Kember, Dwarf Sorcerer

Note

I stick to typical fantasy species/race names such as dwarves and elves so that this story can stand alone. For equivalent names in the world of Antire, see Peoples of Antire

Dink-dink-dingggg

Kember kept up his hammering even though he already hated the bowl taking shape on the anvil. It was just something to do in between stoking the copper ore roasting ovens. Ore roasting took enough attention that he couldn’t leave the roasting shed while being dull enough that he’d fall asleep if he didn’t occupy himself. The other apprentices were elsewhere taking their turns either running the smelters that turned the roasted ore into copper ingots or aiding the masters in the smithy.

A few more minutes went by before the young dwarf set his hammer down to walk among the ovens. He took his time stoking them to just the right temperature and raking the steaming lumps of ore back and forth to make sure the heat cooked them evenly. The heat and sulfurous stench didn’t faze him — he was born in Rizzetop and copper was their way of life. Twenty minutes later, he returned to the bowl, debating whether send it back to the smelter to start over. He could certainly toss it in with the pile of utensils and other mundane items to sell on market day, but it wouldn’t garner any praise from Master Lotar or any other smith. Even the junior apprentices would see the slight thinning of the wall in one spot. He decided to keep at it for the moment. At least he didn’t have one of the junior apprentices underbeard today. He lifted his hammer and got back to shaping the bowl.

Dink-dink-dingggg

dong-dong

Dink-dink-dingggg

dong-dong

Dink-dink-

dong-dong

Kember stopped mid swing as the rhythm of the low valley alarm gong asserted itself over the roar of the ovens and his hammering. He cocked an ear to listen for the pattern of the gong.

dong-dong

The two gong rhythm summoned nearby villagers to deal with a small fire or other minor emergency. The oven shed sat next to the mine entrance and smelter works high in the valley. He shrugged, reasoning that if he ran to help, it would probably be handled by the time he got there. The fire in the ovens would die and rekindling them would mean missing dinner or having to tell Master Lotar they didn’t have enough ore for the smelters in the morning.

He lifted his hammer again to set to work again.

Dink-dink-dingggg

DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG-DONG

The bowl clattered to the floor as Kember ran out the door, hammer still in hand. He almost slammed into Smith Dercklin running out of the adjacent colliery. They looked at one another, and then down valley. Thick black plumes of smoke rose where nothing more than thin wisps of chimney smoke should be rising.

“Kobolds!” shouted Dercklin and they both ran towards the stout tower that acted as mine office and guard post. By this time, dwarves were starting to run out of the from the smelting sheds.

“KOBOLDS!” shouted Dercklin again, both he and Kember waving the others frantically towards the tower.

Kember’s younger legs carried him faster than Dercklin and he reached the door first. He heard another voice from the top of the tower. “Not Kobolds! Dragon!”

Kember flung the door open and ran to the weapon racks. He started grabbing crossbows and quivers and handing them out as fast as he could to other dwarves as they ran by him, heading to the top of the tower. Without enough crossbows to go around, he tucked his smithing hammer into his belt, grabbed an axe, and headed for the door.

“Fat lot of good this will do against a dragon,” he muttered as he exited, wishing he was among the 20 or so on top of the tower. Smoke now billowed into the air from a dozen or more buildings down valley.

“No more crossbows!” he yelled to Master Lotar and a group of other dwarves coming towards the tower. Kember looked at his axe and shrugged, feeling useless.

“Get down to the village,” Lotar ordered Kember. “Find Master Javlort, find out what he needs, and then get back here.

“You bunch…” he looked at the half dozen or so other dwarves. “Start emptying wagons. The rest of you start finding anything that will hold water and let’s get it loaded into the wagons.”

Kember started running the mile or so to the main village as fast as his short legs would let him go. Every minute or so, another burst of flame and another pillar of smoke. Half way down, he finally caught sight of the beast swooping in low at rooftop height, angling towards the village’s gathering hall.

The dragon breathed a stream of liquid fire, crumbling the timber trussed roof in a heartbeat. In emergencies, the elders gathered children and sheltered in the hall. Kember pushed that thought out of his mind and ran on.

The beast turned up valley, flying low over his head — low enough that Kember could see the sun glinting on dark red scales edged with ashen gray and feel dirt kicked up by the wind of its wings. It cocked its head as it flew by, letting Kember know it saw him. Blood streaked its side from the few, too few, crossbow bolts that found their way past its scales. The mountain road left him no cover, so he kept running, daring a glance behind him.

