Son of the Storm Read online

  Nodding, the dwarf stepped to the edge of the crown. He only stopped long enough to take a breath and say a prayer before he leapt into the air above Vaulen’s shoulder. The rope swung forward, and the brief weightlessness had Dorn forcibly closing his eyes. After only a few moments, however, he teetered beneath the oversized steel mallet.

  Forcing a smile, the dwarf began his final ascent.

  With raw hands and nowhere to use his feet, the way up was difficult. Despite the arduous task, Dorn proceeded on with contentment. As he reached the hammer, he was able to set his legs into motion again. In mere moments, he hoisted himself up to the top of the mallet.

  Breathing heavily, he wasn’t immediately aware of what he shared the platform with. The cry was so near and so loud that he nearly tumbled backward. He fought to preserve his balance, but when his eyes landed upon the protruding handle, he nearly fell back in surprise.

  For there, dozens of feet in the air, resting upon the circular pedestal at the head of the hammer, was a baby.

  “I’ll be damned,” Dorn said.

  Chapter Two: Reap the Lightning

  By his tone and his inflection, they could tell his tale was completed. The children broke into a fit of applause. Though the dwarf had been weary as he began spinning the yarn, he wore a wide smile by its conclusion.

  Dorn shuffled off the stool that had been placed beneath him, his feet thudding against the floor of the inn. His attentive audience seemed content with his story and afforded him some respite.

  Not everyone in attendance was willing to offer the same gesture.

  A man in the back of the establishment stood. Reflexively, Dorn’s attention was drawn there. His eyes focused, and he realized the man sat at the inn’s bar. A thickly frothed drink was just beside him.

  “Wonderful,” the dwarf quietly muttered.

  “Begging your pardon, Master Dorn,” the man said. “I believe the imposed question wasn’t ‘How did you find him?’ We want to know why he travels with you.”

  The diminutive fellow stared, almost spitefully. In mere moments, the glare evolved into a fit of belly laughter. He moved back toward the offered stool and glanced back. “I’ll see to it if you buy me an ale to wet my tongue with,” Dorn bartered.

  “As fair a price as any!” the man called back.

  Hopping into the seat, the dwarf turned his attention once again toward the children. “As you wee lads and lasses might expect, the dwarves were none too happy with me for bringing a human baby down from Vaulen’s hammer…”

  “Witchcraft!” one dwarf called out.

  “Deception!” another grumbled.

  It had not been long since Dorn had carefully descended the statue of their forefather, a small, naked baby in his possession. He had barely made it belowground before a swarm of his kinfolk blocked his passage to the mead hall. Important dwarven figures from both the council room and the throne room entered the long hall then. Dorn was caught on all sides.

  “That baby is a trap,” a particularly corpulent dwarf spat.

  “Ahh, be quiet,” Fali said, coming up beside his friend. “Ye’d just like any excuse ye could ta eat it.”

  That comment incited some laughter, but most couldn’t dismiss the curious and potentially dangerous nature of the child’s arrival. The usually fearless dwarves grew even more apprehensive as the truth became clearer.

  “That sure ain’t a dwarf.”

  Dorn turned to his left, aware a councilman had made the comment. He knew what that observation meant.

  “Ye should have left him up there,” another voice in the crowd called out.

  Clutching the child close against his chest, Dorn couldn’t keep his brow from furrowing. “Dwarf, human, elf, or even orc, I’d not let some baby starve to death up on our cliffs. The divebirds were circling. He’s lucky I got there when I did.”

  “Luck ain’t nothing to do with it,” the councilman said. “Someone put that runt there for a reason. And of course the daftest one o’ us goes up there and brings it right into our home.”

  Dorn focused for the first time on one dwarf in particular. He recognized the councilman and gnashed his teeth together. “You should count your blessings, Humber,” he said. “If it wasn’t for this baby in my hands, I’d knock the beard off your face.”

  That threat incited all manner of insults to enter the caverns.

  A tall dwarf behind Humber stepped forward and swept out his arm. Many grew quiet in his presence, and many more were silenced as he began speaking.

