As eld Marna sat down, conversation hummed, and a lengthy time passed ere anyone else stood to speak. But at last, someone stood, and another Dragon myth was broached, and in the end each and every fact, fancy, and fairy tale ever uttered about Dragons seemed to find its way into the council. Dragon’s gold, Drakes’ lairs, their eyes and armor, their power and cunning, fire and poison, all were spoken of. And it seemed to be a consensus that each and every Dragon had a chink in his armor, a place of vulnerability where a well-thrust blade or well-aimed arrow would do him in.
During all of this telling of rumors and tales, Elyn sat in skeptical thought, believing some, disbelieving others; yet she said nought, for she feared that one wrong word from her mouth would shut off all converse.
Yet at last Parn stood, an eld stablehand, and Elyn signed that he was to speak.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Princess, but it seems to me that what’s needed here is the same as what I heard the Armsmaster speaking about some years back, when you was but a young lass training at weapons.”
“Do you mean Armsmaster Ruric?” queried Elyn, wondering what it was that the stablehand referred to.
“Aye, my Lady,” responded Parn. “He was speakin’ to you and young Elgo about Black Kalgalath. Talked of a thing called the Kammerling. Said it was the Dragon’s doom, he did. Told that it was the bards what says so.”
Elyn’s mind flashed back in time, her memory seizing upon a long-forgotten conversation among Ruric and Elgo and herself, back when Elgo was seeking a means to slay Sleeth, a means to humble Trent the Bard. Now Elyn remembered: They had found Ruric at the stables, mucking out a stall. . no! rather, inspecting horses, and they had spoken to him about killing Dragons. Parn was right! Ruric had spoken of the Kammerling, of Adon’s Hammer.
“Too, Princess,” Parn spoke on, “it seems to me that the Armsmaster said that Black Kalgalath lives in Dragonslair, a great dead firemountain.” Parn scuffed his feet and jutted out his jaw, glaring at those around him. “I weren’t eaves-droppin’, Miss-Princess. Truly I weren’t. It were just that I were workin’ in the next stall, and had stopped a moment to catch my breath.”
Amid a hubbub of conversation, Parn sat back down. Elyn’s heart beat swiftly as she gathered her thoughts. He’s right. I remember. Ruric did say that the Kammerling was fated to slay the greatest Dragon. And that has to be Black Kalgalath. And the maps show that Dragonslair is in the Grimwall Mountains, easterly, the same direction that Kalgalath flew when he bore away the trove. Elyn’s voice cut through the babble: “Does any know where this Kammerling, where Adon’s Hammer might be?”
Again silence descended in the room, to be broken at last by Morgar: “Princess, I don’t know whether this has aught to do with the Kammerling, but when I was a child put to bed, there was a little song sung to me by Mother, rest her spirit, and it went something like this:
In the Land where Wizards dwell
In dark confusing maze,
Twisting, turning, near its heart,
A silver hammer lays.
“What it means, my Lady, I cannot say, yet the only place I’ve heard tell that Wizards dwell is Black Mountain.”
“Well, if there be aught that’d be a dark confusing maze,” spoke up Beryl, “then I’d say that the Wizardholt of Black Mountain would be the place.” A murmur of concurrence rose up as the seamstress again nodded sagely to any and all, as if what had been spoken was a proven fact rather than speculation. Even so, Elyn had to agree that there seemed to be a germ of truth not only within Morgar’s simple rhyme, but also in Beryl’s deduction concerning it.
Marna stood again. “Aye, now that it is recalled to my mind, I think it be true that the bards sing that only the Kammerling can stand ’gainst the greatest Dragon of all; but they also tell that there is a doom on the wielder of the hammer as well. . something about being plied by one who has lost a love.”
In the silence that followed Marna’s statement, Beryl spoke up, her voice gentle: “To my way of thinking, the lost loved one, well, that’d be Prince Elgo then, for none were loved better, and now he is gone.” The seamstress’s comment received sympathetic nods of agreement from many in the gathering.
The council lasted long into the night, yet nought else spoken of shed any more light upon what had already been said.
The next day and the next, Elyn brooded within her quarters, coming out only to take meals, leaving the business of the Realm within Mala’s capable hands.
On the third day, Elyn bade Mala to go hawking with her, for there was that which she would discuss with her aunt, out in the open, out upon the green grass of the Jordian plains.
Skree! Skree! Redwing’s hunting call scaled down through the clear air, the guide feathers at the very end of the hawk’s rudden wings tipping this way and that as he wove a coursing pattern through the heights above and scanned the long green grass below, his marvelous eyes seeking prey.
Elyn and Mala sat upon a blanket and took a meal, their own eyes locked upon the raptor’s flight. Long did they sit thus, without speaking, but at last Elyn’s soft voice broke the silence: “Mala, I intend on going to Black Mountain, after the Kammerling.”
Mala’s face blanched, and her fists clenched. She turned to Elyn. “Child, you can’t. You can’t desert the post your sire gave over to you. There’s the Kingdom to think of.”
“That’s what I am thinking of, Mala, the Kingdom.” Elyn stood and began pacing. “Unless someone goes, Black Kalgalath will have destroyed this Realm, for the Host is trapped within the strongholt of our enemy, and nought will free them unless first the Drake is slain and then the Dwarven foe defeated. The Kammerling seems to be our only choice, and surely such a potent token of power can be turned against the greedy enemy, once the life of the Drake is ended.”
“But the danger!” cried Mala. “If it must be done, then let someone else do this deed.”
“Who else, Mala?” rejoined Elyn. “Would you have me send an old Man, one whose stamina is gone, one whose failing endurance will not allow him to succeed? Or instead should I send a child, one full of energy but untrained in the ways of weapons? Nay, Mala, none else at Jordkeep has the youth and the training but I. I am a Warrior Maiden! And as such, am fitted to fulfill this quest, if any can do so.”
“Elyn, all the strong young Men are not trapped within Kachar,” protested Mala. “There are others within the Land. Let one of them go.”
“Mala, all the warriors are trapped; or if not trapped are filling other needs. . border patrol, garrison duty, whatever. Everyone who could be spared answered to the muster. Those who could not, did not go, for either they did not have the skills, or they must needs remain at other posts.” Elyn stopped her pacing and looked down upon her aunt. “But I, I have the skills and I can be spared.”
“Nay, Princess,” disputed Mala, “for if you go who will then guide the Kingdom?”
Elyn’s quiet answer stunned her aunt: “Why, you, Mala. You will guide the Realm.”
“Oh, no, Elyn,” objected Mala. “Your sire gave that duty to you. You cannot merely cast it off onto another, for it was his command.”
“Circumstances yield me no other choice, Aunt,” responded Elyn, casting her eyes heavenward. “Were my father here, he would agree. Ere he left he told me that ‘Chance and circumstance oft’ lay out a different course than the one first charted. . do that which is best for the Realm.’ Don’t you see, Mala, that chance and circumstance in this matter leave me no other choice? I must go and seek the Kammerling.”