The Hammer - Cor Series Book I

“So, Tarran,” a deep voice growled in Corvan’s ear, “you have not only proven yourself to be a bigger fool than your father, but this time he cannot save you from the Chief Watcher.”

The grip on Corvan’s shoulders relaxed. His body slipped, and his heart pounded.

“I think it would be best for everyone if you fell to your death,” the deep voice stated.

“Kharag,” a calm voice spoke. “Our orders were to relieve Tarran and Harmon not kill them.”

“Shut up, Rayu,” the man holding Corvan barked, “or you will be next. It would be a great relief to not see any of the green priest’s cloaks around our barracks.”

Corvan was hurled back toward the door. He collapsed in a heap and looked out under the folds of his hood. His captors were expecting to meet Tarran at the door and his grandfather’s special cloak was making them think that was who Corvan was. He pulled his hood lower.

Men in black cloaks moved about while an older man in a green cloak smiled in his direction. That had to be one of the priests from the temple Tsarek had spoken of. If he could only talk to Rayu, the man could help him escape.

A boot caught him in the leg. “Get to your feet,” Kharag ordered.

Using the staff, Corvan pushed himself upright. He was keeping his hood low and his eyes on the ground. As he leaned heavily on the staff, its glow came to life, and Kharag’s boots jumped in front of him.

“Why did you light your staff?” Kharag demanded, snatching it from Corvan’s hand. He examined the shaft. “And why is there blood on it?”

“Kharag,” another voice called, “look over here.”

Corvan watch from under his hood as Kharag moved to where a knot of soldiers stood around Harmon’s body. The older man in a green cloak pushed in to crouch over the corpse. “This wound was not made by his staff,” he said, looking up at Kharag.

Kharag shoved the man, who fell hard to the ground.

“We don’t need your help, Rayu. This is not a temple affair. Harmon’s body is proof of the murder, so Tarran is now a prisoner under the jurisdiction of the Chief Watcher.”

The large boots stalked back to Corvan. The sharp point of the staff jabbed repeatedly into his shoulder with each sharp word. “Tarran, you are under arrest for the murder of Harmon. You will now be taken before the Chief Watcher for judgment.” Someone shoved Corvan and was directing him onto the cliffside path leading down to the city.

Hemmed in by soldiers on the narrow track, Corvan noticed there was something odd about his guards. At first, he couldn’t figure it out, but as they entered the first set of switchbacks, leading to the bridge below, it finally struck him. Among these grown men, he was of average height. Either the guards were chosen for their short stature, or all the people of this place Tsarek called the Cor were not very tall.

The light from the lumiens overhead was growing dimmer, and with his hood low over his eyes, Corvan felt safe from discovery, at least for the time being. Once he was taken to the Chief Watcher, he would be exposed as an impostor. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead at the thought of meeting the black lizard face-to-face.

Seeking some reassurance, he reached under his tunic to rest his hand on the head of the hammer, but it was cold to the touch. Something had changed when Tarran died. The man’s frightened face filled his thoughts. He pushed the image away, but the voice in his head kept pleading, “Help me, Cor-Van.”

Silently, he responded, I was too afraid and I’m not strong enough. I’m sorry. I don’t even know how to use the hammer.

Tarran’s voice continued to implore him. “Please, Cor-Van, help me.”

He tried forcing himself to think of something else, but the voice would not quit. It grew louder and more desperate.

“Stop!”

All the men around him jostled to a halt and turned to face him. Kharag pushed through their midst and grabbed him by the collar, almost knocking his hood off. “Why should we stop? Are you too tired, Tarran? Did killing Harmon take too much out of you?” Kharag yanked him to the edge of the trail. “If you are so tired, I will help you to the bottom faster.”

Again, the old man named Rayu spoke up in his even tone. “Kharag, don’t forget that the Chief Watcher will not be happy with you if he does not have a chance to question your prisoner. There is no reward for a dead body. I suggest we keep moving and get across the water before it gets fully dark.”

The soldiers behind Rayu muttered their agreement, and Kharag’s face contorted into an ugly sneer. Shoving Corvan toward the guards, he pointed a thick finger at Rayu. “Keep your thoughts to yourself, old man, or you will be the one taking a quick trip down.”

Kharag stomped off down the trail as the soldiers formed a tight wall around Corvan and plodded downward. There was no way out of this new nightmare. Everything was going from bad to worse.

Someone squeezed Corvan’s hand. Rayu was walking beside him. He looked directly up into Corvan’s hood and smiled. Corvan nodded and swallowed a lump in his throat. The man knew he was not Tarran and was still willing to help him. At least he had one friend in this place. A soldier behind them coughed, and Rayu let go as the guard pushed through between them.

Weariness settled in, and Corvan fell into a trancelike state as he was stumbling down the winding path. The sound of rushing water brought him back to his senses and awakened his thirst. It had been a long time since he last ate or drank.

There was no stopping for a drink. The guards pressed in even tighter as they approached the bridge and sped up. Although it was protected with a stone wall on either side, the soldiers crowded as close to the center as possible. A few glanced nervously at the water rushing below. Corvan looked for the source of their fear. Was one of the long-armed monsters hiding below it? Or were they simply afraid of falling in?

They quickly reached the other side of the river, where the bank of the water channel rose up to join the outer wall of the city.

The company passed through an open gate, spread out, and marched down the wide street Corvan had seen from above. All the buildings on the left were crumbling shells with their doors broken off and roofs falling in. On the right, a high wall had been hastily constructed of stone blocks of various sizes that didn’t fit together well.

The road itself was uneven, and the soldiers stumbled in the near darkness. The few people they met pressed against the high wall on the right side of the street until the soldiers passed and then scurried away. Corvan could not see their faces because everyone wore a hooded cloak—likely the only way to stay warm in the damp air or perhaps to avoid detection from the armed guard.

