by Joseph Lallo
“Come on, Ruko, if you want us to live.”
Myra was crying. “I don’t know what they’re doing. It’s like . . . evil. Something has bewitched them. Get us out of here, Mistress Loriane.”
“I’m trying, but I think he only listens to Tandor—”
Ruko yanked the reins. The bear roared and raised itself on its hind legs, pulling the front of the sled off the ground. It charged forward, towards the steam figure, towards the crowd and the edge of the bowl-shaped steam shape that was growing fast in the direction of the ground.
Loriane shouted, “No, no not that way!”
Her shout was futile; neither of them could have stopped the animal.
The patch of steam in the sky had grown into a half-complete dome, blocking the view of the sky, but ahead, a path was still clear.
The bear growled. The sled jostled and bumped over the bodies, which flopped under the sled’s runners like rag dolls. They’re all dead. Loriane closed her eyes. It was so awful and they were not going to make it. The rim of mist was sliding towards the ground . . . They were not going to make it. They were . . .
The sled cut into the mist. Myra screamed. There was a gush of intense cold that took Loriane’s breath away. She clutched the seat, squeezing her eyes tightly shut.
They were going to die, they were going to die, they were . . .
And then there was only the sled, the padding of the bear’s feet and the swishing of the runners in the snow.
Myra cried, “Oh Beido. What happened to him? Do you think he let us go because of our son?”
Loriane looked over her shoulder to see the ring of steam shapes close the dome of icefire. For the life of her, she couldn’t recognise a face in the steam shapes. Her heart was still thudding like crazy.
“Maybe,” she said, but she had no idea what had happened. She stared, too numb to cry, at the destruction around them, at the people still running, many covered in blisters.
Ruko was urging the bear into a run. Much of the dust had blown off him, making him once again almost invisible.
No one spoke for a long time. Myra cried softly. The whole city was covered in the hideous mist, which was expanding outward, eating up shapes of buildings. The sound of shattering glass drifted on the wind. Loriane could barely breathe for the acrid smoke.
When the bear charged out the city gates, the Outer City came into view—a mass of fire, billowing smoke and flames.
Loriane felt sick. She muttered, “My house.”
Eagles swooped low over the festival grounds, and a crowd of people were throwing projectiles at them. But even some of them had become aware of the destruction in the city itself, and the outward expanding deathly cloud.
“My house,” Loriane said again. Her practice, her friends, her patients. Isandor. “What am I going to do?”
Myra touched her shoulder. “Bordertown should still be safe.”
Loriane bit on her lip to stifle tears. “That’s where he’s taking us, isn’t it?” She nodded at the invisible driver.
“It’s our home,” Myra said.
The bear veered to the right, where the horizon merged with the sky.
Eagles whirled overhead, as powerless as she.
Getting to Bordertown would take at least three days. They had no food and no shelter. Their clothing was not good enough for such a voyage. Tandor and Myra needed care. She was exhausted and her belly felt hard as a rock. Every bump in the ice hurt.
But the bear knew the way. It ran and ran and ran.
A Word of Thanks
THANK YOU very much for reading Fire & Ice.
The saga is not finished here. In book 2, Dust & Rain, we cross to the Chevakian side of the border, where the blooming bubble of icefire and the tide of refugees cause panic: if they can't stop the spread of icefire, the Chevakians will die. Find out where to get Dust & Rain here: http://pattyjansen.com/2011/12/02/dust-rain-icefire-trilogy-book-2/
As author of this book, I would appreciate it very much if you could return to the place where you purchased this book and leave a review. Reviews are important to me, because they help readers decide if the book is for them.
Also be sure to put your name on my mailing list (http://eepurl.com/qqlAb), which I use exclusively to notify subscribers of new fiction. All other chat about my writing or worldbuilding and interaction with readers happens on my blog Must Use Bigger Elephants (http://pattyjansen.com/blog/), which you are welcome to follow.
About the Author
PATTY JANSEN lives in Sydney, Australia, where she spends most of her time writing Science Fiction and Fantasy. Her story This Peaceful State of War placed first in the second quarter of the Writers of the Future contest and was published in their 27th anthology. She has also sold fiction to genre magazines such as Analog Science Fiction and Fact, Redstone SF and Aurealis.
Her novels (available at ebook venues) include Shifting Reality (hard SF), The Far Horizon (middle grade SF), Charlotte’s Army (military SF) and Fire & Ice, Dust & Rain and Blood & Tears (Icefire Trilogy) (dark fantasy).
Patty is on Twitter (@pattyjansen), Facebook, LinkedIn, goodreads, LibraryThing, google+ and blogs at: http://pattyjansen.com/.
