Chapter 75: Black Fire
Two hours later, Yorvig stared down at a freshly-inked line in his ledger—saltpeter fertilizer: 3.5 tons.
Of sulfur, they had just over five hundred pounds. They kept that much in store at all times. The rest they had always treated as refuse, but it was not as dear in the recipe. Of charcoal, they had many tons. They needed cauldrons or vats for mixing, which they had already.
“And you can demonstrate this recipe?” Yorvig asked Rothe, who stood in the chamber still wearing his mask. Thrushbeard, Sledgefist, and Crookleg were also present. Yorvig had made the young herder and the two Hammers who had witnessed Rothe’s demonstration swear oaths of secrecy. He hoped it would work, at least for a short time. The last thing he wanted was false hope, for if this Black Fire turned to no account, the loss of hope would be worse than never having it.
“No,” Rothe said. “I have never made it. Our weapon-smiths make it. It has been kept a secret for decades.”
“While our folk were dying!” Sledgefist said.
“While we were dying!” Rothe snapped back. “Many Jackals died not using this weapon.”
“Why?” Sledgefist asked, his anger turned to confusion.
“So that the humans would not expect it.”
Yorvig sighed. It made sense. Much would rest on surprise in Glint as well.
“If we made a thousand pounds of this powder, how much destruction would that cause?”
“It would depend on how it is contained.”
“What do you mean by contained?” Sledgefist asked.
“The powder will burn bright and fast if open on the ground, but its greatest force comes when packed inside something.”
“So like your steel tubes?” Yorvig said.
“Or in a bore-hole in rock. That much powder could blow your cliff-side wide open.”
Sledgefist raised his eyebrows.
“From a powder? I find that hard to believe.”
Rothe shrugged.
“I have demonstrated what I could.”
“I find it hard to believe that Reamer would have risked his dwarves otherwise. Not now,” Yorvig said. “Does this recipe scale? If we make, say, a thousandth part as a trial, do the proportions hold?”
“I do not know,” Rothe answered.
“Then we will find out.”
With the others in tow, Yorvig stepped outside the reception chamber. One of the Ridge Warden aids stood waiting. Yorvig ordered him to bring a pound of sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter to his private hold, along with a mortar and pestle from the kitchens. If this went poorly, he did not want his documents and ledgers going up in flames, so he led the small retinue to his own hold. He opened the door and announced their presence in case his wif or gilna needed to veil or seclude. No one responded, so he led the others through the warm glow of fiery Miner's Eye to Onyx’s workshop.
She was within with both Peridot and Iolite. It appeared they had been in the process of forming some fine chain-links, but now they were standing and veiled after Yorvig's announcement—they did not work in veils. He was surprised to find that Onyx's tools showed no sign of packing.
“What is it?” she asked, looking at Yorvig’s retinue with a squint, especially the Jackal.
“Peridot, Iolite, you two go elsewhere for a time. We have need of the workshop.”
As the gilna left, casting glances at Rothe's back as they closed the door, Onyx arched her eyebrow. Over the years she had come to expect that she would receive an explanation for such a strange occurrence, at least eventually. Yorvig didn’t keep her waiting. She did not read many speaking runes, but he held out the recipe parchment to her and gave as succinct an explanation as he could. From her seat at the worktable, she appraised the Jackal still in his mask.
“And you have not called a meeting of the owners?” she asked.
“Not until I verify the recipe.”
“In my workshop?”
“I could do it on the feasting table,” he said.
She sighed and began clearing her tools from the bench.
"And you are using the saltpeter from the gardeners?"
Yorvig snorted. He had not mentioned where he got the saltpeter. So Onyx knew about that. Of course, she likely would.
"Ay, yes."
It was a spacious workshop, more than enough room for the six dwarves present. It took less than half an hour before all the elements were arrayed on the table. The shelves and workspaces were meticulously arranged and maintained, especially now that their gilna served as apprentices in all but oath. It was always part of apprentice work to learn proper maintenance and order of tools and other supplies. Onyx produced some ceramic bowls, and Yorvig began to pulverize the sulfur crystals with the mortar and pestle.
