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• Fourth Age of Arda
• Prologue

Prologue

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“Rivendell? No iron there.” the dwarf behind the bar turned away, disinterested.

Arigoden knew that. It was one reason he was headed there, to the place that had once been the Last Restful Home. Twelve years hard labour as a 'guest' of the King Defur on the lonely mountain had cleared him of any desire to touch metal again. Ruined as it was, it was a better place for him to live the remainder of his span than anywhere else on Arda. Especially for one of his kind.

But here he was, on the edge of the lake town, in an inn made of gleaming steel and glass, waiting for a dwarvish dragon to take him westward. Defur paid tribute to the Tyrant of the White Tree, but was at least king of his own domain, unlike many others, who merely occupied the throne whilst his advisors dictated policy and bled their fiefdoms dry.

Unusually for a dwarfish inn, the great spindle which powered the inn's many mechanisms and gears was powered by a water wheel rather than steam, and beneath them, the splashes of the river chained echoed up the groaning shaft which rotated ceaselessly. More typically, the walls were covered with weapons, trophy room and armoury all in one. Arigoden was sure if he searched long enough he would find something made by his hands amongst all the articulated morning-stars and Piston-War hammers. Above his head a chandelier of swamp-gas lights slowly rocked from side to side as the storm raged outside.

The bar was almost empty, with only Arigoden, the barkeep and a couple of human engineers from the Dale. They were talking about torsional stresses and better alloys. Arigoden allowed himself a brief moment of superiority. Who would have thought that humans would become so like dwarves, obsessed by the crafting of things and the hoarding of treasures. Conversely, dwarves had taken on human mannerisms, quicker to change and more prone to live outside their mountain homes. And elves? Well, Arigoden's people had all sailed to the west, save a few stragglers - stubborn, prideful and alone. Arigoden would be the first to admit that at least upon Arda, his were a fallen people. The scars upon his body and the arm he kept permanently beneath his cloak would attest to that.

“War? I don't think so.” the more senior of the two humans scoffed. He had an arrogant look to him, fat with money and muscle. His accent was from the east, as well, from Gondor. Arigoden shrank slightly into his chair.

“Our blessed king does not war, he merely teaches lessons to those who are ignorant of his might.”

“Even orcs?” the smaller one said slyly. Both were dressed in rude linen, stained and abraded by metal and oil. But the silver badges on their chest gleamed in the dull, rainy light from the big amber-stained window. The sigil of the White Tree was enough to mark them as servants of a greater master.

“Hah. Those wretches do not learn, so must be taught. Down to the last orcling they must learn a lesson in steel.” the large one laughed brashly. Arigoden felt a chill. This was also the way of the new humans. War was different now. Where once the cream of the warrior caste would meet on the battlefield, now the battles were fought in villages and towns, and neither children nor women were spared.

Trying to act as casually as possible, Arigoden raised a finger to ask for another pint. The dwarf nodded and pulled a nearby lever, his plaited beard bumping gently against it. Somewhere, cogs meshed and engaged with the central drive-shaft. After a few seconds, a stream of snow-cold ale flowed into a tankard.

Arigoden was somewhat bemused. How this was better than tapping a keg that had been kept in a cool cellar was not entirely clear. Dwarves felt the need to mechanise even simple tasks now.

The door opened and a small figure entered, shaking water from his cloak. At first, Arigoden thought it was a tinker's child, as it seemed to be carrying all manner of tool and bits of metal attached to its clothes by metal loops. The small sword swinging at its hip made him study the face more closely. A hobbit.

Arigoden put his tankard down on the bar very carefully. The Hobbit-folk were rare since the Second Scouring of the Shire, even more so outside their homeland. For some reason the Tyrant of Gondor was almost as harsh on hobbits as he was on the remaining orc nations. The dwarf studied the newcomer impassively, whilst the two humans spoke quietly to each other in urgent tones.

The hobbit made his way to the bar and levered himself upwards onto a bar-stool not too far from Arigoden.

“Pint o' your finest, bar-keep and not too heavy on the head.” he said, favouring the dwarf with a cheeky grin.

The dwarf pulled the lever again and filled a tankard.

