Chapter 7
"Roast orc is the worst thing I've ever smelled!" One dwarf groused, as he paused in honing his axe to check the edge against the light.
"Roast orc is certainly not very nice," another wearing a horned helm over coal black beard tried for the understatement of the year, "but even worse was the smell from roasting their accumulated filth from never washing themselves."
"That is truly foul, but I have to disagree, and say that the group after that one smelled far worse," complained a third dwarf with grey in his beard. "That was definitely the worst cleanup I was ever part of."
Durog was glad that the dwarves filling his command center were calm enough to chatter about the last couple of orc attacks instead of the imminent attack they were all here to respond to.
It said they were not too worried about what was coming and that was important.
A calm crew made fewer mistakes.
He found himself agreeing with his guys, that they really should work on finding some kind of non-stick coating to make cleanup easier.
The tunnel they were talking about really needed something like that.
A small orc army had broken in to a poorly hidden rear entrance to Lonely Mountain, only to find it was poorly hidden for a reason.
That tunnel, now known as The Frying Pan, had been lined with cylindrical steel sections cast from "orc-metal" - all the metal weapons, armor etc taken from other defeated groups of orcs.
Orcs were slipshod workers at their best. And their efforts at smelting were particularly shoddy. Metal objects produced by orcs had so many impurities, flaws, inclusions and resultant weak-spots that it was easier to mine new metal and smelt it yourself than it was to re-smelt orc metal enough times and in enough ways to get rid of all the impurities.
So nobody had minded when Durog claimed all orc-metal for his projects.
Not long afterwards, a whole tunnel had been encased in orc steel.
But that's not all.
The dwarves of Lonely Mountain did a lot of mining, smelting, forging, casting and blacksmithing.
Those forges, etc. used a lot of heat, and it had been fairly simple for Durog to re-route their hot exhaust to other systems of exhaust pipes, so that waste heat could be used for something.
So when the orcs had filled the metal tunnel, levers had been pulled to slam hidden doors shut to lock the orcs in, and then route all available hot gas exhausts through a hollow space around the steel tunnel the orcs were in.
The tunnel got red-hot and the orcs roasted to death, or fried in their own body fat as some described it.
The orcs had attacked the tunnel trying to make holes in it with their weapons so they could get out.
And they'd made plenty of holes through the lousy steel.
But that hadn't saved them.
Neither had it saved them to knock their comrades down and stand on them instead of standing on the hot steel. But they'd tried that too. Orcs were like that.
Scraping that tunnel clean afterwards had been no fun at all.
But the smell of it had probably been less bad than that of the next group of orcs to attack.
The 'poorly hidden' tunnel they'd found had been made of the usual stone, but rigged with something new that Durog was trying out.
Dwarves had long ago learned that a teapot should not have a lid that seals airtight. It did boil the water faster, but unless you got to it at just the right time, you ended up with steam and boiling water all over the room.
The steam had to have a way out.
It was a small step from there to notice that removable caps on that steam-relief port let out some steam but not all, and how much steam got out depended on the weight of the cap.
Thus the pressure-cooker was born. They were no more than airtight pots for boiling things, plus a steam-relief port in the pot and a lid on that port, of just the right weight. They boiled your meal nicely and kept just the right temperature the whole time by letting out any excess steam.
Over time, it had also been discovered that if you opened that pot suddenly, or if its airtight seal failed, then all the water inside would flash to steam all at once.
That was dangerous, so they made their seals good and strong.
But Durog didn't.
He spring-loaded his pressure-cooker lids and had just one thin cotter-pin holding them closed.
When that tunnel had filled with hundreds or orcs, he'd pulled a lever, which yanked the cotter-pins free from dozens of wide pressure-cookers, all heated well past the normal boiling temperature by simply routing the forge exhaust past them. A vast amount of steam had come out, rushed through many small ventilation shafts, and bathed the orcs in super-heated steam.
Many of the orcs had sort-of liquefied. All had died.
The smell had made level 33 of the mines uninhabitable for a week.
