The toothless grin got somehow bigger. "You'll see in the morn. They still out there. Fraid the birds done got to ‘em though. I reckin 'em birds liked a cooked meal for a change." The greasy man's laughter filled the room. "Ya shoulda heard 'em scream. Makes a man rest easier."
The man by the fire sat still for an uncomfortable moment, the tension in the air thickening like burning gravy. Then he slowly reached up with those thin white hands and pulled his hood back and off his head. His black hair hung straight and wet. His face was almost sickly thin, marked here and there with a few scars. Ice blue eyes seemed to burn from their dark ringed sockets. He sat there, calmly staring at the greasy man. The man shifted in his seat and finally dropped his eyes. The man with the cold blue eyes looked to his cider, then back up at the kitchen door, as if willing it to open. Oddly, it did open and the barmaid came through it with a towel draped over her arm, another mug of steaming cider in one hand and a pitcher of ale in the other. She set the second glass on the table before the robed man and handed him the dry towel, then went about filling glasses. Slowly, the people began talking once more. The man took another sip of the hot cider and sighed as he felt its warmth flow through his chest. He methodically sipped till the first glass was empty. Then he wrapped his thin white fingers around the second mug to warm them. He slowly dried his hair with the towel and then reached back for his cane. Setting it on the table before him, he slowly pulled the cane apart. A slightly curved black blade came out of the cane showing that it was a scabbard for his sword as well as his walking stick. The dwarf in the corner let out another low whistle and got up from his table. He limped over to stand across from the pale man by the fire.
"Might I join you?" he asked gruffly, his dwarven accent heavy.
"Pull up a chair," the man responded in perfect, albeit quiet, dwarven. The dwarf looked up with eyebrows raised in shocked response at the thin man then grabbed a chair and sat down.
"That is a fine blade you have there. Though an odd design. Where did you buy it?" the dwarf inquired in his language.
"Thank you. The blade is Nipanguian in style. It is called a katana. I did not buy it though."
"Looks of elven make, or maybe dwarven. Where did you get it?"
"I made it. Long ago." The man reached into a pouch and pulled out a small box made of cherry wood, stained a deep red. He opened it and took out a small hammer and punch. He tapped a place in the handle and a small ebony pin came out. He gently pulled the handle off and began to oil the blade.
"You made it?" The dwarf snorted. "May I see it?" he asked after the man had put the handle back on and replaced the pin. The man turned the blade so the handle was toward the dwarf's left hand and held it out to him. The dwarf took it gently and tested its weight and balance. It was amazingly light and as he tilted it to the light, he saw runes done in gloss black upon the flat onyx blade.
"Is it sharp?"
“I hope so. It's not much good to me if it isn't.” The man chuckled and after a moment the dwarf chuckled as well.
“True enough.” He handed it back and turned his gaze from the katana to the man's cold blue eyes. "Begging your pardon, but you don't look much like a smith."
The man smiled slightly, just a small curling of the corner of his mouth. "I made it when I was younger. It has served me well." He slowly slid the blade back into the straight scabbard. The line between handle and scabbard nearly invisible.
"Ferin Rockbreaker." The dwarf stood and held out his thick calloused hand.
"Gen Hothman." The man shook his hand and the dwarf was surprised at the strength of the grip.
"A pleasure to meet you, Hothman. Not many 'round here know the language of my kin. It's nice to hear it spoken from lips other than my own.” He sat back down roughly, cussing under his breath and rubbing his leg. “Your dwarven is quite good by the way. Where did you learn it?"
"I had the pleasure of visiting the mountain, here on the island, a few years ago. The people there taught me in return for a favor I did them."
"You've visited my home?" Again he let out a low whistle. "I didn't think they let many humans in. At least they didn't when I was there last. It must have been some favor."
"They had a bit of trouble with a creature trying to take over their home. I assisted them in ridding the place of it. Nothing much."
"You from around here?" The dwarf said trying to change the subject. He knew of very few creatures that would be fierce enough for the dwarves to ask for help in removing, not to mention human help. He didn't like to think about that much. A creature like that had taken his family from him before he had left the mountain.
