The Hammer of Fire (18 page)

“We don’t want to kill them,” said Milli
looking at the burly dwarf. “They might know the Black
Horseman.”

“They might be violent, like the first
group,” said Brogus and watched as Dol slipped back on his armor
and fingered the hammer at his side. “We don’t want to meet them
out in the open with those horses. We wouldn’t stand a chance. We
should lure them here to the cave like before.”

“They’ll not pass close enough,” said Petra
judging their movement and direction with a practiced eye.

“If we flag them down then we lose the
element of surprise,” said Brogus with a look back towards his axe
again.

“If we don’t then we’re back to wandering in
the desert running out of food and water,” said Milli tapping her
foot on the rocky ground.

“She,” said Brogus with a nod at Petra, “can
find us plenty of food and the map shows where the water is.”

“So you propose to wander around in the
desert for the rest of our lives,” said Milli with a shake of her
head. “Think Brogus. We have to contact someone and those riders
are the best option we have.”

“You’re smarter than me, Milli,” said Brogus
with a frown. “If you think that’s what we should do, then let’s do
it.”

“Dol?” said Milli with a look back to the
dwarf who, by now, stood fully armored and ready for battle.

He shrugged, “Either way. I have my
mission.”

Milli turned away with a snort. “He’s going
to be no help at all unless we get in a fight. I say we wave to the
riders. Petra?”

The witch woman gauged the distance of the
riders to their location, put her hand to her chin, and eventually
nodded her head, “I think you’re right Milli. The other choice is
to wander endlessly and if we’re in another tribe’s territory this
map is probably not all that useful.”

“Go ahead, Brogus,” said Milli and turned to
face the dwarf warrior.

“Should I put on my gear first?” he asked
with another longing look back to the cave.

“It’ll take them some time to get here,” said
Milli looking back and forth to the riders and Brogus. “Wave them
down and then gear up.”

Brogus moved passed Milli to the front of the
little cave and began to wave his arms up and down although for
some time it proved impossible to tell if the riders noted or not.
After a bit of this, Milli gave him a long white cloak, another
item stolen from the first band of nomads, to wave. It was
surprisingly lightweight for its strength and she was eager to know
the secrets to its weave.

“My arms are tired,” said Brogus after long
minutes of waving.

“They see us,” said Petra. Despite her age,
her eyes were as sharp as a young girl’s and well experienced at
judging distances and objects. “They’ve broken into two groups. One
continues in the same direction and the second heads towards
us.”

“That’s it then,” said Brogus and stopped
waving his arms and rushed back into the cave to put on his armor
and grab his weapon. “Dol, are you ready?”

Dol nodded his head and smiled as he felt the
heat of the hammer handle spread through his hands.

Petra watched as the little clouds of dust
coalesced into shapes, then to a group of riders, and finally into
individual horsemen. Their gear appeared similar to the first group
although this band had a short banner that snapped in the stiff
breeze brought on by the speed of their horses. The dust obscured
her vision but an occasional glimpse convinced the witchy woman
that it depicted a black horse on a sandy background. In the end
she badly misjudged the tremendous speed of the horses by their
apparently slow approach because before she fully realized it they
were suddenly close by and the pounding sound of their hoof beats
sounded like thunder.

All of the horses suddenly pulled up twenty
yards short of the little cave although neither Petra nor Milli saw
anyone give any sort of signal to indicate a halt. One horse, a
spirited animal, gray in color with black eyes, broke off from the
group and headed towards them. It was guided by a rider cloaked in
the lightweight, yet sturdy material they now wore themselves. A
thin piece of cloth, apparently the same material, covered his
nose, mouth, and chin, although his piercing blue eye were easily
apparent as he looked them over. He said something in a strange
language and Milli held up her hand in what she hoped might appear
a peaceful gesture.

The rider spoke again and his hand went to a
curved blade at his side.

“We are strangers and do not speak your
language,” said Milli, her high-pitched Halfling voice sounding
clear and crisp in the hot desert air. “We come to see the Black
Rider.”

