The Hammer of Fire

by Tom Liberman

  “What was that,” said Brogus groggily as he rolled onto his side. “I have to pee.”

  “The pot’s over there,” said Dol pointing to an unseen corner of the tent. Earlier it took him nearly twenty minutes to find the thing. These tents with their hidden folds were not easy to navigate. He’d tried to watch as they came into the tent city, to keep track of direction, but it was difficult here on the surface. The inside of the tents were easier once you figured out how they folded but it had taken him some exploring before he figured it out.

  “Where are the girls?” said Brogus as he let fly a tremendous torrent into the pot from out of sight beyond the cloth walls.

  “I don’t know,” said Dol. “They said they were taking them to a female area of the encampment but I had to help bring you back here. Why did you drink so much?”

  “Because it was free,” said Brogus with a wide smile as the pleasure of a powerful urination coursed through his frame. “Why didn’t you drink more?”

  “We’re not back home anymore, Brogus,” said Dol and looked to the floor of the tent again. “You have to be careful what you say and what you do here. These are not our friends.”

  “What?” said Brogus suddenly reappearing as he tried to pull up his pants and shove his member into them at the same time. “Ouch, almost nipped the little fellow there.”

  “I said that we’re not at home anymore,” said Dol with a shake of his head as watched his still drunk friend try to navigate the complexities of their strange desert garb.

  “Don’t I know it,” said Brogus and put his hand to the back of his neck. “That salve helped a bit but I’m still, what do they call it, kissed by the sun? I feel weak, tired, drained.”

  “It could be all that beer you drank” suggested Dol although he too still felt the burning, sapping sensation of too much exposure to the intense sunlight.

  “No chance,” said Brogus with a snort. “I’ve had more than that plenty of times. It’s the sun. It beats the energy right out of you. I’ll be glad to be gone from this place, even if it is to fight some elemental from the ….”

  Dol got up quickly and smacked Brogus across the top of the head before the dwarf could finish his sentence. “You’ve done enough damage already. Think before you speak. Don’t give them any more information. We’re not home, we’re not safe. These people mean us harm.”

  “I don’t know,” said Brogus with a puzzled expression on his face and a deep frown. “They fed us pretty good.”

  “How many times have you watched interrogation masters with Darklings. First they try the nice method. Give them food, water, tell them you’re their friend. What happens when that doesn’t work?”

  Brogus stopped gargling the water he had plunged into his mouth from the large pitcher set up near the entrance of the tent in a specially made little pedestal and looked to Dol with his mouth still full. He looked around the tent, first to the left, then to the right and the put his hands out to Dol with his eyes filled with confusion.

  “Tent flap is just there, by your hand, you can spit out the door,” said the tall dwarf as he put down the hammer and sat on one of the cushions in the main chamber. Their tent was quite roomy enough for two nomads, and the dwarfs were not much more than half as tall as the men so the place seemed massively spacious after their apprentice cubbies. Dol leaned back on an orange cushion and rested his head. After staying up all night watching Brogus he suddenly felt exhausted and he was almost instantly asleep.

  Brogus stood outside and stared at the tents that surrounded them in every direction. He had no idea what direction he faced, and an occasional nomad drifted by, nodded a head, and said some pleasantry or another although the dwarf could not understand the words. He replied with a hello and a wave but they went on about their business without further notice. He walked all the way around the tent but could garner no further information about his location. A tent of one color or another stood, well staked to the hardpan dirt ground, to each side of him but there seemed to be little rhyme or reason to their location. “Treat it like’s a darkling warren,” said Brogus to himself and shut his eyes. “There is no sky, these are merely tunnels. All I have to do is remember my training, count the turns, note the landmarks. It’s just strange, not impossible.” With that he set his shoulders and started off in a direction. He wandered for several hours, taking note of the shape of the land in the same way he kept track of elevation when wandering a foreign tunnel far below the surface. He counted his steps without thinking and soon found himself standing at the shore of a large lake. Dozens of nomadic woman, many of them with small children wrapped up in strange little trusses, filled basins with the water and then returned to the tent city in a never ending line.

  Brogus looked across the lake but the morning mist prevented him from seeing the far side of its shore. The tents were dense on this side of the lake but they slowly started to dwindle further up the shoreline in both directions. He walked ankle deep into the water, knelt down, and plunged his head into to the cool lake. He held it under and then pulled it out with a little whoop. Then he shook his long hair and beard in a spray of water. He repeated this process twice more much to the amusement of a group of children on the shore. They hooted and hollered strange words at him but he ignored them and continued to bathe himself. After his little cleansing he looked around again and noticed his audience still staring at him in wide-eyed wonder. There were about twenty of the little urchins watching him and he waved gaily and then set out to circle the lake. He didn’t get far when a tall nomad who seemed familiar joined him. “Do I know you?” said Brogus.

  The nomad looked at him quizzically and shrugged his shoulders with incomprehension.

  “I’m going for a walk around the lake,” said Brogus.

  The nomad said nothing and his placid expression did not change.