“Been on the road long, sir?” the dwarf said, his tone perfunctory rather than curious. As was the manner with his kind, the hobbit finished his ale before answering, with much lip-smacking and half-muttered compliments.

“Not too long. Thought I'd see the sights and have a gander at the Lonely Mountain. It sounded so big in the Red Book, I thought I'd pop by and have a look.”

The hobbit spoke lightly of the journey from the Shire, even though it was a perilous trail in these times, unless you took the dwarvish dragon over the mountains. The hobbit did not look like a fellow with means or inclination enough for the fire-breathing mode of transport. Arigoden had (barely) enough for passage on the metal tracks to Rhosgobel on the far side of Mirkwood, from which he would have to make his own way.

“Indeed, the mountain is proud and noble.” the dwarf nodded, polishing the bar with a cloth. Praising their own particular mountain was one of the surest ways to a dwarf's good regard. “but you come a long way to admire it.”

The dwarf had been polishing the bar almost continually, and it had a mirror-like quality. Arigoden therfore had some warning as the larger human walked over.

“Indeed, that's fascinating, my friend.” he said, his voice oozing interest. He loomed over the hobbit. The hobbit appeared not to take the hint, and smiled brightly up at him.

“Yes, I rather think it is. I've got some Baggins in me on my third cousin's married side, so obviously it's practically family history. ”

The name dropping did not appear to have any great positive effect. The human continued staring at the hobbit with a fixed smile on his face, rocking slightly backward and forwards on his heels. Arigoden took to his ale with some haste. This fool of a hobbit did not appear to have the slightest shred of self-preservation, and he did not want to be caught up in what was to come.

“Rickman Greenleaf at your service.” the hobbit hopped from his barstool and sketched a friendly bow. The various knick-knacks attached to his clothes rattled and clanked as he straightened up. The human looked down with barely hidden contempt. Arigoden set his tankard down with more haste than he had intended, the loud click as it hit the surface. The larger human turned around at the sound.

“And may I enquire as to your name?” the hobbit said, seemingly unconscious as to the obvious menace in the man's manner. The man turned back irritably.

“I am Brand of Minas Tirith at your service.” the man said, without a touch of humilty. “And I am a knight-engineer of His Majesty.”

“Knight... engineer.” the hobbit said thoughtfully, “Does that mean you ride an iron horse? I would have thought that somewhat uncomfortable. And what of your fr – well that IS peculiar, I was sure you had a friend here, I wanted to ask his name too.”

Arigoden had been considering a run for it, but subsided back into his chair glumly. If the other man had gone, and Arigoden didn't even bother turning around to check, he'd gone for some help. The White Tree had a garrison at every dragon-stop. The role of protection was secondary to the more important roles of surveillance and control. The dwarf behind the bar pulled another lever, and a slow chugging gear began to turn somwhere.

Attempting to depart would almost be the worse option. He would have to stay here, wait, watch and try to leave afterwards. Starting trouble at the dragon-stop would earn him a quick trip back to the mines. He was the only other patron in the bar, but if he could only remain inconspicuous under his cowl...

“And I haven't even asked YOUR name yet.”

The halfling's voice came like the crack of thunder from a storm.

“Me?” Arigoden said, his voice roughened from years shouting over the roar of the forge furnace.

“Yes you.” said the human roughly.

“I... I am Arigoden, I am only waiting here for the dragon to leave.”

“Very pleased to meet you!” the halfling bounded over to shake his hand. Arigoden extended his good hand reluctantly, only to have it vigorously shaken by Greenleaf. The cowl fell from his face, and Arigoden heard the human gasp.

“An elf! How interesting.” Greenleaf said brightly. Arigoden looked down at the smiling, guileless face and saw the mouth form soundless words.

“Get ready to run.”

“Indeed. How interesting.” Brand purred, “You are both rarities in His Majesty's lands. And as such, His Majesty seeks for you both to be protected from the dangers of this world.”

“Well thank you very much, but I'm quite capable of protectin' myself as it happens.”

“Nevertheless, your kind should remain in the shire, as our King has decreed.” Brand said. Arigoden slowly got to his feet. He was resigned to the fact that the hobbit was planning something, and that – despite his wishes – he was no longer an onlooker.

