The Hammer of Fire (6 page)

“You’ll always be a hired thug, Uldex,” said
Milli her face hardening into an expressionless mask. “They can put
you in the finest gold robes and you’ll never be more than
that.”

Uldex’s face dropped, he closed his mouth and
stared at her for a few long seconds that seemed to take an
eternity. “Well, maybe you’re right, but I’ll help you anyway,
that’s how much of a thug I am. I’ll talk to Uncle Borrombus and
see if they can come up with something for Dol. But you work on him
too, get him hungry for the hammer; you can make men do whatever
you want if you put your mind to it, Milli.”

Milli nodded her head and started to reach
out with her hand to touch Uldex on the shoulder but then stopped
at the last moment, “I’ll speak with Dol,” she finally said and
then turned back to where Brogus waited with his face still in a
grimace and his hand at the dirk on his hip. “Meet me tomorrow
afternoon by the fountains on the grand deck, maybe we’ll see a
dragon fly by, I’ve heard Corancil is gathering them for the
assault.”

Uldex nodded and vanished into the shadows
while Milli walked over to her friend with a smile on her face
although her hand twitched nervously at her side.

“It’s cramped in here, Cleathelm,” said the
little half-breed goblin to the raw boned dwarf chief apprentice as
they sat knees to chest in a small alcove that overlooked a
darkened room below. The alcove, although old and high up in the
wall was as clean as a newly scrubbed floor and its marble surface
reflected light from the sharp blade in the hand of the goblin
creature. Above them an iron bound painting depicted a snarling
dwarf warrior his axe raised high over his head. The work was of
fine quality, and the frame, filigreed with gold wire and gemstones
spaced at regular intervals, stood out like little stars in the
night.

“Shut up, Blaggard,” replied the big dwarf
and gave the other fellow a quick elbow in the ribs to drive home
the point. “They’ll be along shortly and we’ll catch them in the
act. Then you get to interrogate them. You’ll like that, it’s your
specialty.”

The little fellow twisted his dagger so that
it reflected light around the chamber below them and smiled to show
numerous sharp teeth that spoke of a darkling heritage, “I like to
ask questions.”

“I know you do, that’s why you’re along, my
father will be well pleased when we catch Delius trying to steal
the staff,” said Cleathelm and spun a short throwing axe around and
around in his hand. It looked recently sharpened witha knob at the
end of the handle emblazoned by a flaming fist.

The little goblin took in his breath with a
sharp gasp, clenched his small dagger so hard his knuckles turned
white, and turned to face the bigger dwarf with wide eyes and an
open mouth, “You didn’t say it was Dol. He’s a tough one.”

“So what, and keep your voice down, they’ll
be along any minute. This is the last day the hammer is out in the
open like this and they’ll want to steal it. Hopefully they’ll tell
on that little rotter Uldex and his uncle Borrombus as well, and
that’ll be the end of any of their plans. We are the Firefists, the
rightful rulers of Craggen Steep for the last five thousand
years.”

The goblin sheathed the dagger at his side
and intertwined his fingers from both hands as his eyes shifted
back and forth between the chamber below and the dwarf at his side,
“I thought the Drawhammers were the first family in Craggen Steep,”
said the darkling blooded creature as it jabbed its boot into the
hard marble with no effect.

“What do you know about the politics of
Craggen Steep you, half-breed imbecile,” said the young chief
apprentice as he turned to look back out onto the chamber below
them. It was the room of the First Edos and not many had the key to
the place. The view from this high was quite different from below
where the weapons of four hundred First Edoses hung on the walls.
Cleathelm leaned forward and peered around the edge of the alcove
to his right and stared, eye to eye, with a delicate short sword
that glowed blue in the dim light of the darkened room. He
remembered studying every weapon in the room at one point early in
his apprenticeship but couldn’t for the life of him remember the
story behind that sword. It was something about a young elf prince
but he couldn’t remember more and spat a long blob of phlegm out
onto the floor where it landed with a wet splat. “I’ll make the old
bastard pay for making me scrub the floors. I’m a Firefist, not
some goblin scullery maid.”

“You didn’t say it would be Dol,” said the
half-breed goblin after a short while as he carefully studied the
burly dwarf at his side. Cleathelm was powerful and good with the
axe according to everyone but obviously not too bright. Perhaps he
could get more out of this if he played his dice right. “If it’s
Dol, I want more money for the job.”

