Dragons of The Dwarven Depths Part 36

"Flint said he was taking me," Ta.s.slehoff muttered. "I should sharpen my sword."

He rummaged about in his pouches, searching for his knife. He located Rabbitslayer then began looking in his pouches for a whetstone. He didn't find that, but he did come across several other objects that were so interesting he completely forgot about the knife.

Raistlin closed his book with a snap.

"I hope you two are pleased with yourselves," the mage said, as he walked past Sturm and Tanis on his way to his bed.

"He'll think better of it by morning," said Sturm.

"I'm not so sure." Tanis glanced at the dwarf. "You know how stubborn he can be."

"We'll reason with him," Sturm said.

Tanis, who had tried on occasion to reason with the irascible old dwarf, did not hold out much hope.

Flint lay staring into the darkness. Sturm was right. Tanis was right. Even Raistlin was right! Logic dictated he should take one of them with him on the morrow. Hornfel would let him if he made an issue of it. The Thanes wouldn't have much choice.

Yet as he continued to think things over, Flint came to realize he'd made the right decision. He'd made it for the wrong reasons, but that didn't make it less right.

"The Hammer of Honor doesn't belong to the knights and their dreams of glory," Flint said to himself. "It doesn't belong to elves. It doesn't belong to humans, no matter how much trouble they're in. The hammer was made by dwarves, and it belongs to dwarves. Dwarves should be the ones who decide what to do with it, and if that means using it to save ourselves, then so be it."

This was a good reason and sounded very fine, but it wasn't the only reason Flint was going off on his own.

"This time, the hero is going to be me."

Of course, there was always the possibility that the hero would be Arman Kharas, but Flint didn't think that likely. Reorx had promised him that if he put on the helm, the hammer would be his reward.

Flint Fireforge, Savior of the People, Unifier of the Dwarven Nations. Perhaps even Flint Fireforge, High King.

Flint smiled to himself. That last wasn't likely to come true, but an old dwarf could dream, couldn't he?

Chapter 13.

False Metal. Strange Bedfellows. Flint's Promise.

It seemed to the companions that they had only just gone to bed when they were awakened by Arman Kharas banging on the door. Being deep underground, bereft of sunlight, they had no way to tell the time, but Arman a.s.sured them that in the world outside, the sun's first rays were gilding the snow on the mountain peaks.

"How do you know?" Caramon grumbled. He was not happy about being wakened "in the middle of the night," as he termed it, especially when suffering from the effects of drinking too much ale.

"There are parts of Thorbardin where one can see the sun, and we regulate our water clocks by it. You will view one of those places today," he added in solemn tones, speaking to Flint. "The light of the sun shines always upon the Kalil S'rith-the Valley of Thanes."

Sturm looked grimly at Tanis, who shook his head and looked at Flint, who very carefully did not look at anyone. The old dwarf clumped about the room, busy over various tasks-putting on his armor, putting on his helm with the "griffin's mane," and strapping the Helm of Grallen to his belt.

Tanis saw Sturm's expression alter. He knew what the knight was going to say before he said it, and he tried to stop him, but he was too late.

"Flint," Sturm said sternly, "be reasonable. Take one of us."

Flint turned to Arman.

"I'll need a weapon. I'm not going to face whatever hauled that tomb out of the ground without my battle-axe in my hands."

Arman Kharas removed the ornate hammer from the harness on his back. He looked at it regretfully for a moment then held it out to Flint.

"That's yours," said Flint, "I'll take my battle-axe."

Arman frowned at this refusal. "You have been given the knowledge of how to find the true Hammer. You should be the one to carry the replica. I had it made especially for this moment. It's my homage to Kharas. You will carry it to the Tomb of the King in Kharas's honor."

Flint didn't know what to say. He would have been much more comfortable with his battle-axe, but he didn't want to hurt the young dwarf anymore than he'd already been hurt.

Flint reached out, took hold of the hammer, and nearly dropped it. He suspected he knew now why Arman had given it to him. The hammer was heavy and unwieldy, well-crafted, but not well-designed. He gave it an experimental swing or two, and the thing nearly broke his wrist.

He glanced suspiciously at Arman to see if he was smiling. Arman stood looking grave, however, and Flint realized the young dwarf had meant what he said. - Flint held out his hand to Arman. "I accept this in the name of friendship."

Arman hesitated, then stiffly shook hands.

"Perhaps we misjudged Arman," said Tanis.

