewell to Nathaniel, who follows the smaller crowd of archers into the next room.  A more elderly group makes their way through the door on the opposite side.  Our numbers have been cut by over a third.
    The Jarl waits for the doors to close.  Then he speaks again.
    “You are the mighty of men,” he states simply.  “The strong.  Tygnar’s men will show you no mercy.  They are here to take from you your lives and homes.  So you must show to them no mercy.  You will be stationed at the gate.  Fight well.”  Just before he turns to leave, his eyes flick to me.  For just a moment, he is staring into my being.  Fight well , he is saying.  Then he turns and leaves.
    A guard stands where the Jarl had been.  His words are short.  “Go and get some rest,” he says.  “The bunkrooms are located on the right through the main hall.  The sound of the horn will signal the need for you at your posts.  Until that time the armories and training grounds will remain open and manned.  Attack is imminent.  Be ready.”
    Later, all of us stand in one of the bunkrooms.  I see Frederick, but he is uneasy and solemn.  We had managed to find Nathaniel in the midst of the makeshift army.  Some of the officials had brought around food rations because evening was quickly becoming night.  I sit on my bunk, thinking.
    “What are you thinking about?” asks Percival, sitting next to me.
    I wait a moment before I answer.  “I’m thinking about seeing the world, Percival.  Will I – or you – live the week through, and even if we do, will we be able to see beyond these mountains?”
    He nods.  “I can’t answer that,