“A bargain is a bargain,” said Cleathelm and
jabbed the half-breed with his elbow again.

“Not if it’s made under false pretenses; you
said two apprentices and the yellow-haired halfling girl,” said
Blaggard, a little spittle of drool appearing at his lips.

“And it is two apprentices and a halfling
girl,” Cleathelm. “No negotiations. The deal is done.”

“It’s just the four of us,” said Blaggard
with a glance towards another pair of alcove across the room. “And
it’ll be Dol we have to subdue. You can say no negotiations until
your face turns blue but I’ll climb down and leave right now if you
don’t double the payment,” he continued with a sidelong glance at
the big dwarf. He even made a motion to move forward towards the
ledge of alcove.

“You make too much of him. He’s got a tough
hide and he knows how to use a weapon, I’ll give you that but there
are four of us. Besides, he’ll probably have the little halfling
girl with him. You’d like interrogating her, wouldn’t you?”

“But,” repeated Blaggard with another glance
up at his companion and his eyes narrowed into a calculating
squint, “it’s Dol. He’ll break you in half and do the same to me. I
want double the pay or I’m leaving right now.”

“There are four of us and we’ll be taking
them by surprise,” insisted Cleathelm although the certainty in his
voice faded as he looked across the alcove to his companions.

The little half-breed stared at him with
unblinking eyes that glowed yellow in the dark room.

“Stop worrying or I’ll pummel you and
question them myself,” Cleathelm snarled, but Blaggard continued to
stare at him and move his head in little back and forth motions.
“If you don’t stop looking at me like that I’ll break your face
right now. We can take him and his friends no problem. If he scares
you so much then just stay up here and hide while we take care of
business.”

“Ok,” said Blaggard, crossing his arms in
front of his knees, curling up into a smaller little ball, and
ducking his head down.

“Damn you,” said Cleathelm. “We need you to
do the talking; you’re clever with the knife. Fine, I’ll give you
double what we agreed but that’s it, no more. Agreed?”

The little goblin restrained his smile, put
his hand to his chin as if to think about it a little longer, and
then nodded his head slowly, “I agree but that means the half you
paid me up front is not enough. Give me half of the new price.”

“I didn’t bring enough to pay you that much,”
said Cleathelm and unconsciously moved his hand towards the purse
full of coins at his side, “you greedy little bastard.”

“A dwarf calling a goblin greedy?” said
Braggard with a smile, “That’s the rat calling the vulture
disgusting.”

“What?” said Cleathelm. “What is that
supposed to mean?”

Braggard blinked his eyes once, started to
open his mouth, but then thought better of it, “Never mind, just
give me what you’ve got and we’ll figure the rest out after.”

“Fine,” grumbled the dwarf, and began to
shift around in the little alcove to retrieve the coin pouch from
his belt but succeeded only in almost kicking his axe over the
side. He managed to grab it with a quick stab, “Damn it,” he said,
“squeeze over and give me some room. I can’t get at my coins.”

“I can see it,” said Braggard reaching
forward with grasping little hands, the nails dirty and bitten down
to almost the nub. “Let me do it for you.”

Cleathelm slapped away the little goblin’s
hand with a violent motion, “Get your filthy paws away from my
coin, you little rotter.”

“Could it be there’s more in there they you
let on,” said the goblin with a grin as he snatched his hand back
and away from the dwarf. “Nasty, lying little dwarf.”

“Go piss yourself,” said Cleathelm in a loud
voice, and shoved the little goblin into the corner, struggled to
his feet, banged his head against the top of the alcove, and cursed
loudly. After a bit he tugged his coin purse from his side and
spilled out a few gold coins although it was clear the bag held far
more of the metal pieces. “There you go you little blood sucking
leech. All you goblins are the same. I don’t know why we tolerate
you darkling types in Craggen Steep. The place should be kept for
pure-blooded dwarves. The rest of you taint the place.” He tried to
kick Braggard but in the tight confines almost lost his balance and
plunged over the edge. He managed to catch himself at the last
moment and sat back down with a thump.

Braggard examined the gold coins; on one side
was a two-headed axe while the obverse showed a dwarf carrying a
tower shield emblazoned with the symbol of a heavy hammer. “Good
coins you dwarves make,” he said. “The gold is fine quality and the
weight true. I’ve heard you make platinum coins as well and fine
quality gemstones cut by masters.”