A rattle at the door signalled the return of the shorter human with the expected squad of four kingsguards. They were only slightly wet, so the garrison must have been close to the inn. All were armed with cudgels and short-swords and the shorter human had a nasty look of triumph on his sallow face.

“I'll have no violence in here.” the dwarf cried from the platform behind the bar. “This is a dwarfish inn an I won't be having with any human quarrels.”

“Mind your own business.” Brand hissed. “Elves and halflings are my lord's domain, not yours!”

He turned to Arigoden and Greenleaf, who had bunched together warily at the arrival of the guards, his face once more full of that most sinister friendliness.

“Now, friends, the King's garrison is a few minutes walk from here and I must needs show you my hospitality.”

There was a hiss as steel blossomed from the scabbards of the four guards.

Two against six with only a single sword at their disposal was not Arigoden's idea of a fair fight. But he had tasted imprisonment for twelve years which had felt like twelve hundred, and the soot from the forge and grit from the mine was embedded in his very skin. He came to a decision, he would fight rather than be taken by the humans. With somewhat of a flourish, he swept the cloak from his OTHER arm.

“I believe I will have to decline your invitation, human.” Arigoden husked.

The big human's eyes widened at the sight of the cast-iron limb, with the rivets and huge, misshapen fingers.

“Orcscraft!” he hissed, “You break the King's Law with such an abomination!”

Arigoden regarded him without fear. Unlikely as it was, the yrch had been his friend and had restored him to wholeness after the accident with the big gear. The dwarves would have quickly dispatched him, as what use was a prisoner who could not labour? Algazh had promised to repair him if they were only to give him access to a forge. They had done so, and with white hot orc liquor flowing through his veins Algazh had driven white-hot shafts of metal into Arigoden's shoulder to anchor this arm of Orcscraft. Barely tolerated by the dwarves, the king of humans feared it as symbolic of the orcish evil he would seek to destroy. An evil that saved Arigoden from being a cripple for the rest of his long, long life. Arigoden had different definitions of evil.

Arigoden flexed the fingers he had oiled that morning, and the rattle of internal gears reassured him it was still working well.

Brand looked like a man who had sat down expecting gruel but had found a whole roast ox placed in front of him. The guards around him looked less certain. A single halfling and an unarmed human were suddenly less of an easy job than they'd expected.

“Excuse me, excuse me!” said the hobbit, waving his arms. He had clambered onto the bar (Arigoden caught the look of disgust on the barkeep's face from the corner of his eye at the hobbit's bare, muddy feet) and was searching carefully amongst all the strange devices, bits of metal and leather bags clipped to his robes.

“I've... (argh, where is it?)... got something here which will answer (not that one, no...) all of your questions and explain why we should be allowed on our (no, this is pipeweed) way.”

Indulgently, the big human jerked his head at the guards, and they lowered their weapons. That was a mistake, Arigoden knew, and tensed himself. The hobbit stared intently at the object in his hand, squinting a bit.

“But to read this one, I'll need my glasses.” he said brightly, and lowered a pair over his eyes. Arigoden noticed that they were of darkened glass and shut his eyes as the halfling drew his arm back. There was a popping sound and through his eyelids Arigoden saw light swell until it was blinding, even though his eyes were closed. Screams of surprise and pain came from the humans on the other side of the the room. Arigoden felt a small hand tug at his arm.

“Come on, elf!”

Arigoden opened his eyes, and started running for the door. As the halfling had planned, the humans were staggering about rubbing at their eyes. Two of the guards had managed to draw their swords, but they swayed unsteadily in their hands. The big human was shouting angrily and flailing with his huge flabby arms, catching one of the guards painfully behind the ear. Snarling, the guard retaliated, and slashed another of his allies, who screamed in pain as the blade scored across his mail-shirt.

Wonderful, Arigoden thought, as the man staggered back. With any luck, they could make it far enough away from the inn to outrun the guards. Elf and hobbit pelted over the floor, only tapping lightly where human or dwarf would have left heavy, thudding footsteps.

One guard remained between them and the door, blinking unsteadily. The hobbit made to draw his sword, but Arigoden bounded ahead. As he'd learned in the prison mines, he tried to think his arm not as an arm, but a club. The iron caught the guard on the side of his leather helm, and he fell aside, offering no more resistance than a leaf to a zephyr.

