It is the 21st of Malachite, year 257.The sun had rose a little extra early today, feeling at the height of its power now that it was midsummer. It yawned lazily and stretched its rays down to the Peak of Fire, but as usual it was not able to breach the thick smoke that rose from the summit. "Pah", said the sun, and decided to try again tomorrow, but Taupe, who was beneath the smoke, did not much care, for she spent all her waking hours basking in Armok's warm glow.
Today she was in a good mood, as she had been for the past six months. Although their mining explorations had turned out to yield nothing but endless amounts of sphalerite, she had not wanted for weapons-grade metal in a long while. After Mörul had left them his entire stock, Iamblichos and Peregar had meticulously gone through all of it and sifted out every item made of bronze or tin (which Iamblichos turned into more bronze), and of course iron. Priceless artifacts, invaluable craftsdwarfship, or simply an old, battered crossbow, it mattered not. Peregar pried out the jewelry, Iamblichos hacked off any ornaments, into the hungry furnace it went and out came rows of shining ingots. Taupe loved working with bronze, both the solidity and the color of it, a fair step up from the flimsy copper whose only virtue was its abundance. She had smithed most of the bronze into spears, swords and axes for the military officers, and Kadôl, who had a flair for armorcrafting, had fashioned the rest into a brand new breastplate for Commander Wallace. Iamblichos had asked Peregar to return with his old one, which seemed to be more tarnish than metal and would serve them better melted down than passed on to a recruit, but unfortunately she had, in her own words, "lost it in a bin somewhere" along the way. Taupe shook her head. That Peregar. Good at her job, and quite handy with jewelry as well, but a complete scatterbrain. How does one lose an entire breastplate?
She put her hammer down, and looked over at the furnaces. The bronze was nearly used up, and tomorrow they would start on the iron. Most of the ferrous items from their bargain had been toys and tools, an ill fitting use of such a prized metal. Bronze was well and good, but iron, now that was the real deal. And every day, her thoughts wandered back to that night when they had forged the Axe. Red-hot steel ingot upon the cold steel anvil, it had been her dream come true. If only she had kept her wits about her and asked Mörul to bring more steel when he returned. Oh well, one could always hope. She reached for her hammer again, and felt something lock her hand in a painful vicegrip.
Than402 was utterly nauseous. He understood why the sun patrols (or "sick patrols" as the lower-ranking officers now called them) were necessary, but that did not make them any more pleasant. "Ugh," he gulped, as his breakfast came up for a revisit. "Tasted better going down." Burnie gave him a green-faced look of sympathy and disappeared into the closest bayberry bush. Wallace looked as if the only thing that kept him standing erect was his armor, and Dwarobaki was leaning heavily on his new bronze spear. Burnie, its previous owner, had retired as a speardwarf as soon as he had laid his hands on the Axe. He now fully dedicated himself to its mastery whenever he was on duty, and Burnie was always on duty. When he wasn't retching in the bushes, of course. Than402 wasn't much of an axedwarf himself, he preferred the precision and penetration depth that his trusty copper pick provided, but nonetheless he had been in awe at the mighty steel weapon's edge and heft. Burnie was no bruiser, his strength lay in technique and agility, but he had cloven one of their training dummies in half with one swing. Than402 trotted onwards, determined to get this patrol over and done with.
An hour later the squad had returned to the wonderful damp and darkness of the tunnel, and were about to enter the barracks. "Sir," said Than402 to Wallace, "I'd like to head up to the Glow for a minute. The smoke helps with the sickness."
"Granted," replied the commander, still quite pale himself. "But only for a minute, you need to be back in time for the shield demonstration." One could not fault Ilrom Ziril for their military's training regimen, which served, much like their furnaces, to separate the metal from the slag. Than402 hurried down the tunnel towards the Glow, and as he rounded the corner he instinctively dodged a flying glob of lava, which singed his hair. In the tunnel between him and the drawbridge was a bizarre, crab-like creature, seemingly made of living, molten rock. Further ahead he could see Taupe lying on the floor of the platform, clutching her bruised hand with a fearful expression. The creature clacked its claws menacingly and moved towards Than402, and he heard a similar noise behind him, where a pile of rock had suddenly started moving.
