The Hammer of Fire

by Tom Liberman

  The Hammer of Fire

  by Tom Liberman

  Text copyright © 2012 Tom Liberman

  All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  Forward

  Prolog

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Epilog

  Forward

  Thanks to Raro for his magnificent cover art and to my mother for her proofing diligence. I will never fully understand the comma.

  Prolog

  Udor Firefist sat at his workbench, in his private chamber, and stared at hammers, axes, shields, armor, swords, and various other implements of war that lined the walls. His bench-top was clear of his work tools, they hung neatly on wall-hooks, but the stone table retained the stains of thousandsof jobs, tens of thousands, who knew how many? He looked longingly from one implement to the next and then put his fire-blackened right hand to one of the four platinum and gold bands, encrusted with rubies, emeralds, and diamonds, which circled the gray beard that he spent over fifty years cultivating since he gave up his apprenticeship robes all those years ago. It seemed like a blink of the eye to him now as he gazed at five thousand years of work produced by the finest metal smiths of Craggen Steep. “Five thousand years,” he said with a quiet voice, and he frowned deeply although his heavy beard hid most indications of such.

  The title of metal smith was the most prestigious in all of Craggensteepand the most common. Young dwarf boys of promise generally applied to the Guild at the age of eight and worked their way through the various stages of apprenticeship and then on to craftsman and, hopefully, eventually arrived at the class of fully invested Edos, or First Class Metal Smith. Even then there were levels of delineation as the various metals within the great mountain, iron, copper, steel and more, were of greater or lesser esteem. The pinnacle of achievement was to become the Master Edos of the Deep Forge, or the First Edos. Udor was now in the thirty-fifth year of his reign at the top of the heap and yet he still felt restless, eager.

  His room, as he thought of it after so long, was not the only place where the relics of the great dwarf citadel resided. There was the Hall of Relics, the Chamber of Hovslaag, the High Council Chamber, but this room, the chamber of the First Edos, technically the most powerful dwarf in the mountain, was his and his alone. The others were for the public and for ceremony where the great relics of the realm were displayed. This place, his room, was the spot where the weapons of war created by previous office holdersrested. Here resided weapons crafted by his predecessors, the dwarves who sat in this very chair over the last five thousand years. Near the end of their reign each chose a single item to hang on its wall before he retired. The room itself now housed a dozen side chambers built solely to accommodate the ever growing armory. Nowadays Udor spent very little time in the workroom. His days were filled with management of the Deep Forge, concerns about which craftsman should be promoted to edos, which apprentice should move to craftsman, and all the other mundane tasks of his job. It was perhaps once every two years of late that he had time to come to this room to design, to plan, and then to the Deep Forge to create. In the last ten years this glacial pace slowed even further, and Udor spent most of his time wooing the powers that be in Craggen Steep as he tried to achieve one political goal after the next. He sighed deeply once again and his hidden frown deepened.

  He remembered when he first came to this room as an apprentice and stared in wide-eyed wonder at the relics on the walls. He was forced to memorize the history of each relic and five thousand years is a long, long time. Soon enough he grew used to them and didn’t think twice about the dwarves who crafted them, the ancient history they represented. When he became First Edos he was too young to think about his retirement, of what weapon he wanted to hang on these walls. He was a child then; a portrait on his desk reminded him of that fact daily. The artist, he remembered, was an elf, brought into the hidden city blindfolded. Eventually a larger version of the same portrait would have a place in First Edos Hall. Although he suspected his might find some adjacent corridor reserved for those who didn’t accomplish great things. He didn’t sigh this time but his shoulders slumped ever further and his body seemed to shrink in upon itself.

  He gazed for a long time and occasionally blinked his languid black eyes, covered by his bushy gray eyebrows, and gave off a soft sigh at regular intervals. A slight tap at the door broke into his reverie and he looked at the thick wood gateway adorned with steel bands and these decorated with gemstones and gold filigree. Wood was rare in Craggen Steep, stone and metal were the choice material of most artisans, but here, in the office of the First Edos, expensive things were the norm, not the exception. “What?” he said although he already knew what waited on the other side of the door.

  “Edos Udor,” came a plaintive voice an octave higher than a young dwarf should have and just barely audible. “They are waiting.”

  Udor sighed again and looked one last time around the office before wearily getting to his feet, limping over to the door as his gout-ridden left foot shouted out in protest, and giving the handle a sudden yank.

