The Dragon Hammer (Wulf's Saga Book 1)

by Tony Daniel

  “He carried through with it,” the gnome muttered to himself. “He doesn’t make idle threats. I’ll give him that.”

  “He? Who are you talking about?”

  “Gunnar von Krehennest of Sandhaven.”

  “The prince that’s marrying the duke’s daughter?”

  “He vowed vengeance on me two months ago. It looks like he has kept his vow. Or someone close to him has.”

  “I can’t say one way or the other. You know I am sworn to secrecy when it comes to guild business.”

  “That has never stopped you from blabbing before, Lars,” the gnome said. There was a sad smile on his face that let Bauch know he wasn’t angry. “But I understand.”

  Make him think it was only that! He must not find out what is really happening. He must never suspect about the soldiers.

  “All right, yes. The Krehennests are huge benefactors to the school. They practically paid for Brent College. The Sandhaven scandal you involved yourself in was the final straw, Albrec,” Bauch said. “You know your opposition to new methods has caused a lot of grumbling among—”

  “My what?” the gnome broke in with laughter. “Opposition to new methods? That’s got to be a joke! I helped Ute Geldennov establish the investigative magic department at Herbstern Hall. I proved the Doren werewolf manuscript was authentic lore.”

  “No one denies your credentials, Albrec. They are impressive.”

  “Not as impressive as having the correct political opinion. And the fact that I am against the insanity of this…dunces’ society of traitors you call the Adherents that seems to have taken over half the colleges pretty much sealed my doom, didn’t it?”

  “Now, Albrec, don’t get upset. Traitors? Not at all! It’s the rational method the Adherents want to adopt, not the Romanish religion with its dragon slaying and blood-dipping. If you strip their idea of its religious frills, it is a powerful tool for mental development and rational thinking.”

  “The composition of the Talaia cake substance is not understood. But we do know that it has to be dipped in blood for it to work. Human blood.”

  “But the blood is nothing, just for show and to impress the ignorant,” said Bauch. “We could reduce it to parts, discover where its true power lies.”

  “It is very irresponsible to encourage students to experiment with it—and to take it yourself…you are playing with fire, Lars.”

  “But the advantages, Albrec! To be able to push knowledge directly into a student’s mind. Imagine how it might be used in society as well. The projects for the betterment of humankind!”

  “I am not humankind.”

  “Oh, you know what I mean. That second town aqueduct, for instance, the one that the castle engineers have been trying to construct for the last three years and never get anywhere on. With collective action it might be done in a month. In a week, even!”

  “The Tiberians use the celestis to keep millions in slavery down south. There is plenty of collective thought and collective action there,” Tolas said quietly. “This doesn’t bother you?”

  “We are different.”

  We are better! Better! Don’t listen to him! Stay the course!

  “The Adherents won’t use it that way. Albrec, we are at the dawn of a new age. The old ways no longer apply.”

  Albrec took another long draw on his pipe. He shook his head sadly. “You were a good friend, Lars. Knowing I had our Regensday mug to look forward to really helped make up for my isolation here.”

  “I still am a friend to you, Albrec. If you would change your old-fashioned ways, all could yet be well. I can get…I have some of the new celestis. We call it ater-cake. Try it. You’ll see things differently.”

  “Thank you for the offer, but I am afraid I have to decline. There are a great many areas in scholarship and life where there are no easy answers. The Talaia way is not one of them. I will not be a part of anything that creates millions of slaves, including gnome slaves. I will keep my own mind and my own thoughts, thank you very much.”

  “There it is. That’s where your true loyalty lies. The gnomes.” Bauch shuddered at the thought. “You are very much the exception, my friend, but gnomes are filthy things, lending money at high interest, ruining gentlemen whose boots they are not fit to clean.”

  “I’m sorry to hear you say that,” Albrec replied in a flat, strained voice. “The Lars Bauch I once knew never would have let words like that pass his lips. Or even have thought such hateful things.”

  Albrec set down his pipe and reached over and picked up his beer. The mug was two thirds full, but he drained it in one long gulp.

