The Hammer of Fire (2 page)

“That is kind of you to say,” Udor said as he
patted the boy on the back again. “But we cannot deny the truth.
I’ve forged a few good weapons in my day but nothing to hang next
to these,” he said with an expansive wave of his arms. “Nothing to
go into the Chamber of Hovslaag.Nothing of any great
importance.”

“What about the Blackiron Sword?” said
Fierfelm. “It was used it to break the Staff of Faelom in the
battle of the Ten Kings. I’ve seen the staff in the Hall of Relics,
they say it was fashioned from the remnants of Onod the First after
Hezfer the Blue Flame consumed him at the Battle of Tor
Saragun.”

“Onod the First. The first and most powerful
of the tree shepherds,” mused Udor quietly as his hand once again
went to the bands around his beard. This time they tapped the
valuable metal at an agitated pace. “I never considered the Staff
of Faelom. It’s not dwarf made, ensorcelled by the elves for their
king all those years ago. Faelom infused much of his own great
power into it before it was broken in half. You know,” went on the
First Edos with a glance at Fierfelm, “the shepherds were our
allies back then, when we defeated the elementals. Without their
help we never would have gained our freedom. I can’t even remember
how the burned remains of Onod ended up in the hands of those
pretty boy elves in the first place. But, no matter, no matter at
all. The Staff of Faelom. The half we have, the bottom half, how
long would you say it is?”

Fierfelm shrugged his shoulders, raised his
hands and held them apart, “About like that.”

“A little too long for a battle axe handle. A
little too short for a war axe, wouldn’t you agree?” said the First
Edos.

“I suppose so, First Edos” said Fierfelm with
raised eyebrows and a puzzled expression written all over his face.
“Yes, that seems true.”

“But just about right for a hammer, a
double-handed war hammer,” said Udor as his hands began to move up
and down the bands around his beard with great rapidity, and his
eyes suddenly blazed brightly. “Have you ever been to the Chamber
of Gazadum?”

The boy shook his head silently.

“Come with me,” said the First Edos and
strode out the door into the great Deep Forge where the heat of the
first fire elemental still burned all these thousands of years
later. He led the boy down a massive corridor at least twenty feet
wide and more than twice that in height. The red marble floor shone
like glass and the intricate patterns: little hammers, maces,
shields, anvils, and swords seemed to dance as if alive in the
bright light provided by brightly glowing stones embedded into the
walls. The little dwarves seemed completely out of place in the
immense hallway, but nevertheless they eventually arrived at a huge
door made of a single piece of wrought iron with the design of a
flame etched into it. The door handle, a massive steel eagle with
folded wingsthat looked imperiously out at the world, stood some
fifteen feet high on the door. The flame on the door actually
seemed to flicker with heat as they approached and Fierfelm slowed
a good twenty paces before they arrived, staring with his eyes wide
and his mouth open.

“I’m not sure that I’m allowed …,” started
Fierfelm but his hands did not tremble and his blue eyes sparkled
brightly even in the glare of the brightly lit hallway.

“I make the rules here,” said Udor firmly,
fiddling under his smock, pulling out a heavy iron key and winking
at the young apprentice. “Get me that ladder over there,” he said
and pointed to the corner where an iron ladder rested. It was on
wheels and Fierfelm slid it over to the center of the door with an
easy motion. Udor dashed up the ladder like a young boy, put they
key into the lock of the door, and turned it with a sharp snap. He
clamored back down the ladder and shoved it gently which sent it
back to its original location. He paused, glanced at Fierfelm with
a funny sort of grin, and then pushed the massive door open with a
gentle touch of his right hand. It swung open as easily as a
feather blows in a soft breeze.

“The Chamber of Gazadum,” he said in a hushed
voice. Past the huge door stood a chamber that simply dwarfed even
the massive hallway that led up to it. The floor was perfectly
polished red marble with veins of fire that seemed to actually
blaze across it, the domed ceiling was at least two hundred feet
above them. In the center of the chamber stood a massive iron
throne with a seat fifty feet above the ground and forty feet from
side to side, but Udor did not go towards this. Instead he moved
quickly, his gout apparently forgotten, to the other side of the
chamber where a smallish iron chest sat on the floor against the
back wall, its lid closed.

