When I leave the forge and walk out into the Runethane's hall, and then into the ancient corridors of the fort, the usual chill feels deeper. The shadows cast by my torch seem darker. It's almost as if what lies below has sensed our resolve, guessed at our plans. The echos of my tread do not carry far. All sound seems muffled.

Before I go up, I must talk to Guildmaster Nthazes. Is this sense of forboding I feel just my imagination, or does he sense it too? Yet I am told that he's in the forge—and does not wish to be disturbed.

"Not at all?" I ask Melkor, down in the eating hall.

"Not at all."

"Not even by me?"

"He said to call on him only if it's a demand of the Runethane."

"I see."

"He said he was on the verge of a great discovery. Maybe you, a runeknight of the second degree, have some idea of what."

That can only mean one thing. I nod solemnly.

"He will not tell us it, however."

I shake my head. "No, no. He wouldn't. That wouldn't be like him—what goes into the Runeking's palace, but not out? That's the only clue I can give."

"He told us that also."

"But you haven't figured it out yet."

"I have some ideas. If I can break through in time for the battle, that will be good. If not, I already trust in my current equipment. And in my current runes."

He says the last two words rather coldly, and I decide it is time to leave.

"Well, I'll be off then. When Nthazes emerges, tell him that I'm confident of our victory."

"Are you?"

"I think we have a good chance. We have the numbers."

"I'm sure the fort has had greater numbers than this too. But I will try to keep up our morale. I'll tell him of your confidence."

"Thank you."

I make my way back up the corridors feeling more worried than hopeful. It is good that Nthazes has found out about the true metal. I suppose the Runethane's orders drove his thoughts fast. Yet to not want to be disturbed by anyone at all—that suggests he's working on something dangerous. He's never refused to see me before.

Moreover, he is, I presume, not standing regular guard at the Shaft either. To have ceased that duty means he must be working on something truly deadly.

Yet whether it'll prove decisive, none can yet tell.

Light appears in the corridor ahead of me. My step quickens. I am impatient to emerge, to see exactly what the dwarves above think of me now. Will they cower in fear? Will they threaten me? Might an ambush be waiting? Surely not, for the Runethane would never allow it, but then again, I can rule nothing out.

I rush up the steps, Life-Ripper's twin points held out. The thought there might be someone at the top ready to spill my blood makes my own run hot. I dash out into the bright glow of the lanterns, into empty air. There is no one to face me. No angry guild surrounds me.

My blood cools, and I laugh. No one would attack me in the open. No one would be that foolish.

I sweep my gaze across the street. The many runeknights here in the forging district point, stare, or recoil. There's more than usual. Perhaps they've been waiting for my entrance, to catch a glimpse of the Runeforger.

Yes, the Runeforger! Even if the Runethane has not admitted this fact publicly, all must recognize it now. How else could I, a runeknight still so young, have slain the second-most feared warrior in this realm? How else could the power of my equipment be explained? I am the Runeforger—this reality is now self-evident.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

But I have not come to impress the rank and file. I turn to the castle gates, still bent where I forced my way through, and stride toward them. The guards put their hands on their sword-hilts. A few step back. To them, I must look a figure of absolute terror—a menace of dark crimson tungsten and unreadable bright gold, wielding a spear of nightmarishly sharp thorns. They know their bronze could never stand against it.

Ten paces distant, now five. None step forward to challenge me. I think I could continue like this, and my entry would be permitted wordlessly. Yet, I am not here to terrify them, no matter how good it feels to bully these dwarves who just a few long-hours before were attempting to put me and my own through such strife. I will ask permission. I put up my visor and bow slightly.

"Greetings, runeknights of the Red Anvil. I trust you are well this hour?"

"Well enough," their senior answers. He is a second degree, yet still sounds scared. "Why have you come, honored runeknight?"

"I seek an audience with Runethane Halmak."

"I am afraid that he is in the forge."

"Then I would like, if permitted, to wait inside until he is ready to see me."

"It may be some time."

"I am very patient."

He nods quickly, as if he thinks that I am actually not patient at all, and do not wish to be kept waiting. "Very well, honored runeknight. If you'll come with me."

