The Demon's Chamber

by Brian Spielbauer

  Though all revered Tegan, none idolized him more than his half-brother Telon. Telon was also skilled in the crafts of war but despite all his own great feats, he still had not the courage nor skill to rival Tegan. Telon knew this. He was not jealous of Tegan, for he loved his brother and wanted only to serve him for the greater good. He strived to be like his brother in all things and please his mother and father.

  Tegan and Telon were nearly identical in most ways. They each wore their long, dark hair bound in ponytail, and their bodies were as though a sculptor had chiseled them out of the very mountain they inhabited. Their beards and moustaches were finely trimmed, which was expected of all men of Tunder Bin. Those daring to do otherwise were exiled. Both adorned fine black leather tunics, custom-made to give prominence to their massive, muscular frames. Their kilts were of the same fine black leather, and their boots, made to withstand a lifetime of leisure or quest, covered their legs to the knees.

  They were proud brothers. Their strength and abilities were unmatched across the Five Kingdoms, though they were often tested by the courageous (or the outright dimwitted). Between them, they had been bested only once.

  The differences in their appearance were subtle, but there were differences nonetheless. Tegan had deep blue eyes. They were the eyes of royalty. The thick, jet black brows perched above them shaded his large, plump nose. His tendency to smile exuded an optimism that drew many to him.

  Telon had green eyes, which were as dark as the emeralds found in the mountains surrounding them. They were the eyes of his mother. His brows were like those of Tegan’s, but his nose was the same as any other dwarf in the Five Kingdoms. He projected a darker aura than Tegan, which seemed to cause dwarves to avoid him if possible. These differences were minor at most, but the most obvious of them was not forged in the fires of the months leading to their births. Telon carried a large, noticeable scar on the left side of his face. It ran from beard to brow, and he detested not only the sight of it, but the mere mention of it. Only those meeting him for the first time dared risk asking about the wound. For some, it was their immediate downfall.

  As Tegan was the heir to the throne, he wore a gold band on his head. Telon’s band matched Tegan’s, except it was made of silver. Though it never seemed to bother him, Telon would never be allowed to forget he was the second son, in all ways that mattered.

  Tunder Bin was the Seat and crown jewel of the Dwarf Lands. Boasting a population over five thousand, the city was driven and sustained by dwarf endeavors. The most important feat being the furnace room. The fires that fueled the mighty city of Tunder Bin never dwindled, day or night, since they were first lit a thousand years earlier. Dwigor the Strong was the first king. His line lasted this many years, through Moro and his sons to the present, and never failed. Through good times and bad, war and famine, the dwarves endured. Ever sturdy and resilient, they always found a way to survive.

  Dwigor and his people found the vast cavern that would become the furnace room buried deep below the mountain. It had been opened by running water since the dawn of time, and further meticulously carved and etched by the dwarves through the centuries since. They rotated by the hundreds, day and night. Unwavering and unrelenting was the will of the dwarves, and the furnace room was but one example of their unwavering focus.

  There was no hiding from the intense heat that melted the nerve of all but the stoutest of the men of Tunder Bin. The source was not from burning wood or coal, but instead from the molten lava that filled the pools to the right of the room. The men who endured the heat during their work were held in the highest regard, and those who could not were relegated to working the farms and fields.

  In the center of the chamber stood a staircase of stone, which Dwigor had carved directly from the pillars left undamaged by the water flows. Like all works of the dwarves neither crack nor blemish could be seen in the workmanship, from the polished steps and railings to the great expanse of the floor. In any other fortress or castle this would be the great hall for parties and celebrations, but there were no dirty, dingy, or unforgotten places in the great city. Even in the working center of the mountain, the dwarves took great care in every detail.

  The furnace room provided heat for homes throughout the city by heat ducts mined through the rock. The lava pools also brought the metal for making tools and weapons to a melting point so the blacksmiths could meld the steal. Though the army of Tunder Bin had dwindled over the years, the dwarf army was still one of the strongest forces in all of Lemuria. The weapons to supply the army, as well as the mining and farming tools, were always in high demand.

  To the right and running along the distance of the wall were the lava pools, which were lined with brick railings that rose to waist high. The lava rose through shafts mined by the dwarves. At the base of each shaft, and far below the pools, were triple thick steel plates that slid in and out, allowing the pressure under the mountain to release the lava up to the pool. When the pools were full, the doors were shut, thus permitting the dwarves to continually harvest the endless energy deep below the mountain.

  The true secret of Tunder Bin and its long-held wealth was not in jewels or gold, but in the special metal called Titanius. Even molten lava was not hot enough to melt the metal, which is what the best of the swords and armor of the dwarves was made of. The demand of swords of Tunder Bin was high, and every precaution was taken to ensure these blades did not fall into the wrong hands. Of late, this seemed to be occurring at a higher rate, and was a major concern of the King.