The dragon turned back over the valley, rising on the updraft of fires. It dove again and Kember dropped to the ground, feeling the wind of its body passing mere feet above him and the sting as a large drop of its blood hit the bare skin on the back of his neck. The blood ate into his skin like acid and burned like fire. He grabbed dirt, trying to rub it off, the pain blinding him.

A great roar and crash yanked him out of the fog of pain. Lifting himself up, he saw the village engulfed in flame. Dozens if not hundreds of lithe, reptilian figures moved through the burning ruins, finishing the dragon’s job. Kember turned to head back up the mountain, then paused. The dragon struggled out of the scorched ruins of the tower, one wing hanging limply. A group of dwarves, Lotar in the lead, rushed it. A blast of fire ended the charge.

Adrenaline, anger, and grief pushed reason aside - Kember ran back up the road. What room for thought he had focused on the dragon. It wasn’t one of the massive dragons that could be seen flying across the sky a few times a year. This was only the size of a house. As he got closer, he could see broken bolt shafts sticking out of its wing. The dwarves in the tower must have held their fire until it was close enough to be sure they hit. Once it pulled itself from the ruins, it stalked back and forth, finding injured dwarves and finishing them.

Kember closed within a hundred paces before it even looked at him. It turned, finished off another dwarf and then turned back toward him.

“What do you think you are going to do?” it growled.

Kember slowed, shifting the axe into a combat grip. He shrugged at it and marched forward. He could now see bloody broken ribs poked past smashed scales from its impact into the tower. It was hurt but Kember still knew he had little chance of living past the next minute.

It snorted a small puff of flame as it chuckled. “At least I’ll be able to properly cook one of you. A little blood in the meat makes it so much better.”

A dwarf, so bloody and dirty that Kember couldn’t tell who, pulled himself from the tower’s wreckage and tried to charge from the dragon’s injured side. It spun its serpentine neck around so it could look at him, flicked its tail, and the dwarf flew into the ruined side of the tower. The fall to the ground left no doubt that he would ever get back up again.

Now Kember charged. The dragon whipped its head back around, taking in a great breath of air to roast Kember. Kember was already too close, ducking low and coming up with his axe. He didn’t even aim his swing, hoping to at least draw blood before he died.

The axe tore into the dragon’s windpipe, the unignited fuel of its breath mixing with its acidic and fiery blood to bathe him in a toxic hell. The dragon collapsed on top of him, scales digging into his back as its weight crushed him into the ground.

“Heh. Imagine that,” it rasped. It painfully twisted its neck to look at him. “Too bad you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

Kember didn’t respond, only thought there wasn’t much life left for him. The dragon wheezed in a little air and wheezed out again just as Kember took a struggling breath of his own. The noxious fumes burned his lungs, every nerve screamed in pain. The ground shook as the dragon’s head thumped down next to his own, the one eye he could see rolling back in its head.

Minutes, maybe hours went by before Kember’s mind cleared. The pain tore through him as he clawed his way out from under the corpse. As he stood, feeling broken ribs and probably a broken leg, he thought he saw another, larger, dragon standing there, observing. He sighed, looked down, saw the only the end of the axe handle sticking out from under the body, and shrugged as he looked up again. He saw no second dragon when he looked up, only a pair of the armed figures coming towards him, maybe 40 paces away. Kobolds, their scales painted carmine red.

As he pulled his hammer out of his belt, the kobold on the right nocked an arrow in its bow and aimed. The arrow flew over his head as he ducked. Not knowing why, just knowing it was the thing to do, he reached into the dragon’s axe wound, dipped his hand into its blood, and willed it into flame. He flung the small burning ball right at the kobold’s face. It fell, breathing its last breath in a painful howl.

The other kobold charged. Kember met it head on. Its crude sword hit his shoulder, his suddenly hard skin deflecting it away. He swung his hammer up under its jaw, knocking its head back. As it staggered backwards, he held his hands up without thinking why and more fire sprayed from his hands. The kobold was dead before it finished falling.

Kember looked across the ruins of the mine and the village. Several dozen more kobolds were headed up the mountain. Whatever prompted him to throw fire now told him it was enough for one day, and started looking for a place to hide. A shadow crossed over head. Trying to spot what cast it, Kember saw a crevice in the rocks a little way up the mountain, just big enough for dwarf to crawl into and not be seen.