"I grew up not far from here actually. How long has it been since you were home?"
"Been about seventy years now I guess." He shrugged as if he didn't think about it much. "Where around here ya from? I've visited about every village and town on this island."
"Well I jumped from town to town a lot when I was very young. Then I finally came to the Schola near here. They raised me for the most part."
The dwarf's expression grew dark. "Are you planning on going home then?"
"Yes actually. I have a few people there I would like to see again."
"There's something you should be knowing then." The dwarf's expression grew somber. "Been soldiers all over this island. That school of yours, it's closed up. People still in it, but they aren't allowed to leave nor anyone to enter. Damn Eremians." The dwarf spit on the floor drawing a scowl from the barmaid.
"I had heard the Eremians were trying to take over this area. I had no idea they had succeeded so quickly though. I guess that would explain the town idiot over there. What was he talking about earlier? These "others" he referred to?"
The dwarf's expression grew darker still. "There were a few mages came through here the other day. It was storming like tonight and they just wanted a place to stay out of the rain. Drarek there, well he and the others in his group didn't like them staying here. After the rain quit, he told them to leave. When they didn't, he and his group drug em outside and tied them to posts. He had them gagged and then set about burning them to death. Now I don't like them magic users much, beggin your pardon, but killing them just wasn't right. I tried to stop them, but I couldn't do much. Rest of the town is scared of Drarek and his bunch. They won't listen to an old dwarf. When these storms quit, I'm going to pack up and move my forge outta this town. Just wasn't right."
He finished talking and took a big swig of his ale. He looked up at the mage across from him and a chill ran down his spine. Gen's eyes looked as if they were burning with anger but his face wasn't changed at all. The fire in those eyes was cold. Ferin had seen that look in the eyes of another only once before. His father had that look of burning determination before he left their home and went to take on the young black dragon that had been trying to take their mountain. It was the last time he had seen his father alive. They had found his charred body later that night. It was laying beside the corpse of the dragon, his father's battle axe buried deep into its brain. He still had a tooth from that dragon. He carried it on a leather strap round his neck. It always reminded him of that day. Gen wasn't looking at him though, thank the god of smiths, he was looking at Drarek.
"Thank you for telling me this, Ferin. I don't believe I want to sleep right now. I'm remarkably awake. Seems I'm always awake," The last bit was mumbled but Ferin picked it up. "I thought maybe he was just trying to scare me with that talk. Looks like he needs to go away though." The gaze shifted back to Ferin, the fire in them burning less bright but still there. "Does this town need them? Are he and his gang vital to the village?"
"Not hardly, they never pay for the food and drink here. I'm the only one won't give them what they want free. Only reason they haven't burnt me is cause the town needs me. I'm the only smith here. I sell them only the worst blades I have, throw offs from the soldiers around here. Iron so weak I could forge it without heating it." He laughed a bit. "What are you going to do to them?"
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"Let us go to your shop and discuss it," he said softly. He slowly stood up and drew his hood back up over his head. One of those thin white hands grabbed his cane and he walked slowly to the door. The dwarf put a few coppers on the table and walked over to his table to retrieve his cloak. He limped after the mage and followed him outside. The storm had let up and the rain was barely coming down now.
"This way," Ferin said gruffly and limped off into the direction of his shop. The mage followed. He kept the dwarf's pace, not hurrying. Ferin didn't like it. This mage was way too calm. Chills ran down his spine once more and he wondered why the name Hothman was familiar to him somehow. He shook the rain out of his eyes as they approached the shop.
He opened the door and they walked inside. The forge fire was banked low. Gen walked up to the fire and looked at it for a moment.
“May I?” Gen pointed to the bucket of fresh coal beside the forge.
“Go ahead.”
“Thank you, it's been a long time.” He reached over to the bucket and placed some new coal on the fire and pumped the bellows till orange and yellow flames lit the room.
"This is a nice shop, Ferin."
"It's a leaky shack!" Ferin said but a large smile was slapped on his face.
