Faith and a Hammer
By Shawn Oetzel © 2008
Having left the Dirty Anvil, a favorite pub, where he hoped to gather his courage over a couple of mugs of ale, Hubbel Kilnfire knew it was time to face his Father. He marched down the south passage of his people's ancestral home, the Dwarven Keep of Fire Forge, with a grimace of fierce determination on his face. He knew in his heart he had made the correct decision, but this did little to comfort him due to the fact that a confrontation was no doubt awaiting him at home. His father, Hamish Kilnfire, would never approve, but this time, Hubbel felt that he would, at least, try to understand.
Hubbel was a typical Dwarf for one of his age. He had long black hair that reached the small of his back. It was parted down the middle, and the long bangs were braided on each side as was the fashion for the Dwarven men of his clan. His beard which was as dark as the rest of his hair, covered his chin, but had yet to grow down to his chest. He stood at 5'1 which was fairly average height for his people.
He had a thick barrel chest which sat on short stocky legs. Like most Dwarves, his arms appeared too long for his body, but they were rippled with muscle from his time as a blacksmith apprentice. He had celebrated his twenty-fifth birthday this year, and according to Dwarven custom he was considered an adult. The one thing that did set him apart from others his age however was that his Father was the spiritual leader for the entire Dwarven population inside Fire Forge Keep.
Hubbel was so focused on the trouble that he knew was going to be brewing with his Father, he barely heard the voice of his best friend calling from behind.
“Hey Hub, wait up!”
Hubbel turned to see Dagmar racing down the passage. Dagmar's Father was in the Dwarven Army, and therefore his family lived in the barracks on the other side of the Keep.
Dagmar had just missed Hubbel coming out of the pub, and was now jogging up the tunnel to meet him. Hubbel could not help but chuckle as his friend ran down the rocky cavern, pumping his short legs as fast as they would carry him.
When Dagmar finally caught up, he was so winded he had to bend over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Hubbel tried to hide his amusement at his friend's predicament by covering his mouth with his hand. It did not work, and the look of disdain that he received from Dagmar left no doubt as to how the other Dwarf felt about the chuckling.
“Nice Hub, real nice,” Dagmar replied sarcastically. “I came here to offer support, and you mock me.”
“Sorry Dags,” Hubbel quickly apologized. “I've never seen you move that fast.”
The look of contempt that Dagmar leveled on Hubbel led to another fit of laughter that he did not even bother trying to conceal. When he was finally able to get his mirth under control, he noticed the look on
Dagmar's face had changed from one of embarrassment to one of seriousness.
“What's on your mind Dags?” Hubbel asked his friend though he had a good guess what the answer would be.
After a pause Dagmar asked, “You going to tell your Father?”
Hubbel stared back at his friend, and slowly nodded his head.
Dagmar half smiled, “Good luck Hub.”
Hubbel truly appreciated Dagmar's support. The two had literally grown up together. They had been best friends for as long as hel could remember. They had grown their beards together, gotten drunk for the first time together, forged their first weapons in the Dwarven Right of Passage together, and just this morning he and Dagmar had volunteered for the Dwarven Patrol. The fact that Dagmar had made it a point of coming to the other side of the Keep to offer a final bit of support showed how strong the bond of friendship was between the two young Dwarves.
***
Hamish Kilnfire was the Head Cleric of the Order of the Dwarven God Theamus. He did not approve of his only son's desire to become a soldier, and up to this point had not allowed Hubbel to join the Dwarven Army.
Hubbel was hoping to show his Father that by being successful on a Patrol, he could handle the stresses of Army life, and thus earn his Father's blessing. He no longer needed his Father's permission, but he felt it was important to have his support.
Before he knew it, he found himself standing outside the door to the warren he shared with his Father.
He took several deep breaths to steel his resolve, and with Dagmar's endorsement still ringing in his ears, he reached out, grasped the handle, and let himself in.
