by Tom Liberman
“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.”
Chapter 1
“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.
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?”
“No, no, I didn’t … I mean,” started the dwarf as he backed away from the table in little stutter steps, “I just … what I meant to say …,” he tried to continue but Milli turned her back to him and he stood there stammering for a little while, then bent down to help his friend up, and the two retreated back to the bar arm in arm.
Dol watched the dwarves go and then turned back to the table and Milli and Brugus, “I don’t like to admit it,” he said in a quiet voice with the slightest inflexion of sadness.
“Admit what,” said Brogus, having lost track of the conversation and wearing a quizzical expression on his youthful face. “What don’t you like to admit?”
“Actions should determine promotion,” he said looking down at the table and shaking his head. “Those who do well make promotion, those who don’t get left behind.”
“But, what don’t you want to admit?” said Brogus again as he leaned forward in his seat and put his hands on the thick stone table. “Either you don’t talk at all or you talk in riddles, Dol.”
“That I might be …,” started Dol.
At this second, before he could say that last terrible word, one of the young dwarf girls at the nearby table dashed across the divide between the two groups, snatched at Dol’s hair with a quick motion, and then ran back to her table where she opened her hand and showed something to her sister. Both girls broke into a fit of giggles and looked back and forth between the object and Dol.
Dol stopped in mid-sentence, slumped with his shoulders, slowly shook his head, and gave out a long sigh. Milli sat there with her mouth open for a half a second and then burst into a fit of laughter before she could cover her mouth with her hands. “I’m sorry, it’s just funny,” she said trying to stifle her laughs.
Suddenly the father of the girls was at the table with a serious expression on his face, “I’d like to apologize for my daughters,” he said a scowl on his craggy face, but this apology triggered another bout of laughter from Milli and Brogus’ own harsh guffaws soon joined in. Dol sat there quietly and looked at the two with black eyes through narrowed lids.
“It’s ok,” he said to the older dwarf, “it happens all the time.”
Milli shrieked with laughter and pounded Brogus on the back as the dwarf beat his fists onto the table, his face growing redder by the moment.
“I’m going to pee myself,” he finally gasped and this sent Milli off into another gale of shrieks.
The older dwarf stood at the table for much of this but eventually nodded his head to Dol and put down a small, green apple on the table. It looked about the size of a cherry but the surface was crisp and it had the distinctive shape of an apple. “You’ll be wanting this back then?”
Milli shrieked, fell out of her seat, and started to roll around on the floor while Brogus buried his face in his arms as his body shook with la
ughter.
Dol sat with a stony face, took the little apple, looked at it closely, put it into his pants pocket, and then waited for Milli and Brogus to stop laughing.
“I’m sorry,” said Milli gasping for breath as she regained her seat, “you have to admit, it gets funnier every time.”
“Maybe you should ask me if I want to do it,” said Dol in a low tone filled with strength. “There are times I find life here in Craggen Steep … trying,” he continued as he looked over at the table of the young girls and shook his head sadly.
“I thought when you kept your hair short-like they didn’t grow?” said Milli and then, suddenly realizing that Dol was not talking about the apples that grew in his hair, turned to him, “You’d want to do what?”
Dol looked at her and shook his head, “I could shave my head bald but then I’d be even more of a curiosity here in Craggen Steep. You know I don’t like people looking at me, talking about me. They just keep getting worse as I get older. When I was a teenager it was only once a year or so but now they pop-up at any time.”
“No, no, forget about the apples, your hair. Ask you what you want to do with what?” insisted Milli as another little burst of giggles erupted from her mouth unbidden.
“The Hammer of Fire,” said Dol in a low voice but there was passion in it. “If we take it, what do I want to do with it?”