The man looked down from atop his tremendous
horse. The thing almost seemed to breathe fire to Milli and she
could hardly give credence to the idea that this was a similar
species to the mule she rode not so long ago. It was heavily
muscled in the chest but lean in the flanks with long legs and a
regal, aloof look in its eyes. The man aboard it said something in
that strange language and then pulled off the cloth that covered
his face.

He stared at the pretty Halfling girl for
long seconds as neither of the two averted their gaze. Then he
suddenly smiled with shining, white teeth and laughed. He leaned
back on his mount and shouted something to one of the other riders
who immediately dismounted and began to rummage under his cloak as
he walked over.

The newcomer bobbed his head and similarly
pulled the cloth from his face and also removed the wide brimmed
hat from his head which proved to be bald as an egg. Milli noted he
was rather short and a bit round around the middle although hardly
fat. He said something to the girl and although his tone was
pleasant she could still not understand him. Eventually he pulled a
little silver amulet out from one of the many compartments
apparently hidden in the cloak and slipped it over his head, “Can
you understand me now?”

“Yes, yes I can!” said Milli with a bright
smile and actually jumped up and down a few times. “Can you
understand me?”

The nomad nodded his head, “Indeed I can,
little girl. Is this your daughter?” he said with a look at
Petra.

The old woman threw back her head and laughed
aloud, “You’ve never seen a Halfling before?”

The chubby man jerked his head back and
opened his eyes wide. Then he turned at looked at Milli more
closely. “Why, I’m terribly sorry, young lady. We do not have many
of your race here in the Sands but I know they live in Tanta by the
Sea. Will you accept my apology?”

Milli folder her arms across her chest and
frowned, “I suppose.”

“Please forgive my rudeness but we were quite
surprised to see such as you here in the southern territory. I am
Manetho, can I offer you and your friends sweets? Coffee or tea?”
he said and looked back to the horsemen behind him. “These visitors
are now guests of the Black Horsemen. Prepare for a midday
supper.”

With these words the nomads immediately
dismounted and began to unpack all manner of equipment from their
steeds. From one little bag came long sticks, somehow collapsed
upon one another that unfolded into supports for a heavy piece of
material that was set as a barrier to keep the sand out. Within in
a few more seconds they set up a little table with cushions and
before Milli could even protest, Manetho took her by the arm and
led her to the makeshift shelter. “You look touched by Ras,” he
said and pointed to her sunburned skin. “We have a salve that will
help with that although I do not carry a large quantity of it.”

“Wait a moment,” interrupted Milli and turned
back to the cave. “There are two more of us in the cave. Warriors.
We feared you might attack as did the others.”

“Farriders?” said Manetho with a little
smile.

“I’m sorry?” said Milli shaking her head.

“Have you not heard of the Farrider nomads?”
said Manetho. “You wear their cloaks and symbols. They are the
sworn enemy of the Black Horsemen. We are to kill them on site. It
is lucky we recognized that you were foreigners or we would have
slain you.”

“The Farriders tried that,” said Milli. “But,
I have your word that we are safe in your care? My companions will
not want to exit the cave without such assurances.”

“You are not familiar with the ways of the
nomads of the Sands then,” said Manetho. “I have declared you my
guests and no harm will come to you if I can prevent it.”

Milli looked at the chubby man for a moment
and saw his plain smile and heard the earnest tone in his voice, “I
trust you, Manetho. I am Milli. This is Petra and Dol and Brogus
wait in the cave. I will get them.”

“You have strange names, Milli,” he said
rolling the word in his mouth but doing a good job of
pronunciation. “Dol … Brogus. They do not roll easily from the
tongue. Where are you from?”

Petra looked at the nomad for a moment, “I’m
from the northern lands near Das’von. We met while traveling in the
region and I think they are also from that area although I’m not
completely certain.”

“I know of Das’von,” said Manetho in a
suddenly quiet tone as the nomads around him also stopped their
work and looked at the two. “There are rumors of that great city
even here in the Sands. I have declared you guests but I must warn
you that such an affiliation might be sorely looked upon by my
brothers.”