“No, really. You have a good layout here. It's a bit low for me but I can see that it would be perfect for you. Everything is within easy reach.” Gen looked to the dwarf. “How many apprentices do you have?”
“Apprentices? Ha!” The dwarf snorted. “I wouldn't let any of these clumsy louts touch my tools!”
“I see. Would you let me use your shop?” Gen stared at the fire, the flames reflecting in contrast with his eyes.
“Depends on what you would be using it for, I suppose.”
“I would use it to make a weapon,” Gen said quietly.
“What kind of weapon?” The dwarf sounded suspicious. Gen stared back to the fire for a moment with his brow furrowed.
"What is your weapon of choice?" Gen turned to look back at the dwarf.
"War-hammer," Ferin said after a few moments thought. "Nice and solid. Goes right through that heavy armor. Breaks through people. Overall good weapon. If you're strong enough to use it."
"Have you ever made one?"
Ferin looked at the mage oddly for a while. "I've made a few. Never been happy with em though, so I sold em."
"I will pay you to help me make one now. The best one you've ever made."
"How much?"
"Two hundred gold," Gen stated. His eyes on the fire. The effect was creepy, the reflection of the hot fire in those cold burning eyes. Ferin swallowed slowly.
"Two hundred? For a war-hammer?"
"Not enough?" The mage grinned. "How about we forge it first. Then we'll agree on a price."
"Deal," Ferin said and held out his hand.
"Deal." Gen smiled as he shook the dwarf's hand. Ferin was surprised to see that the smile wasn't faked. It reflected in his eyes. Ferin nodded, then turned and walked over to his stock pile. Gen took his arms out of his sleeves and folded the robe down around his waist. His pale torso was almost emaciated but his arms and chest rippled with tight muscle, crisscrossed with various scars. He walked over to the rack of hammers and chose one that suited him, then turned back to the fire. Ferin turned back to watch the mage and gasped.
"What happened to you, M'boy?"
"Lessons learned," Gen stated flatly, his ice blue eyes burning once more with a cold fire.
"Never seen a mage with battle scars before." Ferin shook his head sadly. Who was this mage? Could he be a battle mage? He handed the stock to the mage then went about building a fire in the small stove he had in his shop for heating and cooking. He prepared some tea and sat to watch the ponderous mage work. He expected to have to step in and correct errors soon.
Ferin shook his head in disbelief. This thin, scarred mage had been forging out the basic shape of the hammer now for over two hours without resting. The hammer blows were powerful and he didn't mar the metal. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn't have believed it. The cold fire was back in the mage's eyes. It burned bright, as if he was using the rage inside him to fuel his work. Ferin was brewing some more tea, having finished the first pot himself. Every now and then Gen would turn to him and ask him if what he had done looked good. The dwarf just nodded for the most part. Sometimes giving small pointers, but he was hard pressed to find any flaws in the mage's work.
Another hour went by and Gen had the basic shape of the hammer formed. He then handed the hammer over to Ferin and bowed toward him slightly. Ferin took the hammer and went to work finishing the shape and welding on the handle while Gen sat and drank some of the tea. Another hour had the hammer almost finished. Ferin was chiseling in decorations and odd runes that Gen drew upon the hammer with a piece of soapstone. He was about to put it in for the final quench when Gen stopped him.
"Set it on the anvil with the spike in the hardie hole," Gen said quietly to a confused Ferin. He then reached into a pouch tied at his belt and pulled out a block about half the size of his fist. It gleamed brilliant silver even in the forge light. Ferin let out a low whistle.
"Is that what I think it is?" Ferin said in awe. His eyes were locked onto that block of metal. "I haven't seen any of that since I was a youngster without a beard."
"Step back over here please. Have a cup of tea. I must work a bit of magic now." Gen set the block down in the middle of the forge fire. The metal seemed to suck the heat out of the fire but the metal didn't glow at all.
Ferin walked over and sat by the stove. He didn't like the idea of magic being done in his shop, but he wouldn't object after seeing that silver tinged metal.
