Tom Liberman - The Hammer of Fire

“It doesn’t matter what holds me back, my heritage, my natural ability, the point is that there is no future for me at Craggen Steep,” said Dol with a bit of fire in his voice, a shrug of his shoulders, and a glance at the table of giggling girls. “Why not take the thing? I’m with Milli though, I won’t join up with some army, and I won’t take it without a plan. I want to do something with it. Something that will make people remember.”

“Make our fortune!” said Brogus his voice once again slightly too loud as Milli shushed him with a delicate finger to her rosy lips.

Visitors filled the workshop of First Edos Fierfelm Sunspire and the old dwarf looked around with a deep frown, partially hidden by his long beard, as he contemplated his many guests. It wasn’t the cost of the food and beverage that the First Edos was required to provide that angered him so much as the amount that would surely end up on his floors and workbenches. His useless young chief apprentice, Cleathelm Firefist, busied himself entertaining the various dignitaries in the room and failed utterly to follow Fierfelm’s orders about glasses on coasters. He sighed. The office was virtually the same as when he first came here under the tutelage of old Udor. That was before the Hammer of Fire, before the glory of its creation and the adulation of the entire city. But, even now the tools hung in the same spots, the work bench sat in the same place, although perhaps with one or two more burns and stains, the great weapons rested on the walls in exactly the same places with the notable exception of the Hammer of Fire. The hammer went up on the wall in the most prominent position in the room the day after Udor retired. It had not been moved since. The haft, the bottom half of the greatest elf weapon in history, the Staff of Faelom, proved far too hot for anyone to handle for more than a few seconds and special pegs in the wall, made from ceramics infused with diamonds, kept it in place. The great hammer head glowed with a deep red from within its silver surface and seemed to gently throb like the heart of a great dragon at rest.

“It’s an awful chance,” said an immensely fat dwarf with apparently half a pie evenly dispersed between beard and mouth as he moved silently next to Fierfelm. He carried a huge silver plate in one hand piled high with eclairs and other little pastry desserts. The other hand held a massive mug hollowed out from a single crystal of gargantuan size and filled with a frothy, dark substance that smelled of yeast and hops. Despite his size and load the man moved with surprising agility and grace.

“What chance is that, Borrombus?” said Fierfelm raising his eyebrows and watching the trail of pie crust crumbs fall onto the floor. “Is it possible for you to keep some of the food on the plate?”

“Letting the boy and his friends take the hammer,” said Borrombus as he swallowed massive chunks of the dessert with well-practiced mastication. He wore a heavy leather jerkin and beautifully polished silver chain mail that, while fearsome in appearance, was actually quite light. The links for such armor were smaller and lighter than those worn by soldiers heading off to battle. “This is mighty fine pie you’ve served, Fierfelm. I’m glad you followed my advice for bakeries. I know it’s a bit more expensive but it’s important to impress those in power.”

“If you like the pie so much I would be most pleased if you could get more in your mouth and less on the floor.”

“You always were a tidy one,” said Borrombus with a shake of his massive head that loosed another avalanche of crumbs. “Your apprentices will clean everything up eventually. You should enjoy the party. We need to speak about the hammer though; my nephew has done his work and those children will likely steal the thing today. I remain unconvinced it is the proper course of action. You know how the High Council members are about hierarchy. Not a one of those children is from the three families and the girl doesn’t even have any dwarf blood in her veins at all. A Halfling girl, a foundling, a ward of the state. If she ends up telling people about Craggen Steep it could prove disastrous for the entire city.”

“I thought you wanted us to spread the word about Craggen Steep,” said Fierfelm. “That it was time to spread our wings and join the world?”

“Keep your voice down,” said Borrombus. “Yes, of course, that is all true but if it is one of the other races who does the telling that won’t go over well, even to those who sympathize with our cause. It should be a dwarf, preferably one from one of the good families. That will be more palatable to everyone and more useful to us.”

“If we wait for someone of good family to even have the ability to hold the thing then it will sit on that wall for another fifty years, a fine tribute to Udor that would be.”

“Now, now, now,” said Borrombus with a shake of his head that dislodged yet more pie although he filled the gap by stuffing half of a massive eclair into his mouth and chewing briskly until he was able to speak again. “Did I say that?” he asked and food sprayed out of his mouth, some ending up on the First Edos. “What I said was that you are taking an awful chance by encouraging the High Council to allow it out of Craggen Steep. You should have just let them steal it and not informed the Council at all. If the elders are embarrassed so much the better for Craggen Steep’s future.”

“That apprentice is the best chance I see of ever getting the hammer off the wall, into the hands of someone who can make use it, and I’ll be boiled in oil if I let this opportunity slip by,” said Fierfelm with his hands on his hips. “I promised Udor on his death bed that I’d make sure someone got to use it. I’ve waited half a century for an opportunity to make good on my word and I’ll not get another chance before I die.”

“Now, now, now,” repeated Borrombus as he hungrily eyed a platter of thick sausages that wandered by on the shoulder of a burly young dwarf who looked out of place in silken clothes rather than rough forge wear, “You were always a bit sentimental about Udor. I know he gave you your first chance here at the Deep Forge but your career is what you made it, not what he gave you. What sort of sausages are those?”

“It’s not purely loyalty, Borrombus,” said Fierfelm his eyes suddenly far away as he gazed across the room, “it’s the hammer. It is more than a thing of beauty hanging on a wall for admiration. It is a weapon, a terrible and wonderful weapon, and someone must use it. Have we become art loving elves here in Craggen Steep? So afraid of losing something of beauty that we hide it away for all eternity? Are we not dwarves? Creatures of stone, the warriors who overthrew the might of the elementals?”

Borrombus rolled his eyes as he motioned with his head to the boy carrying the plate of sausages, “Bring those back here, boy,” he said and then turned to Fierfelm. “Save the patriotic speeches for the High Council, you don’t have to convince me that the hammer is best served in Delius’s hands. He is something special is that boy, and there is no future for him here because of his blood taint. However, the elders are afraid he’ll use it to gain great glory and their own pure-blooded children will be slighted. You know how the Firefists are about their namesake,” here he lowered his voice and glanced at the young apprentice who greeted dignitaries by their first name with great familiarity as he moved around the room. “They foisted Cleathelm off on you to spy more than anything else. You must show caution. Don’t play all your cards or you’ll be outmaneuvered in High Council.”

“Damn caution,” spat Fierfelm his blue eyes ablaze and his fist clenched and raised in the air. “I’ve been cautious for too long now, afraid of the council, afraid of the three families of Craggen Steep. It’s now or not in my lifetime.”