Sturm snorted. "He walks around carrying a fake magical hammer. I think that merely confirms the fact that he is crazy."

Raistlin seemed about to say something, then stopped. He regarded Flint and the hammer thoughtfully.

"What?" Tanis asked the mage.

"You should try once more to talk to Flint."

Tanis could have told him it was a waste of time, but he walked over to where Flint was continuing to gather up his gear. Ta.s.slehoff had offered his a.s.sistance, with the result that Flint came up missing his favorite knife. He immediately rounded on the kender, seized hold of him and began to shake out his pouches, ignoring Tas's cries of protest.

"Sturm, a word with you," said Raistlin.

Sturm did not trust the strange gleam in Raistlin's hourgla.s.s eyes, but he accompanied him to the window.

"Is that hammer an exact replica of the real one?" Raistlin asked softly.

"I have only ever seen the Hammer in paintings," Sturm replied, "but from what I can judge it is identical."

"How can a person distinguish between the real and the false?"

"The Hammer is reputed to be light in weight, yet when it strikes it does so with the force of the G.o.d behind it, and when the true Hammer hits the sacred Anvil of Thorbardin, it sounds a note that can be heard throughout the earth and heavens."

Raistlin cast a sharp glance at the false hammer. Folding his hands in his sleeves, he leaned near to whisper, "Flint could switch hammers."

Sturm stared at him, either uncomprehending or refusing to comprehend.

"Flint has the false hammer," Raistlin explained. "He has only to replace the true Hammer with the false. He keeps the true one and gives the dwarves the other."

"They will know the difference," said Sturm.

Raistlin smiled. "I think not. I can cast a spell on the false hammer, recreating the effects you described-or close enough so that the dwarves will not be able to tell the difference for a long time. Once Arman has the hammer in his possession-the hammer he's been searching for all his life-he won't look very hard to find fault with it. I can do this," he added, "but I need your help."

Sturm shook his head. "I won't be a party to this."

"But it solves all our problems!" Raistlin said insistently, placing his hand on Sturm's arm. The knight flinched beneath the touch, but he remained to listen. "We give the dwarves what they want. We have what we want. Once the dragonlances are forged, you can bring the Hammer back to them. No harm done-and much good."

"It is... not honorable," said Sturm.

"Oh, well, if honor is what you want, then by all means, say an honorable prayer over the little children as the dragons of the Dark Queen sear the flesh from their bones." Raistlin's grip on the knight tightened. "You may have the right to choose honor over life, but think of those who have no choice, those who will suffer and die under the Dark Queen's rule. And she will rule, Sturm. You know as well as I that the forces of good-what paltry forces of good there are-cannot do anything to stop her." may have the right to choose honor over life, but think of those who have no choice, those who will suffer and die under the Dark Queen's rule. And she will rule, Sturm. You know as well as I that the forces of good-what paltry forces of good there are-cannot do anything to stop her."

Sturm was silent. Raistlin could both see and feel the conflict raging inside the knight. Sturm's arm muscles tensed and hardened. His eyes glinted, his fists clenched. He was thinking not only of the innocents, but also of himself. He would bring the Hammer to the knighthood. He would be the one to forge the fabled dragon-lances. He would be the savior of the Solamnic people, of all people everywhere.

Raistlin could guess much of what the knight was thinking, and he almost guessed right. Raistlin a.s.sumed that Sturm was being seduced by a dream of glory when, in truth, the thought of those innocents who would suffer in the coming war affected the knight profoundly. He could see again the smoldering ruins and the butchered children of Que-shu.

"What do you want me to do?" Sturm asked, the words falling reluctantly from his lips. He had never imagined agreeing to help Raistlin weave one of his webs. Sturm reminded himself, again, of the innocents.

"You must talk to Flint," said Raistlin. "Tell him the plan. He will not listen to me."

"I'm not convinced he will listen to me," Sturm said.

"At least we must try! Put the idea into his head." Raistlin paused, then said softly, "Say nothing to Tanis."

Sturm understood. Tanis would oppose such a scheme. Not only was it dishonest, it was dangerous. If the dwarves found out, it could be the death of them all, yet the dragonlances were their best hope for winning the war-something the half-elf stubbornly refused to understand.

Sturm gave a stiff nod. Raistlin smiled to himself from within the darkness of his cowl. He had won a victory over the virtuous knight, knocking him off his lofty pedestal. In the future, whenever Sturm's lectures on morality grew too tedious, all Raistlin would have to do would be to murmur, "The Hammer of Kharas."