  “I’m going to miss you, Lars. But I’m going to miss the library most of all. It is…a remarkable place.”

  Was there a tear in those beady, gnome eyes?

  Sorry for himself. Gnomes steal books and sell them for money! Ask him how many books he’s stolen.

  Bauch knew this was nonsense, but you couldn’t tell the voices anything. They were the ones who did the telling. At least he could keep a dignified silence.

  “Tell the guildmaster that I’ll leave my robes and my key to the colleges in my apartment.” Albrec shook his head grimly. “Good-bye, Lars.”

  The hammer! Ask him about the Dragon Hammer before he goes!

  “Albrec, there’s something else.”

  The gnome rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache. “Yes?”

  “There are rumors. Hints. That your kind, that gnomes have…stolen the Dragon Hammer of Shenandoah. The guild would like to know if these are true.”

  “You mean the Adherents would like to know?” Tolas said. “Has the celestis driven you completely crazy, Lars? Do you really want to toy with a mighty relic like that?”

  “We would like to prove that its power is actually the power of planting nonsense in men’s minds. If the hammer were to reappear and the forces of reason destroyed it…this would be a symbol that rationality has won out over superstition.”

  “You think the people would see it that way?”

  “‘When the Hammer returns the King of Dragons will rise?’” Bauch laughed.

  “It’s from our old friend Harrald Harraldsson, Lars. A skald who once meant a great deal to both of us.”

  “Yes, yes. But come on, Albrec! They are just poetic words. You can’t think they are . . .”

  Albrec smiled sadly. “True?”

  No more! Do not hint at the plan! The gnomes must not know! Gnomes are devious!

  Albrec lowered his hand and looked Bauch straight in the eyes. “Lars, if I did know where the Dragon Hammer was, which I don’t, I promise you I would die before I told you and your clueless faction.”

  Albrec slid down from his stool and pulled his winter cloak tightly around himself until it completely hid his university robes. He looked up at Bauch for a final time.

  “I do want to warn you of one thing.”

  “What is that?”

  “Be careful what you wish for, my old friend. You may get it in full measure.”

  And with that, Albrec Tolas flipped the hood of his cloak over his head and left the Wiesel and Frosh for the last time.

  Gnomes look so innocent and childlike with their hoods, but underneath they are scheming, scheming, scheming!

  Bauch watched Albrec go. He wanted to feel the sadness he knew was inside him somewhere.

  No time, no time for that!

  The voices were right. There was so much to do. Now that the Adherents had taken over Klugheit College, it was easy to find rooms in which to hide the troops that were being steadily smuggled in to Raukenrose. There must be over a hundred soldiers hidden away in Klugheit. Space was needed for them in the library basement.

  Albrec had to go. He would have discovered the soldiers. He knew the library too well.

  The revolution truly was coming. It might start with blood, but it would end in the light of pure reason.

  At least that’s what the chattering voices in his head, the other docents he was mentall
y connected to—the voices he could not shut up, dam up, or turn off—told Bauch over and over and over again. Sometimes he thought he just wouldn’t be able to take it anymore.

  He reached into a pocket, popped a wafer of ater-cake into his mouth, and swallowed it without chewing. He chased it with the last of his beer. Since the chattering could not be stopped, at least he could turn himself off for a while and disappear into the Adherents.

  Don’t worry, said the voices, we will never stop talking, but one day you’ll see the light of true reason, and you won’t feel bothered anymore. Soon everything is going to be fine. Completely fine. Don’t worry. Let us do the thinking.

  So that is exactly what Master Docent Lars Bauch did. And they were right. Soon the ater-cake kicked in. The Adherents took total control of his wayward thoughts—and everything was completely fine. He wasn’t alone anymore. He was the chattering, and the chattering was him.

