The Covenant of The Forge

5

The left side of the tools.

Every Calnar past the age of first-crafting knew the meaning of that. From the old tales came many sayings, each with a wisdom of its own. One was, “If there are enemies, raise your hammer and see it in a mirror.”

The meaning was clear. In Thorin, though the finest of weapons were crafted there, few people owned swords and lances. Except for the finely made weapons carried by the guards, and the elaborate, exquisitely balanced blades carried by a few others, including the chieftain and the Ten, “weapons” were scarce. A sword was a clumsy, heavy thing, useless for any kind of work except fighting. For games and as a climbing tool a balanced javelin was far better than a lance, and bows and arrows were of no practical value in the delving of stone, the crafting of furniture and finery, the weaving of tapestries or the shaping of clay vessels.

Humans and others outside of Thorin often thought of the dwarves as being heavily armed, but that was only because most truly fine weaponry in the region came from Thorin. The best of blades, the finest arrowheads, the most valuable spearpoints and daggers, even the massive war machines that human realms coveted, all came from the foundries, forges, and shops of the dwarves of Thorin. They were a major part of the Calnar’s stock in trade, because there were always so many people so anxious to have them.

It was said, among humans and other races, that the best steel was Calnar steel. The fact was, in all the realms within sight of the Khalkists at least, Calnar steel was the only steel. People of many races could craft in bronze and tin, and some in iron, but in these lands only the dwarves made steel.

Even the plainest Calnar trade sword would bring fifty bushels of grain at Balladine, and a Calnar steel arrowhead was worth as much as a Calnar steel coin. Humans preferred the arrowheads to coins because they had an alternate use in a pinch.

Thus, the Calnar were weapon makers for a large part of the world as they knew it. Dwarven weaponry was everywhere — except in Thorin. Few dwarves owned so much as a short sword, or cared to. To the practical-minded dwarves, a thing that was neither useful nor decorative was hardly worth having.

So there were few weapons in Thorin — as those outside of Thorin knew weapons. But there were tools. It was the nature of the Calnar: tools were as natural to them as breathing. They cherished their tools, and used them constantly.

Thus, the old saying: If there are enemies, raise your hammer and see it in a mirror.

The only difference between a hammer for driving a chisel in stone or for clearing tunnels, and a war-hammer, was in how one looked at it. An axe was for felling timber, a maul for splitting rails or squaring stone, a sling for delivering small tools and materials from one subterranean level to another, and a javelin was for securing lift-lines in climbs. But a good axe could as easily cleave bone as wood, a maul could as readily smash a shield as drive a wedge. A sling could throw missiles as well as supplies, and a well-aimed javelin could be as deadly as any spear.

A helmet was to protect one’s head from falling stone in a delve. A shield was for clearing rubble and deflecting rock showers. Body armor — sometimes metal and sometimes leather — was for working in the foundries, where sparks could fly, and in the finishing shops where implements might be flung from grindstones and burnishing wheels. But these could have other uses as well.

Raise your hammer and see it in a mirror. Look to the left side of your tools. Be ready to stop work and fight. It was a thing that any dwarf understood. The difference between a tool and a weapon is in the mind of the user and in the circumstances of use.

Word had already spread to the crafters’ galleries by the time Handil the Drum arrived there, carrying the great, deep-throated vibrar with which he had begun the Call to Balladine. The mighty drum was his own invention — a steel-banded barrel of tapered and curved hardwood slats, capped at each head by tightly drawn buffalo-hide leather. Within were other “heads” of various materials, each pitched to capture and amplify the resonance of the membrane before it. Oval openings around the center of the barrel broadcast its thunder when either head was struck.

Played atop the Sentinels, Handil’s drum could be heard for miles and its echoes much farther. The Thunderer was not the biggest drum in Thorin, but it was by far the most powerful.

He carried it wrapped and muted now — as the drums always were when brought within the undermountain realm.

The sun-tunnel lighted concourse leading to the crafters’ galleries was crowded, as usual, with dwarves hurrying here and there on their various errands. Handil stepped aside to let a sled crew pass. Two great Calnar horses in harness hauled an eight-foot block of hewn granite from one of the new delves while a dozen sturdy Calnar armed with prybars and mallets worked the skids. When the crew was past, Handil went on, nodding to an acquaintance now and then. Sledges rang at a side tunnel where cart rails and tow-rings were being placed for a new cable-way leading up from the farming warrens. Across the concourse, hewers and reaves were at work, fitting massive timbers into newly cut stone to expand the weavers’ stalls.

The chieftain’s order to be ready for trouble had put worried frowns on many of the faces in the concourse but had not interrupted the rhythm of the place. As always, there were Calnar everywhere, doing all kinds of things, and like every public part of Thorin, the great way was a bustling, flowing turmoil of busy dwarves.