Udor looked back at Fierfelm who, after
hesitating briefly, followed on his heels. Udor smiled again as he
started to reach forward, but then suddenly stopped and patted his
smock, his pants, and his pockets for a moment before he found a
thick set of heavy leather gloves that emanated a greenish glow.
“Don’t touch the chest,” he said to the young apprentice, a look of
seriousness on his face as he pulled on the gloves. “It’s not
locked but it is well protected.”

“I won’t,” whispered Fierfelm and leaned over
to watch as the First Edos put on the gloves, reached down, and
carefully lifted the lid of the nondescript chest. Inside something
glowed with the deepest of reds, so red as to be almost black, like
a piece of molten metal just out of the smelter.

“Kanoner,” said Udor and after a moment
Fierfelm made out the head of the massive hammer. The thing had no
hilt or any adornments other than a few runes burned deeply into
it, and these the boy could not read. “This was the first creation
at the Deep Forge by someone other than Hovslaag. Edos Orin
Firefist made it after we defeated Gazadum and took this place as
our own. You’ve seen the heat of the Deep Forge. That’s the
residual heat from Gazadum over five thousand years after he fled.
Can you imagine what it was like on the day that Dar Drawhammer led
our warriors here for the first time, to the Forge of Hovslaag?
Imagine it. All that you know did not exist; Craggen Steep our
hidden citadel was the seat of power for the great Gazadum back
then, Tor Balog they called it, the Mountain of Destiny. This was
the first thing to come from the Deep Forge. So hot that no edos
has ever been able to mate a handle to it and believe me many have
tried. The best have tried but no one has succeeded. They say the
heart of Gazadum beats within.”

“What are you going to do?” said Fierfelm his
eyes wide, and he suddenly realized he wasn’t breathing.

Udor paused for a single heartbeat and then a
grim smile came to his face, “Go to the High Council; tell them the
ceremony is postponed. Go to the other master edoses and tell them
the Deep Forge is closed, closed for at least a year. Then go to
the Hall of Relics, smash the case where the Staff of Faelom rests,
bring it to me!”

The young dwarf hesitated for the briefest of
moments and thought to suggest to Udor that such an action might
well get him in quite a bit of trouble, of the capital kind, but
one look at the dwarf, his eyes ablaze, squelched any protest in
its infancy. “Yes, master Udor. It will be done.”

“I’m telling you,” said a young dwarf with
broad shoulders and a dull but excited expression on his face as he
sat the heavy stone table and set a thick pewter mug down with a
thump. “It’s just sitting there. No guards, no wards, no nothing.
It’s there for the taking!” He wore a light blue tunic stitched
with the symbol of an anvil along the chest and one yellow bar
across the right sleeve. His eyes were a dark brown that approached
black and he wore a sloppy fishtail braid that held his hair in
check although a number of strands seemed to have escaped. His
beard was short and banded by only a single bronze hoop with a tiny
yellowish gemstone in the center that was so small it almost
blended into invisibility.

“Do you think there’s a reason for that?”
said a petite halfling girl at the chair to his right as she took a
sip of an emerald liquid from a dainty little glass with a long
stem. Her long blonde hair reached down to her waist and she winked
at the third member of the party, a young dwarf, who sat opposite
her at the table. Her eyes were a strange golden yellow with tiny
little pupils of darkest black. She wore a colorful blouse of thick
wool embroidered with little hammers and bellows of pink and
blue.

“Who cares if there’s a reason,” said the
first dwarf picking up his own mug that was filled with a dark
brown fluid that made a sloshing sound as he poured a generous
amount down his throat. The mug had the picture of a tall mountain
in bas relief on its side and he slammed it to the table with a
powerful crash. “It’s the Hammer of Fire! It’s ours for the taking
if we want it. We’ll head west to Das’von, join Corancil’s invasion
army, and make names for ourselves, and riches too!”

“Maybe you should consider why the hammer
isn’t guarded,” said the third member of the gathering. He was also
a dwarf although taller than his companion but with unbraided hair
that barely reached the back of his neck. He wore a similar blue
tunic as the first dwarf, although in place of the single yellow
band there were three red stripes atop a blue chevron. “There might
be a good reason.” His beard was short and carefully cropped with
no band whatsoever.

