Hammerhold Tales: Thrallborn

Chapter Four

The trip to Anvilheim was the best journey Sawain had ever taken. It was his first as a free man. He toted a crate full of silverware as he walked alongside Axel Rimebeard, his new mentor. They talked for nearly an hour about the young ex-thrall's history. Axel asked many questions about his father, which Sawain hated to answer. He never wanted to say anything good about the man. If he did, he would say, "They called him a hero, but what kind of hero enslaves his own son?"

Sawain grew weary of talking about his past life after half an hour. He had questions of his own for Axel.

"Tell me more about Anvilheim. They say it's a city of stone and iron, with forges burning day and night. Is that true?"

Axel nodded, "Aye, laddie, it's true. There are twenty one smithies in Anvilheim. Not all of them are weapon smiths, but most of them do specialize in weapons and armor. Some are blacksmiths that make the raw weapons, from yer average longsword, to blades that will one day be in the Bards' histories. There are even Mithril smiths that can put a deadly edge on any weapon."

Sawain interrupted, "What's Mithril?"

Axel was staggered by the boy's question. He ran his hand through his bushy beard and shook his head, "Bostovir's Beard! You really are a sheltered one, aren't you? There are creatures of great evil in this world. Some are naturally evil, while others are unnaturally evil. These unnaturally evil creatures were once regular folk who were corrupted by dark powers. Werewolves, vampyr, the undead, these are only a few common examples. Mithril is the light of the gods in metal form. It can easily destroy the unnaturally evil creatures and is thus treasured by adventurers and heroes alike."

Sawain scratched his head, trying to process this information. He had heard of werewolves. He thought they were just stories to scare children into going to bed or to take a bath.

"You're testing me, aren't you? There's not really such a thing as werewolves are there? I mean, I know about dragons and orcs and gnolls, but werewolves? Come on, Axel."

"Oh, they're real, laddie. I've killed my fair share of Lycans in my day. Alfhaven, east of here had a breakout a decade or two ago. They killed a lot of elves and a fair bit of heroes too. But we don't have to worry about Lycans much around here. No, our main threat is from the Gnollfolk who live in the mountains. They've never really seen eye to eye with us. They claim we stole their land or some nonsense like that. All ramblin's of beasts fueled by rage, though. Anvilheim is as old as the Stones."

"So, they're scavengers and warmongers. How do they get so numerous with all these heroes around? Isn't it your job to kill them all?"

Axel sighed, shaking his head, "We're heroes, Sawain, not gods. We can't decide whether an entire race deserves to live or die. We just try to keep the scales balanced."

Sawain arched his eyebrows but didn't say anything else about the matter. He already decided that he had no love for gnolls. Axel's last words stuck in his mind as he trudged along silently for a moment. He decided to shift topics. As he opened his mouth to speak, he was stopped by the sight of Anvilheim rising to view as they climbed to the top of a hill.

It was an impressive stronghold city that spread out across the hilly country, its walls engulfing much of the landscape. The buildings beyond the border were staggered in height, for some sat on hills while others rested in small valleys. A river cut its way through the city, entering at one barred gate in the wall. Buttressed towers stood along the wall like giant sentinels. The walls themselves were reinforced with black iron buttresses that gave the gray stone walls a foreboding ferocity. Columns of white smoke rose in wisps throughout the city, creating a ring of haze above the stronghold. The building that sat above all others in the center of the city was a grand palace of marble and steel with a mixture of elvish and human architecture in its design.