The door opened into the kitchen of the Kilnfire family home. Hamish was standing with his back to the younger Dwarf at the far end stoking the fire. He was dressed in the customary red robes of his Order.
“Good evening Hubbel. I trust you are well,” Hamish's voice was calm and even toned.
Hubbel surmised that his Father probably already knew what he had done. His Father had an uncanny knack for knowing things before Hubbel was prepared to talk about them. Hamish Kilnfire was the Head Cleric after all and this made him privy to information others would never receive. This simple little perk of Hamish's had been the bane of Hubbel's childhood. Since his Father already knew, he saw no reason to go on with the pleasantries.
“A Gnome hunting party has been spotted in our valley. The King has called for a Patrol to investigate.
This morning, Dagmar and I volunteered. We leave with Captain Broga tomorrow,” Hubbel said with pride as he was able to keep his voice steady.
“I see,” was Hamish's unexpectedly calm reply.
“You disapprove Father?” Hubbel asked even though he already knew the answer.
“You know my feelings on this subject,” Hamish quietly said to his son. “It would seem that you've made your decision.”
“Damn, Father, what would you have me do?” Hubbel asked, his voice rising in anger.
“Remember yourself Hubbel,” Hamish's voice rose in warning.
“I apologize for my tone Father, but I won't apologize for my decision,” Hubbel answered back.
“Then it would seem all that is needed to say has been said,” Hamish replied in disappointment.
“No, all is not said!” Hubbel yelled, his voice once again rising in anger as his frustration began to take control of his emotions. “The Gnomes are our mortal enemy, and they are camped at our very doorstep, yet you would have me cower under my bed while every other able bodied Dwarf my age volunteers to go out on Patrol!”
“You do not understand,” Hamish replied almost equally as frustrated. “I know Captain Broga. He does not go out to investigate anything. He is out for blood.”
“So much the better Father; the Gnomes are our enemies after all,” he did not really feel this way, but he was so upset he wanted to shame his Father.
Hamish closed his eyes and shook his head. The frustration was visibly marked on his face. When he finally was able to speak again, his voice was barely over a whisper.
“Hubbel, you forget I too was a volunteer for many Patrols. I have seen battle, bloodshed, and even death,” the older Dwarf paused to repress the memories before he continued. “Battle changes you. It takes away your innocence. I would not have that happen to you if I could help it.”
“I respect you Father, but I no longer need your permission. By our law, I am an adult. I have completed the Right of Passage, and my mind is set,” Hubbel finished.
“I cannot in good conscience give you my blessing. You are a man by our customs, but your decision was made with the intentions of a young Dwarf. I will pray for you, and may Theamus's faith be with you,” Hamish said in resignation.
Hubbel, hurt by his Father's words, reached over his shoulder, and grabbed the war hammer that was strapped there. This was the weapon he had forged in the Dwarven Right of Passage that had earned him his mantle of adulthood by Dwarven custom. He slapped the hammer in the palm of his hand before he brandished it in front of his Father's face.
“Save your prayers Father. As long as I have this, no harm can befall me,” he replied indignantly.
Hamish shook his head and whispered, “You're wrong.”
Hubbel had not heard such sadness in his Father's voice since his Mother had died. The older Dwarf brushed passed his son and walked out of their home. Hel did not look back as his Father shut the door behind him. Instead, he went to his room and gathered his belongings in preparation for the next day's journey.
***
Hubbel awoke at first light. He climbed out of bed, and dressed quickly. He stood in the kitchen and took a last look around. The warren was eerily calm now as compared to the noisy confrontation that had taken place the previous evening. With one last look, he grabbed his gear and headed out to meet his Patrol.
The Great Hall was a large antechamber of the Dwarven Keep. At the far end was the great iron doors that opened out into the valley the Dwarves claimed as their own. This was the staging point for all Patrols or actions that required the Dwarven Army. There was usually great fanfare when the Army marched out into the valley. Now though, the Great Hall was a scene of confusion as the volunteers began filing in.