At the tables around them sat dozens more
dwarves with similar blue tunics although a few red and orange
jerkins stood out in the crowd. The place was noisy and the loud
tones of the first dwarf barely rose above the general din. A long
bar stood against the far wall and half a dozen dwarf girls, each
wearing a silver tunic with gold stitching around the sleeves in
the pattern of interlacing fire tongs, scurried back and forth to
it with alternately full and empty trays. Behind the bar three
stout dwarves with heavy jerkins worked back and forth between sets
of taps that dispensed frothy fluid when they pulled the
levers.

“It’s because the thing is hot as a fire log
and has been ever since it was made,” said the burly first dwarf,
and pounding his fist on the thick stone table which did not shake
even slightly. “Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been
saying?”

“I’ve become accustomed to tuning out your
hair-brained schemes, Brogus,” said the tall dwarf with the short
beard and raised his hand to one of the pretty dwarf girls. This
one carried a heavy pitcher made of iron with thick handles crafted
to look like an eagle, “Layla, our friend here needs another one to
clear his mind.”

“I do need another one to clear my mind,”
said the other dwarf as a large grin came across his face revealing
a set of brown stained teeth, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t need
another one, Dol.”

“As long as you’re buying,” said the halfling
girl, holding out her suddenly empty little glass to the waitress,
and giving a wink with her strange yellow eyes to Brogus.

“Oh no, no you don’t, Milli. That elf wine of
yours costs more than my apprenticeship pays in a week. If you want
another glass then pay yourself,” said Brogus with a shake of his
head and a single slam of his fist on the table. This time the
heavy blow caused the glasses to wobble slightly and some of Dol’s
drink, still all but full, tipped over and spilled out with a
gentle splash.

The halfling girl smiled, flipped her long
hair, and in a trifling two young dwarf apprentices, their overalls
washed clean, were over at the table, “I’ll buy for you, Milli,”
they said in tandem as if practiced.

“Shut up!” said the first dwarf who wore one
of the few orange cloaks in the tavern. His hair was red, tied back
in a square 4-band braid, and held together by four golden clasps
shaped like hammers. On his left sleeve three silver bands with two
chevrons underneath showed and his beard came down almost to
mid-chest. “I’m the senior and you’ll not interfere.”

“You may be senior at the forge but you can’t
order me about here at Thokum’s,” said the taller of the two. He
wore one of the blue jerkins although the bands and chevrons on his
sleeves were more numerous than Dol’s. He shouldered the smaller
dwarf aside and smiled at Milli, revealing teeth almost black from
standing too close to the iron smelter. It was a common ailment
among dwarves and wealthier members of the society often replaced
their teeth with precious stones and solid gold.

Milli smiled winsomely and winked at him with
one yellow eye, her long eyelashes fluttering briefly. “I was
hoping someone brave enough might order me another drink.”

The stout dwarf smiled at her with goofy grin
on his face, and this moment of inattention was all his companion
needed as he landed a heavy blow to the side of his friend’s head.
This bigger dwarf stumbled sideways for half a second but then
turned to his competitorstill grinning but no longer in pleasure.
He licked his lip and a trickle of blood came to his tongue. With a
single motion he stepped forward and pushed the smaller dwarf with
a quick extension of both his hands. The shorter dwarf braced his
legs in anticipation of the blow and only rocked back on his heels
slightly before he stepped forward and grabbed the bigger one by
the lapels. “I’m your superior and you’ll do as I say wherever we
are!”

“Every single time, Milli,” said Dol lifting
his mug and pushing back and away from the table.

“What did I do?” said Milli, and held her
hands up as she smiled from ear to ear. Her eyes twinkled as she
turned her body slightly to get a better view of the two dwarves,
now chin to chin and glaring at one another.

“I’ll buy the drink,” said the little one
with the orange cloak as the two began to wrestle wildly. After a
few moments the little one got the big one in headlock and drove
him forward and into Dol’s chair. The bigger dwarf hit not the back
of the chair, as was intended, but Dol’s shoulder. He cannoned off
the short-haired dwarf, and fell over backwards to the stone floor
as his eyes rolled back in his head and lay there unmoving.