  On the left side of the furnace room, under the steady eye of Tegan, the dwarves had built retaining walls of four different sections around pooling areas that currently lay empty. Tegan’s father directed him to find a way of transferring lava across the room to increase their workspace, and this would soon be completed. The room was wide enough that only the strongest dwarf could throw a rock from one wall and hit the other, and its length was twice its width. In the center of the room were four very large pillars, hewn from the rock to look like the giant maple trees that dotted the base of the mountainside. The tree trunks rose from the floor and broke off into smaller rock branches that served as supports for the ceiling above. From these branches hung magnificent chandeliers, each with a hundred small lights which lit the room. There were four from each tree, and sixteen in all.

  The lava pools were a source that never needed stoked, but needed constant monitoring to ensure the proper levels. Echoing throughout the large cavern was the endless ringing of hammer clanging on steel. Armor could not be worn in the room, for it was far too hot and would quickly burn the skin. Leather clothes were needed to handle the heat and not burst into flame. The brick wall by the pools had blacksmith stations built into them, and that is where smiths could then bend the metal, one clang at a time, to suit their needs through strength of arm and hammer. There were currently eight blacksmith stations located along the lava pools to the right, and room for no more. Four blacksmiths could work at each station, sixteen in all, but Tegan needed to double that amount. The work was horrific during the best of times, and the conditions unbearable to most. But to the dwarves of Tunder Bin, especially those fortunate souls blessed to work there, it was their dream come true.

  Prince Tegan was the embodiment of a leader. He was early to rise and made up excuses so he could grab more than his share of time in the furnace room. He loved the hardest and most dangerous of duties, he wanted to both protect others from harm and test his limits every day. He never left the furnace room without having sweat completely through his gear, often earning fresh scars from working with the molten steel. His brother, Prince Telon, was the exact same.

  Both would rush to the aid of any of their men, and few in the city could say they had not benefitted from the endless generosity of the brothers. They made their own weapons (which were many), as none was their better in working with steel. While a weapon made by any man of Tunder Bin was purchased at great expense, the weapons made by Tegan and Telon we
re priceless.

  Tegan’s confidence was obvious in how he carried himself, and second-guessing never entered his mind. Defeat was an event he had yet to experience. Telon’s confidence was borrowed from Tegan, and came from being with his brother and following his lead. He trusted all that Tegan did and said. Telon knew that if he just followed Tegan, all would turn out right. Together, they were both very formidable foes. Alone, Telon was quite different.

  The best example of their differences was by those they loved. Tegan knew from the moment he saw his future wife, Milan, that she would be his. Telon never approached women, as the possibility of being turned down was too much to risk. Several had tried to win him, but the sting of embarrassment (and the awkward moments to follow) were not worth the risk.

  Δ

  Tegan was perched high above the stone floor, taking one last opportunity to ensure his plans were true. The burden was placed on him to complete this project, and he would not fail. The hammering in the furnace room was silenced, as all able men stood below at attention, awaiting the signal for action from their favored Prince. Each man stood their ground at their assigned duty to complete the project. All were uncomfortable from the silence in the usually loud furnace room.

  Tegan finally set down his drawings and studied the positions of equipment and men on the floor below. “Telon, ready the men!” Tegan bellowed to his brother below. His focus would not allow for others to see the sheer joy that gripped his heart from seeing his men and their mission before them.

  The danger was evident, as the pipe would crush anyone caught beneath it. Telon’s crew would lift the titanius-lined pipe. It was as wide as a log and as thick as a clenched fist. Its resting place was high above the furnace room floor. His crew had more than one hundred dwarves, and a tandem of oxen would pull on three chains to lift the pipe that ran the entire length of the room. Each chain ran through two pulleys, one attached to the floor, and then again from a rock branch of the maple tree. The chain then attached again down to the pipe.

  The other crew was charged with putting up the braces that would hold the metal pipes at two stages. Telon’s crew would get to rest after each brace was placed, and then regroup for the next pull. The entire movement was practiced many times. It was expected to be executed flawlessly.

  “Ready!” Telon’s voice roared in response to Tegan. The three lines of dwarves and oxen snapped the chains taught with a loud “Ha!” echoing through the chamber. The tension in the room was as even higher than it was on the chains. Everyone knew what was at stake and how dangerous the task would be.

  “Braces ready!” Tegan commanded the other group that readied the iron supports. The only sound other than the voices of the two princes was the bubbling of the pools, which also seemed to be rising in anticipation of witnessing the event.

  Tegan then looked back to Telon, and with a quick grin he raised his upturned left hand which triggered Telon to command his crew. “Pull!” his voice shot briskly like an arrow, the sound thundering off the rock walls of the cavern. He would not leave the fun to his men. He struggled with them against the chain. He would not risk the return grin to Tegan, his worry holding it hostage.

  As if it had a mind of its own, the stubborn pipe was reluctant to move at first, but grudgingly gave way and began to rise. The beat of a large drum charged the dwarves on, one methodical step after another. The drum’s rhythmic beat guided the men in unison, ensuring the pipe would be raised evenly. If one end rose above the other, the lines would not hold. Good souls would be crushed.

  It had to be raised, at first, to the level of the lowest maple tree branches, and eventually as high as three stories for its final placement. The braces were added curses as each one increased the weight of the pipe. Once they were attached, the brace teams moved quickly to take up the extra chains for the pull.