  Brogus shrugged and continued on the morning walk with his silent companion at his side. He managed to circle to the other side of the lake in about an hour. By the time he reached the far shore the mists no longer obstructed his view and he saw the tent city on the opposite side of the lake. There was a little hill not far to his left and he climbed it in about ten minutes. This gave him a good view of the city. His mind, used to deciphering endless dwarf and darkling tunnel mazes, managed to figure out the general vicinity of his and Dol’s tent although he could not make it out individually from the distance. The vivid colors splashed on the shore reminded him of mineral deposits in a deep cave although, at the same time, not much like that at all he finally admitted to himself. Still there was pattern, an order, in the display and where there was order his dwarf mind could go to work.

  Another hour or so saw him back to the tent city which now bustled with energy as men and woman went about their daily business. While some of their behavior baffled him completely he did recognize much of the domestic work of washing, cleaning, gathering water, and emptying chamber pots as common to his own people. His arrival on the opposite side of the city meant that he was confused as to his location but he simply hugged the shore line until he got back to the spot where he first found the lake. He took another quick bath and then headed into the tents to see if he could find his way back to their temporary home. He got lost two times, although each proved fortuitous in its own way as he found a little stand that served the most delicious meat pies and another tent where he had a glass of the sweet nomadic beer. Each time he paid for the items with a few of the silver coins he obtained back in Das’von in exchange for their heavy gold coins. The nomads seemed to understand the value of gold and silver and honestly returned him the proper change, or at least he assumed as much. His escort accompanied him quietly; never threatening but not helping in any fashion either.

  Eventually he arrived back at their tent with a significantly better understanding of the strange city. He found Dol still sleeping after his long night of watch with the Hammer of Fire safely ensconced at his side. Brogus looked all around the tent carefully, atte
mpting to spot any hidden compartments where a spy might lurk and then lifted the outside flap and noted that the nomad who escorted him around the lake was gone. He then turned back to the interior of the tent and began a much more thorough inventory of its contents and layout. It only took him about twenty minutes to do so and just as he finished a little tinkling sound from outside alerted him to the presence of someone at the flap. He walked over to the entrance, stuck his head outside, and spotted Manetho standing there with a large grin on his face. “You’ve been exploring?”

  Brogus nodded his head which seemed much clearer after his brisk walk. “Yes, it is an interesting type of city. I’ve never seen anything like it in the north.”

  “We move the entire city at least four times a year, more in cases of emergency,” replied the nomad with a shrug of his shoulders. “I hope you don’t mind that we’ve provided you with an escort. It’s easy to get lost and if you walked into the tent of women you might have aroused a great deal of anger.”

  Brogus nodded his head and smiled at the pleasant thought, “That makes sense.”

  “We have some customs here in the Sands that you might not fully understand and I would not want an unfortunate incident marring your stay with us. Sheikh Ming agrees. I do hope you enjoyed your little trip around the lake?”

  “I did,” said Brogus with a smile and a glance back towards the shoreline although the tent’s exterior walls blocked the view. “I also found a few of your delicacies for sale when I explored the camp. It is strange but not that different than my own home.”

  “Where did you say you were from again?” asked Manetho with a smile as his eyes darted back and forth from Brogus to the city that surrounded them.

  “A boring little city of dwarves in the north,” said Brogus with a glance back inside the tent where he knew Dol slept. “You said something about a dwarf citadel nearby. Have you ever visited it?”

  Manetho shook his head, “The desert between the Black Horsemen and the dwarf city of Temin has a number of tribes hostile to us. We raid upon Temin now and again and steal fine iron weapons crafted by the dwarves but I have never visited the nation itself. It is said to be entirely underground, in the mountain. I cannot imagine such a life away from sun, sand, and wind. It is not in the nature of a nomad to sleep without stars overhead.”

  “So you’ve never seen a dwarf before us?”

  “No, not at all,” said Manetho with a shake of his head and a broad smile. “Dwarf caravans are allowed passage through the desert if they pay part of their goods to the various tribal boundaries they cross. We are on relatively good terms with the dwarves of Temin and they provide us with many of our weapons and horseshoes. They are wizards with iron and steel. The desert provides sustenance for many of the needs of a warrior nomad but iron is in short supply.”

  “Are there no hills in all the sands? No rocky outcroppings?”

  “Such places are not uncommon,” said Manetho as he ran his fingers along his bald head. “Even here in the territories of the Black Horsemen, but we nomads do not like to linger long in one place. It is in our nature to roam, to ride, and to slay our enemies. No foreign army has ever conquered the nomads.”

  “I believe you,” said Brogus and nodded his own head with his lips pressed tightly together. “I can’t imagine the difficulty of an invasion of this desert. But surely with constant war between you and the other nomads there must be changes in territory?”

  “Oh yes,” said Manetho and smiled broadly. “It must be the same with you in your underground warrens as well. The darklings I think you called them. Your armies must take land from them and they fight to take it back. It is an endless dance. A way to train warriors.”