Without thinking he charged at the creature in front of him, skilfully dodging another lava bolt, and sunk his pick deep into its shell. It looked sturdier than it was, and its owner made a screeching noise as the miner dug for ore in its innards. The pick had lodged firmly in the wound, and he had to pull it out with both hands. "Look out!" cried Taupe as a third crab climbed onto the drawbridge and spat at Than402. He dodged, but too late. The lava struck his right hand, and he screamed in pain as it caught on fire, filling the tunnel with acrid smoke. "OH NO YOU DON'T!" sounded an angry voice from further back in the tunnel, followed by a satisfying "splatch", which is the sort of noise that a magma crab makes when losing an argument against a silver warhammer.
Than402 managed to extinguish his burning hand in his beard, and now he swung his pick left-handed, using the techniques Beirus had taught him to hew the remaining crab into sizzling, portion-sized chunks.
"Thank you," said Taupe as the champions approached her, keeping a cautious eye on the lava in case more of its denizens were to show up. "Are you all right?" asked Than402, hiding his extreme pain behind a stoic expression. She brushed herself off and replied: "Yeah... Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little shook up. What WERE those things? They just came out of the lava!"
"I don't know," said Wallace. "But I have a feeling there's more of them down there. I'll talk to Elagn and have her set up some cage traps around the edges of the platform, but right now I need to get back to the recruits. Than402, you head over to the hospital immediately and have Lolor look at that hand." He turned around to leave, and added over his shoulder: "Good work, officer."
Taupe looked at her rescuer's hand. It had already begun to swell, and was burnt black where the lava had struck it. "That looks like it hurts."
"Yeah, it's not great," Than402 managed to say nonchalantly, instead of rolling around on the floor and screaming. "I'd better get to the hospital."
"Wait! I have something for you, before you go." She went over to the furnaces and grabbed the last item that was to be melted down. It was a wonderfully crafted, solid bronze pick. "As a thanks for saving me... Magma Miner."
He took the weapon and weighed it in his good hand. "Anytime... Bronze Girl."
Elagn furrowed her brow. "Magma crabs?"
"That's what they looked like," said Wallace. "Like they were made out of molten rock. I don't think that's what they actually were, or my hammer would have melted, but they spat out lava like it was tobacco juice." He spat on the floor to demonstrate, and Elagn groaned. "Well, I'll get working on some traps. But I don't know if zinc cages will hold them. If they can spit lava we need something like, I don't know, iron cages." She looked over at Vucar, an officer who had picked an iron mail shirt out of Mörul's haul and hadn't taken it off since, but she dropped her next suggestion when she saw Wallace's suspicious face. These soldiers really were picky about their gear.
"What's this I hear about magma crabs?" asked Magnus, who had emerged from her office in a desperate attempt to get away from Goden ("I must have an armor rack!"). "Has Taupe been drinking out of the water trough again?"
"Oh, they're real enough," said Wallace. "Nearly burned the hand off one of my officers. We should pave that whole crater over if you ask me. Who knows what else is down there?" Magnus looked as if he had hit her. He sighed. "I'm joking, of course."
"Well, it's not good to have open access to the Glow with those things lurking about, I agree on that," said Magnus. "But Elagn, remember the project we've been talking about? Wouldn't that solve the problem altogether?" Elagn nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. Yeah, it would!"
"What project?" asked Wallace. Magnus winked at him. "You'll see. We'll announce it tonight, in the dining hall. Bring the soldiers down there at sunset, they'll want to hear it as well." Wallace decided not to push the question any further, although he did hate surprises. They always got in the way of even the best laid military plans.
