Tranquil Fury (16 page)

 “Aaro, I am sorry. I did not know you were there,” said Lauren.

 “Weather wicked it be. Once only, storm like this seen I have. Remember prefer not I would. Earth Daughter, in private, with you may I speak?”

 “Yes, what troubles you?”

“Here not, follow me please.”

Before they left, John turned to the two of them, “Aaro, do you normally get storms this bad, this time of the year?”

Aaro stopped, turned to face John, “Storms many seen I have. What that be, I know not.”

The answer seemed short, wrong. John was unsure of what to make of the words Aaro spoke, but with such an intense storm stalled over the Ironhouse Mine, in this strange world, John had the feeling that somebody wanted them to stay here a little longer.

Aaro led Lauren to a seldom-used meeting hall on the upper level, feeling certain that no one would interrupt them there. When she had seated herself in the small chair, Aaro spoke, “Long hours argue with my Pappy last night, I did. Tell him I did, wait until we return. Listen he would not. Stubborn and old, easier to mine granite than his mind change. Earth Daughter, a favor my Pappy will ask of you tonight. The Master Weapon Smith, you, he will approach when the meal is done. Decline you can, but the story you should know first.”

“Please tell me more,” Lauren said cautiously.

“Twenty years past, dwarf many Ironhouse called home. Clans of east marched west, Ironhouse welcomed. Then, many was our clan, crowded we were, but good all was. South road construction began, lands new, need to find we did. And when done, dwarf many left, and Pappy did change, odd he became.” As Aaro told the story, the memories of what started so long ago, came flooding back. Their father had them fetch a large keg of mead, a huge platter of the best dwarven foods, and told them to take both to the hidden room on the main floor. While the reason for the celebration was unknown to them, they were dwarf, and a reason was not important. So each lent a hand, and prepared the room for the festivities, wondering what the occasion was. But when their father showed up, he told them to leave, to guard the door so none would interrupt him. They thought it odd, as Master Weapon Smiths had special privileges granted, and not even a drunken dwarf would wish to anger one with such a title, but did as instructed. It was late into the night, Aaro was standing outside the door, when Bor came to relieve him, and they both heard the shouting from the room. As far as both of them knew, nobody else had entered the room, and when they tried to, their father shouted at them, ‘get out.’ By the time Hakk showed up, Bor and Aaro were still listening to the argument in the room.

It was the following day, when their father cracked open the door, ordered a keg of dwarf ale, and another large platter of food. And throughout the day, the conversation inside the room continued. On the third day, he ordered more food, and even stronger beer, and when they took it inside, the hall was a mess, looked like a hundred dwarves had celebrated for a hundred years. But their father, the sole occupant, would not turn to look at them. The fourth day, more food, harder drinks, and the same on the fifth and sixth days. And each day, the conversations got louder, the rock walls no longer able to silence the heated exchange inside the hidden room. Stories started to spread, dwarves that should have been in the lower levels, all found a reason to walk by the room, to hear the conversation inside. And like unseen vapors in a mine, rumors spread from dwarf to dwarf, spreading the infection that the Master Weapon Smith had gone mad. And on the sixth night, all of the brothers stood outside the door, trying to keep the curious ears away, when the loudest argument of all erupted. So loud, they feared that curious ears deep in the mines, would hear it as well. And in the middle of the argument, all heard, ancient dwarf spoken, sounds not heard for centuries, and while none understood the words, they all recognized them. The argument would go loud, then quiet, then even louder, went long into the night, and the corridors at both ends of the hall were jammed with questioning dwarfs, wondering what was happening. And then on the seventh day, he called for ceremonial wine, that which is never drank alone, and a feast fit for a dozen dwarves. Roasted boar, goat, birds, and more. They asked if they should open the great hall, but he told them to bring it to him.

Lauren looked at Aaro, “I don’t understand where this story is going?”

