The Hammer of Fire (23 page)

Petra put her finger to her lips and replied
quietly, “Shhhh, it’s most likely that Tahnoon has spies around our
tent. He is a crafty one, pretending to get drunk while all the
while asking leading questions and hoping for information. The
Black Horseman and Tahnoon planned that entire meeting down to the
wine they served. They’ll never let us go. They’ll get what they
need to know about Corancil and his armies and then they’ll kill
us.”

“I don’t know,” said Milli with a shrug of
her shoulder and longing gaze at the jug filled with the sweetest
juice she’d ever tasted. “Ming seemed like a pretty decent fellow
before he had to leave.”

“Good guard, bad guard,” said Petra. “I’ve
been in enough prisons in my life to know that game. They’re scared
of Corancil and his armies. They think he’ll invade and they’re
almost certainly right. You know that as well as I do. They’ll get
as much information from us as possible and then kill us in some
awful way. Stake us out in the sun, feed us to some terrible desert
creature, trample us with those horses of theirs, who knows, but
they’ll kill us in the end, don’t make a mistake about that,” she
continued with her black eyes cold and set as she stared at the
girl. “Don’t let notions of romance fool you into a sense of
security.”

“How can you be so sure?” said Milli with a
rather unfocused gaze at the woman. Then she paused briefly before
continuing “You’ve been in prison?”

“Since I was a little girl, many times. We
gypsies are always hunted and hounded and framed for something the
local noble’s son did in the first place. It’s always the same.
People say those in authority do what’s necessary, while we are
called thieves for stealing only a fraction of what they take. Some
prisons are worse, some are better, but none of them are good. We
are in one now, gilded to be certain, but a prison nonetheless.
Ming knows about Craggen Steep, he knows we carry a large amount of
treasure, and they’re fools if they couldn’t see the power of Dol’s
hammer. They’ll want the gold and hammer if nothing else. Even if
we don’t have much information about the invasion they’ll want that
much.”

“Damn that Brogus! Why did Davim make men so
stupid?”

“It’s in their nature, you use it to your
advantage. Don’t deny it, little girl, I’ve seen you flip your hair
and bat your eyes.”

Milli pursed her lips and shrugged her
shoulders before she smiled, “That’s a different kind of
stupid.”

Petra shook her head, “Stupid is what it is.
And don’t think it’s an accident that they’ve sent handsome young
stallions to our tent. You can bet that they’ve sent pretty girls
to the boys.”

At this Milli suddenly looked down and felt
her face go red.

Petra patted her arm and gave a little
knowing wink, “No sense in not looking though! Now, we have to
figure out how to escape from here before they kill us. We have to
hint that we know more about Corancil than we’re letting on so they
keep trying to get Brogus drunk to find out more. The longer we can
stay alive the better our chances to escape.”

“How can we escape?” said Milli. “It’s
nothing but desert in all directions, and even if we stole horses
you saw how those nomads ride. They’d track us down in hours.”

“We need to find a map of the desert. There’s
that trading town they said, Tanta. We steal the horses, get to the
trading town, and get aboard a ship heading south to the volcano
lands. We learned that much at least. From there it can’t be too
hard to find five volcanoes. How many areas can have five of them
right next to each other?”

“I don’t know,” said Milli and buried her
head in her hands. “How did things get so messed up? We were
supposed to come south, kill Gazadum, and get famous and rich. It
shouldn’t be that hard.”

Petra looked at the girl and shook her head,
“How old are you, Milli?”

“Nineteen I think,” said the girl. “They
weren’t sure how old I was when they found me. Three or four they
guess.”

“And you’ve lived your entire life in Craggen
Steep, with dwarves?”

Milli nodded as a tear formed in her eye.

“It’s okay; it’s not your fault, Milli,” said
Petra and again patted her gently on the arm.

“We’re all going to die and it’s my fault! I
didn’t think ahead, I didn’t plan for the desert, I didn’t think
Ming would kill us. I’m so stupid.”