  Chapter Fifteen:

  The Ingot

  As abruptly as it had come, the yearning seemed to go away. The next day, and the next, Wulf felt no desire to return to the Olden Oak and enter back into the land-bond. A week passed. Then a month. Two months. Maybe it went away because he didn’t have the dagger anymore, but he knew there was nothing magical about the knife. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard the dragon-call. Several times, when he was younger, he’d entered the land-bond just by touching something old and connected to Shenandoah. Maybe it was because the Olden Oak had part of him by holding on to the knife. But whatever the reason, Wulf felt relieved not to have the impossible-to-stop urge to sneak out, hide what he was doing, and get to the tree.

  Even though Saeunn believed there wasn’t going to be any permanent damage, Rainer had been hurt pretty badly, and he lay in bed for more than a week. When Wulf got to class the next day, and every day thereafter, something odd had happened. The other students, even the older ones, began to show him respect like they never had before. Tolas calling them together at the match had changed the way they thought of themselves. He decided this was the first time they’d defended something worthwhile. It wasn’t him, it was his family name, but that was all right with Wulf.

  As for Tolas, what had been respect, or fear from his students, turned into near worship. It was as if every boy in the class expected the gnome to throw down his scroll or his map and lead them into battle. Tolas, for his part, acted as if nothing had happened.

  So it was a complete surprise when Tolas announced that he was leaving his position, and Raukenrose itself, for good.

  “I regret to inform you that I shall no longer be either the Raukenrose castle librarian or your tutor after the end of this week. I believe each of you has some measure of promise within, however meager, and I shall regret not having the chance to bring it out in you. You’ll have to make do, and that thought saddens and somewhat frightens me.”

  Everyone wanted more details, but the gnome refused to say another word.

  “But what about your university classes?” Wulf asked the tutor. The gnome sadly shook his head, and said nothing in reply.

  Wulf was sure Prince Gunnar was behind this, but how?

  Rainer continued to improve slowly. Ravenelle ignored her studies and spent most of the days playing Hang the Fool with him in his room. She even sent her bloodservants away when Rainer said that they made him uncomfortable.

  “Can’t stand those eyes of theirs—the way they look at you like puppy dogs, or cows,” he said. “It’s unnatural.”

  “That devotion is real,” Ravenelle said. “They don’t want to be anything else, and you can’t change that.”

  “Well, I don’t have to deal with them, do I?”

  Ravenelle had gruffly agreed that he didn’t.

  A month passed.

  And then Duke Otto called a feast in one week to announce the engagement of Prince Gunnar, heir of Krehennest, to Lady Ulla von Dunstig of Shenandoah.

  The castle smith shop usually closed up in late afternoon after the cathedral rang dammerlight bell, but Grer had stayed after the apprentices were let off to go to Regensday market in the village. He’d mentioned he wanted Wulf to help out with forging a replacement dagger. Wulf had eagerly accepted. For some reason it always felt better to have weapons he’d seen made, or even helped in forging. Usually this meant he got to make a hammer strike or two, and then the real smith finished the work. This time Grer offered him the chance to be in on the making of his new dagger from the very start.

  He separated out the iron ore from a metal bin set on a big oak table, while Grer gazed over his shoulder and pointed out the best pieces. Rainer looked on from a corner of the shop where he was leaning against a wall for support.

  “Why don’t you pick the chunks out yourself?” Wulf asked Grer. “You’re telling me exactly which ones you want me to choose, after all.”

  “I’m just making suggestions. You can throw one back if you don’t like the look of it,” Grer replied.

  Wulf smiled crookedly at Grer. He picked up a random bit of rock and tossed it back into the bin on the table in front of him.

  Grer sighed, and shrugged. “Of course, that might be top-grade ore you just threw away there, young master,” he muttered.

  After a moment, Wulf reached back over and grabbed the chunk again, putting it back in the pile they were using. They kept doing this until there were enough ore chunks to fit into a small grain sack. It weighed a half stone or so. The ore didn’t feel at all like iron. It felt like a bunch of rocks. He wondered if they had gotten together enough to make a nail, much less a new dagger.

  Grer didn’t seem concerned. He took the ore and put it in what looked like a clay brick with a hollow inside. When this was full, he sprinkled in some charcoal, and then covered it with a clay top. He called this ore container a crucible.