"The point you are missing," one dwarf with a buck tooth and a scar on his face was saying as Durog tuned back in to the conversation going on around him, "is that scraping crispy-fried orc bits off a metal surface is not just nasty, it takes forever. So however bad it smells, you have to be there for hours and hours. You slackers on the other cleanup jobs were done in a comparative eye-blink, even if your mops and such did have to be taken miles from here and burned afterwards."
"I wonder," Durog mused as all eyes turned towards him, "what if we blasted steam into the metal 'Frying Pan' tunnel just after frying orcs - would it clean itself, as far as the baked-on bits at least?"
Squinty was quick to respond. "Not all combinations give you the best of both worlds - that's a myth. It's just as easy - no, easier - to get the worst of both worlds."
Grumbles of agreement came from around the crowded room.
"You don't know how easy you have it here," a young new dwarf piped up. "I'm with the group that just moved in from the Iron Hills, where we still lose dwarves every time we get attacked by trolls or dragons & sometimes even orcs kill some of us. I'll tell you I'd much rather do a really smelly cleanup than have to bury another family member."
"Good point," answered a grizzled old dwarf, and stood. "A toast to Durog Spike-Hammer!"
Flagons of ale appeared as if by magic in every hand - dwarves were never very far from their flagons and a few kegs, if they could help it - and the rest of the dwarves in the room all stood and drank.
Durog's embarrassment was interrupted by a bell.
"Dragon just about to enter the main tunnel," said the dwarf at the bell, who had been listening to the drums sending updates in mine code.
Durog spoke. "All right lads, this is what we've gathered for. The show is about to begin. Double-check the gear you're responsible for and the gear you're the backup for. Then be ready to act when I signal."
Dwarves all around the room scrambled to do various things.
Squinty hurried out to go to his ready room.
Durog, watching the tunnel through his narrow hidden view-port, saw the dragon cautiously poke its head in and look around.
"Signal the blacksmiths to take the weapon-blanks they have been heating up down to the ready room now," Durog said.
A signals-dwarf started tapping out the message on a bell.
The suspicious dragon sent a long blast of flame down the tunnel ahead of it, then, satisfied that no ambushers could have survived that, it moved forward.
Durog spoke rapidly.
"Signal both ballistae at the front gate to fire at the dragon when he gets to Point 7."
He turned towards his crew.
"Get ready to activate all of section 7 at once, and section 6 as well, just in case."
Dwarves hurried to comply as Durog pulled the master arming lever, without which, the traps they'd planned to use would not go off.
They waited a tense few minutes while the dragon, pausing every so often to breathe fire again, advanced towards the section of tunnel which the dwarves were ready to trigger.
When it was close, Durog asked for another signal to the blacksmiths, saying they should begin fastening the red-hot axeheads, spearheads, etc. to the waiting handles. Things had been prepared so that could be done speedily.
Soon thereafter, the dragon reached Point 7 - one of the pre-arranged and agreed upon landmarks in the tunnel, none of which would stand out to any but a dwarf already shown what to look for - this one was a particular pattern in the metal mosaic inset flush with the stone floor.
Then Durog calmly said "Now".
As if he had spoken directly to them, the ballista gunners at the front gate fired their weapons at the dragon, which crouched down to protect its unarmored belly.
Then several dwarves in Durog's control room pulled levers.
The mosaics in the floor, done using various inlaid metals, proved to be more than mere pictures.
Certain portions of the inlaid metal were actually the upper edges of the jaws of enormous bear-traps.
All at once four dozen bear-traps of various sizes snapped closed on the dragon as well as in front of it, in case it had decided to surge forward.
Traps closed on its neck in 3 places, on each of its feet, and on its tail in 2 places, neither of which was near the tip.
And, though the dwarves could not see it, more traps would have closed on various parts of the dragon's unarmored belly.
The beast roared in outrage and pain.
It struggled furiously against the traps, but had troubles, with all its limbs pinned, getting the leverage it needed, except for its tail, which tore free of the trap closest to its tip and started thrashing about furiously, beating on everything it could reach as it attempted to find something it could beat on that would help it.
