The Hammer of Fire (14 page)

Milli suddenly smiled and her yellow eyes
shone so brightly that a pair of young soldiers stopped and looked
at the pretty Halfling girl. Her smile turned into a snarl, “What
are you looking at?” she snapped at them and put her hand to the
dagger at her side.

The soldiers laughed, punched one another in
the shoulder, and eventually wandered off. They wore sky blue
jerkins with the silhouette of a small cat imprinted on the front
and carried long swords in their belts. One of them called out over
his shoulder, “See you later, cutie!”

“Argggh,” said Milli. “This place is filled
with boys and all of them gross. I thought it was bad back at home
but this is ridiculous. At least dwarves don’t just pinch you for
no reason. Did you say Dol went to get passage on a ship?” she
asked, turning to Brogus with narrowed eyes and lips tightened into
a line.

Brogus nodded his head and continued to
fiddle with a little stick in his hand.

Milli slapped the stick away, “Put that down.
What is wrong with you?”

Brogus shrugged again and reached for the
stick but Milli put her foot on it. He looked up at her lazily and
smiled in a goofy way.

“That’s it,” said Milli. “There is something
in the air or the water. We need to get out of here as quick as
possible or we’ll be stuck forever.”

Petra raised her eyebrows, “From what I can
tell he’s been drinking mostly beer and wine since we arrived.”

Milli shook her head, “He’s a dwarf! He can
handle his beer. Their mothers spoon it to them when they’re babies
to keep them sedated.”

Petra shrugged, “All these soldiers, nothing
to do, it’s a recipe for trouble. Dwarf he may be but he’s a male,
and males are all susceptible to the same vices.”

“That’s a fact,” said Milli and put her arm
around the older woman. “We gals have to stick together.”

At that moment, Dol limped into camp. His
right sleeve was torn and blood from a scrape on his knee had dried
to a crusty brown. “Hello.”

“What happened to you,” said Milli rushing
over to the dwarf.

“Some soldiers thought I might be an easy
mark,” said Dol with a smile and his eyes blazed red for the
briefest of seconds.

“Are you ok?” asked Milli as she shoved
Brogus off the stump, sat Dol down, and began to examine the
scrape. “It doesn’t look too bad.”

“You should see the other guy,” said Dol with
a smile and Milli took a step back and looked at the dwarf with her
arms folded over her chest. “It’s got to be the water in the place.
Dol, you haven’t been drinking, have you?”

Dol shook his head, “No. The beer is vile but
the water,” this with a glance to the glacial stream that poured
tens of thousands of gallons into the bay every second, “is
exceptional. I cannot fathom why anyone would drink the slop they
serve in the common houses.”

“It’s not that bad,” said Brogus with a
little smile.

“Yes, it is,” said Milli with a shake of her
head. “You’re not drinking any more beer as long as we’re in
Das’von.”

“We’re not in Das’von,” said Petra,
“technically.”

Milli rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.
Dol, did you find a ship to get us out of this place?”

Dol nodded his head, “I booked passage on the
Fists of Dogs.”

“What kind of ship is she?” asked Milli.

“Trader,” said Dol, suddenly reverting to his
usual taciturn manner and volunteering no more information.

Milli sighed, “And where is she headed?”

“Stav’rol,” said Dol.

Milli looked to Petra.

“That’s about half way down the side of the
continent,” said the old woman. “Or so I’ve heard. It’s in the
right direction if you want to get to the southern realms but it’s
still a long way from the volcanic regions of the far south.”

“It’s in the right direction and it’s out of
this place,” said Milli with a firm nod of her little head. “Did
you book for three or four?”

Dol looked up without an expression, glanced
at Petra, and then said, “Four. Petra’s been a true guide and she
knows the ways of the world better than us.”

“She overcharges though,” said Brogus
suddenly finding his humor again and smiling in a lazy way.

“As a dwarf I would think you might learn to
appreciate that quality,” said Petra with a lopsided little grin on
her face as she poked at Brogus with a finger, “at least if
everything I’ve ever learned about dwarves is true.”

Brogus laughed and nodded his head. “All
right, you can come along, but not as a guide, as an equal partner
in whatever we find. We’re not here on a sightseeing trip; we’re
here to make a name for ourselves, riches, fame.”