The heavy sliding door was directly ahead of them and Arigoden could almost taste the rain-tinged air outside. But before they reached it he heard a sharp metallic clank behind them, and the door ahead of them rattled shut, powered by secret gears.

Arigoden gave an animal shriek of rage. Greenleaf gave a far more restrained “Oh dear.”

Almost as one, the two of them came to a halt and spun around, to see the humans blinking at them, slowly recovering their sight. The guard wounded by his ally stood back from the others, looking white and clutching his midriff. However, the sword was still steady in his hand.

Greenleaf drew his sword, and Arigoden hefted his orcscraft arm,

“Drop your weapons.” came the deep voice, but to the dismay of the two, it came not from the humans, but from behind them. Behind the bar, the dwarf had folded down what looked like a clockwork ballista with a seat, which he was sitting in. A chain led back into the wall and churned ceaselessly, linked somehow to the spindle in the middle of the inn.Within the weapon, whirring gears built to a crescendo and stopped ominously as they bent the bow back to its fullest. The was sighting along the stock of the crossbow, and Arigoden could not but notice that the look of profound regret on his face. Greenleaf dropped his sword.

The humans gathered around the two of them in a semi-circle, the looks on their faces showing that they would not object at all if the two of them resisted.

“Dwarf, your services will not be forgotten.” the skinny human turned to nod. The dwarf looked somewhat pained at the promise.

“Now,” said Brand, “you will see the price for defying His Majesty!”

The humans closed in. Suddenly, there was the sound of metal snapping and one of the guards screamed and fell forward. A long metal bolt was embedded between his shoulder blades. The sound of clockwork resumed.

“I was talking to you, humans.” the dwarf said quietly. As he finished speaking, the crossbow finished reloading and Arigoden saw a bolt emerge from a hidden magazine to rest in the crossbow's breech.

“Treachery!” shrieked Brand, but there was uncertainty in his voice. “Kill him!” he gestured to his men, who were eyeing the distance to the dwarf nervously as well as keeping an eye on Arigoden and Greenleaf.

“So be it.” The dwarf muttered. The bow snapped again forward and hit another guard in the chest. Seizing the opportunity, Greenleaf leapt atop a nearby table and neatly kicked guard's shoulder. The guard shrieked and swung his blade at Greenleaf, who dodged aside nimbly. Arigoden leapt for another, hefting his iron arm. Surprised as he was, the guard parried his first attack, and his riposte lightly nipped Arigoden's bare shoulder. Arigoden hissed in pain and drove his arm like a piledriver into the guard's midriff. He also activated the piston inside the arm, and the arm's length increased by a third at the end of the punch, tossing the guard halfway across the length of the bar, where he landed with a terminal-sounding crunch. Another metallic clank ending in a scream ended behind him as the dwarf again fired his ballista.

Arigoden swung around to see the hobbit extending his arm at the guard attacking him, as if throwing something. A dart attached to silvery string flew out from the hobbit's sleeve, smacking into the soft flesh of the human's shoulder. The man looked down at the tiny barb in his flesh, more annoyed than hurt. The hobbit clenched his fist and the guard went rigid as sparks surged across the fine chain. A tiny lightning played across the man's sword and it dropped from his suddenly stiffening hand. The guard staggered backwards as the lightning suddenly stopped. Greenleaf rolled forward, gathring his sword from the ground as he passed, finishing with a thrust that killed the guard where he stood.

Arigoden shook his arm, and the piston retracted with a sigh, ending in a short metal clank.

The hobbit had finished off the last of the guards, leaving the two knight-engineers huddling together in shock. Arigoden walked up to them, shaking. He'd killed a man, which he'd sworn he would not do again after leaving the prison mine.

As he approached, Brand drew himself up to his full, impressive height. His full blonde beard bristled, but Arigoden could sense the fear that drove his bravado. He was filled with a sudden rage, as Rivendell was now further away than ever.

“All you had to do was leave me be!” he said, his voice breaking. “I did not seek this!” he waved his Orcscraft arm to encompass the bloody inn.

“You are an abomination.” the small human hissed, nudging Brand. Brand stared down at Arigoden fiddling with his sleeve. He appeared to gather himself.