Durog signaled again for Squinty to proceed with his part of the plan, since the first such signal had been mostly drowned out by the roaring of the dragon. He was surprised that a Size 5 dragon like this could tear free from any of his bear-traps. Sure these were strong beasts, but the metal of the traps was thick, well-anchored in the stone, and the jaws had ratchet mechanisms to hold them closed.
It was probably due to the 30 feet or so of tail near the tip that had remained free of traps. Dragon tails were nearly all muscle, and that 30 feet gave it pretty good leverage against the bear-trap clenched onto it at that point.
And now it had almost 50 feet of tail free and was working on wrenching free of the only other trap on its tail - clamped shut on it about 10 feet from the main body..
That trap was a large one though, and extra-strong. They had mixed in all sizes of traps, and could set them off individually or in groups, to be ready for whatever size of dragon showed up.
So it would probably hold for a little longer.
He said "Fire at will with any section 8 trap that may catch that tail as it swings around. It could cause all sorts of problems."
Then he signaled Squinty again, just to be sure.
In discussions on how to make as many more magic weapons as possible for the king at the next dragon attack, they had chewed over several unsatisfactory ideas before Squinty had come up with what seemed to be a winner.
Standard catapults had a single arm, with a cup on the end for throwing projectiles.
Squinty had suggested removing that one arm, and attaching instead as many weapon handles as would fit - this turned out to be fifteen - then keeping a supply ready of as many weapon-heads (mostly axe heads but other types too) as could be used. This ready supply was already forged and shaped and completed in all respects but for the final tempering and quenching, which would be done in the dragon's living body to make them magic. They called these weapon blanks and had started heating them up the moment a dragon had been sighted.
Any time now, they would be done attaching these weapon-heads to the handles. They'd prepared to do it quickly now - strong enough to hold for one blow - and return to the task later to do it right, the way it deserved to be done.
When ready, Squinty would open certain watertight ceiling panels in the ready room, exposing the dragons belly just above.
Then the platforms the catapults were on would be raised to the right height and all would be triggered at once to 'fire' and slash multiple red-hot axe heads, halberds, and military picks into the dragon's belly and quench them there.
If that didn't kill it, they still had the option to drown it. The ready room would get wet too but the dwarves there could seal it up tight when they left and it had drains to get rid of the water.
It looked like they would have room to use maybe 3 such catapults on this dragon all at once, with a little room to spare.
If it didn't manage to free itself first.
Durog had tried, by using all the traps as the beast crouched, to get as firm a hold on it as possible, to buy them as much time as possible.
But the process seemed to be taking forever.
He was just beginning to speculate that maybe, for the next time, he should modify the ceiling, so that one or more large multi-ton blocks could be lowered onto the beast to help hold it down, when noise absolutely exploded over him.
The roaring the dragon had done before was absolutely nothing compared to the roaring it did now, while steam gushed up from beneath it, indicating weapons were being quenched as planned.
The dragon roared, spasmed, collapsed, and stopped moving.
This was much faster than Durog had imagined it would die.
He supposed that was merciful, but that was not a feeling dwarves felt for dragons. Dragons were not simple predators killing to feed. They were intelligent, cruel, and avaricious - murdering others for their goods and bragging about it.
Dwarves felt no pity for dragons.
Durog tried to ask for a status report, and then noticed that he could hear nothing. The roaring had been so loud he'd gone temporarily deaf.
As his ears started to ring, he made a note to have a supply of ear-plugs for next time.
He wrote out some instructions for his crew, then got busy making notes for the king and the sagas.
He was just about done updating his luck charts with the days events and lucky charms worn, when his hearing came back.
Soon thereafter he learned that, in addition to the 3 modified catapults they'd had ready, there had also been room to use 2 6x6 grids of spears on the dragon as well. These had all been thrust upward - driven by heavy springs - into the dragon at once, at the same time as the catapults slashed with their many parallel axes. Some of the spears had driven into the dragon's heart and killed it quickly.
The king had gotten 45 magic weapons from the modified catapults: 15 halberds, 25 axes, and 5 military picks. And he'd gotten 6 dozen magic spears as well.
He seemed to like these even more than gold.
Durog had never seen him so happy.
Squinty got an honorific and was now known as Karok Many-Axe.