Lost in his thoughts, Hubbel jumped as a strong hand gripped his shoulder from behind. He turned his head cautiously to the side so he could see who his attacker was, and immediately came to attention as he recognized the scarred visage of Captain Broga.
“Well met young Hubbel,” Broga rasped in his gravelly voice. “You ready to kick some Gnome tail?”
“Yes sir!” The startled Dwarf said as he snapped to attention.
“Good. We'll be forming up shortly,” Broga did not wait for a response; instead he slapped Hubbel on the back and moved on to the next volunteer.
Hubbel was still trying to recover from the pat he had received from Broga when he spotted Dagmar heading his way
“You ready?” Dags asked as he approached.
“Those Gnomes won't know what hit them after I unleash the might of my hammer,” Hubbel answered.
At that moment a loud horn blow reverberated across the Great Hall. This was the signal for the volunteers to assemble and prepare to move out. Hubbel and Dagmar stared at each other in excited anticipation. They grabbed their packs and headed for the center of the chamber where Captain Broga was shouting orders for the volunteers to form up in lines.
There were twenty volunteers in all. There were a few veterans, but most were around Hubbel's age.
They too were experiencing there first Patrol. This excursion was basically for show. Its purpose was to scare the Gnome hunters out of the valley. The risk level was projected to be low and that was why so many of the volunteers were first timers.
Hubbel took his place in line beside Dagmar. He was so excited he forgot about his Father and his feelings of disappointment. He looked over at Dags, and was happy to notice he was equally as excited.
With a final shout from Captain Broga, the members of the Dwarven Patrol began marching. The iron doors had been thrown open, and the early morning sunshine had come flooding in. The Great Hall lit up like a huge lantern. It was almost blinding, and Hubbel found himself wincing as he left the Keep.
The valley outside was not overly large. It was covered by a swath of grassland surrounded by a dense forest. It would take the Patrol five days to sweep the valley, and scare off the Gnomes if they were lucky enough to run across them. Most of the volunteers believed that the Gnomes were already gone; that they had merely been scouting the area to see how active the Dwarves were. Hubbel on the other hand desperately hoped the Gnomes were still in the area. He wanted glory, and a good rout of the Gnomes might earn him some.
***
That first day, the Patrol marched far out into the grassland. They had not seen any sign of the Gnome hunters. Captain Broga was not surprised though. He had explained to the Patrol that the hunters would not venture this close to the Keep. If any contact was going to be made, it would be farther out into the valley. This news caused a let down in Hubbel. It was no longer enough to be a part of a Patrol; he wanted to see some action.
He awoke at dawn the following day with his fellow volunteers. They were not the regular Dwarven Army, but Hubbel was impressed with how quick and efficient the camp ran. Captain Broga kept everyone on their toes. He barked out orders, and they were followed without question.
After a light breakfast, the Patrol was ready to break camp. Captain Broga had made it clear he expected to be off the grassland and into the forest by nightfall. It was going to be a long day with a long march.
Around midday, a rock formation began creeping its way into view. Captain Broga passed it along that the Patrol would rest there for a quick lunch before resuming. Hubbel was glad for the news. He was tired from the long morning march. So far there had been no signs of the Gnome hunters, and the morale of the Patrol was starting to wane.
As they drew closer to the rock formation, Hubbel could see that it was much larger than he first thought. It was hard to tell what it once was, but it looked to have been some kind of stronghold. It had gone to ruin centuries earlier, and was now nothing more than a few crumbling stone walls. There were boulders strewn across the ground, and the formation itself began to loom large over the Dwarves.
As the Patrol closed to within 100 yards, Hubbel began to get an eerie feeling. A shiver slipped down his spine, and he involuntarily reached over his shoulder, and loosened his war hammer. He turned to see if Dagmar was sensing the same thing when all hell broke loose.