  Sweat poured from the dwarves. Molten salt stung their eyes and cuts on their hands from the metal chains. Stout, muscled legs strained as the search for solid footing became a sort of dance. It was an ancient dance that had been performed for generations. Massive, sooty, calloused hands and rippled arms pulled against the chain. Progress was scant, but the dwarves would not let go. Their resolve was legendary. They would sooner die than let torn flesh and searing pain waver them. They would not let go.

  The pipe moved ever slowly, but after seemingly endless effort by all involved, the pipe reached the second level. Another brace was added. It was time for the final hoist.

  “One last time, men! Pull!” Tegan compelled his crew. A crowd of women, children, and those too old to help looked on from the staircase. They all knew what this project meant for everyone. The pipe would double their workspace capability. This undertaking was essential to their city’s success.

  One of the men on the floor below suddenly crumbled to the floor, clutching his chest. The crowd gasped. Some covered the eyes of their offspring. The strength of even a single dwarf against the chains was imperative. The momentum of the pull slowed, wavered, and then began to take its toll on the rest of the men. The pipe began to drop. Concentration began to break. The lines began to shake. Tegan’s heart leapt to his throat. Lives were at stake. Failure was at stake.

  There was no time for hesitation. Tegan had no time to think of options. There simply weren’t any. He leapt from his position to the floor below. He landed hard. From the vantage point of the onlookers, they thought they heard thunder as their Prince hit the floor.

  Tegan scrambled to where his man collapsed and grasped the chain in his place. “Steady!” he yelled. “Steady yourselves!”

  The dwarves dug deep within themselves. Their spirits rose, their concentration returned, and their strength doubled as their leader labored among them. Once again, the pipe began to rise.

  “Step! Step! Step!” Tegan commanded. The dwarf that commanded the ancient drum left his charge to aid in the pull. The pipe finally gave up its grudging resistance. As it reached its apex at the final level, Tegan commanded, “Hold!”

  Telon marveled at how the people responded to his brother. The people watching stood wide-eyed and mouth agape. Telon’s fleeting thought was that he doubted they would ever respond to him the same way.

  Tegan needed to regain his spot above the floor so he could drive in the spikes and secure the pipe into place. He hooked the chain to the wall, and grabbed another chain that suspended a chandelier from one of the maple branches. He used his axe to break the link holding it and hung on with both hands. The falling chandelier swung him quickly up to his original post. The light crashed to the ground, narrowly missing the dwarves below, but they did not flinch. The left side was already attached with spikes, but as Tegan went to drive his side in, it once again began to drop. He quickly positioned himself underneath the pipe to stop it from falling further, bracing it on his shoulder.

  “Tegan, get out of there!” Telon screamed. He knew Tegan would be crushed if the lines faltered.

  “Steady!” Tegan compelled once again. Under great strain, he tried to hold the pipe and save all the work that was put into this day. The project was too close to quit on now, and he would try to save it by himself, should the need arise. “Half step!” he growled as the pipe began to bite into his shoulder. The lines were unable to lift the pipe. They were doing all they could just to hold it where it was.

  “Tegan, move!” Telon begged his brother again, with blood mixing with the sweat that was seeping from his and every dwarf’s hands. They fought against the unforgiving strain of the iron chain as it hoisted the weight of the pipe.

  “No! The time is now! Pull!” Tegan roared in a voice that scared the dwarves into trying one last time. The dwarves from the secured side of the pipe moved to aid the other line.

  “Pull!” he grunted again as his legs were beginning to tire and wobble. Then, slowly at first, the pipe began to rise once more.

  Tegan had a spike in his left hand and his hammer in his right. The moment the pipe rose into place, Tegan swung the sp
ike under the pipe and drove it in with one mighty swing. He quickly dropped low, grabbed another spike, and repeated the swing on the opposite side. With the two key spikes secure, he was then able to finish the bottom, and finally the top. The braces were then quickly placed and secured underneath. The project was now complete.

  The crowd on the stairs roared in celebration. They poured down to the floor and rushed past Telon, cheering for Tegan. Telon made his way to the man who had fallen. Tegan triumphantly turned the giant wheel which allowed lava to rise through the shaft, into the pipe, and across the distance of the furnace room. Lava soon began filling the pools, one at a time. He fought his way through the crowd to where Telon was attending the injured dwarf. He knelt beside his brother.

  Friar, the fallen dwarf, spoke to his admired Prince. “Did we get it there, Lord?” he asked. “Is it finished?”

  “Yes, Friar,” Tegan replied with admiration. “We could not have done it without your help.” Tegan’s eyes welled as he spoke to the elder dwarf. Friar had dedicated his entire life to the people of Tunder Bin. Many dwarves did the same thing every day, caring far more for the community than for themselves. Sometimes as a miner, or sometimes as a soldier, but always they did their part.

  “I think my days of working or resting are over,” Friar whispered. He started to drift. He was ready to allow his spirit to depart from his body. It was a dwarf’s dream to die in service. “They may even name something after me,” he uttered as he closed his eyes, preparing for his final breath.

  Telon glanced at Tegan, and then reached out and slapped Friar sharply across his face. The swipe brought the dying dwarf back and alert, shocking those who around them who looked on.