by Mel Odom
Bulokk shoved Wick forward so hard that he nearly fell. Stumbling, he came to a stop in front of a dwarf whose hammer fell with a rhythmic clangor. They stood waiting till the dwarf finished with the piece for the time. When he stepped back, his massively thewed body glistening with sweat and glowing from heat and exertion, he nodded to another dwarf.
The other dwarf picked up the piece with a set of the long-handled tongs. In that instant, Wick saw that the piece was a nearly finished shield. At least, it was the backbone of a shield.
“Master Blacksmith Taloston,” Bulokk called.
“Aye,” the dwarf said, watching as the shield was carefully hung back over the lava pit. “Is that ye, Bulokk?”
“It is,” Bulokk replied.
“Did ye put an end to that nest of goblinkin the scouts spied?”
“We did. But we come up on a surprise.”
Still holding onto the huge hammer, Master Blacksmith Taloston turned to face Wick. The dwarf’s face was broad and scarred by battle and fire. Sparks burned in his brown hair and beard. His arms showed scars from the ironwork.
“Don’t like surprises,” the master blacksmith said. His glance took a quick measure of Wick. “A halfer?”
“Aye,” Bulokk said.
“What’d ye bring him back here for?”
“Didn’t know what to do with him.”
The master blacksmith grabbed a ladle from a water bucket and took a long drink. Then he poured another ladleful over his head. “Shoulda let him go. There’s other halfers in these islands. Mayhap he can stay free an’ catch a ship like some of them others have. Otherwise he can be a slave in the goblin mines again. Either way, it ain’t our problem.”
“He’s a goblinkin cook,” Bulokk accused. He held the crumpled chef’s hat out as evidence. “When we come up on that goblinkin lair, this ’un was fixin’ them goblinkin a meal an’ leadin’ the dancin’.”
“Dancin’?” The master blacksmith’s bushy eyebrows closed together.
“Aye.”
“I wasn’t leading the dancing,” Wick said. “The skink was leading the dancing.”
“Skink?”
Moving quickly, Wick plucked the skink from his hiding place on his shoulder. “This skink.” He held Rohoh up by his tail, dangling him for all to see.
The lizard tried to get free, but he didn’t open his mouth to complain.
“Ye have a dancin’ skink?”
“Yes.”
Before Wick could go on, Taloston looked at Bulokk. “Is this halfer infested with them things?”
Two dwarven warriors quickly searched Wick. They didn’t find any additional lizards.
“No,” one of them answered. “That appears to be the only one.”
“Good,” Taloston said. “I can’t abide them lizards. Ate me fill of ’em, I have. Dwarves wasn’t meant to feed on such creatures. Them goblinkin can have ’em all.”
Rohoh stopped squirming to escape. For a moment Wick thought the skink was going to protest the comment. That would have been fine because it would have brought further proof to his claims.
“So he was cookin’ fer the goblinkin, eh?” Taloston rubbed a hand through his smoldering beard.
“Aye.”
The master blacksmith nodded, said, “Take him up top, cut his throat, an’ throw him into the bay,” and turned back to his work.
8
Banished
“What!” The exclamation burst from Wick before he knew he was prepared to launch it. The sound of his incredulous voice pealed over the forge, bringing an end to all work. He almost dropped Rohoh to the cavern floor. “You’re going to just order them to cut my throat and throw me into the bay?”
By that time, Bulokk had his hand on Wick’s shoulder and was dragging him back from the master blacksmith.
“I’ll be merciful,” Bulokk said quietly.
“I don’t want merciful,” Wick bellowed.
“No?”
Realizing what he’d said, Wick held up his hands, one of which was still holding onto the skink. “What I mean is, I don’t want to die.”
“Should have thought of that before you started whipping up dweller surprise,” Rohoh said only loud enough for Wick to hear.
“Ye shouldn’t have been cookin’ for the goblinkin,” Taloston said.
“I’m not a cook.” Wick felt entirely helpless.
Shoving his face into Wick’s, making the little Librarian cringe, Taloston asked, “An’ do ye know any recipes for cookin’ dwarves?”