“How fine does it need to be?” she asked.
“As fine as possible,” he answered.
“Here.” She tapped his shoulder, motioning for him to move from the stool. “Let me do it.”
Yorvig wasn’t sure how much differently she would manage the pestle, but he scooted away and let her have her way. In the meantime, he set up her balance scale.
“I would wipe the pestle in between elements,” Sledgefist suggested.
“Does that matter?” Yorvig asked Rothe. Rothe merely shrugged. They cleaned the pestle between elements just to be safe.
Onyx pulverized the charcoal next, and then the saltpeter.
“What are the part weights and the standard?” she asked.
“Let’s make it a standard of one pound. Fifteen parts charcoal.” He waited as Onyx arranged the weights and parted out the charcoal. Satisfied, she poured the fine powder into one of the ceramic bowls. “Ten parts sulfur, seventy-five of saltpeter.” She measured and poured them together.
“Mix to uniform,” he said.
Onyx took a narrow bit of steel she used to size chain-rings but Rothe raised a hand.
“Do you have anything of wood to stir with?” Rothe asked.
Yorvig looked down at the recipe parchment.
“I do not see anything mentioning what to mix it with.”
“You want to avoid sparks,” he said. “If it sparks, it will burn.”
Onyx set down the steel rod.
“Is this powder truly that dangerous?”
“Ay, yes, if packed and contained. Open, it will flame high.”
Yorvig was trying to think of something made from wood that they could use, but Onyx stood and moved to a shelf. She unwrapped a case and slipped a long piece of brass from a sleeve. It was a tapered punch of some kind. Brass was useless at sparking. She sat back down and stirred.
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“That is as uniform as you could wish,” she said after a time. She took a cloth and wiped off her brass punch. “It is ugly and a foul-smelling concoction. What is it called again?”
“Black Fire,” Rothe said.
Yorvig looked at the Jackal.
“Give us a demonstration.”
Onyx left the workbench and Rothe approached. He took an empty ceramic bowl and poured a small amount of the mixture within. Then, he handed Yorvig the bowl containing the rest.
"Keep that covered." Rothe reached into a pouch at his side and pulled out a fire-starter. He tested a couple punches pointed at the stone floor, spraying sparks. Holding it above the smaller sample, he pushed the plunger. Sparks flashed into the bowl. Nothing happened. Rothe punched the starter again.
It flared, shooting tall and narrow flames. There was a hiss and a smoke, and it was over.
“Is that what it was supposed to do?” Sledgefist asked.
“Ay, yes,” Rothe said. “That is correct.”
“So.” Sledgefist turned to Yorvig. “It scales. Why did you want it to scale?”
“To see if it would work!” Yorvig said. “We need as much of this made as we can resource.”
“I will help," Onyx said.
“I don’t want you anywhere near a thousand pounds of that.”
“I dare say it is safer than running across ürsi-infested ridges," she answered, a bite in her tone. But she moved on: "We cannot make thousand-pound batches. Even a hundred would be difficult. I suggest we do fifties at most. We will need bigger mortars and pestles. We can use one of the empty stopes for the final mixing. How should it be packed?”
Yorvig looked at Rothe.
“How should it be packed?” he echoed.
“What do you have in mind for it?” Rothe asked.
“I want to kill One-Ear.”
“If he is truly on that ridge,” Sledgefist said. “Then the trick will be getting this powder near enough to matter. ”
“We will also need to carry it,” Thrushbeard said. “So it cannot be too heavy.”
“If this does what you say,” Onyx said. “How will you ignite it without dying yourself?”
“Fuse,” Rothe said. “Cloth finely rolled and sewn, packed with powder.”
“If One-Ear was closer, or if we had time, we could tunnel under him,” Sledgefist said.
“But neither is true. Whatever we do, it must be done soon.”
"Shit. If we’d had this last fall, we could have dug right under him by now."
Maybe, maybe not, Yorvig thought. Tonkil's Rock was both far and high.
“We should get to work,” Onyx said. “You can plan while we make the powder. Send for Lowpleat. The Jackal can explain this fuse to him.”
Yorvig nodded.
“So be it.”