Meanwhile, Sibrek was out in the woods, doing his job. He had spent the last hour tracking a wild boar sow, staying downwind so as not to alert it. Now he had caught up with his prey and could see it clearly up ahead, sniffing for tubers under a large ash tree. He began moving quietly and patiently towards it with the controlled motions of a professional hunter, and as soon as he came within range he lifted his crossbow and took aim. "KILL PIGGY!" he shouted in glee as the heavy silver bolt pierced the animal's skull and ended its life, designating it for the kitchen. He approached the kill and put his backpack on the ground next to it, preparing to tie up its legs for the walk home. A rancid smell filled his nostrils, and he winced. They always soiled themselves in their last moments, such was the nature of death, but he knew in an instant that this was not pigshit. This smell was so pungent and rotten, so indescribably foul that it made him gag. The wind was now blowing from the north, and when he turned to face it the source of the stench became apparent. Between the trees in front of him stood a ragtag squad of goblin warriors, heavily muscled and heavily armed. Sibrek's trained hands had found another bolt in his quiver and cocked the crossbow before he could even think. Again he took aim, and again the bolt found its home in his target's skull. The victim, a black-skinned axegoblin, moaned and raised its hand to its forehead. It pulled out the bolt, along with chunks of decayed brain matter, and dropped it on the ground. The goblins began moving forwards. Sibrek ran, and they descended upon the boar carcass, its blood glistening darkly in the sunlight that filtered through the trees.
"Friends! Fellow dwarves, new and old residents of Ilrom Ziril, thank you all for coming." Magnus had got up from her chair at the end of the new longtable in the dining hall, and was now speaking to the entire fortress, which had gathered there for the event. "I have something important to tell you all. It's the reason why we're all here, and still alive. Yes, we have all worked tirelessly to make this fortress a good and safe home, and every one of us," she glanced at Goden, who was in the middle of devouring a wild boar roast and could not care less, "every one of us is doing their part for the benefit of the community."
She cleared her throat, and continued. "However, there is another one to thank for all of our fortune. Some of us may not know it, and others, myself included, seem to have forgot lately, but the one who watches over us all, and keeps us safe from the dark forces all around us - is Armok." A few of the oldest dwarves nodded. "Armok is the one who we should thank the most. He brought us here through various means, out of our misery and pain, and into his warm embrace in the Glow. It was in his honor that we first settled the Peak, but somewhere along the way it seems we left him behind, blinded by our wealth and security. The platform in the Glow was not just meant to be a metalworks. We originally intended it to be the base of a great tower, a monument dedicated to Armok, and this!" she raised her woodcutter's axe into the air, "this we have put off for far too long! That is why, starting tomorrow, we will begin constructing that tower. We will build it tall and strong, and it will house a glorious temple at the top, where we will do him the praise he deserves! A stream of lava will flow from its walls, and our enemies will look at it and tremble! Ilrom Ziril, are you with me? Will we continue to spend our days growing fat and lazy, or will we pour all of our effort into this one project, for Armok?"
All of the dwarves except one slammed their mugs down simultaneously, rose from their chairs and shouted "FOR ARMOK!!!" Neblime stepped onto the table, kicked Goden's meal into his lap and yelled "Bring me the stone! We need more blocks!" Elagn swung her compass around like a flail and shouted "Someone build a glassworks! We need pumps for the lava!" Magnus raised her voice again. "Soon! Everyone will have their hands full by tomorrow night, I promise, but before we begin our work there is one thing we must do. Peregar, do you want to continue?" The noise died down and the dwarves found their seats again. Peregar began to speak.
"Well, I got the idea when I was looking through the trading depot, to see if there were any more items that we could melt down. I noticed there were these barrels standing in the corner, and I was thirsty, so I opened one of them, but it turns out they were full of blood! And I thought, wouldn't that be a nice gift for Armok? So I talked to Magnus, and she told me about the tower we're going to build, and we decided that before we start we should prepare a proper sacrifice to him! I've written a song..."
She was interrupted by a long, resounding horn blow. It was the giant brass horn that had been installed at the tunnel entrance, which they blew whenever the gates were to be opened. One blow for returning hunters and gatherers, two blows for caravans. "It's Sibrek!" said Wallace. "He's back from the hunt. Someone go up and let him in." One of the marksdwarves made for the stairwell. Then the horn blew again.
