The Hammer of Fire (16 page)

“I don’t believe it,” said Brogus narrowing
his eyes as he stopped walking and falling a few paces behind
Robel.

“It doesn’t matter what you believe,” said
the dark-cloaked man with a shrug of his shoulders. His pace did
not diminish. “You will see soon enough, and, as I said, our window
of opportunity is not wide. The link to the realms outside their
immediate influence is somewhat … shaky.”

Soon enough they reached the low outskirts of
even the small forts that marked the very edge of the military
encampments and now tall pine trees and spongy ground cover made up
most of the terrain. To their right the glistening blue of the bay
was just visible between hills now and again while behind them the
smoke of the city hung in a low haze. “It’s just a few more minutes
to the site,” said Robel.

“I’m not sure I like the idea of being ported
from one side of the continent to the other with magic,” said Petra
to Milli, and the Halfling girl nodded her head. “I’m still trying
to figure out how we are going to be sent to the south if these
portals only work between one and the other and Corancil hasn’t
built any down there yet.”

“That’s a good question!” chimed in Brogus
who picked up the conversation.

“Here we are,” said Robel as they rounded a
slight bend and suddenly the portal appeared.

Thirty or forty rectangular stones stood on a
cleared patch of ground in a rough circle around a central rock.
The stones shone unblemished white in the sunshine and almost
blinded their vision even in the faded light of a winter morning in
the northern realm. Each stone, except the central monolith, looked
exactly like the other so much so that there was a strange illusion
of looking in some sort of mirror in a mirror.

“By Davim,” said Brogus and pulled up short
as he stared at the circle.

“What sort of stone is that?” said Dol and
immediately moved forward toward the nearest of the monoliths.

“White marble,” said Robel as he moved
forward with the tall dwarf. “Is that an apple in your hair?”

“No,” said Dol and brushed away the hand that
moved towards his head. Within a stride he stood at the first of
the stones and ran his hand up and down its surface with gentle
motions.

“It is an apple,” said the black cloaked man
and started to reach towards Dol again but the tall dwarf turned
and gazed at him with, not hatred or anger, but simply with such a
look of unadulterated menace that Robel put his hand back down.
“Not that it matters, just a curiosity.”

“What sort of masonry could produce this,”
said Brogus coming up to Dol and likewise running his palm over the
smooth surface of the white stone.

“Magic,” said Dol in a low voice. “Very, very
powerful magic.”

“But how?” said Brogus. “We dwarves are the
finest workers of stone and I’ve never see the like of this in …
our home.”

Dol shook his head and leaned close to smell
the stone, “I don’t know. But it’s this Corancil that’s doing it.”
Milli joined the two dwarves at the stone while Petra slowly
followed Robel towards the center of the circle. Dol continued, “If
he’s got the power to make these then maybe he has the power to
unite the northern realm. Power to conquer the world.”

“Power beyond anything I’ve ever seen,” said
Brogus his hand still gently touching the white marble.

“Maybe we should find out as much about this
Black Rider as possible,” said Milli as her eyes took a faraway
look for a moment. “Just to play it safe in case we ever do get
back to Corancil. Or his messenger.”

Brogus nodded his head and Dol did as well
although both dwarves seemed loathe to remove their hands from the
surface of the stone. They touched it as a mother might caress her
newborn infant.

“It hasn’t even been fully ensorcelled,” said
Robel with a tight smile as he watched them from his position at
the center of the circle. “You have no idea the trouble it took to
manufacturer those stones.”

“Yes, yes I do,” said Dol and finally turned
away from the monolith and walked over to the center of the circle.
The orange-gray rock in the middle of the white stones stood in
stark contrast to those around it, for it was raw, unshaped,
unpolished, with hematite veins thick across its surface. Energy
seemed to crackle on its surface as they approached and everyone
felt the hairs on their hands and necks stand on end.

“Put your hand on the rock,” said Robel,
“time is short.”

