Tom Liberman - The Hammer of Fire

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.

Dol balanced his drink in one hand and shook his head as he looked once again at Milli. “You do this on purpose, every time.” The heavy blow to his shoulder went apparently all but unnoticed.

The winner staggered back, his hair disheveled, one of the braids loose in his hair, and smiled dazedly at Milli. “I’ll drink that get now,” he said and staggered off towards the bar giving a cheerful smile towards the halfling girl, “I’ve got it all taken care of.”

“See, that’s my point!” said Brogus and pointed to the vanquished apprentice on the floor who gave off a little groan. “We’ve got Dol on our side. His skin is as thick as a brick and you’ve seen him carry hot coals from the fire in his closed fist. That mother of his must have been made of ironwood.”

The young dwarf in question raised his eyes and stared at Brogus and held his gaze for several seconds before he spoke in steady, even tones, “My grandfather was a tree shepherd.”

“Grandfather, mother, uncle, cousin, what does it matter?” said Brogus as he stood up and looked down at Dol with his eyes shining intensely and his fists clenched in front of him. “You’ve skin as thick and tough as any dwarf ever born and you could take…,” he seemed prepared to continue but a kick under the table from Milli stopped him in mid-sentence.

“Sit down and listen for once,” she said her smile gone and with a slight little twitch of her nose. “Brogus, just because everyone says you’re stupid doesn’t mean you have to act stupid all the time.”

Brogus stared defiantly at her for half a second but was unable to maintain the gaze, sat down with a thump, and rubbed his ankle through the thick hide boot on his foot. “You’ve got sharp little toes for such a pretty thing,” he said in a lowered tone and with a glance at Milli.

Milli smiled and the slightest hint of red came to her cheeks, “Brogus, do you think that just because it’s mainly apprentices and a few craftsmen here that there aren’t spies for the elders, the High Council members?” she said in a softer tone.

“I… I got excited,” said Brogus with his lips pursed and his chin tucked down into his thick neck. “Think of what we can do with the hammer! You’ll always be a foreigner here, a prisoner, I’m not smart enough to get far, and Dol… he’s… you know… a half-breed.”

“Brogus!” said Milli, her eyes came together and her hands slapped down on the table. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” said Dol with a shrug of his shoulders and in that same even tone. “It’s true enough, isn’t it?”

“It’s not that you’re a half-breed,” said Milli and folded her arms across her lithe chest. “It’s what half-breed means to the dwarves of Craggen Steep. To them it means you’re inferior by blood; that you can never do anything as well as a dwarf and that just isn’t true. You can sit there with no expression on your face and speak in a monotone all you want but you have to face the reality of what it means to be a half-breed,” she continued and stomped a foot on the stone floor of the tavern. “When you call yourself a half-breed you’re calling yourself inferior to the lowest born dwarf. And you know that’s just not true. It’s not even close to being true. You know you’re better than any of them, better than the Firefists, better than the Blackirons, and better than any old Drawhammer too! Tell me I’m wrong, go on, tell me!”

Dol stared at the pretty girl without blinking and finally shook his head although he remained resolutely silent on the subject.

“Nothing to say,” said Milli shaking her head which sent her long blonde hair swirling about. “That’s Dol for you. Not happy to get a promotion, not sad to be passed over. Just a block of wood. But, you remember this Mr. Delius, you remember that I know better. There’s a heart beating under your skin, not wood, and I know it. Someday you’ll know it too.”

Silence engulfed the trio. At a nearby table sat an older dwarf, his beard nearly a foot long and with three gold bands, a middle aged dwarf woman with graying hair tied back in a long ponytail, and two young girls who giggled at one another and stole surreptitious glances at Dol and his friends. The girls, no more than six or seven, looked to the table where they seemed fixated on Dol, then at each other where the covered their mouths as they giggled, and then back at the table where the three sat.

After a few more moments of silence between the three at the table the winner of the brawl returned and interrupted the silence. He put a little glass filled with an emerald liquid down in front of the halfling girl. “Here you go, Milli,” he said with a broad smile and a quick glance to the dwarf who still lay on the floorgiving off little groans now and again.

“Thank you… was it Otis?” she asked, giving him just the slightest of passing glances before turning her attention back to her companions.

“Umm… no, it’s Grephuk, Grephuk Ironspike, I’m a master apprentice in the upper forge. We met once at a party that…” He replied but Milli cut him off.

“Well, I almost remembered, you’re a real dear, thank you ever so much but could you leave me and my friends alone for just a moment.”

The dwarf stared at the two young men at the table with narrowed eyes and a curled lip that was already showing signs of swelling from the recent fight, “Well, ok, but if you need anything you just ask for Grephuk Ironspike, all right? I’m master apprentice at the upper forge, right?”

Milli nodded her head distractedly, “Of course I will, Ironside was it?”

“Ironspike… Grephus Ironspike, I’m a master apprentice,” he repeated and pointed to the bands on his sleeve. “That’s what the orange means. Blue means junior apprentice,” he continued emphasizing the word junior and gazing at the two dwarves at the table.

“I’ve lived in Craggen Steep long enough to know what colored jerkins means what,” said Milli and turned to face the dwarf with a roll of her eyes and a withering glance. “Are you saying I don’t know one grade from the next?”