“Shut your yap,” said Cleathelm. “You’ll get
no more from me, no gold, no conversation, no friendship. You do
your job and we go our separate ways. Count yourself lucky I don’t
report you to the High Council and have the guards finish you once
and for all. I could do it you know, my father is on the
Council.”

“Awww, don’t be like that,” said Braggard
although it was everything he could manage to keep the chuckle out
of his tone. “We can do business in the future. You can’t blame a
goblin for negotiating a fair price.”

“Just shut up and wait,” said Cleathelm and
leaned back into the alcove so that his back rested against the
rear wall. “Keep a sharp eye out.”

The next few hours passed in abject silence
as the two shifted in place now and again, and stretched their arms
and legs to keep the blood circulating. Eventually a loud whisper
came from across the way, “Cleathelm?”

“Be quiet over there,” whispered back the
dwarf although he used the opportunity to climb to his feet and
lean out a bit.

“Watch your clodhoppers,” said Braggard,
pulling his hand out of the way at the last moment.

“What?” came another, louder whisper from
across the room.

“I said be quiet,” said Cleathelm in a louder
voice.

“What?” came the reply.

“For the love of Davim, I said be quiet,”
shouted Cleathelm across the divide. “We’re trying to catch Delius
and the others red-handed. If you keep shouting what chance is
there of that?”

“I don’t think they’re coming,” yelled the
voice in a loud tone that carried easily across the room and seemed
to echo in the workshop. “I’m getting cramps and I’m hungry. Did
you bring any food?”

“Yeah, I’m hungry too,” said another voice
from across the way. “I didn’t think we’d be stuck up here for
hours. You said they’d come first thing, Cleathelm.”

“Will all of you just shut up!” shouted
Cleathelm as he shifted back in the forth in the small alcove
unable to pace effectively. “Will you give me some room,” he said
and glared down at the little goblin who was curled up into the
corner like a mouse hiding from the cats.

“I don’t think they’re coming,” said the
little half-breed from his position and shrugged his shoulders.

“They’ll come, this is their only chance to
get the hammer.”

“Maybe they don’t want the hammer,” said
Blaggard, looked up from his curled position, and managing to sidle
slightly away from the ready elbow that the dwarf brandished.

“They want the damn hammer,” repeated
Cleathelm. “I overheard Fierfelm talking about it. He made some
stupid promise to the old First Edos. It’s all arranged.”

“What if they changed their minds?” said the
half-breed in a low tone and tried to scoot even further away from
Cleathelm. “What if the First Edos was playing a trick on you?”

“I’m getting thirsty,” rang out a voice from
across the hall.

“Fine,” shouted back Cleathelm and gave off a
loud blast of breath, “climb down and get some food and drink for
all of us. We might be here all night.”

This proclamation elicited groans and murmurs
of protestation but eventually a heavily armed dwarf, wearing thick
chain mail with a war axe strapped to his side, started to climb
down from the opposite alcove although his axe slipped out of belt
and clattered to the ground with a loud bang.

“For the love of Davim,” shouted Cleathelm,
“will you keep it down, morons!”

It took the short legged dwarf another a few
seconds to scramble down the side of the wall and then more time
yet to gather his weapon, “Sorry about that.”

After the squat little dwarf wandered off
another voice came shouting across the divide, “I have to pee.”

The half-breed goblin next to Cleathelm
laughed until a well-placed elbow dug into his ribs, but even then
he couldn’t help but snicker now and again as they awaited the
return of their food.

Milli sat in the narrow confines of her
little room, although quite spacious compared to the quarters of
the young apprentices, and looked at the frayed and faded gold
paint that edged the woodwork trim around the base of her door and
sighed deeply. She knew every detail of the room that served as her
residence from a time before she could remember. She knew, by
heart, the story of how a caravan of dwarf iron traders found her
in the smoke filled ruin of her village after an attack by raiders.
She’d heard it so often now that when she saw one of the elders
giving her that look and the self-satisfied grin that came with it
she knew exactly what was coming. Now that she was old enough to
recognize the signs she generally fled to the room they gave her
all those years ago and waited a few hours. She knew every nook and
cranny of the place from the faded gold paint - these dwarves loved
their gold - to the smooth marble floors where she broke her nose
in a fall as a young girl. The older she got the more male dwarves,
both young and old, liked to grab her by the arm and tell her
stories about how grateful she should be to have a home here in
Craggen Steep, the hidden citadel; how only a few non-dwarves ever
lived inside the city in its long, rich history; how she could
never go to the outside world where she might betray the secret of
its location.