Visitors filled the workshop of First Edos Fierfelm Sunspire and the old dwarf looked around with a deep frown, partially hidden by his long beard, as he contemplated his many guests. It wasn’t the cost of the food and beverage that the First Edos was required to provide that angered him so much as the amount that would surely end up on his floors and workbenches. His useless young chief apprentice, Cleathelm Firefist, busied himself entertaining the various dignitaries in the room and failed utterly to follow Fierfelm’s orders about glasses on coasters. He sighed. The office was virtually the same as when he first came here under the tutelage of old Udor. That was before the Hammer of Fire, before the glory of its creation and the adulation of the entire city. But, even now the tools hung in the same spots, the work bench sat in the same place, although perhaps with one or two more burns and stains, the great weapons rested on the walls in exactly the same places with the notable exception of the Hammer of Fire. The hammer went up on the wall in the most prominent position in the room the day after Udor retired. It had not been moved since. The haft, the bottom half of the greatest elf weapon in history, the Staff of Faelom, proved far too hot for anyone to handle for more than a few seconds and special pegs in the wall, made from ceramics infused with diamonds, kept it in place. The great hammer head glowed with a deep red from within its silver surface and seemed to gently throb like the heart of a great dragon at rest.
“It’s an awful chance,” said an immensely fat dwarf with apparently half a pie evenly dispersed between beard and mouth as he moved silently next to Fierfelm. He carried a huge silver plate in one hand piled high with eclairs and other little pastry desserts. The other hand held a massive mug hollowed out from a single crystal of gargantuan size and filled with a frothy, dark substance that smelled of yeast and hops. Despite his size and load the man moved with surprising agility and grace.
“What chance is that, Borrombus?” said Fierfelm raising his eyebrows and watching the trail of pie crust crumbs fall onto the floor. “Is it possible for you to keep some of the food on the plate?”
“Letting the boy and his friends take the hammer,” said Borrombus as he swallowed massive chunks of the dessert with well-practiced mastication. He wore a heavy leather jerkin and beautifully polished silver chain mail that, while fearsome in appearance, was actually quite light. The links for such armor were smaller and lighter than those worn by soldiers heading off to battle. “This is mighty fine pie you’ve served, Fierfelm. I’m glad you followed my advice for bakeries. I know it’s a bit more expensive but it’s important to impress those in power.”
“If you like the pie so much I would be most pleased if you could get more in your mouth and less on the floor.”
“You always were a tidy one,” said Borrombus with a shake of his massive head that loosed another avalanche of crumbs. “Your apprentices will clean everything up eventually. You should enjoy the party. We need to speak about the hammer though; my nephew has done his work and those children will likely steal the thing today. I remain unconvinced it is the proper course of action. You know how the High Council members are about hierarchy. Not a one of those children is from the three families and the girl doesn’t even have any dwarf blood in her veins at all. A Halfling girl, a foundling, a ward of the state. If she ends up telling people about Craggen Steep it could prove disastrous for the entire city.”
“I thought you wanted us to spread the word about Craggen Steep,” said Fierfelm. “That it was time to spread our wings and join the world?”
“Keep your voice down,” said Borrombus. “Yes, of course, that is all true but if it is one of the other races who does the telling that won’t go over well, even to those who sympathize with our cause. It should be a dwarf, preferably one from one of the good families. That will be more palatable to everyone and more useful to us.”
“If we wait for someone of good family to even have the ability to hold the thing then it will sit on that wall for another fifty years, a fine tribute to Udor that would be.”
“Now, now, now,” said Borrombus with a shake of his head that dislodged yet more pie although he filled the gap by stuffing half of a massive eclair into his mouth and chewing briskly until he was able to speak again. “Did I say that?” he asked and food sprayed out of his mouth, some ending up on the First Edos. “What I said was that you are taking an awful chance by encouraging the High Council to allow it out of Craggen Steep. You should have just let them steal it and not informed the Council at all. If the elders are embarrassed so much the better for Craggen Steep’s future.”
“That apprentice is the best chance I see of ever getting the hammer off the wall, into the hands of someone who can make use it, and I’ll be boiled in oil if I let this opportunity slip by,” said Fierfelm with his hands on his hips. “I promised Udor on his death bed that I’d make sure someone got to use it. I’ve waited half a century for an opportunity to make good on my word and I’ll not get another chance before I die.”
