Tom Liberman
The Hammer of Fire
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