At last! Wick thought happily. A question I can answer! “I do! I do!” He put his free hand to his head and started imagining the pages of Prendergorf’s A Short Course of Dwarven Dishes: Being a Horrifying Account of Famous Dwarves Eaten by Goblinkin. “There’s dwarf tort with spiced apples. Creamed dwarf. Jellied dwarf. Dwarf-ka-bobs. Dwarf cake, though that’s generally served for holidays and is made out of dried dwarf bits that have gotten particularly leathery with age and—” He was suddenly aware of every dwarven eye in the forge on him.
“An’ how many dwarves have ye cooked up?” Taloston asked.
“None,” Wick answered immediately. “I swear. The Old Ones strike me dead if I’m lying.”
At that moment the lava pit bubbled violently, throwing up a huge gout of lava and causing a massive boom! that echoed through the forge. Thinking that the volcano below was about to erupt and throw burning lava everywhere, Wick dropped to his knees and covered his head with his arms. Cowering, he waited for the end.
The skink, which he’d dropped, ran up his arm and curled once more behind his head. “Get up,” Rohoh said. “You’re embarrassing me. If you’re going to die, at least go out with some dignity.”
Cautiously, Wick opened one eye. He looked around. Dwarves stared at him with derision and dislike. But that was okay. While he was on the mainland, that was how most beings looked at him.
“The lava pit didn’t erupt?” he asked.
“No,” Taloston said. “Get this cook outta me sight.”
Strong hands gripped Wick. He tried to fight against them but it was no use.
“They were going to cook me and eat me!” Wick wailed.
“Oh, that’s just softening them right up,” Rohoh said.
Taloston turned and looked out at the lump of metal hanging over the lava pit. It was starting to glow cherry-red.
“I didn’t escape from the goblinkin mines!” Wick shouted as he was dragged away. “A wizard sent me here in search of Master Blacksmith Oskarr’s magic battle-axe!”
Bulokk stopped dragging immediately, calling to his men to halt. The dwarven warrior looked at Wick. “Are ye tellin’ the truth, halfer? About comin’ here fer Oskarr’s magic axe?”
Terrified of answering, Wick just stared at the dwarf, wondering which response would let him live and which would get him instantly killed. Because he felt certain that was what it was coming down to.
“Yes,” Wick squeaked, gazing into Bulokk’s eyes. “It’s true.” He waited for the end.
After a moment more spent staring at him, Bulokk swung to face Taloston. “Did ye hear what the halfer claimed? That he came here fer Master Oskarr’s axe?”
Slowly, Taloston faced Bulokk. “Aye,” the master blacksmith said. “I heard him.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t mean it’s true. Master Oskarr’s axe has been lost fer a thousand years. Mayhap it was destroyed.”
Wick thought Bulokk was going to argue, but the dwarf maintained his silence.
“Don’t go gettin’ yer hopes up, Bulokk,” Taloston said.
“The axe … means a lot to me family,” Bulokk said.
Sighing, Taloston picked up his hammer and walked over to Wick. “There’s tales ever’where about Master Oskarr’s enchanted battle-axe an’ how it was lost when Lord Kharrion caused the volcanoes to erupt an’ bury them islands in the sea while spewin’ up new ones. Is that what ye’re hopin’, halfer? That some halftold story about Master Oskarr is gonna save yer neck?”
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“You’re in for it now,” Rohoh whispered in his ear.
“It’s true,” Wick insisted. “I was sent here for the axe.”
“Why?” Taloston demanded.
“The wizard, he thinks he can use it to find out what really happened at the Battle of Fell’s Keep. He doesn’t think that Master Oskarr betrayed the other warriors holding Painted Canyon while the south evacuated ahead of the goblinkin hordes.” Wick met Taloston’s accusing stare.
“What do ye know of all that?”
Slowly at first, but becoming immersed in the story just as he had back at Paunsel’s tavern in Greydawn Moors, Wick told the dwarves the tale of the Battle of Fell’s Keep.