“We are not representatives of Das’von,” said
Petra although the sound of the city’s name again caused the nomads
to glance at the duo and murmur amongst themselves. “We have come
seeking a region of five volcanoes. We are on a quest.”

“Volcanoes?” said Manetho with a scratch of
his chin. “There are no volcanoes in this area although the green
lands south of here, Shandoria, are rife with them according to
tradesmen. I do not know of an area with five but we can consult
the traders and they might be able to help you find this
place.”

At that moment Dol, Brogus, and Milli emerged
from the cave. The two dwarves were still in full armor and carried
their weapons at the ready while Milli smiled broadly and waved at
Manetho, “They are a bit nervous. I don’t want anyone to get the
wrong idea.”

“Warriors of the Temin,” said Manetho at the
sight of the two dwarves.

Dol and Brogus looked at one another but said
nothing.

“Are you not from the grand mountain Temin
where your kind resides on our western border?” asked Manetho.

Dol shook his head and Brogus replied, “No,
we are from the north.”

“Ahh,” said Manetho with a shake of his head.
“The only dwarves around here are those of Temin, the Kingdom of
the Mountain. Nevertheless, you are welcome in our camp. I am
Manetho and we are your hosts. Milli here has told me you are on a
quest for the volcanic lands to the south. We might be able to
direct you there. And, we owe you a gratitude for slaying
Farriders. It was your axe and hammer that achieved this I
assume?”

“And my knife,” said Milli pulling out a
little dagger and smiling.

“The women of your land fight as well?” said
Manetho. “This is good. Our woman fight alongside the men and you
will soon see that our little company has two of fair sex,” he
indicated with a gesture towards the nomads who continued to set up
the camp.

Milli looked closely and did see two smaller
figures among them and the way they moved beneath the strange
material did seem more feminine. “We slew four of the Farriders but
allowed one to go free after we captured him. We were not well
equipped to handle prisoners.”

“Alas,” said Manetho with a shake of his head
and a little frown. “We sell prisoners to the Golden Worm for a
high price.”

“The Golden Worm?” said Brogus, suddenly
interrupting the conversation as he came over and hooked his axe to
his belt.

“Come,” said the chubby nomad as he looked
over to the now finished campsite. The screen blocked off the
intensity of the noonday sun but allowed through ample light to see
a flat table, resting on the ground and somehow pieced together
like a puzzle, soft cushions for seats, a dozen little bowls filled
with strange fruits and vegetables that Milli did not recognize,
and even little glasses with a milky liquid inside. “Come, eat,
drink. Then we will discuss other matters.”

Manetho introduced the four other nomads to
the group, two men and two women, but Milli quickly lost track of
their names and the fact that only the chubby wizard with his
strange amulet understood them and only his words had any meaning
to them, quickly forced him to become the center of the impromptu
little feast. Milli found that she enjoyed much of the food, while
Petra spent a great deal of time watching the cooking methods of
the desert nomads and seemed to manage some level of communication
as she learned.

The eating, drinking, and small talk went on
at a leisurely pace and soon the high noon sun began to descend
which brought out lengthening shadows but little in the way of
relief from the heat. Manetho gave her a vial of strange smelling
solution that she rubbed onto her sunburned face while Dol, Petra,
and Brogus did the same. The little amount barely sufficed but
Milli did feel an easing to the burning sensation, although,
perhaps it was merely her imagination.

Eventually the nomads began to pack up the
camp, leaving the screen and seating cushions for last and only
then did Manetho broach the subject of the Black Rider and Das’von.
“You are from Das’von,” he said to them although he looked
carefully at Dol and Brogus as he used the name of the great city.
His round face seemed suddenly sharper and his blue eyes
narrowed.

“No,” said Brogus. “We are from a citadel not
too far away from the city named Helmhigh.” This was the name the
dwarf caravans always used when dealing with the other races to
avoid the mention of their true home.