Aaro let out a sigh, “With Bor, storytelling, compete with I will not. But short, not this story is.” The images of opening the door on the eighth day flooded back in Aaro’s vision. The room had been quiet for too many hours, and with the amount of alcohol they had taken to the room, there was no way one dwarf could drink so much, and live. Five, six days, maybe, but no dwarf had ever drank for seven days straight. They found him on the floor, the hall a mess, and all of the food and alcohol consumed. Aaro remembered carrying their father up to his room that morning, before the rest of the mine had woken, putting him to bed, and then rushing back down to help clean up the room. For three days their father slept, and on the fourth, he rose, and they hoped the spells were over, but they were wrong. How he ordered Bor to assemble a squad, to retrieve a barrel of trollmare blood, and while none understood, Bor did as commanded. Aaro, their father ordered to the distant mountain valleys, to bring back virgin snow melt from an ice shield, untainted, pure. And when Aaro came back, he found his father hand selecting the finest ores and coals. But when Aaro offered to get apprentices to complete the menial task, his father declined.

Lauren was having trouble absorbing the words of Aaro, as his thick voice silently echoed in the small room, but continued to listen as his story grew in length, “Forge heat in dwarf mine, hide it you cannot. Everything hotter, tempers as well. Answers all wanted, none Pappy would give.” Aaro remembered the day his father brought him the drawing of the cast, to receive the molten metal. And it was so odd, that Aaro questioned his father, still remembered the intense look in his father’s eyes, and he began to make the cast. To question a Master Weapon Smith was wrong, and he knew it, but did not understand what was happening. Aaro still remembered lighting the fire under the forge, feeling the blast of air from the bellows, watching the coals selected by his father turn from black to bright orange. Then of watching his father walking in, pushing in a cart of the finest ores. When the forge was hot enough, his father had them lower the hard metals into the heated forge, and all watched as the metal transformed into a liquid. When Aaro thought they should extract the molten metal, his father called him to stop, and carried a heavy wooden box to the forge. What happened next, Aaro still could not believe. His father threw in a bag of diamond chips, an ingredient never added before, and even stranger, he threw in the three named weapons the eastern clans had brought. And the strange sky rock.

Lauren, mesmerized by the story, was startled by his last sentence, “Aaro what do you mean by sky rock? And weapons three?”

 “Bor, story told of eastern clans, Ironhouse arrive at they did. Mention he does, weapons three: axe, hammer, and spear. Forged in the east, trollmares slay they did.”

“Yes, I remember the story. Those are the weapons?”

 “The same they be. Years of thirty before, from sky, something did fall, Pappy did see. Months he looked, crater huge found he did, and bottom buried, sky rock found. Many he showed, but let touch, none would he. The ores and metal, now molten, these four added he did. Dwarves in horror screamed, mad called him they did. When vented enough they had, back to work ordered them. They were dwarf, did as commanded.” Aaro remembered the angry screams, of seeing the odd items floating on the liquid pool of metal, his father sounding to the bellows for more air, more heat. The forge so hot, that if you leaned too close, the heat trimmed your beard. He remembered seeing the four items begin to melt, disappear into the glowing liquid metal, and then seeing the impurities float to the top. How he reached for the skimmer to remove them, as they would weaken the metal, but his father knocked it from his hand, ‘Leave them. If pure born it is, fail it shall.’

Aaro paused long enough to give Lauren a chance to absorb everything, then continued with the story, “The forging cup, filled with metal molten, remove we did. To the cast we took it, in we poured. Wait we did, days of two, and when opened, all dwarf furious they were. As neither great battle axe, nor battle hammer greeted them. Instead, sword they saw. More than sword, longer than dwarf be tall. Crazy, mad, insane. At my Pappy, the hurt levied echoed throughout the mine, drowned out only by sounds of dwarf leaving. Infected by some disorder they thought we were, left in numbers great. To his sons Pappy called, ‘Ironhouse, this weapon, finish we will.’ And to forge, follow we did.”

Aaro then went on to explain how they tempered and stretched the metal, making it stronger by quenching it. He explained if you heated the metal too long, or worked on it after it had cooled too much, that you would damage the metal, make it brittle. Aaro looked at Lauren, “The story here strange becomes.” The memories seemed more like a dream to him, rather than something he had witnessed. The sword they had poured was thick and long, the mold designed to let the metal cool equally, but its shape was wrong. He remembered seeing Fen go down to the lower level alone, to work the bellows, as he and his brothers tended the sword in the forge, following their father’s instructions, and of hammering the hard metal to make it longer. And then their father telling them to quench it in the virgin snow melt,’ so purity, know it will.’ Aaro went on to explain how they kept taking it back to the forge, working the metal, making it longer, stronger. And how they quenched it in ceremonial wine, ‘so heritage, know it will.’ Then quenched it in dwarf ale, ‘so pleasure, know it will.’ And the fourth time there was no quenching liquid, their father telling them to leave it on the table, a dry quench. ‘So pain, know it will.’ Aaro went on to explain how he slept beside the sword that night, afraid it may become so brittle, that it would fracture, and of the sounds it made as the metal contracted, sounding like screams.