"Traders?" said Skaia. "But it's summer! Oooh, maybe they're humans! I'll go and make a pot roast." She got up from her chair, and the horn sounded a third time. No one had heard the horn blow thrice before. It was only ever to be done in a situation where all of the dwarves, every dwarf except the military, must barricade themselves in the dining hall.
"To the gates!" commanded Wallace, and the soldiers rushed up the stairwell. The civilian dwarves remained at their tables, and the only voice that could be heard was Goden's, who jumped around and bawled about his cloak which was now covered in boar fat. Then one of the peons, Zuglar, began screaming "GABBRO! I must have gabbro!" He stormed off towards the workshops. "First a siege, now another moody dwarf," mumbled Neblime. "Our god works in mysterious ways."
Sibrek was panting, and his eyes were mad with fear. "It's goblins!" he cried. "But they're... dead!" Wallace frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. During the screening process for the new recruits he had found out that Sibrek was a complete coward, and had excluded him from the marksdwarves for precisely that reason. "Dead goblins are good goblins," he said. "That's not what we have the horn for!"
"No, you don't understand," said Sibrek and laughed hysterically. "They're walking, but they're dead! I shot one in the head and he just pulled out the bolt and came at me! And now they're here! I saw them coming out of the edge of the woods when I blew the horn!"
Wallace's eyes went wide. Ilrom Ziril's military was more than a match for any goblin marauders, but he knew the tale of what had happened when an entire battalion of the Still Shield, fully clad in steel, had encountered a single necromancer and its handful of minions half a century ago. Every dwarf in the Still Shield knew that tale.
"CLOSE THE GATES! SEAL THE FORTRESS!" he bellowed, and the soldiers in the control room each pulled their assigned lever. Two huge pulleys shifted into place inside the walls, and the heavy stone weights Elagn had installed began their journey towards the bottom of a deep shaft. The southeastern drawbridge in the Glow moaned and rumbled as it rose. From the tunnel entrance, through the narrowing opening between the rising wall in the barracks and the ceiling, came frightened animal cries, mixed with goblin voices moaning and snarling. Then, the cracking of bronze and silver whips as they dug into soft flesh. The wall raised shut with a bang, and to Wallace it sounded every bit like the vault of a tomb.
Three days later the dwarves had all gathered on the platform in the Glow. Skaia, who had a good voice, led on in singing. The others followed, having memorized the lyrics the night before. Peregar had written them in Old High Dwarvish, and the verse form was archaic and unfamiliar, but it sounded quite nice when sung out loud. She had made a few amendments to the song in light of the recent events, and the ceremony had been put off accordingly, but now it was ready, and hopefully it would reach Armok's ear. Each dwarf had been assigned to one of three choirs according to his or her voice range, and each choir sang two lines of every verse, apart from the last verse which they all sang together.
O Armok, Blooded God, to Thee
we bring these gifts of viscous red;
That You may turn the goblin's heel
from Your great Peak, Ilrom Ziril,
and ward its slopes from risen dead;
Our blood is Yours, and Yours are we!
And Yours are we, and Your desire
is ours to make reality;
A tower tall where blood will flow,
a temple for the world to know
what was, what is and what shall be;
Your holy throne, the Peak of Fire!
The Peak of Fire, Your sacred land
in constant threat from forces dark;
With sharpened steel, the Dwarven gold
from mineshafts deep and ore veins old,
our soldiers brave the sunlight stark;
The monsters die by our hand!
By our hand and skill and lore
Your fortress grows, through sweat and toil;
The miner, smith and mason's home,
the brewer, cook and craftsdwarf's home,
the farmer's home, who tills the soil;
Our Mountainhome forevermore!For each verse, Peregar dumped a barrel over the edge of the platform. The blood inside boiled and steamed as it approached the lava, where the barrel shattered and it exploded into a fine, red mist. When the song had finished, all the barrels were gone. The last verse still echoed from the crater walls. It had been an awe-inspiring performance, and most undeserving of the ghastly audience it had attracted. Looking up, the dwarves saw that heir besiegers had gathered around the top of the crater and were moaning loudly and flailing their weapons down at them, a grotesque mockery of a standing ovation. It had been a long time since any of the dwarves had seen a goblin, and these were even smellier than usual. It reminded them of the bad old days.