  “We needn’t let this small child degrade us into a pack of wild dogs. The council is all present. Why don’t we just vote on it? Let those that think this child’s presence is a bad omen be known.”

  One by one, dwarven fists entered the air, and gruff voices filled the cavern. Knowing full well where the decision would lie, Dorn scowled, his shoulders drooping.

  “Then it’s decided,” the councilman stated. “We’ll put him back upon Vaulen’s hammer and let fate take hold of him.”

  Stepping back, the dwarf that had found the infant growled. “Let any of you old fools try and take the child.”

  “Easy, Dorn,” came a stern yet soothing voice. Nearly all the folk in the caverns grew quiet, for they were keenly aware of who had spoken. His voice had become familiar to all of the dwarves, his subjects of the Goldenscale Cliffs. “Please, lad, step into me chamber so we can discuss the events that’ve transpired here.”

  With babe in hand, the sour expression seemed to dissolve from Dorn’s face. He nodded subtly, aware of the frightened child he carried. “Yes, King Varek.”

  A collection of quiet mumbles and whispers rose as the pair of dwarves proceeded into the throne room. Varek stepped aside, allowing Dorn to pass, and gently shut the door behind him.

  Dorn could feel his arms trembling, and he knew that, despite the baby’s weight, it was not due to fatigue. He saw his king pass him on his left, and his muscles grew tense. The taller, broader dwarf ascended the steps to his throne but did not sit upon it.

  “Do ye think we dwarves are a savage lot?” Varek asked.

  Swallowing hard, Dorn could initially only answer with silence. The dwarves were crude, perhaps, but not savages. “No, my king,” the stout fellow finally ventured.

  “Even if we were, I’d sooner have that Humber strapped to the hammer than have ye bring that baby back up there.”

  A smile crossed the laborer’s face as he considered the councilman tied dozens of feet in the air. He immediately worked to suppress that grin.

  It still wasn’t quick enough to avoid Varek’s scrutinous gaze.

  “I’ve thought about it many a time,” the king admitted. “The old goat wouldn’t even be on the council if it wasn’t for his father. All of those lads were much happier in a chair than down in the mines.” Varek shook his head. “Bah. That’s the one bad thing about bein’ a king. No one has the decency to tell ye when ye’ve spouted out about nothing fer too long.

  “Let’s get down to the reason I brought ye in here,” he continued. “It’s bad enough that baby don’t have no one. This wasn’t some accident; no one left him there fer a few moments while they were out on a wee stroll. That this child isn’t a dwarf adds to the complications. The council and the clan aren’t going to be happy if he stays here.

  “Have ye ever heard of Clan Wildheart to the west?”

  Dorn shook his head but offered no other response.

  “Some time ago, maybe decades now, they also happened upon a human child. His mother had abandoned him or died, and if the dwarves hadn’ta been nearby, the babe would have froze to death in the grasp of winter. One of their clan, much like you, had a clutch on that babe like a dragon’s maw.

  “And ye know what happened?” Varek asked. He quickly stepped forward, smacking his fist into his opened palm. “That lad grew up just fine within the clan and was just as important as any.

  “We’ll be keeping that boy, no matter what the council says,”
the king insisted.

  Still, Dorn could not say anything. He was barely able to bow, dipping the quiet baby slightly.

  “Are ye able to care for the wee runt on yer own?” Varek asked.

  “Aye, my king.”

  “Right. Even so, ye’ve got yer own tasks. I can’t liberate ye of yer duties. Me niece, Rena, is getting to be a responsible lass. She can about take care of the wee lad while ye tend to Vaulen and fix whatever Thurgan and his boys be breakin’.”

  Dorn nodded. “If she’s as kind as you, my liege, the child will be in good care.”

  “Ye best make it look like ye fought hard for this. Last thing I need is me people thinking they have a spineless pushover for a king.”

  Nodding again, the laborer turned and began toward the door. Gently, he lifted one stubby arm and pushed back out into the hall. Though his face was already quite red, he had turned fiery crimson when he saw the interested gazes pointing in his direction. He stood up straighter, hesitating for a moment, then whipped around, looking at his king, who still hadn’t taken a seat upon his throne.