More by This Author
In the Earth-Gamra space opera universe
RETURN OF THE AGHYRIANS
Watcher’s Web
Trader’s Honour
Soldier’s Duty
AMBASSADOR
1. Seeing Red
2. Raising Hell
The Far Horizon (For younger readers)
The Shattered World Within (novella)
In the ISF-Allion universe
Charlotte’s Army (novella)
The Rebelliousness of Trassi Udang (short story)
His Name in Lights (Novella)
Shifting Reality (novel)
Epic, Post-apocalyptic Fantasy
ICEFIRE TRILOGY
Fire & Ice
Dust & Rain
Blood & Tears
Short story collection
Out Of Here
Shorter works
Looking For Daddy (absurd horror novella)
This Peaceful State of War (Writers of the Future winning novella)
Seven Days To Save the World and Other Homework Projects (children's silly fairytale novel)
Visit the author’s website at http://pattyjansen.com and register for a newsletter to keep up-to-date with new releases.
Lost City
By
Jeffrey M. Poole
www.lentari.com
Copyright 2013 © Jeffrey M. Poole
This book is a work of fiction. All characters and locations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or real locations (even if you find it on a map!), is purely coincidental.
Hammers are never adorned with jewels. Repeated blows will loosen any adornments… You saw something that shows otherwise?
A famous keymaker. For a dwarf.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have a long list of people to thank for helping me with this book. First and foremost, I have to thank my wife. Not only does she suggest ideas for stories, she also proofreads my work, points out problems, and then helps me fix the problems! Nothing makes me smile more when she asks me if I have my notebook handy as she has a couple of ideas.
Second, I’d like to thank all my beta readers. You guys rock! Taking the time out of your busy schedules just to help an indie author with his book says volumes to me. Giliane, Jamie (Lia), my mom, Scott Poe, Raymond & Kristen Baker, Caroline Roberts, Caroline Craven, and Derek Pritchard. Thank you all so much!
I’d also like to thank my illustrators. Yep, you read that right. Plural. There were three people this time. The multi-talented Rachel Marks for her awesome cover, her husband Richard for the fantastic title graphics, and Mr. Brett Gable, a fan of the series who volunteered when I asked for help. He’s responsible fo
r the illustrations of the hammer and the QM. Don’t know what the QM is yet? You will! You can find more of their work by checking out their websites, listed below.
Once more I also have to thank the loyal fans of the series. Without you guys this book would never have seen the light of day. Your kind words of encouragement, also known as a friendly nudge to get off my keester and write more, means everything to me! Thank you from the bottom of my heart!
J.
For Giliane –
This story wouldn’t be here without you. I absolutely LOVE it when you say, “I’ve got a great idea for a book!”
What else you got lined up in there??
Prologue
Sticking close to his father’s side, the young dwarf peered with undisguised wonder at the workshop before them. Row after row of sledge hammers, swages, fullers, chisels, punches, drifts, and tongs hung from hundreds of pegs. Work tables, shelves of tools, and stacks of molds were everywhere. Lined up against the far wall were four gigantic anvils.
The boy swallowed nervously. This was nothing like his father’s foundry. Whoever heard of a workshop having more than one anvil, let alone four? His father’s anvil was tiny compared to these. Then again, his father made axe handles. His area of expertise didn’t require that large of an anvil. In fact, it didn’t really require an anvil at all, and that was the reason why they were here.
Intent on inspecting the huge anvils up close, the dwarf child broke away from the group and moved towards the back wall. A heavy callused hand suddenly dropped on his shoulder and spun him about until he was facing the rest of the group. Two black eyes peered suspiciously at him from behind a worn leather helmet.
“Master Maelnar will be teaching us the nuances of working with silver, gold, and other precious metals,” his father quietly told him. “If I can see for myself what techniques he uses when working with silver, and what tools he uses, then I might one day be able to sell something besides axe handles. Do not even think about wandering off. If you cause me to miss the part on smithing silver you won't be able to sit for a month. Do you catch my meaning?”
“But you told me you know his son,” the boy accused. “You and Uncle fought side by side together with Breslin. Does that not mean they owe you a favor?”
His father sighed heavily. “I want no special recognition. This is a skill I will learn on my own.”
“If you say so, father.”
“Roll your eyes at me again and I’ll smack them right out of your head.”
The boy cringed. His defiant expression quickly vanished.
After what felt like hours, the boy watched as the famous keymaker finally reached under one of his tables and plunked down two metal bars; one was gold, the other silver. Maelnar then retrieved several sets of tongs, both large and small, from one of the shelves nearest to him and then unfurled a long strip of dark blue fabric across the table. Lined up in a row of pockets was a set of small hammers with heads of various shapes and sizes. He slowly walked the length of the table and pointed at various hammers, explaining that the plethora of sizes was for shaping the malleable and ductile metals into different contortions.
Disinterested, the boy again decided to inspect the far recesses of the workshop. As he slowly edged away from his father, he once again headed toward the row of anvils when a commotion drew everyone’s attention. Two of the smaller underlings, evidently brothers from the way they were laying into one another, had started brawling. Over and over they rolled around the floor, arms wrapped around the other, as each tried to pin his opponent to the ground.
