Even the longest journies begin with but a single step...

By Tarn Stormhold

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

Chapter 3

As a dwarf reaches a certain age, 'e's expected t' take on certain duties fer the Clan. Much like an initiation, I suppose. Ye canna' expect t' simply wake up one day an' be more'n able t' forge fine dwarven steel, fer example. There be steps t' gainin' any skill, an' any self-respectin' set o' steps starts at th' bottom. An' I took me place there after a while like any good dwarf, lookin' t carve a fine name fer 'is family in the tomes o' memory. One day, I could become the next Guard o' th' Great 'All. Fer now, I'd learn me trade like every dwarf.

I was apprenticed t' the Weapons Master o' the Clan, name o' Bremmen Broken-Fist at the time. 'E was a great bear o' a man, at least by Dwarven standards, bein' nearly five feet tall an' weighin' somethin' approximatin' a thousand stone. 'Is beard, the envy o' many a scruffy young lad, was so thick tha' e'en though a man in 'is line o' work 'as many a close brush wit' fire, no flame could take 'old in such a thick mat o' 'air.

But fer all 'is mighty an' imposin' features, 'e was the very soul o' artistry. There are famed smiths in the world, makers o' blades tha' could cut shadows an' shields tha' could stop a train. None o' them would be fit t' work this man's bellows. 'E was the one set t' makin an' maintainin' the armor an' weapons o' the Guards o' th' Great 'All. An' in 'is time, 'e could rightly boast tha' the glory o' these men n'ere wavered fer a moment due to a less than perfect piece o' work, an' in fact, they looked better than when the first Council appointed men t' those jobs oh so many years ago. 'Is abilities in workin' metals was as near as we'll ever come t' seein' the All-Fathers art o' creation itself. Molten metal 'twas like a livin' thing t' 'im. Almost seemed 'e merely told it what shape t' assume, be it armor, blade, or tool, an' it'd simply assume the most perfect shape it could for 'im.

If'n I've made it seem it'd be a dauntin' task t' go work fer such a great man, then I've nay told the 'alf of it. I was so terrified of makin' meself look foolish t' this man o' near god-like reputation, I near trembled meself out the door as I stood waitin' fer 'im t' approve me stayin' on.

"So, Lad," 'e thundered suddenly, makin' me near faint from fright, "Yer Father tells me yer in want o' a path through life. 'Ave ye chose th' job o' a smith, then?"

I stammered back to 'im as best I could, "Y...ye...Yes, sir,...I sup...suppose I did that, I did."

'E looked me up an down fer a few minutes, measurin' me wit' 'is eyes. I'll tell ye, Ben, takes a powerful strong urge t' make a man who never aspires t' largeness anyhow feel e'en tha' much smaller, but 'e managed it easily. I braced meself fer a quick rejection.

"Ye'll start by workin' the forge fer me then," 'e said, an' wit' no more than tha', 'e turned and started picking up 'is tools. I stared at 'is back, dumbfounded fer a few minutes, an' then realizin' he meant fer me t' start workin' the bellows RIGHT THEN, rushed over t' the pumps an' started blastin' the coals.

Ye start learnin' the smith's art by learnin' the tools o' is trade. There be many tools, 'ammers, tongs, punches, anvils, buckets, files, an' the like t' learn of an' 'ow t' properly care for 'em. Also, fer all the similarities o' steel objects ye may see, there be a whole world o' types an' terms fer the ore tha' goes into them. An' a'fore 'e'd ever let me make somethin' o' me own, I had t' know every type of ore by sight, feel, an' the sound it made when struck by an 'ammer. Also, there be a lot ye can learn by watchin', if'n yer patient enough an' can watch somthin' enough times. So I figured, after nearly fifteen months o' doin' nothin' but pumpin' bellows, the number o' times I'd seen Bremmen craft most any manner o' metal creation qualified me t' be the next Master Smith o' all the Clans! I'd nary e'en touched a tool yet, save t' rush cross the smithy t' fetch one fer Bremmen when he called fer one. Never made so much as a brass nail. After fifteen months, me young 'eart was ready t' explode. Sure, I'd always ask t' try me 'and at craftin' anythin', ANYTHIN' if it'd mean I could do somethin' different fer a turn. But Bremmen'd simply look at me, eye me up an' down, an' motion t' the bellows. An' with a sigh, I'd always get back on them an' start firin' the coals, again.

