Hammers in the Wind by Christian Warren Freed Read Free Book Online

colors coalesced before him. This was it!
    He fell, hitting the ancient floor and quickly rolled up to his knees. It had begun. The enemy was moving at last. Artiss felt sheer terror course through him, battling with the healing properties of the star silver. He hobbled over to the far wall where a map of the world hung. His eyes thoroughly scanned the combination of ancient and modern images. He never learned how, for the old masters had been killed before telling him the secrets, but the map was able to change itself. As Malweir changed so too did the map. The images Artiss Gran now looked upon had not been there three thousand years ago.
    His eyes flittered over the map, desperately seeking the source. Then he found it. A tiny flame flickering far to the north; well beyond the Jebel Desert. Delranan. The doom of Malweir had begun in Delranan. Artiss tried to remember anything about the small northern kingdom but was unsuccessful. Delranan hadn’t yet existed when last he awoke. Artiss hurried off to the temple library in hopes of finding the missing elements necessary to properly defend Malweir. The alarm must be raised. He only prayed the old lines were still available.
    *****
    The sky remained dark, overcast and brutal as King Badron waited. He welcomed the chilled darkness for it complimented his mood. Hatred and sorrow clashed within his heart. They consumed the goodness and left a rotting shell of man bent on vengeance. It was a difficult thing to outlive his children. Now Badron was forced to embrace the torments of that fact. He prided himself on being a hard man, a strong man. That pride was often enough his closest ally. He’d seen victory on numerous battlefields yet was now humbled by a single death.
    He loved his son more than any member of his family. The boy showed much potential and was being groomed for a leadership position in the Wolfsreik. The kingdom’s army was a fine place to hone the skills of command. None of it mattered now. His son’s broken body lay lifeless on a cold stone slab. Badron stifled back the tears even as his mind wandered back to the various conspiracy theories already suggested. He knew he shouldn’t. This was a day for mourning, not plotting.
    Daggers stabbed at him when he closed his eyes. Visions of torment mocked him. His son riddled with so many spears. The look of abject terror on his face. He reopened his eyes and stared down upon Delranan. Chadra Keep sprawled beneath. The old king’s shoulders slumped. Once he had enjoyed this view, now it suggested the decay of his rule. Color was gone, replaced by shades of winter grey. The world had grown cruel on him. A bell tolled deep from somewhere in the city below. He sighed and turned.
    Harnin One Eye patiently awaited him.
    “Well?” Badron asked.
    “We’ve had trackers scour every avenue of approach to the Keep. They determined the enemy was able to move through the eastern forest. There were a large number of tracks just outside the walls.”
    Badron nodded thoughtfully. That part made sense. The forest was the most vulnerable side of the Keep. He silently cursed himself for not cutting it down years ago. “So they used the cover of darkness to get close. How did they get inside though? There are no entrances on that part of the Keep.”
    “We are still trying to figure that out, sire. More importantly, I have come to believe that the attackers were not Pell Darga.”
    Badron’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”
    Harnin cleared his throat, uncomfortable with the hatred in his king’s eyes. “The Pell are a mountain folk. As such, they have need of a sure-footed pony, not horses bred for the open steppe. No one has seen one in a lifetime, making most doubt their existence. Not even our patrols have come across any signs in the last few years. What then would be their reasoning for driving down from their distant mountain kingdom to kidnap your daughter? It doesn’t make sense.”
    The senior captain and advisor chose