The Patrol was spread out over the field with four Dwarves a little farther ahead acting as the point. Hubbel heard a high pitched whistling sound, and watched as those four Dwarves fell to the rocky ground unmoving. The next few seconds were a blur.
Captain Broga began shouting orders. The younger Dwarves began yelling in alarm, while the veterans of the Patrol recognized the attack for what it was, and began screaming to their comrades to get ready. Still other shouts came from the rock formation as skinny gray bodies began spilling over the rocks like a current in a stream.
Hubbel grabbed his hammer tightly in both hands and prepared to meet the Gnome charge. He spared a second to glance at Dagmar, and was glad to see he too was ready. They shared a quick nod before the first Gnomes hit the Patrol.
The first thing Hubbel noticed was that the Gnomes were wearing the traditional leather armor of the Gnome militia. These were not Gnome hunters as the Dwarven Patrol had been led to believe, they were the fierce Gnome Sarbukai; the elite commandoes of the Gnome Militia. This had been a trap, and the Dwarves had stumbled right into it.
Suddenly, there were screams of pain along with battle cries. The Gnomes were everywhere at once.
Hubbel had no idea how many there were and he had no time to stop and take up a count.
A Sarbukai warrior jumped in front of Hubbel brandishing an evil curved sword. He raised his arm to slash, but the young Dwarf was quicker. With all his strength, Hubbel swung his hammer at the gray figure. The blow connected squarely on the side of the Gnome's head. Hubbel could hear the bones smash under the impact of his heavy hammer. The Gnome did not make a sound. The skinny gray warrior just crumpled to the ground dead. Hubbel stood over the Gnome for second, but before he could process what had happened, he was attacked anew.
Hubbel again swung his hammer and brought down a second Gnome as easily as he had the first.He was starting to feel a battle rage come on and he was ready for it. This was his moment; glory was going to be his.
His attention was drawn away from his personal reverie, however, by something warm, wet, and sticky hitting him across the side of his face. He turned in time to see Dagmar drop to his knees. The warm wet liquid was the arterial spray of blood that was gushing from a large slash in Dagmar's throat.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl. He could actually see the light start to fade in Dagmar's eyes as his body bled out, and then toppled over. The world seemed to snap back into focus for Hubbel. He once again could hear the screams of the wounded along with the clash of weapons as the battle raged on.
Dwarf and Gnome were locked in a battle few were going to walk away from. The ground was fast becoming saturated with the blood of both races. The clang of metal on metal, and the much quieter and disturbingly watery sound of blade slicing into flesh echoed through Hubbel's numbed senses. The screams of the dying and the victorious mingled together so he could not tell one from the other.
His overwhelmed mind took in the grisly scene, and for a moment he was frozen in place. Then his gaze drifted back to the ground where his dearest friend's body lay in a growing pool of blood.
With intense hatred he threw his war hammer at the Gnome that had slain his friend. This was a Sarbukai though, and he was ready. The menacing gray warrior lifted his curved sword up in defense. It was no use; the hammer had been thrown with such fierceness that it smashed through the sword and connected with the Gnome's chest. The Gnome and the hammer went flying.
Hubbel dropped to his knees, and scooped Dagmar up in his arms. It was too late however, as Dagmar had already succumbed to his wound. Hubbel turned his head skyward and screamed with rage.
When his voice finally failed him, Hubbel closed his eyes and hung his head. He had forgotten about the battle that was raging on around him. He never noticed the Sarbukai carrying a large cudgel that was approaching from behind. The Sarbukai swung the club, and connected on the back of Hubbel's bent head. White light exploded into his eyes. There was an intense pain, and then blackness.
***
A loud clanging noise brought Hubbel back from the darkness. It was a sound he, like all Dwarves, knew well. It was the sound of a hammer banging on an anvil.
“Open your eyes Hubbel Kilnfire and see me,” a strong yet fatherly voice commanded.