  “If the boy is my burden to bear, so be it!” Dorn shouted.

  Gasps erupted in the crowd and whispers once again meandered from closely pursed lips.

  “Get yer furry face outta me sight!” Varek called back.

  With a strained growl, Dorn obliged. He pushed through the crowd with a new confidence, while the other dwarves stared on with astonishment. Only one was able to keep his pace.

  “Did ye just yell at the king?” Fali asked.

  Dorn said nothing as he made his way back toward the mead hall. Whispers travelled faster than he did, and his kinfolk parted, allowing the newly discovered ferocious dwarf to pass.

  “All those fools are wrong, and he knows it,” Dorn finally spoke as he began down the steps. “If Varek determines this baby and I are too dangerous to the clan, so be it. I’ll be gone before the next sunrise.”

  The quiet of the grand hall above was destroyed from those down below. The sight of Dorn incited shouts and curses, and he hesitated to continue forward. He felt a firm hand at his back then and saw his friend still by his side.

  “Bah, don’t worry about ‘em,” Fali said. “Anyone tries to lay a hand on ye and they’ll have a few less fingers.”

  Though the courageous dwarf believed what he said, he still wasn’t quick enough to stop the first riotous intent. A dirty hand fell upon the baby’s arm, and Dorn’s eyes went wide. Reflexively, he stepped forward and knocked his forehead into the nose of the aggressor.

  The mead hall grew quiet before Dorn’s opponent even slumped to the floor. Behind the fallen dwarf, Thurgan, the taskmaster, stood astonished. After a few moments, he raised his stone mug, spilling some amber liquid over its rim.

  “Well done, lad,” he said. Thurgan turned then, looking out at the crowd. “If any of ye louts even thinks about takin’ the squirt, I’ll see to it ye spend the next three nights digging the mines with yer thumbs.” He stepped aside, allowing his worker to pass. As Fali proceeded, though, Thurgan grabbed him. “Make sure he gets home all right, will ye?”

  Though no one else put up any resistance, Dorn could see sour expressions on quite a few of his kinsmen’s faces. He tried his best to focus on the exit, still so far away. After that long journey, Fali turned, assuring his friend that no one would follow them.

  The Goldenscale Cliffs howled, and the baby cried out in response. For the first time since he could remember, the dwarf noticed how far down the ravine went. He swallowed hard and proceeded on his way.

  He was never so grateful to be inside his lonely home. Behind him, Fali jogged inside, blowing out a huge sigh.

  “I thought things were goin’ to get ugly there. How’s yer head?”

  “It’ll be fine,” Dorn replied.

  “Just remember, ye’ve got a thinner skull than most o’ us. If ye start seein’ spots, ye go see a cleric.”

  “I’m sure Uolo will be real pleased when I bother him for a headache.”

  “Ye’ve got a little one to watch over now. For all he knows, yer his dah.” Fali paused to consider that. “Ye think of a name for the runt yet?”

  Dorn chortled. “Before today, I didn’t even have a child. I’m going to need a little time.”

  “Aye, well, don’t forget: Fali is a strong name.” He laughed and gently clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I’ll let ye settle in then. If anyone gives ye trouble, I’ll be up in the mead hall… waitin’.”

  Dorn nodded. “Thank you, my friend. And… don’t think I’ll be naming him after you anyway,” he teased.

  With a snort, Fali turned and exited the abode.

  Left alone with the babe, Dorn breathed a sigh. He brought the child to his cot and lay him down. When a lantern was lit, he was surprised to see a smile upon the baby’s face.

  “What’s so funny, lad? You like seeing me bash my head? It was a lot less fun than it looked, I promise you.”

  The baby cooed in response.

  Another sigh erupted from the well-mannered dwarf as he hopped onto the bed beside the infant. “What in nine hells am I supposed to do with you? No one told me you were coming. I would have built you a bassinet.”

  Finally, the truth of the situation became clear. Dorn looked around his sparsely decorated hovel. He lived so simplistically, nearly in the dark every day. Yet a new light had entered his life.

  Everything would have to change.

  He spoke to the child and played with him for some time, when a voice interrupted his interactions.