“Just naïve,” said Petra and leaned over to
give the girl a hug. “It’s okay. Girls are allowed to cry.”

Milli choked back a sob, “Not dwarf girls,
crying is for the weak.”

“Oh dearie, that’s just not true. Let it all
out. I’m here.”

Milli tried to prevent another sob but her
little body convulsed and suddenly she was weeping and hugging
Petra tightly.

In another tent, far enough away to seem
close but distant enough to confuse strangers in the tent city, Dol
sat over the unconscious Brogus and watched his snoring friend for
long hours. The Hammer of Fire was at it his side as he
contemplated the events of the evening silently and coolly although
he felt his anger rising at his companion’s foolish admissions in
the tent of the Black Horseman. He thought about waking Brogus just
to chastise him but there was no sense in flogging a dwarf because
he stole a little gold from the ore bin. He was certain that this
Ming fellow would kill them all in the end, and he was even more
concerned that the nomads might resort to torture to get
information. The riders seemed like hard men who would do what it
took to secure their safety.

Dol had watched, more than once, as dwarf
torture masters used their wiles on captured darklings to get
information about raids, citadels, strongholds, and anything else
they might now. They broke down quickly under proper inducement and
always told everything they knew or could make up. This was often
useful but more often it was impossible to extract the truth from
the myriad of lies. More than once Dol had watched a darkling,
scourged to within an inch of his life tell of great hidden
citadels with mountains of jewels, any lie just to stop the pain
for a little while. Even more painful than the thought of torture
was the idea that the hammer might fall into the hands of these
nomads. His hammer. He caressed the handle lightly and felt the
heat of it travel up his fingers. He was becoming more used to it
every day. He practiced holding it for longer and longer periods of
times when the others weren’t watching too closely. Soon he would
be able to master its power. He remembered that first surge of heat
when they broke through the wall to the outside world. Then again,
much more powerfully, when he killed that nomad. The surge of fire,
the heat, the power. He looked at the hammer by his side and
stroked it again, “Nothing can stand in my way,” he whispered to
himself. “Not when I have you. And I won’t let them take you.”

“What was that,” said Brogus groggily as he
rolled onto his side. “I have to pee.”

“The pot’s over there,” said Dol pointing to
an unseen corner of the tent. Earlier it took him nearly twenty
minutes to find the thing. These tents with their hidden folds were
not easy to navigate. He’d tried to watch as they came into the
tent city, to keep track of direction, but it was difficult here on
the surface. The inside of the tents were easier once you figured
out how they folded but it had taken him some exploring before he
figured it out.

“Where are the girls?” said Brogus as he let
fly a tremendous torrent into the pot from out of sight beyond the
cloth walls.

“I don’t know,” said Dol. “They said they
were taking them to a female area of the encampment but I had to
help bring you back here. Why did you drink so much?”

“Because it was free,” said Brogus with a
wide smile as the pleasure of a powerful urination coursed through
his frame. “Why didn’t you drink more?”

“We’re not back home anymore, Brogus,” said
Dol and looked to the floor of the tent again. “You have to be
careful what you say and what you do here. These are not our
friends.”

“What?” said Brogus suddenly reappearing as
he tried to pull up his pants and shove his member into them at the
same time. “Ouch, almost nipped the little fellow there.”

“I said that we’re not at home anymore,” said
Dol with a shake of his head as watched his still drunk friend try
to navigate the complexities of their strange desert garb.

“Don’t I know it,” said Brogus and put his
hand to the back of his neck. “That salve helped a bit but I’m
still, what do they call it, kissed by the sun? I feel weak, tired,
drained.”

“It could be all that beer you drank”
suggested Dol although he too still felt the burning, sapping
sensation of too much exposure to the intense sunlight.

“No chance,” said Brogus with a snort. “I’ve
had more than that plenty of times. It’s the sun. It beats the
energy right out of you. I’ll be glad to be gone from this place,
even if it is to fight some elemental from the ….”