“You have killed the King's guards! You and your family will suffer for this.” He raised his arm to point accusingly at Arigoden, “I will see to it!”

With a cry, Greenleaf leapt forward, transfixing Brand as he stood. With a cry, he fell backwards, and the smaller human sprang aside with a yelp. The killing of an unarmed man stunned Arigoden. Then the halfling kicked at Brand's arm , and Arigoden saw that the treachery had not been the hobbit's. A compact little dart-launcher lay against Brand's arm. Arigoden stilled. The dart was far too small to cause damage on its own, so he had to assume it had been poisoned. His face hardening, he turned to the smaller human. With a grinding of gears, the three fingers on his hand stretched into a claw. The human regarded him coldly and without fear.

“I see this is a nest of treason. No matter what you will with me, the King will find you out.” he said clearly. With a start, Arigoden realised that this human had been the leader all along, regardless of the bluster and bullying ways of his companion. Suddenly a stubby blade was in the human's hand. Meeting Arigoden's gaze, the human silently plunged it into his breast and fell to the floor. Within moments, his breathing stilled.

Silence fell across the inn, broken only by the turning of the central waterwheel.

“Well, Greenleaf, that could have gone better.” the dwarf said wearily, climbing from the crossbow's seat and folding it back up against the wall, where it became just another dwarvish battle trophy.

“You're telling me.” Greenleaf said, wiping his sweaty brow. He wiped his sword on one of the corpse's clothes and resheathed it. “Pull us another pint will you, Dolin.”

Shakily, the dwarf complied. Gears which had just a short time previous killed three men were put to more peaceable use. Greenleaf ambled up to the bar and sat down, picking his way through the rivulets of blood streaking the floor of the inn. Somewhat to his own surprise, Arigoden joined them at the bar.

As he arrived, Greenleaf and Dolin were already deep in conversation.

“... have to make a run for it. I'll try and clear all this away, but I think it's foolish to believe that this can be kept secret. It's my brother's inn, and King Defur will try to help shield him from the Tyrant.”

“But surely, my friend, you can just hide in the Lonely Mountain?” Greenleaf said, biting at his lower lip.

“The entrances are watched. Shielding my brother is one thing. Shielding me would be testing his resolve a little too much.” the dwarf shook his head. “It was just terrible luck that the two of them were here when you walked in.”

“Have you the package, in any case?” Greenleaf asked casually.

The dwarf eyed Arigoden suspiciously. Greenleaf flapped his hand dismissively.

“An elf with an arm of Orcscraft is less likely to go the King's men than either of us are.” Greenleaf flashed a smile at Arigoden. “Besides, without him we might have been in a spot of bother.”

Sighing, the dwarf brough a package of oilskins up from under the bar and handed it over to Greenleaf.

Arioden's eyes widened. Branded on the outside of the skins was the word 'The Fires of Moria'. But the words were written in the script of Mordor. Why these two were dabbling in the language of orcs and the dark lord was beyond comprehension. He quickly composed himself. Whatever they were doing, he would be a fool three times over to get involved. He glanced up at the great clock above the bar.

“Ah, you've got a dragon to catch, haven't you?” Greenleaf said brightly, sweeping the packet into some secret pocket. I'll catch it with you. I'm headed west.” He gripped his tankard and finished it in one long swallow.

Greenleaf reached across the bar and gripped arms with the inkeep. The two of them looked each other deeply in the eye. Arigoden had seen that look. It was the look comrades gave each other when they did not expect to meet again. The dwarf pulled a lever set into the floor, and the door to the inn rumbled aside

“Come on. Dolin's got some mop and bucket work to do here.” Greenleaf said, turning away from the bar without a backwards glance. Arigoden followed him out the door into the rain, which unbelievably had grown heavier since he had entered. Arigoden pulled the cowl over his head and wrapped his cloak over his Orcscraft arm. He glanced back at the bar and caught the eye of the dwarf who had saved his life. The dwarf frowned and made shooing gestures with his hands. Arigoden stepped out the door and was unsurprised that it rumbled shut behind him with a heavy clank of metal. He and the hobbit were on their own.

End of Prologue

Chatter

DarkGod: I like! "Arda: Of Steamwork and Magicka"

Sirrocco: I'm certainly interested. It was also a nicely written story.