The boy watched as his father and several adults tried to separate the two brothers. The distraction was all he needed to slip quietly away to admire the workshop’s many features at his own leisure. While everyone focused on separating the two fighters, the child walked around the closest anvil and silently noted its dimensions.
He was aware of the quarrel behind him but he continued to ignore it. The workshop and all its fascinating treasures were what demanded his attention. Someday he hoped to have a workshop as impressive as the one he was now in. As such, he decided to try and mentally tabulate everything he could see. Lukas tried to catalog the various tools on the walls, but there were just too many tongs and hammers. Wouldn’t it be great if someday his own workshop had so many tools that even he didn’t know how many...
Something slammed into him and threw him off balance. It was one of the brawlers, having been shoved across the room by his brother. Off balance, eyes open wide with fright, the young dwarf flailed his arms in an attempt to avoid tipping over backwards. Directly behind him was the red hot furnace and there was nothing to arrest his fall.
Chapter 1 – A Burn or Not a Burn
Metallic clangs echoed noisily off the stone walls as an adult dwarf hammered mercilessly on a long thin strip of metal. Rotating the metal rod so that the flattened side was now facing up, the hammering began anew. On and on the dwarf pounded away on the anvil. Hefting the heavy black hammer easily, the dwarf paused to wipe his forearm along his sweaty brow. Giving the strip of metal an angry scowl, and a rather fierce shake, the hammering began again.
A young dwarf child appeared in the shopkeeper’s doorway, arms laden with scrolls and books. Depositing the load on a table already covered with metal shavings, small hammers, and several tiny files, the child quietly watched as his father continued to pound the same piece of metal over and over. After waiting a few moments, the child cleared his throat. The relentless clanging finally ceased.
“Is it finished?”
Silence.
“How does it look?”
“Terrible.”
“May I see it?”
“No. There’s nothing worth looking at. I’ve already melted it back down.”
“Didn’t you say you’d get a second opinion before any drastic action was taken?”
“Trust me, it was terrible.”
“Still having trouble with the hammers?”
“Really? What gave you that idea?”
The child stooped to pick up several small hammers that were on the floor.
“I doubt these fell off the table of their own accord,” the boy thoughtfully observed, ignoring his father’s sarcasm. “Only the hammers found their way to the floor. No tongs, no files, and no scraps. Therefore I would deduce that you might be having difficulty with the –”
“I already know what I’m having difficulty with,” Venk snapped. Twisting around to grab one of the diminutive hammers, he gestured angrily at his son. “Look at this thing! My hand is too big to wield this properly.”
“What type of hammer is that?”
“Lukas, I know you know what type it is,” Venk said in exasperation. “I do not need you to test me to see whether or not I know their nature.”
“Father, is this hammer for planishing, embossing, raising, or riveting?”
Sighing, Venk took the tool and felt the hammer’s head. The hammer was two-sided; one head was flat and the other was domed.
“Raising.”
Lukas looked down at the hammers he was holding and selected one with two flat surfaces, one smaller than the other. He held it out to his father.
“This one is a raising hammer. That one is an embossing hammer.”
Venk studied the two hammers. “The one with the rounded end is for embossing?”
“Aye. The raising hammer should be used first, to get the silver into the shape you want it to be. The embossing hammer is used to smooth the surface.”
“That explains all the blemishes. Wizards be damned. When did you become an expert on silversmithing?”
“When I read the books that Master Maelnar recommended. All of them.”
“Books are for scholars. You learn by getting your hands dirty.”
Lukas smiled. “After six months one would think your hands would be dirty enough.”
“Do not start sounding like Athos,” his father ordered.
Changing the subject, Lukas gestured towards the table.
“I have the information you requested from the Archives. Master Argon agreed to loan us everything you wanted provided you show him how the axe turns out.”
Venk turned towards the table and started rifling through the documents. “I cannot fathom who in their right mind would want a troll skull on an axe. Wait, what is all this? Lukas, what have you brought? I asked for pictures! There’s nothing but writing here! How am I supposed to fashion a troll skull unless I have a picture?”
“Read the descriptions, father. Everything you need to know is there.”
“What I need to know is what a troll skull looks like.”
Lukas raised his eyes up off the document he was reading and settled them on his father.
“You said you fought dozens of trolls. With Uncle. How is it you do not know what their skulls look like?”
“A troll is not a creature that had to be cleaned like a fish,” Venk argued, tucking a stray wisp of his beard back into his belt. “Those cursed fiends ambushed us while we were looking for the human prince. I had no time to inspect them up close when another troll was preparing to bite my face off.”
“So you must have noticed how many teeth they had, how big their fangs were, how wide their mouths could –”
“Lukas.” Venk sighed heavily. “I was too preoccupied to notice and even if I did, I certainly would not remember. Help me. Find a suitable description in that mess which tells me how to make this accursed skull.”