Dol got up quickly and smacked Brogus across
the top of the head before the dwarf could finish his sentence.
“You’ve done enough damage already. Think before you speak. Don’t
give them any more information. We’re not home, we’re not safe.
These people mean us harm.”

“I don’t know,” said Brogus with a puzzled
expression on his face and a deep frown. “They fed us pretty
good.”

“How many times have you watched
interrogation masters with Darklings. First they try the nice
method. Give them food, water, tell them you’re their friend. What
happens when that doesn’t work?”

Brogus stopped gargling the water he had
plunged into his mouth from the large pitcher set up near the
entrance of the tent in a specially made little pedestal and looked
to Dol with his mouth still full. He looked around the tent, first
to the left, then to the right and the put his hands out to Dol
with his eyes filled with confusion.

“Tent flap is just there, by your hand, you
can spit out the door,” said the tall dwarf as he put down the
hammer and sat on one of the cushions in the main chamber. Their
tent was quite roomy enough for two nomads, and the dwarfs were not
much more than half as tall as the men so the place seemed
massively spacious after their apprentice cubbies. Dol leaned back
on an orange cushion and rested his head. After staying up all
night watching Brogus he suddenly felt exhausted and he was almost
instantly asleep.

Brogus stood outside and stared at the tents
that surrounded them in every direction. He had no idea what
direction he faced, and an occasional nomad drifted by, nodded a
head, and said some pleasantry or another although the dwarf could
not understand the words. He replied with a hello and a wave but
they went on about their business without further notice. He walked
all the way around the tent but could garner no further information
about his location. A tent of one color or another stood, well
staked to the hardpan dirt ground, to each side of him but there
seemed to be little rhyme or reason to their location. “Treat it
like’s a darkling warren,” said Brogus to himself and shut his
eyes. “There is no sky, these are merely tunnels. All I have to do
is remember my training, count the turns, note the landmarks. It’s
just strange, not impossible.” With that he set his shoulders and
started off in a direction. He wandered for several hours, taking
note of the shape of the land in the same way he kept track of
elevation when wandering a foreign tunnel far below the surface. He
counted his steps without thinking and soon found himself standing
at the shore of a large lake. Dozens of nomadic woman, many of them
with small children wrapped up in strange little trusses, filled
basins with the water and then returned to the tent city in a never
ending line.

Brogus looked across the lake but the morning
mist prevented him from seeing the far side of its shore. The tents
were dense on this side of the lake but they slowly started to
dwindle further up the shoreline in both directions. He walked
ankle deep into the water, knelt down, and plunged his head into to
the cool lake. He held it under and then pulled it out with a
little whoop. Then he shook his long hair and beard in a spray of
water. He repeated this process twice more much to the amusement of
a group of children on the shore. They hooted and hollered strange
words at him but he ignored them and continued to bathe himself.
After his little cleansing he looked around again and noticed his
audience still staring at him in wide-eyed wonder. There were about
twenty of the little urchins watching him and he waved gaily and
then set out to circle the lake. He didn’t get far when a tall
nomad who seemed familiar joined him. “Do I know you?” said
Brogus.

The nomad looked at him quizzically and
shrugged his shoulders with incomprehension.

“I’m going for a walk around the lake,” said
Brogus.

The nomad said nothing and his placid
expression did not change.

Brogus shrugged and continued on the morning
walk with his silent companion at his side. He managed to circle to
the other side of the lake in about an hour. By the time he reached
the far shore the mists no longer obstructed his view and he saw
the tent city on the opposite side of the lake. There was a little
hill not far to his left and he climbed it in about ten minutes.
This gave him a good view of the city. His mind, used to
deciphering endless dwarf and darkling tunnel mazes, managed to
figure out the general vicinity of his and Dol’s tent although he
could not make it out individually from the distance. The vivid
colors splashed on the shore reminded him of mineral deposits in a
deep cave although, at the same time, not much like that at all he
finally admitted to himself. Still there was pattern, an order, in
the display and where there was order his dwarf mind could go to
work.