Later, as Wick wrapped up with what he knew of the battles fought in the Cinder Clouds Islands—embellishing the telling with all the skills he’d learned as well as the sense of the dramatic he’d picked up from the romances he’d read in Hralbomm’s Wing—the dwarves sat around him like dweller children during story time.
The clangor of the hammers falling on metal had silenced. Only the bubbling of the lava pit continued. Water buckets were passed around, and one had been made readily available to the little Librarian.
Finally, though, he was through and had once more sunk the Cinder Clouds Islands beneath the Rusting Sea. Looking out at the sad reaction of the dwarves, Wick felt a little sad for them himself—even though they’d been ready to cut his throat and heave him in the bay only a few hours ago. He knew at least that much time had passed because he was starving.
“Do ye know where Master Oskarr’s axe is?” Bulokk asked.
“No,” Wick answered truthfully.
Taloston scowled at him. “Then how were ye gonna find it?”
“I’ve seen—” Wick stopped himself from saying map because no one outside the Vault of All Known Knowledge had ever seen one. “I’ve heard a number of tales about how the islands were before Lord Kharrion sank them. I think, after I travel around on a few of them, that I’ll be able to figure out where Master Oskarr’s forge was.”
“Likely it’s at the bottom of the Rusting Sea,” Taloston growled.
“There’s tunnels,” Bulokk pointed out. “All the minin’ the goblinkin been doin’, they’ve uncovered some of the vent tunnels that blew out of the volcanoes. Some of them dwellers we freed an’ put on ships—”
Oh ho! Wick thought. They’ve helped other dwellers who have escaped the clutches of the goblinkin! But not me!
“—have said the goblinkin have dug up remnants of dwarven cities,” Bulokk finished.
“’Tis a forlorn hope ye’re insistin’ on,” Taloston said.
“I would know that Master Oskarr was not the traitor the humans an’ the elves believe him to be,” Bulokk stated.
“What the humans an’ the elves think of us or of Master Oskarr don’t matter,” Taloston said.
“It matters to me,” Bulokk disagreed.
“An’ me,” another dwarf said.
“An’ me,” another echoed.
“It’s the past,” Taloston said. “Ain’t no way of changin’ the past.”
“‘The past lays the bedrock for the future,’” Wick quoted. “‘If you want to change your future, find a way to change your perspective of the past in your present.’”
“What are you talking about?” Rohoh asked.
“What’s yer meanin’, halfer?” Taloston growled.
Bulokk looked at Wick with interest. “What he’s a-sayin’ is that if ’n we find Master Oskarr’s lost battle-axe, there’s a chance we can know what really happened at the Battle of Fell’s Keep. An’ if ’n we know, it’ll change how we see ourselves today.”
Taloston looked at Bulokk and shook his head. “Ye get a lot more from what that halfer’s a-blatherin’ about than I do.”
“Mayhap,” Bulokk said, “it’s ’cause I’m willin’ to listen.”
Waving the comment away, Taloston stood. “We’re a-wastin’ time here now.” He looked around at the other dwarves. “On yer feet. We got things to make. There’ll be another ship along soon.”
Bulokk pushed himself up, too. “What about the halfer’s story?”
“It’s a story, Bulokk,” Taloston said. “Just like them tales the elders tell around the community firepits in the common rooms at night. It’s just entertainment fer the young, that’s all. Don’t go a-gettin’ all caught up in his story. It’s hard beatin’ disappointment out of a tender heart. Without a-losin’ the heart it’s attached to.”
Silently, Bulokk studied his leader.
“What wizard in his right mind would send a halfer to do somethin’ so important?” Taloston asked.
Bulokk kept his own counsel, setting his jaw stubbornly.
Something’s going on, Wick thought. But he didn’t know what it was. He didn’t dare utter a word.
“Don’t work that ore,” Taloston said in a softer voice. “It’s too hard for ye, an’ when ye get it hot enough, ye’re just gonna shatter it.”
After a moment, Bulokk broke eye contact with the master blacksmith and nodded.
