Grim-faced Norlanders faced the wild mob, but Rhanu sensed a feeling of unease even from them. He had thought the Norlanders were the wildest, boisterous warriors he had run across. The feral newcomers made the Norlanders appear to be Parandian tea sippers by comparison.
Even as Rhanu approached, Theron pushed his way through the crowd. His face was hardened, his brows knit like a man about to commit murder. Another Norlander followed directly on his heels, carrying a chest heavily engraved in silver.
Fregeror stood beside Han. "Ulfhenar." The red-haired Norlander's voice was mixed with disgust and awe. Rhanu gave him a questioning look.
"They do live in the high passes, where even the hardiest Norlander will go only when given no choice. It is said the last of the Jonarr, and others more dangerous live there as well. Ulfhenar do be animals, killing for pleasure and eating the flesh of the dead. I do wish my uncle did not have to call upon them."
Rhanu made a strangled sound. "Theron summoned these creatures?"
Fregeror nodded. "Aye, and come they have. No doubt tempted by the thought of conquering where all others have perished trying."
"How can such a people be controlled?"
Fregeror's face was grim. "They cannot be controlled. Only pointed in the direction of the slaughter."
A broken-nosed Ulfhenar with a half-burned face shouldered forward. Theron was one of the largest men Rhanu had seen up to that point, but he only came to the man's shoulder. The giant had long, matted yellow hair and a braided beard that hung to his chest. A pelt from an enormous white bear covered his head and shoulders over his leather girdle and grimy kilt. A heavy sword as long as he was tall was slung behind his back, and an engraved war hammer hung from his wide leather belt. A naked axe was in his hands, gripped as if he wished to use it right then.
"I be Bejarni, leader of the Highland Caste. Ye, who be of our blood, did call. Have ye the Hammer?"
Rhanu looked at Fregeror in surprise. "Theron is an Ulfhenar?"
"One of our greatest fears as our kingdom settles be that our warrior blood will ebb, and we will become weak as the milk-sipping lowlanders. A maiden will at times bed with an Ulfhenar in order produce a warrior child strong in the old blood. Theron's mother was such a woman." Fregeror's voice carried a note of pride.
Rhanu shook his head wonderingly.
Theron's voice roared out clearly. "The Hammer I do have, and with it proof of my authority." He turned and twisted a knob on the clasp of the chest in a series of complicated patterns. The lid clicked open, and Theron lifted a great hammer from it. Bejarni's good eye bulged, and the Ulfhenar stopped their din to crowd forward, exclaiming in loud, guttural voices.
The hammer had the appearance of pure glass, though Rhanu was sure that wasn't the case. He knew exactly what it was. Titien grew cold against his chest as if echoing his thoughts. It's a powerful fusorb. A Geod. Like Titien. Like Eymunder, the staff Nyori carries. His throat constricted at the thought. That would make three keys, all in close proximity. Coincidence, or by design? Somehow, he didn't believe it to be the former.
Though it looked slippery, Theron hefted the hammer with ease, sure as though the handle was leather-wrapped. It had an unusually short handle, requiring a single hand to wield it. The hammerhead was anvil-shaped instead of square or cylindrical like a traditional hammer and was heavily engraved with Glyphs. A blue orb implanted in the center of the hammer flashed with its own light and hummed with every movement. Rhanu realized he stared with as much awe as the Ulfhenar.
Theron's arm blazed with light. The glowing characters were instantly familiar. Rhanu had seen similar characters on Ayna's arms whenever she used her staff, and on his chest when he bonded with Titien.
"What is it?"
Fregeror tone was worshipful. "It is called Hzekmo. Some say it is the Stone of Dunnar himself. Theron did take Hzekmo from the tomb of the Esire, where he defeated the Draugr and restored great riches back to Norland."
Rhanu winced and shifted Titien under his shirt. It had grown so cold he was afraid his skin would be frostbitten. "What is a Draugr?"
"A phantom creature that hoards treasure and feeds on living souls. It did control the weather, summoned fog, and no weapon made could harm it. Many warriors went to the halls of Melasgar because of that creature."
"If no weapon could harm it, how did Theron defeat it?"
"The Draugr could only be defeated in unarmed combat by a warrior blessed by the gods. Though it nearly killed him, Theron did destroy the creature and restored an unimaginable amount of wealth to our nation, as well as Hzekmo. For years it has been locked away in the most guarded storeroom. This be the first time I have seen it with mine own eyes."
Rhanu looked at Theron with new respect.
The Ulfhenar chieftain did as well. "It has come to pass. We have searched for the Hammer Lord, and it be you. Let no more be said. We do be yours, to the bloody death." He dropped to his knees and motioned for his men to do the same.
Theron hoisted Hzekmo as he looked at the lines of kneeling giants.
"To the bloody death!"
The fusorb flashed a final time before Theron slung it in a thong on his belt. Thankfully, Titien ceased its cold pulse against Rhanu's chest.
If the Ulfhenar were in awe of Hzekmo, they were almost as astounded when they learned they would be following the Reaver into battle. He and the Night Mare were aloof and apart, a dark stain against the sea of ghostly fog. Impatience radiated from them, so that the men moved even faster to break camp. Every so often the soldiers would glance nervously at the Reaver, as though attempting to verify that it was no mere apparition. It had unsettled many of the men to find that Marcellus and the Reaver were one, something that had not trickled past Marcellus' inner circle until then.
Rhanu could do nothing for their feelings. He had enough on his hands. He nodded as Shiru joined him at the front of the ranks where he and his commanders discussed last minute strategies. "You certainly don't need to be involved in this, Shiru. There's small chance of Han's father being in Aceldama."
Shiru shrugged. "The young prince is in my charge until I deliver him home. Until then, I serve as he does."
Han had told Rhanu long ago that he was one of the many grandsons of the Sage-King of his homeland, but it was strange to hear it from the mouth of another. Shiru seemed a wise man, and definitely would prove to be an asset in the battle.
"You are a Shao Warrior. Have you ever done anything like this before?"
"Like this?" Shiru shook his head. "Not full scale war. A few skirmishes here and there. Yet war is something every Imperial member trains for. We are taught that war is a doctrine for ruling kingdoms. It is the basis upon which a nation shall thrive or meet its doom. That is why the goal of the Imperials is to master the art of war."
"Let us hope that we are grand artists indeed." Rhanu took a deep breath and strode to where the Reaver waited. It was colossal up close, a statue someone might carve to depict a dark god. Its ember eyes flared when it looked down at Rhanu. All traces of anything related to Marcellus had vanished, any vestige of humanity replaced by darkness.
"The army is ready."
The Night Mare reared and screamed to chill the blood. The Reaver wheeled her around to face the army. Its voice was a coarse rumble that sharply contrasted the dirty softness of the fog.
"We enter."
The Night Mare shrieked once more as if in answer, billowing flames from her nostrils. The Reaver and its monstrous steed turned and vanished into the haze.
After only a second's hesitation, the Ulfhenar howled as they pushed and shoved to be the first to follow. Their bellows echoed from beyond as they disappeared. After that the Norlanders followed, then the ranks of soldiers and wagons containing their provisions, supplies, and siege engines streamed into the foggy maw, giving the eerie illusion of being swallowed by the mist.