The four looked at each other but then did as
instructed. The mage raised his arms and smiled broadly:

Dark stone, white light

Bring forth the calls of night

Fly east, fly west, fly left, fly right

My mind’s eye your final flight

Go now, with speed, do not …

Suddenly the voice of the wizard stopped and
a wall of heat and light engulfed them.

Five horsemen guided their lean steeds over
the scrub desert and bantered among themselves. The sun hung
overhead like a massive lantern and the heat blasted down on the
desert floor so that even the horses, with their heat toughened
hooves, had to keep moving over the hot dirt.

“By the Sands of Time I hate these daytime
patrols,” said the tallest of the warriors who wore a curved sword
at his side and a wide-brimmed straw hat on his head.

“Why do we have to do it?” said the rider to
his left who wore similar headgear and rode a well-muscled gray
steed with steamy sweat evident on its flank. “Who did you anger in
the tribal council, Sufeka?”

“I called the chieftain a son of a camel
herder,” said the first man with a laugh as he mopped the sweat off
his brow with a cloth already soaked so through that it was
difficult to tell whether it helped or hurt the situation.

“The punishment for that is far worse than a
noon patrol,” said the second man with a laugh. “But you’ve always
had the balls of a stallion, Sufeka.”

The leader of the patrol nodded his head and
turned his horse deeper towards a series of small hills to their
right.

“Why are we out this far anyway?” said a
third member of the group of riders.

“Those foul Blackriders are on the move of
late,” said the leader and spat into the dirt and sand mixture.
“Their darkling king hopes to unite the nomads into a single force.
We of the Farrider clan are the natural leaders of the nomads, not
those degenerate half-breeds.”

“The chieftain thinks they plan some sort of
daylight raid? Their darkling king is only capable of moonlight
attacks,” said the second nomad with a great guffaw. “As long as he
cannot bear the light of Ras then we have nothing to fear from the
Black Horsemen.”

“Let them bring the full force of their might
against the Farriders. Our people have always defeated the
Blackriders and we always shall. We control the biggest territory
and we always shall. I welcome the chance to kill them,” he said
this last as he pulled out his curved sword with a swift motion and
leaned forward in the saddle. “Death to the Black Horsemen, death
to Ming, death to the darklings!” he shouted and brandished his
sword which reflected the blinding sunlight far onto the horizon.
The others watched him with smiles on their faces as they entered
the low hilly region and were taken by surprise by the weak voice
that came from almost at their feet. It said something in a foreign
language that none of the riders understood but that startled them
none-the-less.

The leader’s horse reared high, but he pulled
the reins so that it wheeled to face the voice which came from a
low cave in the hillside. He shouted towards the sound, “Who dares
invade the territories of the Farriders!”

Brogus stared up at the shadowy figure,
silhouetted by the sun, blinked his eyes lazily, and reached
forward with a hand, “We are travelers, lost, without water. Can
you help us?”

Sufeka laughed, “Invaders from the northern
realm,” he shouted to his companions although he did not understand
the words of the dwarf. “Let us help them die quickly rather than
of thirst.” He made a little motion with his hand which prompted
the four other horsemen to pull out their weapons, dismount, and
take up position around the little cave entrance.

Brogus pulled out his little hand axe and
straightened to his full height, still far shorter than the rangy
nomads. His face was badly sunburned and his lips were peeled into
little flayed and scabby strands, “Do your worst then.”

The nomads looked at the sunburnt dwarf and
smiled as they closed in, “The sun is intense in the desert,” said
one of them, “you need to cover yourself properly. Have you not
visited our lands before?”

“Die,” came the girlish voice of Milli
followed directly by a dagger that plunged into the eye of the
second nomad who collapsed to the ground in a silent heap.

The four remaining warriors darted forward at
Brogus but the dwarf whipped his tall, steel shield in front of him
and deflected two strikes as he backed into the little hidden
cavern. The nomads followed into the darkness which left them blind
for the moment, and Dol took this opportunity to come at them with
the Hammer of Fire. One of the warriors raised his light wooden
shield as he sensed the motion but the heavy steel head smashed
through it as though it weren’t there at all and pulverized two
ribs, pushing one of them into the nomad’s lung. The three
remaining warriors spun towards Dol and lunged at the shape; Dol
deflected one sword tip but the other got through the defenses only
to be turned aside by his heavy dwarf-made chain shirt.