“Now, now, now,” repeated Borrombus as he hungrily eyed a platter of thick sausages that wandered by on the shoulder of a burly young dwarf who looked out of place in silken clothes rather than rough forge wear, “You were always a bit sentimental about Udor. I know he gave you your first chance here at the Deep Forge but your career is what you made it, not what he gave you. What sort of sausages are those?”
“It’s not purely loyalty, Borrombus,” said Fierfelm his eyes suddenly far away as he gazed across the room, “it’s the hammer. It is more than a thing of beauty hanging on a wall for admiration. It is a weapon, a terrible and wonderful weapon, and someone must use it. Have we become art loving elves here in Craggen Steep? So afraid of losing something of beauty that we hide it away for all eternity? Are we not dwarves? Creatures of stone, the warriors who overthrew the might of the elementals?”
Borrombus rolled his eyes as he motioned with his head to the boy carrying the plate of sausages, “Bring those back here, boy,” he said and then turned to Fierfelm. “Save the patriotic speeches for the High Council, you don’t have to convince me that the hammer is best served in Delius’s hands. He is something special is that boy, and there is no future for him here because of his blood taint. However, the elders are afraid he’ll use it to gain great glory and their own pure-blooded children will be slighted. You know how the Firefists are about their namesake,” here he lowered his voice and glanced at the young apprentice who greeted dignitaries by their first name with great familiarity as he moved around the room. “They foisted Cleathelm off on you to spy more than anything else. You must show caution. Don’t play all your cards or you’ll be outmaneuvered in High Council.”
“Damn caution,” spat Fierfelm his blue eyes ablaze and his fist clenched and raised in the air. “I’ve been cautious for too long now, afraid of the council, afraid of the three families of Craggen Steep. It’s now or not in my lifetime.”
“Lower your voice, my friend,” said Borrombus as he positioned his body between Fierfelm and several of the most gaudily bedecked dignitaries in the room who glanced their way with arched eyebrows and little shakes of their heads in disapproval. “I am a member of one of the three families as you well know and a member of the High Council also. The Blackirons are your friend and you have others as well. The young dwarves have heard Corancil speak. They are eager to join the world. Thousands of years of exile from the world. Think of all the dwarf champions and the deeds they could have accomplished.”
“I know that,” said Fierfelm and suddenly the fire went out of his eyes and he looked like a tired old dwarf. He hung his head and grumbled something inaudible but then looked back up at his rotund companion, “It’s just that sometimes I get so frustrated with the interminable slowness with which everything here in Craggen Steep is done. We are mired in ways, the three families, the High Council, even me, the First Edos. Times are changing fast in the world. Corancil conquered the northern realm and took Das’von almost two years ago. Now he plans to move against the nations to the south. He might succeed and conquer the entire world. Our hidden citadel cannot stand up against power like that. We must take action instead of hiding like children. Craggen Steep must strike out into the world, or at least help our dwarf brothers already out there.”
“Your opinion on the matter is well known in council, Fierfelm,” said Borrombus in a hushed tone. “You don’t have to broadcast it at every party we attend. The dwarves of Craggen Steep are slow moving it is true, but if you take things slowly, Dol Delius will get the hammer and perhaps the dwarves will move out into the world. However, if you antagonize the Firefist’s there is nothing the Blackiron’s can do for you. The Firefists have been against you ever since you beat out their sons for the position of chief apprentice. You’ve been First Edos for almost ten years now and they don’t trust you. You’re a Sunspire.”
“I earned that position,” said Fierfelm as he stood up to his full five foot three inches and glared down at Borrombus. “I earned the right to be First Edos ten years before they gave it to me.”
“By Davim you’ve grown crotchety in your old age, Fierfelm. Nobody says you don’t deserve to be First Edos. I’m just trying to give you a little friendly advice. I suggested this little get together so that you might impress the council members and have a better chance in session tomorrow. Now, why don’t you wipe that frown off your face, think about your wife and sons, and then get in there and start schmoozing with the Firefists, Blackirons, and anyone else who has a vote on the council?”
“I know, I know, Borrombus,” said the First Edos with a shrug of his shoulders as he gazed towards the revelers and shook his head. “You’ve been a good friend to me all these years and your advice is always sound. Do you really think there’s a chance they’ll let Delius take the Hammer of Fire out into the world?”
Borrombus smiled warmly and gave Fierfelm a pat on the back with a gentle shove, “You never know unless you try. Now get in there and sell!”
With that the First Edos went off into the party just as a young dwarf with a fierce scar along the left side of his face sidled over to Borrombus, “I couldn’t help but overhear you conversation, uncle,” he said in a low tone. He wore a senior apprentice’s orange jerkin and his long brown hair was unbraided. His beard was scraggly, partially dyed red, and he sneered as he watched the other apprentices in their finest gear trying their best to ingratiate themselves with the powerful dwarves in the room.
