Tom Liberman - The Hammer of Fire

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.