Hammer Don't Hurt Me

The axe is a signature weapon of the Dwarven folk, and the axecarls hefted their blades with gusto as I walked by. A couple had balls of iron that they use, I would presume, to simply batter their enemies to pulp.

"You flinch. Even one from the depths of Hades fears our steel."

"I'm not from Hades."

"Gehenna? The Abyss? Eye of Chaos?"

"South Central - Ah, nevermind. The name would mean little to you.

"Those are large swords."

"For small folk, you mean?"

"No, I didn't -"

"The tall peoples are like scarecrows. No strength to their bones. You don't need height when you've got a warrior's build."

I let him lead me on to the ranked spearmen. They seemed younger, perhaps those who hadn't won the honor of a larger blade. It's true, I suppose. Summoned, bound ... and, when I've accomplished my given task, free to go. So ironic to be given the work I've planned my life for, but in such an unexpected way. If I haven't already wrecked it beyond repair ... . Why are the very best stories of our lives the ones nobody would ever believe?

"Now take a look at these. A crossbow should never strap to your wrist. It's not a real weapon unless it can take your coiled guts and plant 'em a handsbreadth deep into the chest of the man behind you.

"You're no demon of war, are you?"

"No," I agreed, "I'm not." I'm probably the last person to ask about summoning demons, but even I could see some basic conflict in the idea of sending a demon to negotiate peace. I understand the ritual stones reacted about like a computer does when you ask it to divide by zero. The first time the Night Queen tried the summoning she didn't get a Demon of Peace, but a piece of demon, flopping around in the circle like a frog's leg in a light socket and spurting poison ichor over everyone.

The second time, she got me.

"They're -" surprise jarred the first half of the sentence out of my lips, but I bit off the word "pigs." I sensed it wasn't appropriate.

"Boars." He leered the word, as though showing off favored relatives. I suppressed the thought immediately.

"Low and stout. Give me one of these over a horse any day. First the powderlocks lay some panic into the enemy, then the steelhooves ride 'em down. Beautiful sight. You tell that elf-queen of yours about all these, you hear?"

"I'll tell her.

"Their clothes are different. Are these from another land?"

"Aye. Our cousins, the highlanders. They've promised a mighty host should it come to war.

"Our engines are the mightiest on any battlefield. No wall stands before us. We Dwarves have mastered the mighty magic of the black sand, the alchemists' Quickfire!

"Tell me you've seen it's like before, dark one."

I didn't. My uncle spent twenty six years in naval artillery and once got me a short tour when his ship was in San Diego harbor, but it didn't seem an appropriate thing to mention at the time.

"And here is one of the pinnacles of our engineering. This vessel mates the power of quickfire to the power of steam, the art of fortification to that of gear and shaft. And mastery of craft! No simple savage could pick up this weapon like a rock or club. That is Orumond, practiced thirty years at the steering helm. And Kolkrad, master of steam. And, there, Thogroft, master gunner, who can lay his stones true even while the ship rumbles across uneven ground.

"Are you a creature of craft, Demon?"

"Mmm." We approached the end of our route through the armed ranks. My heart was beating and my stomach cinching closed. "Only an apprentice, I'm afraid."

I almost missed the introductions. At least, I could never have recalled the chains of titles and honorifics afterward. Ahnmund, hammerpriest. Nolin, wizard and alchemist. Garin and Goin, masters of the smiths. Barin, squire and herald. And then - I stood before the Lord Under the Mountain, the Pillar of the Deephalls and Sunderer of Nations. The Great Hammer himself.