"I will draw Tanis aside. You talk to Flint."

Tanis had recovered Flint's whittling knife and sent Ta.s.slehoff off to investigate a strange sound he claimed to have heard in the back of the building. He and Flint were discussing the journey; that is, Tanis was discussing it, and Flint wasn't saying a word, when Raistlin asked Tanis if he could speak to him.

"I am concerned about Caramon's health," Raistlin said gravely. "He is not well this morning."

"He just drank too much, that's all," said Tanis. "He has a hangover. This isn't the first time. I should think you'd be used to it, by now."

"I think it is more serious than that," Raistlin persisted. "Some sickness. Please come look at him."

"You know more about illness than I do, Raistlin-"

"I would like your opinion, Half-Elven," Raistlin said. "You know how much I respect you."

Tanis didn't, not really, but on the off-chance that Caramon had truly fallen ill, Tanis accompanied Raistlin over to the bed where Caramon lay with a cold rag over his eyes.

Raistlin hovered solicitously near his brother as Tanis looked Caramon over. Raistlin's gaze focused on Sturm and Flint. Raistlin could not hear their conversation, but he did not need to. He knew exactly when Sturm told the dwarf about switching the hammers, for Flint's jaw dropped. He stared at Sturm in astonishment, then, frowning, he gave a violent shake of his head.

Sturm continued to talk, pressing harder. The knight was earnest, serious. He was talking about the innocents. Flint shook his head again, but less forcefully. Sturm kept talking, and now Flint was starting to listen. He was thinking it over. Flint glanced at Arman, then glanced at the false hammer. His brow furrowed. He looked at Raistlin, who regarded him with an unblinking, unwavering stare. Flint averted his gaze. He said something to Sturm, who turned away and walked in studied nonchalance back to Raistlin.

"How is poor Caramon?" Sturm asked in the somber tones of one keeping watch at a deathbed.

Raistlin shook his head and sighed.

"He drank too much, that's all," said Tanis, exasperated.

"Perhaps it was the worm meat," Raistlin suggested.

"Oh, G.o.ds!" Caramon groaned. Clutching his gut, he rolled out of bed, dashed over to the corner, and threw up in the slop bucket.

"You see, Tanis," said Raistlin reproachfully. "My brother is gravely ill! I leave him in your care. I must have a word with Flint before he departs."

"And I would like a word with you, Raistlin," said Sturm. "If you could spare me a moment."

The two walked off, leaving Tanis staring after them in wonder, scratching his beard. "What are those two up to? Ganging up on Flint, I suppose. Well, good luck to them."

He went over to a.s.sure Caramon that he had not been fed worms.

"Flint has promised to at least consider it," said Sturm.

"He must consider quickly, then," Raistlin said. "I need time to cast the spell, and our young friend grows impatient to be gone."

Arman stood in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest. Every so often he would frown deeply, heave a loud sigh, and tap the toe of his boot on the floor. "Once we send it, we are to take the Hammer to the Temple of the Stars," Arman declared. "I told my father we would be there by sunset, if not before."

Flint stared at him. "What do you think? That we're going to just stroll into the tomb, pick up the Hammer, and stroll back out?"

"I do not know," Arman replied coldly. "You are the one who knows how to find it."

Flint grunted and shook his head. He closed his pack, lifted it off the floor, and slung it over his shoulder. His eyes met Raistlin's. Flint gave a very slight nod.

"He'll do it!" Raistlin said exultantly to Sturm. "There is one problem. The spell I am going to cast is a trans.m.u.tation spell. It is designed to shrink an object."

"Shrink?" Sturm repeated, aghast. "We don't want to shrink the hammer!"

"I am aware of that," Raistlin said irritably. "I plan to modify the spell so it will reduce the hammer's weight but not the size. There is a small chance that I might make a mistake. If so, our plot will be discovered."

Sturm glowered. "Then we should not proceed."

"A small chance, I said," Raistlin remarked. "Very small."

He went over to Flint, who gave him a dark glance from beneath lowered brows.

"This replica is an object of fine craftsmanship," said Raistlin. "Could I hold it to examine it more closely?"

Flint looked around. Arman had left off haunting the doorway and gone outside to try to walk off his mounting frustration. Tanis was across the room talking to Caramon. Slowly, Flint reached for the hammer. He drew it awkwardly from the harness and handed it over.

"It's heavy," he said pointedly.