Fool's Gold

Gold and silver will build your hall; only honor will sustain it.
- Dwarvish saying

It was greed that brought the river into the mines. Everyone knew it, but few were willing to say it aloud.

Getad, Hallfather of Vortigar Hall, had always been grasping and petty. He ignored the reports from his engineers, who'd warned that his aggressive attempts to tap new veins of ore and open new tunnels would ultimately lead to ruin. Ultimately they'd been proven right: Thorga, son of Getad, dug too close to the Anvil River. The weakened wall gave way with a sudden, deadly force, and Getad and his men were lost in the crushing waters.

The city of Forge of course, was untouched, as were most of the other mines. Humans had a saying: "Where others build once, Dwarves build thrice.". Each mine was designed to be quickly sealed from the others in the case of emergencies, even the mines of grasping and greedy Hallfathers. As soon as the breech was detected, all the mines were sealed and locked down, the miners within left to wait in darkness as engineers tried to determine which mines were in peril and which were safe. In the end, Vortigar Hall was lucky: Thorga Getad-son and those who worked with him were lost to the waters, but those working in other passages were spared. It was a powerful blow to Getad's pride, however, and many muttered privately that the loss of his ore wounded him more than the loss of his blood.

None dared say it aloud. Vortigar Hall was one of the Great House Urik, and few dared speak ill of that name, even if it's blood occasionally produced dullards and fools. Few forgot the sacrifice that House had made, and continued to make without complaint, and such actions as a whole did much to atone for the sins of a few.

Still, the mutterings did not stop. There were whispers that this time Getan had gone too far, and his foolishness would dishonor his entire House. Most of the whisperers dismissed the notion out of hand, but a few looked thoughtful and grim. That was what bothered Galen.

Galen was a distant nephew of Getan's -- his father Durak was also a Hallfather, and it seemed as though Ultar Hall spent most of its time paying the honor debt that Vortigar Hall incurred.

But that is the way of our house, Galen thought sourly. We bear the cost of our blood-kin's folly. It has always been such.

Galen examined the seal placed over the entrance into the flooded mineshaft. It was a temporary seal, and water had already begun to seep through. He snorted in disgust.

"House and Hall," he swore. "They can't even seal a mineshaft."

Someone chuckled softly. Galen tore his attention away from the poorly-finished seal and turned to see Nogi, his friend from childhood, shaking his head.

"It looks as though your kinsmen were in a hurry," Nogi said, kneeling by Galen and peering at the cracks in the mortar. "Perhaps their Hallfather had more pressing concerns?"

"Perhaps their Hallfather is a mindless goat," Galen said sourly. "No doubt he was more interested in digging a mine to replace the one he so carelessly lost."

Nogi nodded. He wasn't eager to insult someone who shared his friend's blood, but he was more than willing to agree with any insults Galen offered.

"We'll need to fix this," Galen sighed. "And soon. The mortar is wearing away, and the seam is growing weaker by the hours. It won't take more than a day, maybe two at most, for the entire seal to crumble. And then even more of my uncle's mines will be lost..."

Which is no more than he would deserve, Galen thought. But such an event would hurt House Urik as a whole... every Hall depended on the income of every other.

They did what work they could, re-enforcing the seal with the tools they had. After a few hours work they'd managed to extend its life by a few more days at least, more than enough time to allow workers to bring enough raw material to seal the shaft permanently and safely. Galen announced the work satisfactory, and he and Nogi their tools, making their way back to the city above.

Forge was an ancient city -- it was, in fact, the oldest known city in the civilized world. After thousands of years it still stood, resisting the ravages of time and the brutality of wars, a testament to the skill and craft of the Duerinfalk, who men called Dwarves. It was built deep within the rock of Mt. Dainith and Mt. Krueger, an immense city with a multitude of passages and plazas and halls and barrows all connected in a manner that made sense only to those who lived therein.

The city was split into many levels. The upper levels of the city were where most of the Duerinfalk lived, ate, and raised their sons and daughters. The palace of Kang Walde was here, as were the Houses and Halls of the greater families. Here too was the Temple of Thau and Leynye, where the daughters of Leynye performed sacred rituals that only the women-faulk understood. Below the upper levels were the Lesser Halls, where families of lesser standing lived, and below them were the Common Halls, where Duerinfalk who had no claim to lineage of any note lived and hoped to carve their names in the city's foundation.