On the last day o' tha' fifteen months, I simply walked into the smithy, took of me shirt t' keep part o' the heat of, donned me armored leather apron t' keep what rest of the 'eat off as I could, an' made me way t' the bellows. Bremmen wasn't there yet, but 'twasn't unusual fer 'im t' be in the back gettin' some raw ore or somthin' fer the day's project. Imagine me surprise an' chagrin when I found another young dwarf already on them, pumpin' away. Confusion gave way t' shock, which burned t' cinders atop pure fury! 'Ere I'd worked fer tha' blasted son-of-a-mangy-troll fer all those long days an' months, an' without so much as a nod 'e up an decides I'm not workin' out an' replaces me! Livid, I reached 'round me back t' tear off the straps o' tha' blasted 'ot 'eavy apron, cast tha' thing into the fire, an' storm out.

"Yer a tough 'un, but I'm thinkin' ye'll still need tha' apron t'day, Lad," I 'eard Bremmen say from behind me. I whirled around t' see 'im standin' there, arms, crossed. I was right ready t' rail off on 'im, tellin' 'im what a worthless an' 'eartless bastard 'e was, when I noticed somethin' strange. Bremmen was dressed different tha' day. I'd nay seen 'im in anythin' but 'is leather breeches an' apron before. Tha' day, 'e was dressed like any other dwarf I might see outside the smithy, in sturdy boots, woolen breeches, an' tunic.

A slow smile crossed 'is 'ard-lined face as 'e noticed me look o' anger slide into one o' confusion. Almost as if 'e could read me mind, 'e said, "Aye, an' ye'd 'ave been right t' give me the 'igh 'oly gears if'n I'd abandoned ye like tha'. But there be a time an' a place fer every event, an' a right job fer every dwarf. Yer place on the bellows be over now. Yer job be one o' assistant smith now,"

I could nary belive me young ears. Fifteen months 'ad passed, with no sign t' when me progression might occur. But I suppose the signs 'ad been there too. The noticibly thinner an' softer dwarf who'd walked into tha' forge, barely deservin' a glance, 'ad been toughened by countless 'ard hours into a solid pack o' muscle an' 'ard callous. 'E'd not been neglectin' me all those long weeks an' months, I realized with a start. 'E'd been trainin' me all along t' a trade tha' nay suffered a weakness o' any kind lightly.

"Ye'll be needin' a set o' yer own tools then," 'e said as he moved now t' take a seat near the forge, "Ye'll nay be usin' mine forever. Ye know which ores'll best suit th' need, an' which tools'll best fasion their mates. I'll watch an' give me advice, but no more. Yer apprenticeship'll be over when ye've finisihed those tools t' me satisfaction,"

I stood stunned fer just a minute more before I set off with a new bounce in me step t' the ore bins in the back t' start choosin' what'd be me first project. An' with a certainty tha' surprised me most o' all, I found the choosin' t' be easier than usual. Never occured to me then, but I wonder now if'n Bremmen might 'ave spent tha' time before I'd arrived sortin' some extra fine grade ore into th' bins fer me to, "discover," meself. If so, perhaps there was a softer side t' tha' man than I thought......Nah, 'e's was as 'ard a dwarf as any I'd be likely t'meet, 'e'd never....or would 'e........

Anymind, 'tis no matter now. I 'ad me ore, I 'ad an 'ot fire brewin', I 'ad the finest tool set in the Clans at me disposal, an' I 'ad the watchful eyes o' th' Master borin' into me back. Now all I needed was the skill t' forge me future.