Handil slowed his pace as he neared the shops. Here the corridors were even more crowded than usual, and it seemed everyone was carrying various tools and items of armor. Lines had formed as people waited their turns to sharpen spikes, fit wrist straps onto hammers, repair buckles on chest-guards, or mount horns or spikes on their helmets. Handil grinned at sight of a gray-haired, aging woman dragging a long-handled heavy maul taller than herself. In her free hand she carried a foot-long, curved spike as sharp as a dagger. A glance at the maul’s head told him what she intended to do. She wanted the spike welded to the trailing face of the big splitter.

She was looking to the left side of her tools.

His grin deepened, strong teeth glinting behind his dark whiskers. The venerable mother probably had not the faintest idea of who might be an enemy, he thought, but gods help the enemy who got in the way of that tool.

“Handil? I thought I saw you here!” The voice from behind made his eyes light, and he turned. Wide-set, serious eyes looked up at him from a broad, pretty face framed by reddish hair. Jinna Rockreave smiled at him, raising a finely crafted net sling. “I need a wrist strap for this,” she said, glancing at his drum. “What are you after? Blades for your drum rings?”

“Hardly.” He shook his head. “That wouldn’t be very practical. I thought I might modify the mallets a bit, though.” He studied her, seeing the pleasure in her eyes at their meeting. It was like his own pleasure at seeing her. “It has been too many days since we were together, Jinna. The Call and everything … but I’ve missed you.”

“And I’ve missed you.” She nodded. “Things have been so hectic, lately, I was afraid we might not meet until our day of joining. I didn’t want to wait that long to see you.”

“Nor did I.” He was still gazing into her eyes. “I … well, I keep having troublesome dreams. Sometimes I wake up thinking we might never wed at all … that you might change your mind or something. You haven’t, have you? Changed your mind, I mean?”

“Not in a million years, Handil Coldblade,” she chuckled, then turned serious. “What is the weapon call about? Is there danger?”

“There could be,” he warned her. “Probably not, but my father is being cautious. Tolon and some of the elders are concerned. There are strange humans about who seem not to like us very much.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “Who can understand humans? It’s probably nothing, but with Balladine at hand, it’s as well to be prepared.”

“I suppose. Hurry, Handil. The line is moving.”

He looked around. A gap had opened in the line outside the shops, and dozens of people were looking at the two of them, some of them grinning openly. Many of the Calnar knew Handil Coldblade, and everyone knew of him. Handil the Drum was a famous person in Thorin, not so much for being the chieftain’s eldest son — everyone was somebody’s son — but for his magnificent drum and for other things he had invented, such as the turnable vanes which now were installed in most airshafts, allowing for pleasant temperatures in any season, and the winch-operated lift stages in the keep. Throughout Thorin, Handil the Drum was a celebrity.

Most also knew of the betrothal of Handil and Jinna Rockreave, pretty daughter of Calk Rockreave. Sight of the two young dwarves so obviously engrossed in each other was amusing to many of those waiting at the stalls.

The old woman with the splitting maul raised an eyebrow and said, “If you want to be in this line, then get a move on, or we’ll go around you.”

Handil glanced again at the big maul and the spikes, then stepped back. “Go ahead, mother. What you are doing looks far more useful than anything I had in mind.”

“I can see what you have in mind,” the woman said, glancing at Jinna Rockreave. “But the shops are hardly the place for it.”

Handil grinned, conceding, and turned away. “Come and walk with me, Jinna. We can see to our tools later.”

He was so absorbed in her that he didn’t see the rail-setter approaching, carrying heavy lengths of steel on his shoulder, until the workman turned and his burden collided with the forward end of the great, muted drum slung from Handil’s shoulder. The result was stunning, almost deafening. Even swathed, the Thunderer responded to the blow on its drawn head with a throb of sound that seemed to shake the very walls of Thorin. Here and there, little showers of dust and shards of stone fell from ceilings. People staggered, their hands going to their ears. A short distance away, timbers groaned and dwarves shouted curses as the massive, unsecured framing of the weavers’ stalls shifted in its footings.

Quickly, Handil swung the drum around, wrapping his arms around the center of it to muffle its resonance. The throb died to a rumbling echo, like distant thunder. Jinna was staring at him, wide-eyed, as were others all around.

The powerful drum-tone was followed by a moment of silence all along the concourse, then shouts and babbling as people hurried about, making sure no one was hurt and looking for structural damage in the stone walls. Apparently — and luckily — there was none. Still, Handil found a crowd of Calnar facing him as he redoubled the muting wraps on his drum.

“Someone other than the chieftain’s son would be up before the wardens for sounding a drum in Thorin,” a scowling carpenter snorted.

“Oh, back off, Hibal,” someone else said. “It was only an accident.”

“The kind of accident that could bring this concourse down upon us,” a rock-cutter said. “There are rules, you know!”

Handil faced them, level-eyed, and raised a hand. “Rules are rules,” he said, so that all could hear, “and no exceptions. You have my apology and my promise. I will report this to the wardens myself and take the penalty any would take.” He looked at the carpenter who had first objected. “Does that satisfy you, Hibal?”

For a moment, it seemed the carpenter might want to challenge. Hibal considered it, gazing at the wide shoulders of Handil, then shook his head. “Another time maybe. I have work to do.”

