Dwarves

[WP] The dwarves find the idea that human technology could've ever equaled - let alone surpassed - theirs patently ridiculous. But just to humor them, they've decided to accept their proposal for an "engineering student exchange program".

*****

The Forgehall glowed orange under the mountain.

Dokolfer raised his voice to be heard over hammers ringing on steel.

"Aye," he said. "That's what they're saying. Human steel strong as Mithium."

Mannus the Forgemaster brought his heavy shaping hammer whistling down on a piece of glowing metal. Sparks leaped off the anvil in a fiery arc that died in the dimness of the vast underground chamber. Again and again, the hammer fell, and Mannus forced the metal to yield to his will.

"Said that, did they?" Mannus's voice was gruff with a slight rasp from centuries of laboring in the dim heat and haze under the mountain. "Talks only talk." He said and continued to work, his heavy hammer guided effortlessly by a heavily muscled arm. "What’s King Brawn say?"

Dokolfer agreed talk was empty air until proven otherwise. But the humans were confident in their improvement on dwarven techniques. And this time, they sent proof.

"King Brawn said Forgehall is yours and by rights yer decision," Dokolfer said, crossing his arms over his tunic, feeling a bit out of place. He was the only dwarf present who wasn't wearing a beard apron, bare-chested with slag-scarred hands and soot settled into the muscular grooves of his chest. Raised to be an ambassador like his father before him, Dokolfer had never wielded a hammer in the Forgehall. "Whatever ye decide he supports ye. Also said the durn fool should know after all these years."

Mannus traded his hammer for a pair of large pincers and took up the glowing metal. The work was part of him, ingrained in his bones. He no longer needed to think about what must be done. His hands simply made it happen. A smile split white above the beard apron. "Aye, I knowed. Still good to hear. A good dwarf, me king."

The water in the trough hissed and frothed when Mannus thrust the steel into its embrace. All around, dwarves worked identical anvil platforms fronting the long rows of forges carved directly into the stone of the mountain, shirtless backs glistening in the orange shadows of the Forgehall.

Mannus retracted the newly quenched metal from the trough and tossed it into the glowing maw of the forge, turning to look at Dokolfer for the first time. His face was flat and hammered like the metal he worked, with dusky grey eyes lined on both sides, honed sharp with the wisdom only age can bring.

He pursed his lips, a slight pinching together of mustache and beard apron. "I see no harm in havin' a human about, so long as they don't cause me dwarves trouble. But you'll be long in convincing one o' me boys they'll be wanting to spend any time in a human city working them what they call Smithies."

Dokolfer agreed, save one thing. "Got me a volunteer." He fought back the grin that twitched on his lips at the surprise on Mannus's face.

"Volunteer?"

"Aye," Dokolfer said, pointing down the line of forges to a distant figure, with hair the color of fire, broad of shoulder, and muscled as any dwarf had ever been. "Aethel's eager to see human lands and what they're about. The old stories have 'es head filled with wonders. He was quick to volunteer, he was."

Mannus followed Dokolfer's finger across the great chamber. "Ye talked to me dwarves without meself first?" Anger simmered under the flat calm of his voice. "Aethel, is it? He's a pup with nay a hunnerd years under his beard. Can't be lettin'em traipse off to the gods knows where at such a tender age." Mannus was shaking his head firmly. "Maybe another fifty or hunnerd years he can go."

"Ye hadn't seen a century when ye started yer travels," Dokolfer pointed out. "Traveled to Emeralsteel before ye was a hunnerd, ye did."

Mannus looked at him sharply, lips pursed again, considering.

"Aye, I remember," Dokolfer said. "Was all a grand affair, and ye argued with yer father, then the Forgemaster, that ye was more'n old enough to go. I remember he thought as ye do now but relented in the end. Hard to let go, they say."

Mannus lifted his chin, a stubborn light in those grey eyes. Then he sighed and blew out his mustache, scrubbing a gnarled hand down his face. "Aye, I remember it well," he said, his eyes momentarily misting with memories. "Send'em then, but hear me well, dwarf," Mannus pressed the tip of his nose into Dokolfer's, stabbing a stubby finger into the delicate fabric of his tunic. "If anything happens to the lad while 'es away, I'll be comin for yer beard, and don't ye be thinkin there'll be anything to stop me."

Dokolfer believed him, spreading his hands wide and nodding his understanding. "I'll be lookin after the young stallion, I will. No harm will come to'em, on me beard."

Mannus stepped back, seemingly mollified. "Good. Good that ye understand. Did these humans o' yers send a sample?"

Dokolfer smiled, slipping a hand inside his tunic.

It was a black satin scabbard traced in polished silver. The blade hissed from its sheath, the soft whisper of master craftsmanship, polished steel with dark blue swirls running along the gleaming length. Mannus's eyes fell upon it with grudging appreciation.

"Aye," was all the Forgemaster managed to say. His eyes were mesmerized by the magnificent weapon and how the light played over the metal. It was perfectly balanced and light in his hand, a pleasure to hold. He ran a thumb along the razor-fine edge, whistling in appreciation. Then his face jerked up. "Human steel?"

"Aye, plain old iron they pulled out 'o the hills around their keep. Not a fleck o’ Mithium in it.”

Mannus's brows tried to lift right off his forehead, and he nodded, moving toward a testing bench.

He hammered at the sword, bent it in a vise, and Dokolfer watched it spring back into shape, good as ever. Mannus doused it with acid, beat at it with chisels, and subjected the blue-swirled steel to every torture shy of jumping up and down on it. When finished, he scrubbed sweat from his brow and turned to Dokolfer. Something glinted in his grey eyes.

"Send word to the humans." His voice was gruff, grudging, and impressed. "We accept their offer of exchange." His eyes went back to the sword, then returned to Dokolfer. "In all me years, I've never held plain steel with such strength and durability. If they'll be sharing their secret, we'll be listening."

"I have the parchment written out in me chamber," Dokolfer said. "Just needs the Kings seal for the dovecote."

"Aye, do it fast," Mannus held the sword at arm's length, admiring how the Forgehall's orange light ran warm along the metal. "Only a stubborn old fool would turn away from learnin' to work the metal with such mastery. Might be its the future."

*****

THE END