“Then it’s settled,” said Milli with a curt
little nod of her head. “When does the ship leave?”

“In two days,” replied Dol. “The captain said
we can board any time after tomorrow night. They’re loading cargo
for the return trip and don’t want passengers in the way.”

“Ugghh,” said Milli as she looked around the
foul encampment. “Another day in this pit. I suppose it could be
worse, at least we’ll be rid of that lice-ridden fleabag your
so-called friends saddled me with,” she went on with squinting eyes
at Brogus.

Brogus shrugged his shoulders, “They were
some merchants I knew and we didn’t exactly have a great deal of
time to plan the escape before we left. It was a last second
decision. You can’t still blame me, can you?”

“Oh can’t I?” said Milli but with a playful
giggle.

“You’re not mad,” said Brogus with a smile.
“I can tell when you’re really mad and just pretending to be
mad.”

“I am angry right now but that’s because the
thought of getting out of this place broke my foul mood. Don’t let
it go to your head. I’ll never forgive you for that mule.”

Brogus laughed and chucked Dol on the
shoulder with a light punch, “She can’t stay mad, she’s a Halfling
and everyone knows they are jolly bakers.”

Milli raised one eyebrow and looked at him
with her strange yellow eyes. After a few seconds of this the young
dwarf raised his hands and lowered his head, “Enough, enough, you
win.”

It was late that evening and Brogus was on
watch - they kept turns staying awake after their first night in
the camp when ruffians attempted to burgle their possession - when
he heard approaching footsteps. He was inside the little hut but at
the door, sitting on an old wood chair that was missing its back
and acted more as a stool. It was sturdy enough and the one piece
of furniture in the place when they originally took possession.
Footsteps in the night weren’t unusual in the encampment as
soldiers, bored and mischievous, often drank too much and stumbled
into the wrong hovel as they tried to find their way back home.

These footsteps were not the staggering
strides of a drunken soldier but were steady, heavy, and
purposeful. They approached the little shack and then stopped, next
came the murmur of quiet voices, and finally the light tapping of a
knock at the door.

Brogus looked over to the corner of the
little shack where Milli and Petra slept on wood shavings they
stole from behind a lumber mill north of the city and then to a
wood board where Dol spent the evenings and saw no one stirring. He
took the short handle of a throwing axe in his right hand and went
over to the door, “Who’s there?”

“A messenger from the palace,” said a quiet,
calm voice. It spoke just loudly enough to easily penetrate the
thin door but not so quietly as to lose any authority.

“What palace?” said Brogus, and he raised the
axe higher while reaching forward with his left hand to the heavy
bolt on the door. They put the bolt on themselves almost
immediately upon purchasing the right to squat in the little hovel.
The place was totally unsecured originally but a few modifications
from Dol and Brogus changed that quickly enough. They weren’t
familiar with wood working but some of the same principals of stone
masonry applied, at least enough for them to make the place safe
from simple thieves.

“Corancil’s palace, at the base of the
Fountain of Graves,” said the voice in the same quiet tone.

“I don’t believe you,” said Brogus and yanked
the door open with a sudden movement. Brogus immediately took in
the image of a tall, gangly man who wore a dark woolen overcoat.
Even in the dim light of the moon the fine make of the cloak was
obvious. The man stood quietly at the door and then bowed his head
slightly, “May I come in? The camp is filled with ruffians and I
fear for my safety.”

Brogus shrugged his shoulders but took a step
backwards to allow the man to pass through. He held the axe high
but the man didn’t seem to notice it as he ducked down to pass
through the frame. Brogus realized he must be well over six feet in
height and in the moonlight his skin seemed to shine a burnt orange
color.

The visitor looked around the little shack
for a moment and then walked over to the stove that dominated the
center of the room where a kettle gently steamed. They kept hot
water at the ready at all times during the long winter nights of
the northern realms. “Can I pour myself a mug,” he asked with a
look to Brogus as his hand stopped, poised at the handle of the
kettle.

Brogus again shrugged, “Go ahead. The mugs
are over there,” he said with a waving motion of his hand towards a
little cupboard where half a dozen mugs rested on a plain wood
panel that was partially warped to bend upwards at both the front
and back.

