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The day was filled with fierce argument amongst the villagers. The members of the Forge mingled amongst them, offering their opinions beside those of their innocent victims. One dwarf was very vocal, his shouting rising above the general discourse of the others.
“Ever since the King has sent his dwarves back here to try to solve our problems for us, the Forge has merely become more violent. Folwren was killed because she aided the King’s messenger! What more will happen if we keep him in our midst? Kill him now!”
“How could you offer to kill someone sent to help us?”
“Help us?” the loud dwarf said. “Help us! He hasn’t helped us! Perhaps he could help us if we could force the names of the members of the Forge out of him before we stretched his filthy neck!”
The crowd about him surged in anger, some agreeing with his words, others fiercely arguing for the opposite. Galin Ironfist laughed inside. If they wished to kill him, they would have to discover his identity first, and even the Forge members had not been able to find that out before letting him join them. He bid his time, and waited.
“That’s a marvelous good idea, my dear fellow,” said one dwarf. He ambled up and amiably clapped the loud dwarf on the shoulder. “While we’re asking everyone if they’re the King’s Dwarf, why don’t we ask if they're the Forge members, too? Perhaps they’ll just up and say who they are! Make our job a great deal easier.”
“I don’t like your tone, fellow,” a dwarf at his elbow said. “What’s your name, and are you a member of the Forge?”
“I’m called Bom. Of course I’m not. I was just saying it’d make it easier.”
“You talk too much.”
Bom looked from the dwarf to the others standing about. Their eyes were fixed on him. “Hey, now, it’s all in jest, right? You don’t really think I’m serious…I wasn’t really expecting…”
“We’re tired of jesting. This isn’t a jesting business! We’re being killed one by one! If you can take others’ deaths lightly, perhaps you can laugh at your own!”
An approving murmur ran through the crowd, and the murmur grew to a great grumbling growl. The dwarves reached out and took hold of Bom, dragging him down from where he stood by the loud dwarf, and taking him to the center of the village. They were a blood thirsty and frightened group and no one was there that knew better or who could hold them back. The members of the Forge stayed quiet, and Galin Ironfist remained silent, too, for this was the beginning of his victory.
Someone produced an axe – no one knew who’s it was – and handed it to another. Several dwarves overpowered Bom and tied him, hand and foot. He kicked and thrashed about until the dwarf with the axe stood by his head, then he laid still, his eyes gleaming.
“You’ll be sorry. Every last one of you will be sorry!”
The axe lifted high in the air and descended swiftly. A skilled and clean stroke, and Bom’s head rolled off into the ditch.
The crowd was silenced with the stroke. They looked at the body. The sun dipped behind the mountain’s shoulder and a shadow fell across the square. A cold wind blew silently up the street and the people shivered and turned away, their blood lust sated for the day and dread of the night beginning to set in.
Galin alone stood waiting until the street was clear. Then he approached and took the head by the beard and laid it by the body. He drew his dagger and cut away the cloth of Bom’s shirt by his shoulder and pulled it back, revealing the brand of the Valley Forge.
Alive
Sally
Inzil
Nerwen
Boro
Galadriel
Eruhen
Glirdan
Finduilas
Rikae
McCaber
Wilwarin
Pitchwife
the Phantom
Mithalwen
Dead
Folwren - Moddess
Bom - Member of the Valley Forge
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