Hammerhold Tales: Thrallborn

Chapter Seven

Dawn broke over the walls of Anvilheim while Sawain stood in the training yard, alone. The longsword in his hands swept through the motions Axel had taught him the day before. The city around him was silent. All he could hear was the sound of the sword cutting swiftly through the cold, bitter air. His muscles burned and his lungs ached as he went faster and faster with his movements. The steel blade of the sword blurred like a flashing bolt of lightning as he cut his way through imaginary hordes of gnolls.

A small noise rang in his ears. The faster he went, the louder it got.

It was a voice.

He pushed himself harder. He swung his blade with all his might.

It was a familiar voice. A man's voice.

He sliced through the air with unbridled ferocity. His hands bled from the force he exerted.

The voice was calling a name.

He could feel his lungs tearing as he forced air into them and out again. He himself had become a blur. He was a force of nature. Raw. Powerful. Unstoppable.

It was calling out his name.

He barreled through a blood soaked battlefield. Everything he came close to shattered. He could not make out the forms, but they were dark. He shred through an entire army with the power of the gods.

The voice grew louder, clearer. The name began to fill him.

He moved so fast, every color bled away except red and gray. A massive figure loomed ahead of him. It was dark and two red orbs burned like fire where its eyes should be. He hated it. He hated it with the purest rage. The raging warrior roared fiercely, cutting his way to the enemy as it grew larger.

The name was all he could hear. His name.

The shadowy presence drew close now. It towered over him. He saw its face. It was a face of purest evil. Gray. Rotting. Unnatural. Its face was fear, but he had no room in his heart. His sword was no longer the same. It had changed. He raised it high above his head as he leaped at his foe, screaming his name. His real name.

Sawain awoke screaming the name. He was sitting up, drenched in sweat, panting hard, as if he had just been fighting a real war. He blinked several times until he could come to term with the fact that he had only been dreaming.

It was a dream. Wasn't it? Was that real? How could it have been real? I'm awake, in my bed. I'm still in Dawnstar Manor. None of it was real, right?

He looked around the room. It was early morning. The sun was shining into his window. A shock wave of fear shot through him as he stumbled out of bed, trying to free his tangled legs from his blanket. The sun had risen and Axel did not wake him up. This happened once before, a month ago. Axel did not wake him up to see if he could get up on his own. He slept until noon. The punishment was nearly too much for Sawain to bear, since Axel made him do all of his chores and lessons before he could rest or eat. He went to bed that night well beyond midnight with nothing to eat. The next morning, he was exhausted, but up and ready before Axel came to knock on his door.

Sawain could already hear the thick dwarven accent reprimanding him in his head as he burst out of his room, still fastening his belt. He made it to the top of the stairs and looked nervously down into the main hall. Housemother Ravensoul rocked contentedly in her chair in the corner close to the mantle. A warm fire crackled in the fireplace, casting its glow into the dim room. Reisim sat at the table, scribbling on a scroll of parchment.

Sawain stood utterly confused. Never in his life as a slave or a shieldling had he actually been allowed to sleep in without dire consequences. He hesitantly made his way downstairs, scanning the corners for Axel, expecting him to pop out at any moment, swatting at him with a training sword, screaming, "Yer late! Yer late!" The surprise attack never came. Neither Reisim nor the Housemother even acknowledged Sawain as he shuffled into the great hall. Finally, he couldn't take this game anymore.