“Now take him on out of here,” Taloston said. “Mayhap ye don’t want to kill him, in case ye believe him, but make certain that halfer’s off this island. Put him aboard one of the trade ships what’s out in the harbor an’ send him on his way, if ye like. But get him outta here. He’s banished from our home.”
“All right,” Bulokk replied. He shoved Wick from behind and got him moving.
Long minutes later, Wick was once more above ground. The outside air was cooler, almost chill after he’d gotten acclimated to the forge chamber. Shivering a little, he pulled his light cloak more tightly around him. Rohoh scampered up under his hair to lie along his collar. Wick reached for the skink twice, but the creature avoided his efforts with ease, hiding inside his coat.
Bulokk and a dozen dwarves escorted Wick to the huge gate. Dusk had settled over the Rusting Sea, leaving black clouds hanging in a chartreuse sky. Land lay in that direction, Wick knew, because the sunset would have been practically colorless over the water. In order for the sky to have color, it had to pick up dust in the wind over land, not sea.
After they passed through the gate, during which time Wick once more had the uneasy feeling while walking under the immense stone, the wind held more of a chill, but he willingly admitted that the fear inside him may have caused that. On the other side, Bulokk steered him to follow the well-worn cart ruts that led down to the harbor.
Wick looked up at the moons and wondered if Craugh could see him. And, if the wizard could see him, if Craugh was unhappy with the way things had turned out.
Of course, there was always the possibility that Craugh had sent Wick on ahead simply to use as bait and was finding Oskarr’s fabled axe himself even now. That seemed to be a favorite tactic.
“Halfer,” Bulokk said.
“Yes.” Wick was trying to work up the courage to ask for something to eat. He was certain he wouldn’t get anything aboard a trading vessel if he weren’t paying passage. And realizing that led to even further worries. Where would the trade ship put him ashore? He didn’t have any gold as he usually did. It was possible they’d simply dump him over the side and have done with him.
“Do ye really think ye can find Master Oskarr’s forge an’ mayhap his axe?” Bulokk walked beside him but wouldn’t look at him.
Wick measured his words carefully, well aware that they held the possibility to change his course. He tried to figure out if it would be safer to go on the cargo ship and hope to find another vessel that traveled to Greydawn Moors and try to take passage on it.
Still, the question was almost a challenge to his skills as a Librarian.
“Yes,” Wick said. “I think I can.”
“Why?”
“Because the Cinder Clouds Islands were made a certain way, in a half-moon shape that’s distinctive.” Wick looked out at the sea and saw the furled sails along the ship’s ’yards riffling in the breeze. “I memorized
some of the landmarks. There were lighthouses, cliffs, and reefs that I can use to figure out where I—where we—are in relation to where Master Oskarr’s forge was. If we can find them.” He gave the dwarf a sidelong glance. “Your familiarity with the islands would help us in that search.”
They walked a while longer in silence.
“Do ye think it’s still there?” Bulokk asked.
“Do I think what’s still there?”
“The axe. Master Oskarr’s axe.”
Wick considered his answer, letting the strained silence gather weight and speculation. “I do. Magic weapons have a tendency to outlast all attempts to destroy them.”
“An’ through it ye could know what happened at the Battle of Fell’s Keep, could discover what took place all them years ago?”
“The wizard who sent me here has such powers,” Wick said. “If anyone could do it, he could.”
Bulokk looked at him. “Do ye believe that in yer bones? ’Cause that’s the bedrock of a man.”
“I do,” Wick said. Even though he wasn’t absolutely sure of Craugh’s powers, over the years he had seen the amazing things the wizard could do.
“All right then. Wait here.” Bulokk turned back to his fellows.
Wick stood alone at the side of the cart trail and wished he were back home in the Vault of All Known Knowledge. Or at least safe back on One-Eyed Peggie where he could finish reading the romance about Taurak Bleiyz.
He stared at the lanterns along the rails of the human ship anchored out in the harbor. With the sun setting behind the vessel, the men all but lost in the shadows aboard her, the sight was beautiful. His hands itched to take out his journal and writing utensils and capture the memory in inks. More than that, he wanted to write up his latest adventures, all the things that he had seen and the people he’d met.