Below this were the forges. There were lesser forges, where the Duerinfalk smelted and refined ore, and worked metal into machine-parts and other useful tools, but these were not the forges that had earned the city its name. For all the many fires that burned within the mountains, there was only one forge that really mattered -- its greatest -- and it did not burn at all.

It was a massive device, taller than any giant, and from it came the most highly prized weapons in all of Malaan. It was the Coldforge, a feat of engineering so great that some claimed it was sorcery rather than gearsmithing that made it work. It was powered by the relentless churning of the Anvil Falls, the thunderous waters keeping its great engine in constant motion. A skilled smith could use this forge to fashion without smelting, but by bringing the weight of the entire mountain on a shapeless lump of iron, forcing it into a keen blade of tempered steel. Coldforged blades were so prized that wars had been fought over them. The greatest of those blades were said to be every bit as sharp as enchanted ones, yet no sorcery was used in its making.

Below the forges was the start of the mines, and the mines snaked their way for miles below the ground in all directions. The mines were still rich in ore of all kinds, but the closest tunnels had been mined out completely. Families had to tunnel deeper and farther from the city itself, and those families who were luckless to lay claim near the waters were faced with the prospect of owning tunnels that no longer had any use. Which is why, from time to time, some would be foolish enough to risk mining too close to the water itself: greed and desperation would overcome the miner's natural fear of drowning.

Understandable, said some. Foolish, said others. Galen was one who believed such chances were foolish, and that opinion didn't budge even when it was a member of his own family who'd taken the risk.

Galen and Nogi entered the Common Halls, which were "common" only in name -- everything the Duerinfalk built was grand in scale, unless need dictated otherwise. The main passageways of Forge may as well have been named "roads" by mannish standards, for they were wide and tall, stretching upwards as much as a hundred feet in places. The walls of these passages were lined with doors, windows, and balconies aplenty. It had every appearance of a massive city, with people moving to and fro, selling wares on the main throughways and arguing loudly over the prices.

It wasn't long after reaching the Common halls when they heard sounds of jeers and laughter coming from one of the drinking halls, followed by the shrill piping of someone who was obviously not a dwarf -- at least, not male. Either possibility made Galen curious, since few beyond the Duerinfalk visited the lower levels of the city, and women did not usually leave the temple grounds during the day.

"What's going on?" Galen growled, and headed towards the direction of the sound, which was growing increasingly shrill.

"Not a fight, I hope," Nogi said, though not convincingly. Nogi loved a good fight, and tolerated a bad one.

"We'll see," Galen muttered, and as he turned a corner in the passage he saw the heavy stone doors of a drinking-hall. The door was closed, which was unusual, and the noise seemed to be coming from in there. "Let's see what's going on." With that he pushed at the door, which opened silently inwards.

The drinking-hall was a long rectangular room, with double doors in the middle of each of the longest sides. In the middle of the room was a low bar which aped the shape of the hall itself, hollow in the middle, which is where the Hall-master and his servants served their guests. In the middle of that was a ramp which allowed the Hall-master to enter the lower rooms where the stock was kept.

Outside the bar were tables, littered around the room in a roughly planned manner. Some were long, for large parties, and some were smaller for more intimate groups. In each corner of the room was a firepit where meats were cooked for the evening meals. These pits were not lit, it being hours before dinner, and most of the tables were empty, though a few figures could be seen at the bar. One table, however, hosted a disproportionate number of the drinking-hall's population: a thick group had surrounded one of the tables, and a small, angry figure was standing in the middle of it.

"Blood and beard," Nogi swore. "It's a halfling."

It was, in fact, a halfling, arms folded across his chest, radiating defiance. In his right hand was a crumpled sheet of vellum.

"Come now, master halfling," one of the figures surrounding the table bellowed. "Surely you see the problem. We can't allow anyone to steal our drink, and an example must be made. I'm sure you'd do the same, were you in our situation."