  “I’m a metal smith apprentice,” said Brogus with a shrug of his shoulders. “I know little of the way of war although there are warriors among my people. The darklings attack often. They need prisoners for sacrifice to their evil gods.”

  “What are you two talking about,” said Dol as he suddenly appeared at the tent flap, his eyes still slightly groggy from his sleep.

  “I’m glad you are up,” said Manetho with a look at the tall dwarf, his raised eyes spotting a fresh apple blossoming bright green and no bigger than a marble used by the children to play their gambling games. “I see that you did not lie about your heritage,” went on the nomad wizard and pointed towards Dol’s hair.

  Dol’s hand went to the apple immediately; he took it between his finger and thumb, gave a swift yank, grimaced, and then examined it closely. It was typical of the little sour apples that had plagued his life since adolescence. “I had hoped that the desert climate would kill the things once and for all,” he said with a frown on his face as he examined it.

  “Might I see it?” said Manetho his eyes gazing towards the little fruit with a look of eagerness. “I’ve never heard of a cross between a tree shepherd and a dwarf. I wonder if it has any magical properties. There is certainly enchantment about it.”

  Dol shrugged and handed over the apple, “Why are you glad to see me awake?”

  Manetho turned the thing over in his hand a few times with his eyes locked on it. After a few seconds of silence he looked up at Dol who had the look of someone waiting for an answer on his face, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  “Why did you come to visit us this morning?” said Dol quietly but somehow with menace.

  “Ah, yes,” said the wizard, oblivious to the bubbling anger, and again looked down at the little apple in his hand. “This is fascinating, most interesting indeed. Can I keep it? Perform a few experiments?”

  Dol nodded his head but said nothing.

  “That is most generous of you,” said Manetho gazing at the little apple. “Most generous indeed.”

  “Your visit?” said Dol with a slight hint of impatient in his voice.

  “Oh, yes, I’m here to invite you to ride with the Black Rider. He is leaving the city for a meeting with one of the other tribes. He wishes to speak with you and your friends further about this northern general and his plans of conquest. I tried to explain that you were merely visitors to our region but the Black Rider has the fate of our people in his hands and you must understand his desire for further information. Perhaps you learned something that might be useful to my people and you don’t even realize it.”

  “I don’t like riding,” said Brogus, eyes wide with fear and mouth agape. “Those horses are dangerous.”

  “You will accompany the Black Rider,” said Manetho with a shake of his head. “It is considered quite an honor. He is very busy man these days with our many alliances. I’d guess he wants the chance to talk with you as soon as possible. This meeting with the Jagged Edge nomads was scheduled many months ago and cannot be delayed.”

  “How does he ride during the day?” said Dol his eyes carefully looking to judge the bald nomad’s reaction. “He is a darkling and they have a notorious weakness to direct sunlight.”

  “He has special gear that covers him from head to toe to keep off the sunlight,” said Manetho, still swirling the apple in his hand. “But there is no time for me to explain. We must gather the women and get you mounted on your horses for the journey.” With that statement the nomad put the little apple in one of his many pockets and immediately walked off at a brisk pace. Dol and Brogus were left to follow behind.

  It took them merely five minutes to get to the tent where the girls awaited them. Milli’s face broke into a huge smile as she saw their approach, and she rushed over to give Dol a big hug. “Have you heard? We get to ride again. Isn’t that grand?”

  “No,” said Brogus with a frown as he watched Milli’s obvious delight with incomprehension. “I’d rather stay here.”

  “I think that might be possible,” said the quiet voice of Tahnoon as the massively fat nomad appeared from around the corner of the tent with a broad smile. “I enjoyed our conversation greatly yesterday evening and I’d like to renew it today while the others are away. The meeting with the Jagged Edge n
omad shouldn’t take more than a day or two, and I don’t think your companions would suffer too great a hurt if you were to stay here in the encampment.”

  “That sounds great …,” started Brogus but Milli immediately interposed her little body between the two.

  “No,” she said and shook her head vigorously. “We stay together. Besides, Sheikh Ming might have some questions only Brogus can answer. He knows the most about the army.”

  “I do not,” said Brogus and frowned. “I’m just ….

  “Shut up, Brogus,” interrupted Milli as she gave him an elbow to the ribs. “We stay together.”

  Brogus lowered his head and muttered something under his breath but said no more aloud.

  “Well, that’s settled then,” said Manetho with a turn towards Tahnoon, “I hope you’ll have a chance to talk with Tahnoon when you return but, who knows, we might be ready to send you along to your destination if the Black Rider signals his approval. I wish you could stay at least until I finish my experiments,” he continued as his hand went to his pocket and he fingered the round apple within.

  “Experiments?” asked Milli and turned to the bald nomad.

  “You’re friend was kind enough to loan me one of the apples that grow in his hair,” said Manetho. “Actually,” he looked more closely at the tall dwarf, “he actually seems to have sprouted a bumper crop. Perhaps it is life-giving blessing of Ras shining down in such abundance?”