“You might want to wake your friends,” said
the man as he poured steaming water into one of the mugs. “This
concerns you all.”

Brogus looked over to Milli and Petra but the
two women were already awake and stared back at him with narrowed
eyes in the dim light that came through the gratings on the stove.
Dol was also awake and leaning on one elbow while he watched the
newcomer closely. “We’re up,” said Milli with a little smile.

“Who are you?” said Brogus as the man
finished stirring in some of the crushed coffee beans they kept in
a little glass jar near the mugs.

“My name is unimportant,” said the man
without expression on his face as he turned back to face Brogus. “I
am here because First Citizen Corancil learned you are from Craggen
Steep and hopes to make an alliance of sorts.”

“We’ve been trying to see him in the palace
for weeks,” said Milli with a little frown as she sat further up on
the wood shavings that served as a bed. “If he wanted an alliance
why didn’t he just invite us?”

“I cannot say,” said the man with a shrug and
a small smile. “Would you mind putting on a light so we don’t have
to speak in the dark?”

“Turn around,” said Milli as she sat up and
held a blanket up to her neck.

“Of course,” said the man and turned to face
the wall of the one room shack and took a shallow sip from his
mug.

“It won’t be easy to negotiate if we don’t
know your name,” said Petra. Apparently the old woman had few
qualms of modesty as she got up without ceremony exposing the flesh
of her arms and legs in the thick woolen nightgown she wore. She
threw a heavily patched cotton dress over her head and wiggled into
it with a few shakes of her hip.

The man took another sip of his coffee, “I do
not come to negotiate with you. I merely have a proposal from the
First Citizen. You can accept it or reject it as you wish.”

“Why should we trust you?” said Milli now
dressed in a wool jumper that buttoned up the front. It was a
purchase made in town with some of their plentiful gold, both
sturdy and comfortable although not particularly flattering to her
slim frame.

The man said nothing for a few seconds as he
sipped his coffee, “May I turn around now?”

“You can,” said Milli with a smile.

Petra went over to a lantern and quickly set
the thing ablaze which brought the room into full focus.

The man turned around and then spoke, “It is
the opinion of the First Citizen that nations must be built by men
… and women … who are both talented and who have a strong sense in
achieving things that are in their best self-interest.”

“What if it’s in my best interest to betray
you? Or it is in your best interest to betray me?” said Dol, still
sitting on the wooden plank but now fingering the handle of his
hammer which was looped to the bed in such a way that the head did
not touch anything combustible.

“That is the First Citizen’s point,” said the
man with a wide smile that revealed a mouthful of perfectly
straight, brilliant white, teeth. In the light it was clear he was
rather gangly in appearance and perhaps in his mid-thirties. His
long arms and delicate fingers did not fidget but seemed to rest in
a natural position against his side. “Men ..and women,” this
addition with a look to Milli and Petra, “who do not act in a
manner that is towards their own benefit cannot be trusted to make
good decisions. In fact, it is most likely that when presented with
any decision, those who are concerned with something besides their
own concerns will chose poorly, so ingrained are the roots of their
self-destructive behavior. The only people to be enlisted to aid in
important matters are those accustomed to making decisions that
improve their own life.”

“But …,” said Milli and then stopped.

“What if our interests conflict?” finished
the man for her with a gentle nod of his head.

“Yes,” said Milli nodding her head in
agreement.

“Then he is fool to ask you for help. The
First Citizen makes decision in his best interest and among those
decisions was sending me here to make my offer.”

“But …,” said Milli again, but proved unable
to complete the sentence.

“People are not self-destructive; they make
all their decisions hoping for the best outcome?” said the man
again with an indulgent smile.

“Yes,” said Milli and frowned at his apparent
mindreading abilities. She looked around for some sort of magical
talisman that might aid in knowing the thoughts of others but saw
nothing particularly suspicious on the man. He wore a slim gold
ring on his left middle finger and no other sign of jewelry. His
cloak was of the finest wool and its buttons sewed with expert
precision, like a line of soldiers marching off to battle. His hair
was brown and a bit rumpled from the windy evening breeze and his
eyes were plain brown. There was nothing in the man to suggest a
powerful mage but that might not mean anything.