Aaro continued the story, “Days of seven, before we could touch. And to forge again, take it we did. Ashamed I am, but brothers all, thought Pappy mad. Metal so hard, before never have I seen. So hard, forge heat, embrace it would not, and two battles fought that day. Sword, forge heat fought it did, and Fen, the bellows he fought. So hot, many beards forge trimmed that day. She, my forge, too much we asked, the battle no longer fight she could, and the crack deafened all. As well, broken my heart, not heard by any but me. Now alone she sits, dark shrouded, dwarf creations no longer able to birth. Ironwood sap, hot metal did greet, hissed in anger it did. ‘So strength, know it will,’ Pappy did say. Fen from below, stumbled out, half his size he was, sweated so much, beard and hair, gone as well. Weak, dehydrated, sweat soaked he was. Hydrate him we had to, ale a poor choice. Stopped sooner we should have, but another story that is. Two feet longer than I be tall, the sword was now. We all asked, ‘Why build a weapon such,’ all thought Pappy had forge brain, cooked by heat.”

Aaro remembered seeing Bor return to the mine, with the keg of trollmare blood, the look on his face when he saw the sword, understanding the questions he would not ask. Aaro then explained how they thought their father’s sanity had returned, because he seemed to have forgotten about the sword. And then that fateful night, he called to them, and they took the sword and the keg of strange blood to the top of the Ironhouse Mountain. Of watching his father pound the sword into the mountain, as a terrifying storm headed their way. How they watched as thunder exploded overhead and lightning bolt after lightning bolt struck the sword. The punishment, so intense, it cracked the mountain, how it was so hot, you could not look at the glowing metal. And of how he and his brothers cowered from the storm, some even saying they heard dwarves crying in fear, but none would admit to it. He remembered how when the fury of the storm, finally calmed down, how they raced to the top, pulled it out of the cracked mountain with the tongs, quenched it in the trollmare blood. “Hissed and howled it did. A steam prayer to storm high, send it did. What it wanted? None knew. ‘The taste of evil, know it will,’ came from my Pappy. The day next, that cursed sword into his personal shop Pappy took. Days of thirty, alone worked on it he did. When saw it next, incredible it was, polished bright, runes both sides carved. Into that hard metal, how Pappy did it, none he would tell.”

“Runes,” asked Lauren?

Aaro explained about the ancient runes, symbols of power, strength, protection, and more. Of how they had seen them in paintings, or heard them in stories, but not a living dwarf had seen actual runes in, well he did not know how long. He described how their father brought the sword to him, to make it sharp. Of how he used three stones to make the edges, and of how his father rejected his work, demanded better. He then told Lauren about how they sharpened steel, the special metal gloves to protect their hands, both from the stone and the edge, showing her his hands, the old scars, many of which looked deep. He told her of how he used three more stones, the edge so sharp, the metal gloves no longer able to protect his hands.

“If late you are, shave time that edge can. Smile my Pappy finally did. Again to his shop he did head, first instructing me, scabbard to build. Odd this part be, plain, not worthy of the sword, demand he did. Though I should not have, question him I did. ‘So humility, know it will,’ his response to me was. As requested, scabbard I built, and plain, no ugly it was. My stamp on it, place I would not. Days of thirty, Pappy worked he did. When out he brought it, amazed all were. Guard of hardest metal. Guilds in gold, platinum, and silver. A crown of gems. Such beauty incredible, wept from me tears did. To a hall we took it, on a rack we did place it, and to this day, dust it does battle.”

Aaro paused, wished he had brought a keg with him, “Earth Daughter, weapons that be great, named they should be. Strength and fortunes good, bestowed to those misfortuned named champion. Great passion crafts great weapons, this sword, beyond great it is. Thus, a name to match required is. For in name, destiny you do forge. Now, to it, take you I will. Once seen, seek Earth Mother, guidance ask her for.”