Kharag led the procession through the city by the light of the staff’s globe. It cast its twisting elongated shadows onto the wall alongside them.

In a short while, the company reached the center of the city. The round plaza he had seen from the upper door had a round pool in the middle of which was a statue topped with the head of a man but with four arms sticking out of its body rising from the water. Something moved in the shadows beyond the statue, and he caught a quick glimpse of a shrouded figure heading into a street beyond the statue in the staff’s garish light. The sweet scent of lilacs awakened a powerful longing. He bent lower to look through the legs of the statue, and the figure looked in his direction.

It was Kate! She took a glance at the soldiers, and then she pulled the plaid blanket draped over her shoulders tightly around her neck and disappeared up the darkened street. Corvan stumbled into the soldier in front of him, and they both crashed to the ground. In a flash, Rayu was kneeling at his side and pulling Corvan’s hood back over his head.

Grabbing the old man’s wrist, Corvan pulled him in close. “There’s a girl in the street behind the statue,” he whispered. “You must go and help her. She’s wearing a blanket with …”

“Are we going to have to drag the two of you up to the palace?” Kharag’s angry voice echoed in the confines of the walled plaza.

Rayu leaned back and pulled Corvan to his feet. “We are all right. Just tripped over the loose cobblestones.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Kharag warned and turned away.

With Rayu close at his side, the company moved along a circular wall that curved to the outside of the central plaza. They passed under what looked like metal trees, the branches terminating in metal rings. Rayu gave his hand a firm squeeze, and then he was gone. Corvan wanted desperately to confirm that Rayu was going after Kate, but he dared not stumble again.

In front of them, a pair of sputtering fire sticks framed a narrow iron gate. Kharag strode up and shouted a command. The gate creaked open only enough to let the soldiers squeeze through in single file. Beyond the gate, a soldier stood yawning with his hand on the windlass that controlled the gate.

Prodding Corvan to keep moving, the soldiers marched along the wide street toward the faceless statue brooding over the decaying city. The street became a wider stone stairway, and its balustrades were crumbling and broken off like twin rows of rotten teeth. At the top of the stairs, they passed beneath a great stone arch set into a thick wall before emerging into a large open space. Ahead of them, successive ranks of stairs, broken by wide landings, climbed toward the feet of the statue. At regular intervals across the landings were more of the fluted metal trees, which seemed to be sprouting from circular stone platforms.

After two flights of stairs, it was all Corvan could do to force his feet to take the last step onto the next landing. Just when he feared he might collapse and be discovered, Kharag ordered the men to stand down. They all sank wearily onto the steps.

Kharag left them and crossed the open area toward a large double gate set into the courtyard wall. Corvan peeked from under his hood and watched Kharag knock at a smaller door next to the large gate. He tried to keep watch to see what might happen, but his head sank to his knees. He dozed for a moment, then he was jolted awake when the soldiers beside him pulled him to his feet.

Kharag swaggered toward them and called out. “The Chief Watcher does not want to be disturbed tonight.” The small door slammed behind him, and Kharag jumped. His voice lowered. “I have been ordered to leave the prisoner in one of the cells. The Chief Watcher will decide his fate in the morning.” He gestured for them to follow.

One side of the larger gate opened, and Kharag led them inside and to the right along a high building. A light glowed in a window next to an archway. Two red-cloaked guards, armed with tall pikes, stepped out. Kharag approached them and held out the red staff while speaking in important tones.

One of the red guards yanked the staff from Kharag’s hand and pushed him aside. The soldiers beside Corvan fell back as the red cloaks swept in and ushered him through the arch and across a small courtyard toward a row of short, round towers up tight against the tall building. A door was opened, and Corvan was shoved inside. The door slid closed behind him. A key turned in a lock. All sound from outside the round room was cut off.

Corvan’s eyes adjusted quickly. The cell was about ten paces in diameter and other than the faint outline of the locked door, the walls were unmarked by cracks or lines indicating how it had been constructed. A bit of light leaked in through a round opening high overhead.

Corvan crossed to a low stone bench jutting out from the wall and sat down. To his right was a shallow depression with a hole in the middle. Corvan wrinkled his nose at the smell. Obviously, this was his toilet. Above the depression, a short, round knob protruded from the wall. When he touched the tip, clear water gushed from the underside and ran into the hole. After drinking his fill of the cool water, he removed his cloak, pulled off the pack, and kicked it under the bench. At least the darkness had kept them from noticing the pack and searching it.

Stretching out on the cold stone bench, he wrapped his grandfather’s cloak tightly around him and tried to think through all that had just happened. It seemed obvious that the mysterious cloak had worked on the minds of the soldiers and had fooled them into thinking he was Tarran. Rayu, however, was not deceived. He had looked Corvan in the face and was still willing to help him.

The older priest named Rayu was a kind-hearted man, and he had looked Corvan in the face. He knew he was not Tarran, but he had gone looking for Kate. If he found her, Rayu would likely take her to the priest’s temple and help her out. All he needed to do was escape from the cell and make his way across to the other side of the wide plaza to join them, but how?

Gazing up at the circle of light, the solution presented itself with stark simplicity. His krypin rope could crawl up walls. All he needed to do was to walk it up to the top and pull himself through the hole and onto the roof.

Jumping off the bench, he was reaching for where the rope was clipped to his belt when a key rattled in the door. He dropped back onto the bench, turned his back to the door, and pretended to be asleep.

The door opened, and someone stepped lightly into the room.

“I want to make sure my brother is all right,” a woman said. “I am assuming the laws of Kadir City still allow an untried prisoner to have visitors?”