Tom Liberman - The Hammer of Fire

Twenty armed soldiers stood in front of the large campfire and guffawed as one of their number capered in a strange little dance punctuated by sharp upward jabs of his arms. Other soldiers played makeshift instruments in a tune apparently known to all of them. The dancer was dressed in an ill-fitting leather tunic and nearby, leaning against a tree, stood a small wooden shield with two of its slats badly warped. At his side he wore a short sword or perhaps a long dirk and the men providing musical accompaniment and cheers were equally ill-equipped.

“We’re farmers,” said one of two men off to the side as they watched the dancer near the fire go through his routine once again. There wasn’t much to the dance and it seemed to repeat itself regularly which gave those other members of the group plenty of opportunity to drink from small flasks as they shouted out encouragement.

“Somebody has to do it,” said another man as he took a swig from his skin and grimaced. “The damn baron is off chasing his son again and there aren’t any soldiers.”

“So why do we have to do it? Couldn’t we just let this idiot go into the mountain and get himself killed? The Great Fire Lord will never let a human slay him. What business is it of ours to stop him?”

“High Priest Aaran says it’s our business,” said the second man with a shrug of his shoulders as he took yet another sip of the liquid inside his flask.

“Bah,” said the first man and spat on the ground with a grimace. “Those priests are good for nothing except living off the hard labor of others. What do they do except take our bread and tell us to get down on our knees and beg forgiveness so the Gods don’t kill us all?”

“They keep the Gods from killing us all,” said the second man. “What would happen if we didn’t support the priests and give our offerings?”

The first guard shrugged his shoulders and spat again, “Who can say?”

“I can say,” replied the second man turning towards his friend. “I can say and I can say it loudly for all to hear. If the priests didn’t keep the Gods at bay the world would turn to chaos. The demons and devils would walk the earth and destroy us all. We’d have no moral or ethical foundation. We’d be just animals, killing and rutting.”

“Do animals just kill and fuck?” said the first man turning to face his companion.

“Of course they do,” said the second man. “Just look at them,” he said and pointed to a group of ducks sitting placidly on the dark pond.

The first man turned and looked at the quiet animals, “I’m looking.”

“That’s not what I mean,” said the second man. “I mean, they don’t kill each other all the time.”

“Nor do men,” said the first man.

“I’m making a point,” said the second man. “If we don’t have morals we’re nothing more than animals.”

“Yeah,” said the first man. “But my question is what’s so bad about animals? They’ve been getting along all these years. They don’t spend half their day kneeling and praying to live or praying to be good or hoping their kid doesn’t die. I mean, they get along all right.”

“They’re animals,” said the second man.

“Yeah, I get that,” said the first man with a shrug of his shoulders and a wry smile.

“Then why are you arguing with me,” said the second man.

“Because you’re not answering any of my questions,” said the first man.

“That’s because they’re stupid questions,” said the second man. “Everyone knows people are different than animals.”

“Orcs also?” asked the first man.

“They’re almost animals and that’s the point isn’t it? Look at the way they live. Goblins too, just to satisfy their carnal desires. They have no ethics, no morals, no religion.”

“The goblins do too have religion. They’re crazy religious to that god of theirs. That’s why they do all that raiding to have sacrifices.”

“That’s not the point,” said the second man. “Aren’t you listening?”

“I think I am,” said the first man scratching his head. “Are you sure it’s not you who is not listening?”

“Don’t make this about me,” said the second man and gave the first a short little shove. “Just because you don’t have any ethics isn’t any reason to blame the priests. It’s your free will to believe or not believe. No one makes you pay the tithes.”

“They do make me pay the tithes. The soldiers come by and if we don’t pay they take what they want,” said the first man. “You’re talking utter nonsense.”

“You’re not listening,” said the second man.

“Are you absolutely certain it’s me that’s not listening?” said the first fellow.

“Yes, I’m sure. Pay attention,” said the second and glared his companion. “Are you stupid?”

“I don’t think so,” said his companion and scratched his head.

“And yet you’re of the opinion that we are the same as animals?”

“I don’t actually recall saying that,” said the first man.

“Will you two shut-up,” said a third voice from around the fire. I’m trying to get pleasantly drunk before I have to go home to my wife and six kids. Personally, I don’t mind being out here in the dark waiting for some dwarf maniac warrior to come and kill the Fire God. It’s safer than home!”

With that everyone around the fire laughed heartily, slapping their knees and toasting one another, “Here’s to marauding dwarves, may they often grace us with their presence!” and such inanities. The men around the fire continued to entertain each other as the hours of the night slowly went by, and they did not notice as Petra slowly approached on the little mule she borrowed from Dol just an hour ago. She managed to maneuver the beast all the way up to the campfire before one of the men noticed.

“Hey, you there!” shouted one of them and tried to pull his short sword from its scabbard but only managed to entangle it in between his legs so that he stumbled towards her. “What are you doing here?”

Petra pulled up the little mule with a quick yank of the reins and smiled down on the men, “I’m a witchy woman from the north villages. I heard there was need for my concoctions in these regions. Potions of courage, elixirs of strength, and the such.”

The men around the campfire, at least the ones not curled up and snoring on bedrolls, looked at each other back and forth, and then the leader eventually shrugged his shoulders and managed to pull out the sword, “Now that you mention it we might be in need of a few such potions. There is a great dwarf warrior come to slay the mighty God of Fire in the volcano and we are tasked with stopping him!”

“You’ll need potions of strength at least,” said Petra and dismounted. “How many of you are there? I can give you a better price if we just mix them into the stew and you all drink. If I have to sell you each a potion it will cost more.”

“I might need some courage,” said one thin man with a little moustache and a shy smile. “I raise chickens mostly.” He fingered a little dirk at his side, shrugged his shoulders, and tilted his head to the side, “I can cut a chicken’s throat but I’m afraid I’d piss myself if someone came at me with a sword.”

“That’s all right, dearie,” said Petra and came over to pat him on the shoulder. “You’re probably not the only one here who isn’t a soldier and could use a brace of courage. I make the finest potions for a hundred miles in all directions. One sip of my courage elixir and you’ll be ready to take on an army.”

The man smiled at Petra and scratched his head, “Maybe I’d be best off running away instead of towards an angry dwarf with an axe?”