“Any time,” Handil assured him. “Whenever you like, and I’ll buy the ale afterward.”

Cale Greeneye had appeared from somewhere, inquisitive as always. The chieftain’s youngest son carried a long, wrapped parcel on his shoulder. As Handil turned away again, with Jinna, Cale fell into step alongside. “That was some noise you made, Brother,” he said. “If you were planning to put points on the vibrar, I don’t think you need to bother. That thing is weapon enough, just as it is.”

“I expect I’ll be hearing about that for a while,” Handil admitted dourly. He nodded at his brother’s parcel. “What have you there?”

“A sword,” Cale said. “That same sword that the man had. …” He glanced at Jinna, not certain whether she knew about the human who had died in Grand Gather.

“It’s all right.” Handil stowed his mallets in his belt and took Jinna Rockreave’s hand in his. “I’ll tell Jinna what has occurred. Where are you going?”

“I’m on my way to the guards’ hall to collect some armor and see about a horse. I’ll need …” He raised a brow, looking at his brother. “Oh, you don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“Willen is organizing the guards for close patrols, so I volunteered to lead a search westward, to see if we can find out what happened out there. …” Again he glanced at the puzzled face of Jinna Rockreave, then continued. “It was my idea. The escort will be made up of volunteers.”

“Anything for a journey, Little Brother?” Handil grinned. “Still, you might find something. What did Father say about this adventure?”

“What could he say? I was going, anyway. He just said to keep my wits about me.”

“Good advice, considering what the wardens have learned about the wild humans. It sounds like Golash and Chandera are full of strangers. Unfriendly strangers.”

“Well, those are the concern of Cullom Hammerstand’s agents. I plan a far search … clear to the Suncradles, or beyond if necessary. I’ve always wanted to see what’s out there, anyway.”

Cale’s face — a face just made for laughter, many said — turned serious. “I will miss the Balladine, Handil, and I may miss your wedding, too. So I have something here, for both of you.” He opened his shoulder pouch and drew forth a small bag of fine suede. With a shrug, he handed it to Jinna.

The girl opened it, looked inside, and turned wide eyes on her future brother-in-law. “Oh, Cale! They’re beautiful!” From the bag she withdrew a pair of jeweled rings, exquisitely interwoven bands of silver and copper, with gold traceries so fine that the eye could barely follow them. Each band was inset with a trio of cut diamonds.

“They’re elvish work.” Cale shrugged. “I’ve had them for years, thinking there might be a good use for them. I’d be honored if you and Handil would exchange them at your wedding. That way, it will be as though I were there to add my blessing to your union.”

They stopped beneath a sun-tunnel to look at the rings, and Handil felt his throat tighten. Cale Greeneye … Cale Cloudwalker … Cale who was so different from most Calnar that he might have had elven blood in his veins had such been possible. Handil had never understood his youngest brother, even for a moment. Cale was always full of surprises — just such surprises as this. At a loss for words, Handil the Drum placed a fond hand on his brother’s shoulder.

Jinna looked as though there were tears in her eyes. “Oh, Cale, of course we will. These are a wonderful gift! And you will be there with us.”

“It’s just a pair of rings.” Cale said, embarrassed. “No big thing. Just — well, just think about me if I don’t see you again before your time. I’ll think of both of you, too.”

Without another word, Cale turned and strode away, his wrapped sword over his shoulder. He had said his brief goodbyes — to Tolon and Tera, to his father, and now to Handil and his Jinna. He was anxious to be away, to put the familiar sights of Thorin behind him, and see what some of the distant places held.

He was certain that the sword he carried had belonged to Agate Coalglow, and they said the horse that had returned was Piquin — Sledge Two-Fires’ favorite mount. It seemed certain now that the western patrol was dead, killed by wild humans. Agate had been Cale’s friend, and Sledge Two-Fires was a dwarf he had admired. It seemed appropriate to Cale that he take with him something of them when he went to look for clues to their fate.

Clues, and a look at what lay beneath the Suncradles — and maybe what lay beyond.

*

It was evening when Cale Greeneye rode out from Thorin, mounted on the high back of Piquin and followed by six other young adventurers who had volunteered to go with him. The sun was setting beyond the Suncradles, and soft evening light lay on the valleys. But both visible moons were in the sky, and there was light enough for travel. The horses were fresh, and the trails open.

Cale looked back, just once, at the great outer wall of Thorin. “Thorin-Dwarfhome,” he whispered. “Thorin-Everbardin, keep my soul. Welcome this one home should I never return.”

Then he turned his eyes westward, where the last glow of day outlined the wavy peaks of the Suncradles. “Keep pace,” he called to his companions. “There is a lot of world to see out there, and no better time than the present.”

Eyes watched them all the way across the Valley of the Bone and out the Chandera Road — furtive, sullen human eyes, hidden in shadows all along a closing line which would soon be a human cordon around Thorin. Eyes watched, but no man lifted a hand. The seven armed and mounted dwarves were packed for travel, and they were going away. They didn’t matter. They would be not be here to interfere with what Grayfen planned for the citadel of the dwarves.