I set t' me work at a steady pace. I was amazed at me strength an' endurance at first, made large by so many hours at the bellows. The massive 'ammer rose an' fell in a smooth cadence, fallin' where an' when I needed it like an' arrow seekin' its target. Me skill was perhaps a bit 'esitant at first, but watching the skill o' the Master 'ad apparently 'ad its desired effect. Instinct took over, an' I could feel the folds an' ripples o' the red-'ot steel as if it was an exptension of meself as I beat an' shaped it into its final form. I know I don't sound the most humble of craftsmen, an' me skill was never anythin' compared to the true artistry o' Bremmen. But on tha' day, whether 'twas a combination o' skill, youthful exuberance, an' sheer luck, I worked like a man possesed by the very Spirit o' Creation. Every whim I 'ad t' what this project would look like flowed through me arm an' came t' life in me work. I nary 'ad a more perfect muse inhabitin' me since, an' I'll likely never again.

I don't know 'ow many hours I worked over tha' anvil. Whenever I was thirsty, I'd notice a cool draught o' water'd appear near by, though I never saw the Master move. As fer hunger, I never felt a pang the whole time, though I near ate me Father out o' house an' home when I felt the ravishin's of it later. An' I nay felt tired fer a moment by tha' forge, though I slept fer a day an' a half afterwards. I simply pounded an' folded an' shaped an' pounded an' folded an' shaped, 'til at last, with the hiss o' Dragon fury, I dropped me work into the quenchin' bucket. Fer a few long moments, I couldn't bring meself t' reach in an' draw it out. Should I perhaps 'ave pounded it one more time? Should I 'ave maybe stopped working it long before? Was it...? Would it...? Should I...? Me mind raced with the possibilites o' what went wrong so 'ard I nearly didn't notice I'd already drawn it forth.

'Twas an 'ammer, as it seemed fittin' t' be a smith's first creation. At first, it seemed far too light, as if 'ollow, 'til I noticed 'twas simply a measure o' its balance. It moved with me arm in perfect form, never off balance, never too clumsy, never too awkward, e'en though its weight was more than enough t' smash rocks an' mold metal. I slowly raised it above me 'ead an' brought it crashing down upon the anvil. If I' expected it t' smash, I was blown away t' 'ear the ringing like a great huge bell, a sharp edged peal o' sound shot forth, clear an' clean as a mountain stream. 'Twas like merely swingin' me fist, though with far more terrible force, an' I stood in awe of what I 'ad done.

Bremmen was standing beside me fer some time before I noticed, an' I 'anded 'im tha' 'ammer without a sound. He took it up, an gave it a few casual swings for 'imself. 'E looked at it, running 'is eye up an' down it's grain, searchin' fer imperfections, sharp ripples, or any faults t' mar its seemin' perfection. Finally, after several long moments, 'e 'anded it back t' me.

"A fine job," 'e said at last, "Needs finishin' work, o' course, in polishin' an' etchin an' wrappin' the 'andle. But 'tis a job worthy o' any smith I've ever come across," He turned me to face 'im, one 'and on either of me shoulders. 'E looked into me eyes, an' spoke 'is next words carefully.

"By All that live 'neath these Grey Mountains. By the Smiths that 'ave come t' forge our 'istory t' weather time, an' those t' come an' make our futures bright an' shinin'. By Alberich an' Velorien. By the The Wheel itself, the Spokes tha' Bind, an' the Axle tha' seeks t' hold the One True Center. Ye've come t' me a boy, an' I send ye forth a man full grown, t' take yer place among yer Brothers, full forged,"

There've been many moments o' pride in me life. I've achieved much in many different places an' times. But never, NEVER will I again match the feelin's I went through by tha' forge on tha' day. People often make much o' the final greatness, the achievin' o' lofty an' supreme goals. I'd not made much more'n a step towards what I might become then, but the mere knowledge of passage meant more t' me than makin' any final destination along the way. Take note o' tha' lad. If'n ye notice naught but where yer carriage finnally gets ye, ye'll 'ave missed all tha' ye wen't through t' get there.

I was a man, then. I was fit t' serve me Clan, t' make me voice open an 'eard in any Dwarven Councils, an' t' finally take me Father's place in the Great 'All when tha' time came. An if'n I'd known in a few short months none of tha' would matter, I'd might 'ave smashed tha' 'ammer where I stood.......