"Yeah, come on! Jump! Head first, don't be a chicken! The water's nice and warm!" shouted Than402, clenching his bandaged fist. But whatever unspeakable magic had reanimated these goblins, it had left (or rather, endowed) them with a modicum of intelligence, and they did not jump. One of them carried two axes, and it threw one of them down at the platform with such force that it embedded itself in the hardened gabbro, right in front of Than402's feet. A marksdwarf responded by firing a bolt back at the goblin, which blew a hole straight through its torso. The goblin moaned, and began croaking out something that resembled a laughter. Little Kadol started crying, and her mother did her best to comfort the babe. It was time to head inside. The dwarves formed a procession and shuffled back across the western drawbridge. Magnus put her hand on Than402's shoulder. "In time, old friend. We'll get them one way or another, I promise."
Than402 looked at her. "I can't stand this. It's like our masters are back." He pulled up his shirt and turned his scarred back towards Magnus. "This. This is what I think of every time I see one of them. So I hope your friend heard us."
"He did," said Magnus confidently. "The whole swamp must have heard us. The question is how he will answer, when he does answer. I don't expect he'll just whisk these intruders away for us, we're probably going to have to deal with them ourselves somehow. Last time he helped us out was when we first came here, and he gave us the gift of anger, remember? That's how we were able to kill the cart driver and the other bastards. We did it ourselves, but he gave us the means. And I remember I heard his voice in my head afterwards, telling me to head up here with you guys and settle the Peak in his honor. We did that, which should mean he's still on our side. Didn't you hear it too?"
"No," said Than402. "I didn't. But I do remember that I was angry. I'm still angry, actually."
"Good," said Magnus. "Keep that anger on a slow burn. If these aberrations don't go away we may eventually have to fight them, and then we will need all of our soldiers as furious as possible. Especially the Magma Miner!" She laughed at his surprised look and punched him in the shoulder. "Girls talk, you know?" Than402 snorted and followed her inside with the others, not quite sure what he knew.
Soon the dwarves were back in the fortress, returning to their jobs. Only Peregar remained on the platform. The corpses had retreated from the summit and were now taking out their anger on the local wildlife, but Peregar had not noticed. Her eyes were fixed on the lava below, which had coiled itself into a mass of writhing snakes, hissing and burning. The snakes slithered up the platform and engulfed her in flames, each one biting the tail of the next, and stretched their bodies to form the shape of a giant anvil around her. She did not scream, in fact the roaring inferno felt as comfortable as a warm breeze. The platform began to melt and bulge, and out of the middle rose a dome of molten rock, which hardened and solidified into an obsidian construction. The snakes receded into the depths below, and the lava became calm again. Armok had spoken.
Iamblichos had been the last to leave the platform, and she had run back up when she heard the noise. "Peregar! What happened? I heard a lot of rumbling, is everything okay?" she asked her apprentice, who gave her a dreamy look without answering. "And what is THAT?" She pointed at the construction that had appeared in the middle of the platform. It looked like some sort of furnace. "How did you build that so quickly? We don't need another furnace, you know."
"Charcoal," said Peregar, and walked over to the wood furnace, for that was what it was. "He has given us the means to make charcoal." Iamblichos looked very confused. "Charcoal? Is this Armok's doing then? But we have lava! Charcoal is only used as an emergency fuel instead of coke from lignite or bituminous coal! Normally we would be depending on it since we lack both of those, but the lava gives us all the heat we need. Charcoal is worthless to us!"
"And we have marble," said Peregar, "charcoal and marble." She stroked the wood furnace with her hand. It was black as night, and her reflection shone back at her. "All we need to turn iron into steel." Iamblichos shook her head.