  Young Fierfelm Sunspire almost fell into the room when the door opened but managed to catch his balance at the last moment. “Edos Udor,” he said in the same little voice. “They are waiting, all of them. This is your big day, why aren’t you in your fineries?” He was small for a dwarf with blue eyes and from one of the lesser families. Many criticized Udor when he picked the young Fierfelm as chief apprentice. He remembered the ridicule at the High Council clearly. “How could you, of all people, pick someone from an inferior genetic line?” was the question he heard most frequently and persistently to this day. Perhaps it was that decision, only a year ago, which started the spiraling end of his career as First Edos. Certainly the three most powerful families, the Blackirons, the Drawhammers, and his own clan, the Firefists did not approve. It was common for the chief apprentice to inherit the mantle of First Edos and he was getting up in years. But, damn it, young Fierfelm was far and away the best of the litter; he had creativity, drive, and stamina. Too often the rigid social structure of Craggen Steep caused those best suited for a job to lose out to traditionsthat had roots as deep as the mountain.

  “First Edos, your fineries,” repeated the lad with wide eyes. “The High Council is to honor you for your service these last fifty years.”

  Udor looked down at the heavy smock, horribly stained from decades of use and inherited from the First Edos before him, and ran his hands down the front slowly and softly. “These are my fineries,” he said at last and his craggy face broke into a smile that revealed almost a complete set of platinum teeth, embedded with gemstones. “I’ve been an edos for almost fifty years and First Edos of the Deep Forge for the last thirty-five of those. If I’m to be given any award I’ll wear my uniform. Do you have a problem with that, apprentice Fierfelm?”

  “No, First Edos,” said the young dwarf his little beard no more than a few inches long, his eyes grew wide, and his hand trembled. “You
should … you can … it is not for me to say …” and eventually his voice softened to the point of inaudibility.

  “What is the finest item on those walls?” asked the old dwarf with a quick gesture to the walls of the workroom.

  “It … it … it’s … I don’t …,” stumbled the young apprentice as his hand began to tremble with even more violence.

  “Calm yourself boy, this is not a test. There is no right answer. Just tell me what you think.”

  The boy’s fear washed away like a piece of debris in one of the swift underground streams that flowed deep within the mountain and he looked again, this time more closely, and took a few steps into the room. His blue eyes were wide and his finger came to his lips as he paused before a massive sword that only a giant might wield, and then moved further into the room to examine each of the four walls with careful consideration. He did not bother to look down the extra corridors for all the best items were here, in the main room. “The Axe of Five,” he finally offered as his voice deepened slightly although it cracked on the word five.

  “Where was that forged and by whom,” said Edos Udor as he came up to stand next to the boy and look at the heavy handled axe that adorned the wall. “You can read the plaque if you don’t know it by heart, this isn’t a test, today at least,” he continued with a gentle smile.

  “I know it,” said young Fierfelm with a fiery glance at Udor. He turned to look up at the man who had served as his master for the last year of his apprenticeship. The man who picked him from a hundred other young dwarves working the bellows at the two dozen high forges in the great mountain. There were other forges as well but they were for personal use, for dwarves not chosen to be an apprentice as boys. Fierfelm took in his breath, stood up straight, pulled the sleeves of his red jerkin tight, “First Edos Uromos Firefist forged it seven hundred years ago at the Deep Forge as a gift for a human who saved his son’s life in battle.”

  Udor nodded his head slowly and fingered the impossibly valuable bands at his beard again, “How is it here in the First Edos’s chamber then?”

  Fierfelm did not pause, “The human passed it to his son who passed it to his son who was killed by hobgoblins in western realms. Our agents went seeking it then and brought it back to Craggen Steep …,” here the boy paused, closed his eyes, and tapped his chin for a moment.

  “It’s not a test,” repeated Udor.

  “No, First Edos, I know the answer, they recovered it eighty-five years ago from a grave. They returned it to Craggen Steep where the Antiquarians Guild confirmed it and placed it on the wall as First Edos Uromos requested.”

  “Enough,” said Udor with a smile and a nod of his head as he patted the boy’s back. “This is not a test. Now, tell me, in the Chamber of Hovslaag where all our most important and powerful items are kept. What item there do you think the most potent?”

  The young boy didn’t have to think this time as he immediately blurted out his answer, “The great Shield of Dar Drawhammer who used it to defeat Gazadum. It was he who freed us from slavery to the elementals!”

  Again Udor nodded his head, “And who made that particular item and when?”

  “Hovslaag the earth elemental at the Deep Forge but that was before it was the Deep Forge, it was the Forge of Hovslaag then, and we were just slaves.”

  Udor frowned as he looked at the young apprentice whom he chose as the most promising of the lot. “And, finally young Fierfelm, where on any of those walls hangs something that I’ve forged?”

  The young dwarf eyes began blinking rapidly and he turned to look up at his master, “But, First Edos, you are still master of the Deep Forge, your relic is yet to be hung.”

