Page 20 of Of Empires and Dust
“I know who you are, Lord Virandr. There’s barely a soul here who doesn’t. You arrived with the Belduarans and the dwarves. Had you not, we would all have been dead the night the Blood Moon rose, or even before.” The man stared at Dahlen for a moment. “Erdhardt Hammersmith.”
“Ahh…” Realisation set in. “Fellhammer. I should have known it was you.”
Erdhardt grunted. The man’s eyes were sunken and dark, and scars littered the sun-bronzed skin of his neck and forearms. Short, white-grey hair did nothing to alleviate the severe sharpness in his face.
Dahlen had heard tales of Erdhardt Fellhammer since the first time he’d set foot in Salme, though he’d not fought beside him in the attacks. The people spoke of him as though he was tallas a Jotnar, with the strength of five men, and that his presence alone struck fear into Urak hearts. One woman had even claimed he swung his hammer with the power of Achyron himself. Having seen the man fight, Dahlen now saw the tales weren’t as exaggerated as he’d thought.
“Erdhardt!” a voice called.
Two men and a young woman approached, each staring about the scattered dead as they did. One of the men had a sword strapped to his hip, but he walked as though he wasn’t yet accustomed to its weight. The other had a bow slung across his shoulders and a quiver at his hip. The woman wore leathers but no weapon and kept her fire-red hair tied back with string. Mud caked her shins and knees, and blood smeared her chest, stomach, and hands.
The man with the bow grasped Erdhardt’s forearm. “The council have called the night’s meeting at the great hall. Ylinda is already there, but she’s got the sense this one will be important – seeing as we all came within a rat’s tail of losing our heads. She’s asked us all to attend. She’s asked thatyouattend. You’re no use drowning yourself in your cabin.”
“So be it.” Erdhardt gestured towards the other man with the sword. “Dahlen Virandr, this is Jorvill Ehrnin, village elder of The Glade.”
The Glade. The name floated in Dahlen’s mind. He knew the place, but it took him a moment to remember why: Calen.
Erdhardt moved on, inclining his head towards the young woman. “This is Anya Gritten. She has taken on the role of healer for our people. Andthis,” he said, returning to the man with the bow, “is Tharn Pimm.”
Pimm. Dahlen narrowed his eyes. “You’re not by any chance Dann Pimm’s father?”
The atmosphere shifted, even Erdhardt’s stony expression cracking. Tharn Pimm went white as a ghost. “You know my boy? Is he… is…”
“He’s alive. Last I heard, he was with my father and brother just north of Argona.” Dahlen wasn’t sure how much he should say of the elves for now. He’d not heard a word from either Aravell or Durakdur since the Blood Moon had risen. “Calen is with them. Calen Bryer.”
Anya’s jaw dropped open. “Calen?”
“My boy…” Tharn Pimm muttered.
“They’re both alive?” Erdhardt turned his body to face Dahlen, the darkness lifting from his eyes. “What of Rist, Rist Havel? He was with the others when they left.”
“There’s a lot you all don’t know. After the council, we’ll talk.”
The great hallstood on a rise that overlooked Salme’s port. It was five times as long as it was wide, comprising thick wooden beams and a roof of grey stone slabs. Just inside the enormous double doors, four tables ran parallel to each other along the hall’s centre, stretching for what had to have been almost thirty feet, a series of fire pits set between them with lanterns hanging from the rafters above.
A large circular table sat at the end of the hall, eight chairs around its perimeter. All but two of the chairs were filled: Nimara’s and the council representative for Salme itself. As an envoy from the Lodhar Freehold, the other members had granted Nimara a seat at the table, but rarely did they seem to care much for her opinion. This was their home, not hers.
“They’re scared,” Camwyn whispered. Along with Thannon, the woman had taken up position as one of Dahlen’s captains on the journey from Durakdur. Both were former Kingsguard and fine warriors. It felt strange to think of them that way: ‘former’Kingsguard. But it was the truth. Belduar no longer had a king. The ancient bastion had fallen, the city gone, the crown broken. Belduar was no more.
“They ought to be,” Thannon whispered back, scanning the room. “The Uraks are testing us. Whittling us down.” He leaned towards Dahlen as they made their way along the table at the hall’s left side. “Any word from your father? We could use reinforcements here.”
Dahlen shook his head, not moving his gaze from the circular table at the far end of the room, taking note of those who stood about it. “Still silence since the Blood Moon.”
Dahlen tried not to think on what that might mean. He had intended on making his way to Aravell almost a month ago, but when he’d seen the state of Salme and the increasing frequency of Urak raids from Wolfpine Ridge, he’d decided to stay longer. This was where he was needed. He could make a difference here.
As he and the others approached the circular table, he spotted Erdhardt, Jorvill, Tharn, and Anya standing behind Ylinda Pimm. Dahlen had seen Ylinda speaking at each of the council meetings, but it was only then he realised that she must also be related to Dann, likely his mother, judging by the years marked into her face. She was a sharp woman with little time for pleasantries, but she rarely spoke anything that wasn’t sense.
Erdhardt inclined his head at Dahlen, a gesture Dahlen reciprocated.
“He’s almost as big as the Uraks,” Camwyn said, inclining her head towards Erdhardt.
“The man’s a demon on the battlefield.” Thannon folded his arms. “I’ve heard stories that the beasts killed his wife a few moons ago, and now he only emerges from his home to spill their blood.”
“Stories are just that,” Dahlen whispered. “Stories.”
“One thing I know for sure, he only goes where the fighting is thickest. I saw him on the night the Blood Moon rose. He leapt from the walls, swinging his hammer like a madman. He has a death wish, one the gods won’t grant – thankfully for us.”
As Thannon spoke, Nimara walked past, Yoring and Almer at her back. Each of the dwarves nodded in greeting as Nimara took her seat. Over a hundred people were crammed around the table by the time the elders of Salme arrived, late, as tended to be their way.