  “The crucible’s not clay exactly,” Grer said. “Special blend I make and fire myself. Tough stuff. Won’t crack in a furnace.”

  The furnace was a chimney stack in one corner of the smith’s shop. Above was a hole in the roof for the smoke. The furnace was about Wulf’s height. His arms would just fit around the chimney upright. It was made of three parts, each one a hollow piece that could stack on top of the other. Grer started out on the bottom with a layer of charcoal on a wire grate. The grate was to hold the charcoal up and let air come in, where there was going to be an opening, and shoot up the chimney.

  He put the crucible full of ore on top of this. Then he covered the crucible with more charcoal. He put two more chimney-flue pieces on top of the bottom piece, then began to seal them up with wet mortar to keep smoke from leaking out the cracks. Grer worked steadily and seemed in a contented mood. After a while, Wulf couldn’t stand it and asked him the question he’d been dying to find out about.

  “So, have you heard about the marriage?”

  Grer looked up from his mortar work. “The marriage?”

  “My sister. Ulla. To that pig.”

  Grer nodded. “They don’t tell us much down here in the bailey, but yes, I did pick up a rumor or two.”

  “Come on, Grer,” Wulf said. “I thought you would be going crazy over it.”

  “Have to accept reality, m’lord,” Grer replied. He looked up at Wulf. “We all do.”

  “What about smiths?” said Rainer from his corner.

  “I’m talking about reality, Mr. Stope,” Grer replied. “We smiths deal with it every day. You forget what you’re doing and you’ll lose a hand, or your eye, or your life—like that!” Grer snapped his fingers, flinging wet mortar in all directions when he did it.

  Finally the furnace chimney was done, and it was time to light the fire. Grer gave this job to Wulf, who took a shovelful of hot coal from the forge and placed it on the bottom of the furnace stack, beneath the wire grate that held the first of the charcoal. Grer lugged one of the big forge bellows over to the furnace and had Wulf pump a stream of air onto the hot coals. Rainer wanted to help, but after a couple of pulls on the bellows han
dle he felt light-headed and had to watch.

  Wulf pumped and pumped on the bellows. The charcoal layer under the crucible caught. Smoke began to pour out of the top of the furnace and drift toward the hole in the ceiling. Some didn’t make it, and the smith shop got thick with drifting smoke.

  Wulf felt angry, and it made him pump harder. He was mad at Grer for giving up on Ulla, even though Wulf himself had been the one telling the smith that he had to.

  But I didn’t know Gunnar then, Wulf thought. Ulla might have seen things too simply, but she had been right in her heart. I should have trusted her.

  Pump. Raise the bellows handle. Pump again. And again.

  The fire on the bottom of the furnace stack grew hotter.

  Then Grer told Wulf to put another shovelful of coals down the top of the furnace chimney. Wulf did this, then returned to pumping the bellows. Soon all the charcoal was lit in the chimney and smoke was pouring out. Wulf could feel the intense heat of the furnace even through the thick walls of the ceramic chimneypieces. Sparks shot out of the top every time he pumped the bellows.

  Finally, when he thought his arms couldn’t take it anymore, Grer told him he could stop. Grer handed Wulf a dipper of water from the shop drinking-water barrel, and Wulf downed it thirstily.

  They waited as the charcoal burned. Wulf was too tired to strike up any conversation. He watched the sparks fly from the top of the furnace.

  Finally, Grer judged it was time. Wearing thick leather gloves and a leather shirt and leggings, he broke apart the furnace chimney with a few knocks of his hammer. He carefully set the pieces of the flue aside for later use. A big pile of ashes flowed out. In the center of these was the crucible, now blackened from the intense fire. The clay itself, or whatever the material was, glowed red hot in the faint light of the shop.

  Grer knocked off the top of the crucible, looked down in it, and smiled.

  “Well, come have a look,” he said, motioning for Wulf and Rainer to step over. They gathered around and gazed down into the crucible. “We’ve got good steel ingot here,” Grer said. “Fine steel. It’ll be a pleasure to work it.”