Tom Liberman - The Hammer of Fire

“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.

He looked at her with those plain brown eyes and seemed to take in every part of her, “It is a fair question. The answer is that people are, by and large, quite self-destructive. Think back to all the people you’ve known over your lifetime and their penchant for making decisions that are detrimental to their life.”

“That doesn’t make sense. We do everything to better ourselves,” said Milli taking a step forward and clenching her fists somehow angry although she didn’t know exactly why.

“The rational thinker does, yes,” replied the man. “That is true and that is why I am here today to ask for your help. The First Citizens suspects that you are, like he, rational thinkers. Sadly, most people are unreasoning thinker and they make decisions based largely on what they want to be true. That is if they give it any thought at all. For the most part people are happy to repeat the musings of someone else and save themselves the effort of thinking. This naturally means that they are simply doing what is in the best interest of whoever told them how to think in the first place. Anyone who does things in someone else’s interest is, by definition, self-destructive.”

“There is some truth to that,” said Petra, as she walked over to the man and looked at him closely. “You have the bearing of a noble, not a messenger.”

“Can I not be a noble messenger?” he said with a laugh. “You have the bearing of an intelligent woman who preys upon the weaknesses in others while pretending to be a witchy woman.”