The fat dwarf didn’t even bother to look at the young man to his side as he replied, “And?”
“You know there is no chance the council will let that half-blooded tree freak take the Hammer of Fire, why do you encourage him?”
“He’s an old man with a dream, nephew,” replied Borrombus still not looking at the young dwarf. He went on in a low voice that didn’t carry much further than a few feet, “Besides, as long as the council thinks this only about the liberation of the hammer then they aren’t aware of our real scheme. Now, are you here to spoil everything or do you have something important to tell me?”
The rough dwarf nodded his head and fingered his partial beard, the scar on his face didn’t allow for any growth down the side of his left cheek, for a few long seconds before he continued in whispered tones, “The hammer’s guardians are occupied for the moment with a game of dice, but they cannot be distracted for long. The half-breed, Dol Delius, needs to move sometime in the next few hours or there will not be another chance. Once the council session starts in the morning they’ll likely bring the hammer into chambers, and after the petition is rejected they’ll post heavy guards to discourage thievery.”
“You’ve done well, nephew, and will be properly rewarded for your work,” replied Borrombus as he smiled and nodded his head. “Now, keep your eye on Cleathelm, the boy might prove troublesome before this is all over.”
“That idiot,” said the young dwarf with a grimace as he fingered a knife buckled to his belt. “I’ll see to him. We’ve a score to settle from when we were boys,” he continued and one hand came unconsciously to the scar along his face while the other continued to tap at the long dirk strapped at his side.
“No killing,” whispered Borrombus and turned to face the boy with a glare, “we don’t want to bring down the wrath of the Firefists just yet, we do not have enough votes in council nor enough warriors.”
“When will that change?” said the fiery young dwarf, “I grow weary of waiting, as do my friends. Corancil promises much for our services in the coming wars. Gold speaks loudly to dwarven ears.”
Borrombus laughed and shook his head, “Youth, was I ever that young? You must learn patience, nephew. Times are changing in the world and here at Craggen Steep; but you cannot hope to end nigh on five thousand years of tradition in one fell swoop. The Firefists and Drawhammers have much power, far more power than you can imagine. They have access to weapons, magic, that is beyond your ability to fully understand. If we Blackirons are to lead the new regime here, to become partners with Corancil, we must tread cautiously. I’m aware that is a word with which you are unfamiliar. Do not cross me, nephew. I have more to gain than you can imagine but I have much to lose.”
“I do not fear you nor anyone else,” whispered the dwarf back to his elder and once again fingered the long knife at his side, “you’ve always been too much a thinker and not a doer. Craggen Steep is old and tired. The sons of sons of sons are in command and energetic, fresh blood is excluded. That is death for any nation, even one as well guarded and powerful as our own.”
“Cool your ardor, nephew, contact Delius and his friends. Convince them the need for action is urgent but be cautious as well. I know your tendencies and if this plot gets back to the Firefists then all our lives are in jeopardy.”
The young dwarf nodded his head just as Cleathelm Firefist made his way over to the duo. “Hello Uldex, I didn’t think they invited riff-raff such as yourself to these sorts of things but then I remembered that you’re nephew to illustrious Borrombus Blackiron, Councilor Six more formally. Can I have someone get you a drink, something to eat, some proper clothes, a band for your beard, and perhaps even manners might be found somewhere?”
“I’m just leaving, Cleathelm,” said Uldex with a smile and a polite nod of his head. “My mother wanted to know what time Uncle Borrombus would return to the estate this evening as she needs to plan breakfast in the morning. You know how these social occasions can go on all night and tire out our elders.”
“Run along now, nephew,” said Borrombus with a large smile on his face. “Cleathelm, we haven’t spoken in months. I heard about your promotion to chief apprentice of the Deep Forge, that is quite a hammer in your father’s belt, he must be extremely proud,” went on the jolly dwarf as he hooked his arm under the apprentice’s and dragged him off in the direction of a large group of revelers.
Uldex watched them, his face a mask of ferocity, and then he turned and walked towards the bar where a beautifully dressed young dwarf poured out thick beer into massive mugs. The young dwarf with the scar walked directly behind the bar, reached underneath, and grabbed a decanter of some darkish fluid.
“You can’t…,” started the bartender but a scowl from Uldex silenced the sentence long before it finished.
“Who will stop me… you?” he said, turned, filled a mug, and walked away from the party.