Shocked to be hearing his name, Hubbel did as he was told. He was standing in a huge forge. There was something familiar about this place, but he could not quite grasp what. Off to the right, he heard the clanging sound again. He turned to look, and when he saw, he fell to his knees in awe.
It was Theamus, the Dwarven God. It was the Great Blacksmith himself; he who had created the
Dwarves from the fire and stone of the earth.
“Rise and stand before me,” the fatherly voice spoke.
Hubbel instinctively did as he was told, and got back to his feet. He was shaking so bad though, he was unsure if he would be able to remain standing.
“Be at peace here,” Theamus spoke in a loving manner, and instantly Hubbel was calm.
“Are you truly Theamus?” Hubbel asked hesitantly when he was able to find his voice. “Does this mean that I'm…. dead?”
The Dwarf God smiled in understanding, “No Hubbel you are not dead, and as for if I am Theamus or not, look into your heart. What does it tell you?”
Hubbel stood statue still for a moment. He did indeed look inside himself, and felt a great sense of warmth and peace surrounding him. He knew immediately the Dwarf standing before him was the Great Blacksmith Theamus.
“If I am not dead, then why am I here?” Hubbel asked.
Theamus nodded in understanding, “I felt a need within you. You are destined for great things Hubbel Kilnfire. You will be a great warrior and hero for the Dwarven people if you can come to grips with your faith. Remember, weapons such as your mighty war hammer do not win battles, a warrior's faith does.
That is the greatest weapon a soldier can have.”
“Dagmar had faith, and he's dead,” Hubbel quietly commented.
“It was his time Hubbel,” Theamus responded understandingly. “I know you hurt over the loss of your friend, but do not mourn him long for he is here with me. His faith led him here, it led him home.”
Hubbel stood before Theamus, his confusion starting to fade away. His Father had been right. He had been a foolish youth trying to make adult decisions.
Theamus could see that Hubbel had understood all that was said, and smiled proudly at the young
Dwarf. He then picked up the hammer he had been swinging at the anvil, and handed it to Hubbel, “You might need this back. It is a fine hammer.”
Hubbel took the offered weapon, and was shocked to see that it was the war hammer he had forged in his Right of Passage.
“You must return now Hubbel,” Theamus added when the young Dwarf's shock faded. “Remember of what we have spoken here. Open your heart to me and I will always be there for you. Faith is your greatest weapon. Have Faith Hubbel, and you cannot lose.”
With those final words, the Forge slowly faded away. There was another flash of bright white light, and then momentary blackness.
***
Hubbel awoke in his own bed back at Fire Forge Keep. His head hurt immensely, and a wave of nausea rolled over him when he tried to sit up. Hamish was there immediately trying to push his son back into bed.
“Rest easy son,” a concerned Hamish Kilnfire said.
Hubbel opened his eyes, and seeing his father whispered, “You were right… about everything. I'm so sorry for what I said to you. You were so right.”
Hamish fought back tears, “That doesn't matter now son. There will be enough time to talk once you heal.”
Hubbel too fought back tears and closed his eyes. This time he fell into a deep comforting sleep. He dreamed of Dagmar, and knew everything would be alright. He knew he would heal, and that his life would be different but far better. He knew the Army would be there waiting for him when he decided to join. He knew with his hammer he could defeat most foes. For the first time though, Hubbel understood his hammer would never be enough. From now on, Hubbel would have the greatest weapon of all to guide him, his Faith.
Short stories of Shawn Oetzel have appeared in The Writer's Post Journal and Universe Pathways. Novel, DVD, and movie reviews he has written have appeared online with Static Multimedia, Associated Content, and Fractal Matter as well as The Writer's Post Journal, Tales of the Talisman, Ascent Aspirations Magazine, and Shroud Magazine. His debut novel, Dying Moon, is forthcoming from Lachesis Publishing.