  “Exactly right,” said Udor. “Your answer haunts me. For thirty-five years I’ve had exclusive use of the Deep Forge where Gazadum sat on his throne and shaped the world for years beyond comprehension. The very heat of the first fire elemental which burns hot and strong to this day and yet I’ve produced no great weapon, no legendary shield, nothing; my life is now almost over and I will be eased out of my position soon. That’s what this little ceremony is all about Fierfelm. You should remember that because someday you might be part of a similar event.”

  “No, that’s not true Edos!” said the young dwarf his jaw jutting forward and his blue eyes burning with intensity. “You are the finest First Edos since Uromos and your weapons and shields are used by every dwarf champion in the world.”

  “That is kind of you to say,” Udor said as he patted the boy on the back again. “But we cannot deny the truth. I’ve forged a few good weapons in my day but nothing to hang next to these,” he said with an expansive wave of his arms. “Nothing to go into the Chamber of Hovslaag.Nothing of any great importance.”

  “What about the Blackiron Sword?” said Fierfelm. “It was used it to break the Staff of Faelom in the battle of the Ten Kings. I’ve seen the staff in the Hall of Relics, they say it was fashioned from the remnants of Onod the First after Hezfer the Blue Flame consumed him at the Battle of Tor Saragun.”

  “Onod the First. The first and most powerful of the tree shepherds,” mused Udor quietly as his hand once again went to the bands around his beard. This time they tapped the valuable metal at an agitated pace. “I never considered the Staff of Faelom. It’s not dwarf made, ensorcelled by the elves for their king all those years ago. Faelom infused much of his own great power into it before it was broken in half. You know,” went on the First Edos with a glance at Fierfelm, “the shepherds were our allies back then, when we defeated the elementals. Without their help we never would have gained our freedom. I can’t even remember how the burned remains of Onod ended up in the hands of those pretty boy elves in the first place. But, no matter, no matter at all. The Staff of Faelom. The half we have, the bottom half, how long would you say it is?”

  Fierfelm shrugged his shoulders, raised his hands and held them apart, “About like that.”

  “A little too long for a battle axe handle. A little too short for a war axe, wouldn’t you agree?” said the First Edos.

  “I suppose so, First Edos” said Fierfelm with raised eyebrows and a puzzled expression written all over his face. “Yes, that seems true.”

  “But just about right for a hammer, a double-handed war hammer,” said Udor as his hands began to move up and down the bands around his beard with great rapidity, and his eyes suddenly blazed brightly. “Have you ever been to the Chamber of Gazadum?”

  The boy shook his head silently.

  “Come with me,” said the First Edos and strode out the door into the great Deep Forge where the heat of the first fire elemental still burned all these thousands of years later. He led the boy down a massive corridor at least twenty feet wide and more than twice that in height. The red marble floor shone like glass and the intricate patterns: little hammers, maces, shields, anvils, and swords seemed to dance as if alive in the bright light provided by brightly glowing stones embedded into the walls. The little dwarves seemed completely out of place in the immense hallway, but nevertheless they eventually arrived at a huge door made of a single piece of wrought iron with the design of a flame etched into it. The door handle, a massive steel eagle with folded wingsthat looked imperiously out at the world, stood some fifteen feet high on the door. The flame on the door actually seemed to flicker with heat as they approached and Fierfelm slowed a good twenty paces before they arrived, staring with his eyes wide and his mouth open.

  “I’m not sure that I’m allowed …,” started Fierfelm but his hands did not tremble and his blue eyes sparkled brightly even in the glare of the brightly lit hallway.

  “I make the rules here,” said Udor firmly, fiddling under his smock, pulling out a heavy iron key and winking at the young apprentice. “Get me that ladder over there,” he said and pointed to the corner where an iron ladder rested. It was on wheels and Fierfelm slid it over to the center of the door with an easy motion. Udor dashed up the ladder like a young boy, put they key into the lock of the door, and tu
rned it with a sharp snap. He clamored back down the ladder and shoved it gently which sent it back to its original location. He paused, glanced at Fierfelm with a funny sort of grin, and then pushed the massive door open with a gentle touch of his right hand. It swung open as easily as a feather blows in a soft breeze.

  “The Chamber of Gazadum,” he said in a hushed voice. Past the huge door stood a chamber that simply dwarfed even the massive hallway that led up to it. The floor was perfectly polished red marble with veins of fire that seemed to actually blaze across it, the domed ceiling was at least two hundred feet above them. In the center of the chamber stood a massive iron throne with a seat fifty feet above the ground and forty feet from side to side, but Udor did not go towards this. Instead he moved quickly, his gout apparently forgotten, to the other side of the chamber where a smallish iron chest sat on the floor against the back wall, its lid closed.

  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.”