The others roared in laughter at that, but the halfling only drew himself up indignantly. "I did not steal your drink, master dwarf," he said shrilly. "I offered to buy it, I did -- I can't help it if your barkeep won't accept honest coin."

The others roared in laughter at that, as well. Galen and his group moved into the hall, toward the table where the outnumbered halfling smoothed his overcoat as though he were brushing aside the indignities of the day.

"It's not my fault it's goblin coin," the halfling continued. "I asked if you took gold, and you said yes. Gold is gold, whether it comes from your mountain or the mints of Barharkaha. You accept enough goblin coin from the mannish folk in Talis, no doubt, since they'll pay for their goods with anything they find without a care for whose face is on it."

The crowd roared again, but there was more anger than laughter in their tone. The Duerinfalk were at war with the Goblins, and had been for centuries. Though the halfling had been right when he said what he did, it was not the kind of thing people liked to hear.

Or have thrown in their faces, Galen thought. But halflings had little in the way of sense, so he wasn't surprised at this one's foolishness.

"Well there's no sense in trying to shout down the truth," the halfling continued. "You may as well try and move this mountain. It is what it is, and there's no need to take offense. At any rate, no-one told me my coin was no good here. It's not my fault you change the rules halfway through, though if you had any sense of shame you'd say you were sorry for it."

"Sorry? For refusing Goblin coin?" Galen couldn't see who'd said that, but the incredulity was plain on his voice. "Ridiculous!" There were murmurs of agreement in the crowd.

"You'd accept ore taken from a goblin mine, wouldn't you? If I had a gold nugget in my pocket, and told you I'd taken it from Barharkaha, would you object to it? No, I suspect you wouldn't. But you'll refuse it after it's been stamped into a coin? I've never heard of a dwarf refusing gold."

"It's the principle, you half-sized nit!" someone roared, and the crowd roared approvingly in return. Galen started to fear they'd tear the halfling to pieces with their bare hands.

"Oh, very well..." The halfling sighed, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a curiously colored piece of rock. "Will this do, then?" He put it on the edge of the table, and the crowd surged around it, each trying to see for himself what it was.

Finally, someone announced "athecite!" and even the figures at the bar, who'd been ignoring the spectacle entirely up till now, perked their heads up in interest.

Nogi looked at Galen in surprise, who felt surprise of his own. Athecite was an interesting metal, and hard to find -- when properly worked and refined, it resisted spellworking of all kinds, to an extent, even the magics of the gods.

"Where did you find that?" Galen asked, raising his voice. He hadn't completely joined the crowd around the table, and some turned to face him.

"I didn't find it, master dwarf," the halfling said, cheerful now that the dwarves' anger had turned into interest. "It's mine! And it's from an athecite mine... and it just so happens that the entire mine happens to be mine, if you follow me." His eyes sparkled at his own jest.

The crowd around the table looked at the halfling again, many of the men frowning through their beards. Athecite was a rare metal, and it wasn't common to find a mine devoted exclusively to athecite.

Nogi snorted derisively. "And I suppose you bought that mine with goblin coin as well?"

The question provoked laughter from the others, but the halfling shook his head. "I didn't buy it all," he said. "I laid my claim on it. It's a frontier mine, you see. In the south, south and east of Uhruhr. In the Danic mountains."

The murmurs returned, and this time there was no single mood among them. Some were intrigued, some doubted, some thought it was a lie outright. The halfling raised his hands, placating. "I know what you're all thinking," he said. "And I don't blame you. But it's the truth, and I'll swear it by whatever gods you want. Or... er... spirits, or whatever you hold holy. I don't remember how it works with dwarves..."

He caught himself moving off the subject, and cleared his throat. "It's all in this flier," he said, waving the cumpled piece of vellum in his hand. "I came down here to see if anyone had interest in buying my claim, since I don't plan on going back." The halfling shuddered. "It's a dangerous place. For me, at any rate. But I expect a dwarf would find such dangers laughable!"

The murmurs increased. Those living in the Common Halls had no family lineage to claim, and depended on luck or great works to make their names. This sounded like a chance to create their own luck, or forge great works of their own.

"Tell us more, master halfling," someone said. "And let us buy your drinks."

The halfling smiled.

* * *

Malaan Copyright © 2001 by Stephen Scholz