Brogus used the moment to neatly cleave the
head off one of the remaining warriors and the leader, almost blind
in the cave, called out, “Retreat, back to the horses,” and dashed
backwards out of the cave. His surviving companion tried to follow
but Milli darted out, dashed under his feet, and his heel hit her
side as he backed away and sent him tumbling. She spun around and
neatly slid her dagger through his ribs and into his heart. He died
without making a further sound.

Dol walked carefully to the edge of the cave,
gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the bright light, and then
emerged in time to see Sufeka, the last of the warriors, mounting
his horse and wheeling it to charge. “Death to invaders, for the
Farrider clan, for the nomads, death!” and then he charged at Dol
his horse almost leaping forward to close the gap between them
instantly. His scimitar came down in a slashing blow but Dol ducked
underneath it and brought the hammer through in a rising strike
against the horse’s stomach as it rushed past.

Sufeka wheeled the beast but it screamed and
spun against his movement which sent him spinning out of the saddle
and onto the ground where his head hit the hardpan with a stunning
crack.

By the time the nomad regained his
equilibrium, Dol stood over him with the hammer poised in both
hands ready to deliver a killing blow. “Take us to the Black
Rider.”

The nomad glared up from the sand and spat
out a wad of blood, “I do not understand your foul northern tongue,
but I assume you want me to do something for you in order to ensure
that I survive.”

Dol stared at him in total incomprehension
and his eyes burned with fire. Suddenly he raised his hammer to
bring it down on the head of the sneering nomad and only the
intervention of Brogus, who grabbed Dol by the arm to stop the
blow, prevented the attack.

“Dol,” said Milli. “What are you doing?”

“He cannot help us,” said Dol. “Why not get
rid of him before he brings down more of his kind upon us?”

“Dol,” repeated Milli. “We are not the sort
to murder in cold blood. Besides, if we can communicate with him
perhaps he can tell us where we are.”

“In the meantime,” said Petra emerging from
the back of the cave where she remained hidden during the fight,
“We now have five horses and an excellent supply of water.”

“Do you know how to ride a horse like that?”
said Brogus eyeing the muscled chargers that eyed them from nearby.
He took a step towards one of the beasts but it reared and lashed
out with a hoof. “They don’t look friendly.”

Sufeka laughed at the attempt to approach one
of the horses. “You’ll never ride the horse of a Farrider,
invader,” he said. “We train them too well.”

“I think he doesn’t like our chances of
taming the steeds,” said Milli with a glance at the nomad on the
ground. “If we can’t catch them then we can’t unload their
supplies.”

Petra produced something from inside one of
her pockets and began to hum a little tune as she quietly
approached the horses while looking in the opposite direction.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” started
Brogus as he reached out towards Petra.

Just a moment later the old woman was at the
lead horse, cooing gently, and whispering soft words in its ear as
she fed it something from the palm of her hand.

“Witch woman!” shouted Sufeka from the ground
and started to rise but Dol merely turned the hammer in his
direction and pointed it at him.

“This might work out,” said Milli as she
cautiously approached the mammoth horse and held out her hand.

“How are you so good with animals?” asked
Brogus, now wearing one of the floppy hats the nomads sported a few
moments before. “Here, I got their hats. We should all put them on.
I don’t know why we didn’t even bother to ask where we were
headed.”

Milli looked down at the ground as she
stroked the shoulder of the big horse, “That was my fault. If Petra
hadn’t brought water and food we’d have died of thirst days ago. As
it is we wouldn’t have made it more than another day or two and we
had no idea what direction to head.”

“We still don’t know where to go,” said
Brogus and looked at the man on the ground. A moment later all four
of the companions wore one of the floppy hats as they stared at the
prisoner.