  “Excuse me,” the sweet tone carried in from beyond his home’s doorway.

  Dorn looked up, noticing the young clandaughter peering in. He bowed his head and stood, already resigned to his fate. “All right, let’s hear the lecture,” he said.

  “Pardon?” she asked.

  “I’m sure you’re going to tell me how foolish I am for pulling the lad down from the hammer… Aren’t you?”

  “Then ye are Dorn, ain’t ye?” She entered the home, allowing the afternoon’s light to pour inside. The lass was shorter than he and much less stocky. Curly golden locks draped down her shoulders, and a pair of beautiful blue eyes peered at the other dwarf. She would have been beautiful by any race’s standards.

  “You’ve got a flower in your hair,” Dorn said, reaching out to pluck it away.

  “I put it there, ye fool,” she said, swatting at his hand. “Me name is Rena. Me Uncle Varek told me all about yer little adventure earlier today.”

  He stared blankly for a moment before recalling who she was. He almost fell backward upon reaching the realization.

  “So where is the wee child?” She walked past Dorn, noting the babe lying on the cot. “They say he came down on a thunderbolt,” she informed.

  When she turned, she saw the smile wide across Dorn’s face.

  “And what’re ye grinning at?”

  “You just helped me think of a name,” he replied. “Bolt.”

  Chapter Three: The Thunder Below

  With a dainty sip at the cold ale, Dorn downed the last of the drink. A young man by his side took the mug and stepped away, leaving the dwarf to continue speaking to the children. Parents filled in the area behind the sitting youths, and even a dwarf or two stood sentinel in the room.

  Dorn took some time to steady himself. Deep breaths made his broad chest rise and fall, but his eyes never left the eager stares of his attentive audience.

  “Varek was a fine king,” he said. “When all the rest of the dwarves seemed like they’d sooner drop the cliffs on my head than allow me to take care of the small child, he showed his colors truer than any day before then.

  “The niece the king sent me was just like him,” the dwarf continued. “Stubborn enough when she wanted to be, but not a kinder soul ever lived beneath the Goldenscales. She would always show up with a flower in her hair, and she’d always scoff at me when I noticed.”

  He looked up, as if history were playin
g upon the wooden beams that supported the tavern. With a sigh, he reeled himself back into the present, pursed lips and narrowed eyes making him seem just a bit older.

  “Not all the dwarves were happy with the king’s decision. Thurgan and Fali, they tried their best for me, but it wasn’t long before I had to take on more responsibility to pay the price of my adopted son’s home…”

  They were like little explosions in the dwarf’s ears, as they always were when he first began to stir. How his son was always able to sleep through them was another thing Dorn had never understood. The bell kept ringing, and as the dwarf woke, the noise seemed less powerful. The sun had just barely peeked over the horizon in the world above. It would be over an hour before the lower cliffs saw any light.

  Dorn stretched his arms and legs until a satisfying pop clicked in his left shoulder. He groaned as he reached for it, but a smile stretched his lips. Rolling from his mattress, he saw the child on the opposite side of the room, still completely embraced by slumber.

  The child had grown far faster than the dwarf had expected in the prior five years. Already, Bolt’s head was beginning to rise over his father’s shoulders. Still, Dorn was stubborn and often carried the child to bed after he had fallen fast asleep.

  As with any day, the dwarf set to his morning tasks quickly, wiping the fatigue from his eyes. He stifled a yawn and shook his furry face, his beard whipping to and fro. His bare feet slapped against the dirt floor, leaving his skin lightly stained.

  Dorn’s body slowly filled with energy, and he walked to the back of his shared hovel. A wooden door was fixed into the wall, and he opened it without any thought. A glass bottle of goat’s milk was inside, covered by a leather skin. The dwarf retrieved the bottle and carried it away to a pot he kept near his woodstove.

  Starting his morning fire, he poured half of the bottle into the pot and sat in front of the stove for some time, warming his stubby fingers. When the milk began to bubble, Dorn turned to his dining table, absentmindedly grasping at the crusty bread that remained there from the prior day. He tore off hunks of the bread and threw them into the pot, watching them sink beneath the creamy liquid.