The broken doors are opened and he leads me through. Two other senior runeknights close in behind me, and I start to feel a little nervous, but again, if Runethane Halmak wants me dead or imprisoned, he's had plenty of chances.

As we walk, I look over the carvings of the great deeds of the Red Anvil guild—the slaying of Uthrarzak's captain, the conquest of the tin-trolls, and a hundred other victories. Before our duel, did Brezakh envisage his victory over me being inscribed up here? Instead, it's my victory over him that will be set into stone, in the guildhall of the Runic League. We need something like these carvings in our cave—of my deeds as well as those of the guild. A carving of Hayhek's victory will have to be made. That might cheer him up, help to legitimize his act. And of course, I will commission an artwork of Ithis' spirited defense after I fell, and also something depicting his plan to uncover Brezakh's conspiracy.

If only there were more masons down here. The few that do reside in Brightdeep charge high prices for their work.

We walk around the arena. I glance down at the gravel, still scraped up and disturbed from the two duels. It's dark, so I can't make out the blood, but can nonetheless sense that it's still down there. Mine and my enemy's, mingled together.

Before we reach the end and Halmak's throne room, however, the second-degree leads us down a turn.

"Wait!" I say, and halt. My escort quickly stops in time. "Where are you taking me?"

The second-degree turns and bows. "To the Runethane's forge and store rooms, honored runeknight. Outside, there is a viewing chamber, from which us elders are allowed to watch him at work, to learn. The curtains are shut for now, but it is still the most honored waiting-room that we can provide for you."

"All right. Very well. Proceed."

We descend. They seem nervous, both the dwarf in front and the two behind. Do they think I could kill them if I wanted to? If it came down to a fight—which it won't, I remind myself—could I win against a second-degree and two thirds? Maybe, maybe not. What's important is that these three clearly believe that I could.

A few more turns, another staircase, and I'm shown into a crescent-shaped chamber. The inner side is not a solid wall, but rather a series of thin pillars. Heavy black curtains hang between them. Beyond, I can hear hammering. It is almost deafening.

Around the edges of the curtains is a red glow. This is the center of the realm, the true center, where its Runethane forges.

The third-degrees leave, and I am now alone with the second-degree. We sit on a rough bench. He does not meet my gaze, just stares at the curtains. The light from the single lamp set on a plinth in the room's center reflects dimly on his bronze.

We wait, and wait some more. After a while, ale and bread is brought to us. I eat, though the second-degree does not. All the while, Runethane Halmak's deafening hammering continues.

"Does he know I'm here?" I ask.

"No."

"Will you tell him, when he takes a break?"

"I do not dare. He is not in a good mood."

"No, no. I expect not."

"With respect, I do not think he wants to talk to you."

"But I must see him."

"Of course."

The waiting continues. I fall into a half-sleep, though do not let go of Life-Ripper, and one eye remains open a crack, so I can see the second-degree and the door.

Sudden silence awakens me. The Runethane's hammering has ceased. I stand.

"Wait!" hisses the second-degree. "I'll announce you."

"Who is that?" comes a shout. "I said I was not to be disturbed!"

He sounds angry. Angrier than he was when he talked to me. I thought he'd accepted the terrible facts then, but it seems like now his pain has returned, and he's come to the forge to escape it. He is in the midst of rage and grief—but I must have an audience with him. My guild must be allowed to return to the city. And beyond that, I must know his plans for the attack. I must have something to reassure my guild with. They are terrified of the coming battle, and my own fear grows hourly also.

"It is I, Zathar Runeforger," I say. "I have come to seek permission for my guild to return to the city, my Runethane. And as well as this, there are several other things I must discuss with you."

"Bring your guild back! It was never disallowed. As for the other things—I am busy!"

"We must talk, my Runethane. Please."

"I am forging."

I open my mouth, but stop my voice in my throat. His speech sounds as violent as his hammering. I cannot push him.

I have my permission—what more do I need?

"Very well, my Runethane. I will bring my guild up as you permit."

Silence follows this. I am patient enough not to break it, though I desperately want to hear some reply, some assurance that he does indeed bear no grudge against me.

Then, the hammering resumes.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.