"My child, the alchemical secret of producing steel was lost when the Abbey of Heads fell. Even I have not been able to rediscover it, although I've spent the past year studying the properties of the axe we forged for Burning Troll Fur Sock, whenever he would part with it. I believe steel to be an alloy of iron and brass, but there is a third component that I haven't been able to identify, one that binds the two together. Are you telling me, that this third component is *marble*?" Iamblichos laughed. "My dear Peregar, marble is only used for improving the purity of the yield, it does not alloy with the metals themselves. Have you forgot everything I've taught you?"
"There is no brass, said Peregar. "There is only iron and marble." Iamblichos was annoyed by this nonsense. "Iron smelted with marble yields pure iron, which is far too malleable! A small amount of impurities have to remain in the metal in order for it to be useful. But too much impurity on the other hand makes it too brittle for weaponry. Iron alone simply cannot be given the properties of true steel, which are the hardness of iron and the elasticity of wood."
"Exactly," said Peregar. "That's why you add charcoal." Now Iamblichos was quite angry. "Are you suggesting we SMELT the charcoal rather than BURNING it? As if it were an ORE? Did you hit your head when that furnace fell from the sky, which I assume is what happened?"
"An alloy component, not an ore," replied Peregar. "The marble removes most of the impurities in the iron, and then the charcoal burns away the rest, leaving its ashes and its essence inside the pure iron, making it able to withstand higher temperatures, but also far too brittle. Much like turning a sheep into a wolf, the first step is to shear it so that it looks like a pig. Then we repeat the process at a higher temperature, but this time we use both the "pig iron" from the previous yield as well as a fresh bar of iron, and add the marble last. This lets the charcoal burn away both the impurities and the ashes, because the temperature is so much higher, and then the marble removes the final bit of charcoal ash, leaving only its essence, which is wood, inside the iron. Following the previous analogy, it smelts the fat off the pig and leaves only the muscle. The pig is now a wolf, and our pig iron," she took a deep breath, "is now true steel. An alloy of iron and wood, with the properties of both." Iamblichos, who had followed Peregar's speech with dawning realization, felt the world spin and go dark. The black gabbro cushioned her smile as she fell to the platform floor, her life's work finally complete.
Minutes later she was on her feet again, and rushing down the steps to the main hall with Peregar in tow. She was carrying a large chunk of marble which she had collected from one of the new mineshafts that had been dug out near the lava pipe. Now she grabbed a log of alder from the wood stockpile and balanced it precariously on top of the marble while screaming "IRON! I must have iron!".
"Oh no, not another one," said Magnus to herself. She had returned to her office and was in the middle of designating a dump spot for all the loose stone in the workshop area. She put her quill down and ran outside, where she saw Iamblichos in the middle of a suicidal attempt to wrest Beirus' iron pick away from her ("OVER MY ROTTEN CORPSE, YA NUTCASE!"), with Peregar standing by with a sheepish look on her face.
"Enough!" said Magnus. "Iamblichos, go talk to Wallace! One of his officers has been hoarding an iron mail shirt, you can tell him that I sent you if he won't let go of it. Melt that down and we'll give him a new one of bronze. And check the ammo stockpile as well, I think there are some iron bolts there. Beirus, put Iamblichos down. There you go."
Iamblichos ran off, and a scream of pleasure sounded from the craftsdwarf's workshop in the corner. It was Zuglar, who had been working all night and all day. "It's finished! Dimpleraked is finished!" Everyone hurried over to see what he had been working on. For some reason, it seemed less impressive than anticipated.
"Dimpleraked?" asked Neblime, who was not amused by such frivolous wasting of his precious gabbro. "Is it supposed to be some kind of boat? Looks more like a murder weapon to me, with all those spikes. Why don't you call it Boatm-"
"DIMPLERAKED! IT IS CALLED DIMPLERAKED!" yelled Zuglar. Neblime shrugged, and returned to his workshop. The others did the same. Zuglar ignored them, and continued to stroke Dimpleraked with fondness.