Gen raised his hands and began singing in a spidery language that felt itchy in the dwarf's ears. His fingers drew in the air and twisted into an odd pattern. His voice grew louder and suddenly the forge fire doubled in brightness. Gen clenched his right fist and quit singing. His left hand reached into the pouch at his belt again and pulled out something that made Ferin's eyes grow even wider. Gen held in his left hand a huge tooth. Ferin could tell it was a dragon's tooth but it was about three times as large as the one he wore around his neck. He wondered if that was the creature the mage had helped slay in his homeland.
Gen held the dragon tooth over the forge fire and chanted four words. He then began crushing the tooth into a fine powder that fell into the fire and covered the silvery block. Gen's right fist raised suddenly above his head and opened. The fire grew instantly too bright for Ferin to look at. Instead, he focused on the mage. Brilliant blue-green light bathed Gen as he stared at the impossibly bright fire and held perfectly still. Then he lowered his hands and began to chant in a deep voice that sounded strangely dwarven.
Ferin listened a bit closer and was surprised to find that it was indeed dwarven. Ancient dwarven. He couldn't understand most of it but he got the idea of what was said as he saw with amazement the silvery metal, liquid now, flow through the air and to the hammer on the anvil. The metal flowed into all the engravings and covered the face and spike solid. The steel of the hammer glowed near to welding hot but thankfully didn't melt or crack. When the last of the metal poured slowly out of the fire and onto the hammer, it flowed around the weld and the handle. It actually trickled down the handle and covered the metal shaft all the way down. Then the fire died down to a dull red glow and Gen once again chanted. He said only two words but the hammer rose from the anvil face and plunged itself into the quench tank. A shriek of steam rose out of the tank. Gen motioned with his hand and the hammer rose out of the tank and laid back down on the anvil.
When the handle clinked against the anvil, Gen suddenly fell limp and just barely landed into the other chair by the stove. Sweat covered his body and his hands hung loosely at his sides. He looked wearily over at Ferin, a weak smile crossed his lips, then his head laid back and he fell instantly asleep.
Gen woke to the smell of cooking bacon. He opened his eyes slowly t
o see a low roof above him. He turned his pounding head and saw Ferin leaning over the cooking stove, tending it for the morning meal. Gen slowly moved his legs down over the side of the bed and slumped down onto his knees, to accommodate the low ceiling. He walked on his knees over to a chair that was beside the stove and pulled himself up into it. He hadn't thought the spell would have drained him so much, but then again, he had never cast dwarven magic quite like that before. He had read about it and watched the dwarves once, after he had slayed the black dragon that had tried to take their home. He smiled to himself. Well he guessed this proved he could do it. He looked at Ferin and wondered why the dwarf wore a deep frown upon his face.
"What is wrong?" Gen rasped. His throat felt raw and dry. Ferin about jumped out of his boots and turned around quickly.
"What's the big idea? Trying to scare an old dwarf out of the few years he has left to him!" Ferin muttered into his beard.
"What's for breakfast?" Gen said giggling a bit. He felt oddly giddy. He hadn't worked himself that hard in quite a while.
"Bacon and hard bread," Ferin muttered and sat down beside the stove. He looked up wearily at Gen. "Just who are you anyway?"
"I told you my name. Gen Hothman."
"How did you know how to do that? I know my people didn't teach you. No one but master dwarven smiths have that knowledge. I wasn't even taught that before I left the mountain!"
"I studied them," Gen said quietly. "I study all magic. Most people think that your people have no magic. They shun it so openly. Yet I found in my studies that your people do have magic, powerful magic. But they don't view it as that. They see it as using theirselves and their god to empower the things they forge. I had no idea it would be so taxing on the body though. Did the hammer survive?"
Ferin grunted and walked out the door into the shop. He came back with the hammer. It was beautiful. Ferin had apparently finished the handle while Gen slept. He handed it to Gen. Gen took it and found it lighter than it looked. He smiled. Those runes had worked as he had hoped. He took a few small swings with it. He looked up at Ferin.
The Dark Path Page 12