Legend of the Runeforger: A Dwarven Progression Fantasy

Beyond the portcullis a grand entrance-hall has been carved out. It looks entirely artificial, yet also too large to be so. It must have taken Vanerak's miners a long time to mine it out, or else they were driven very brutally indeed. Masons are still hard at work on the floor, polishing it and rubbing it down with some kind of solution, perhaps to make it resistant to scratching—or at least, they were doing so until we entered a few moments ago, for right now they are prostrate before us.

All but one, in the corner. He is wrinkled and his beard is pure white.

“Master mason,” Vanerak addresses him.

After a few seconds the ancient dwarf looks up, then he bows low. “Welcome back, my Runethane,” he croaks.

“You are taking your time with this hall.”

“One should never rush.”

“That was praise, master mason.”

“Then I am most grateful for it.”

He bows low again then gets straight back to work. Vanerak turns to a senior runeknight who has just appeared before us.

“Steward Kalvak, are preparations for the grand meeting underway?”

“They are. The kitchens are blazing at full capacity, and the hall is undergoing a thorough cleaning. Would you care to inspect?”

“Not yet. I wish to inspect something else first.”

"And what may that be, my Runethane?"

“I notice that I can still hear the sound of mining, and also feel its tremble beneath my feet.”

“Yes—work to link your palace with the cavern below and along continues.”

“I was given to understand it would be a simple job, and fast.”

Drops of sweat appear on Steward Kalvak's bald pate. “That is what I was told also, my Runethane.”

“And were you told anything else during the time that I was gone?”

“I was, my Runethane.”

“And what was that information?”

“I was told that the rock had become hard, my Runethane. Too hard to mine through with any great speed.”

“Is this true?”

“I do not know—I am not a miner, nor have I ever dealt directly with them. There are rumors that the miners have been given too much drink, however it is well known that drink is required to dull their nerves. Like how blindboars are given certain herbs to—”

“Drink is not herbs, Kalvak. Moderation is important, as too few dwarves understand.”

“Of course, my Runethane.”

“I will see for myself how hard this rock is.”

“Do not bother yourself, my Runethane! I will hurry them.”

“You have proven unable to thus far—so I shall do it.”

“I... Of course, my Runethane.”

“And you should hope that they are not too far behind on their work, or you shall face punishment also.”

Steward Kalzak bows very low indeed. Vanerak ignores it and turns to us. I feel his gaze come to rest on me through his mirror-mask.

“Come, Zathar, and you other four guests also. Nazak, you too. We will take a trip below. The rest of you I give permission to rest. Tell Halax to rest as well, if you see him.”

We leave the entrance hall by a corridor to the left and walk through a series of bare chambers and thin corridors, until we reach a set of downward stairs. They are roughly carved, rent with pick-strokes—no masons have come here to sand things down yet. From below I can hear the grating sound of mining, and some drunken singing too.

“Just listen to them,” Nazak says under his breath as we make our way down. “Never permit a miner to sing—it creates joy in what by all rights should be a harsh and thankless task.”

“Quiet,” says Vanerak. “We do not want to make them aware of our presence.”

We reach the end of the stairs and walk down a misshapen corridor. The floor is uneven, tilting this way and that. My heart beats fast. My mind travels back to days I thought well-forgotten, days spent with a pick in my hand and rock-dust in my lungs, and the fear of the whip ever-present.

The tunnel turns and widens slightly into a long hall and our boots crunch on a thick layer of gravel not yet cleared away. At the end are half a dozen miners, overseen by a single runeknight leaning against the wall. The whip is slack in his hand, and beside him is a barrel of beer topped with many mugs flecked with froth.

The miners are singing:

Strike the stone! Strike the stone!

Break it like bone! Like bare bone!

Ah-hey-own, ah-hey-own!

Like bone!

Strike the rock! Strike the rock!

Break it like chalc! Like pale chalc!

Ah-hey-alc, ah-hey-alc!

Like chalc!

Strike the gray! Strike the gray!

Break it like clay! Like dry clay!

Ah-hey-ay, ah-hey-ay!

Like clay!

They do not notice us even when we come to a stop only fifteen or so yards from them. Vanerak taps the base-spike of his pollaxe on a chunk of stone. It makes a gentle clink. The overseer turns to look and the drunkenness falls from his features in an instant.

“Hail to the Runethane!” he screams.

He throws himself to the gravel-strewn floor. The miners toss down their picks and copy him, screaming the same too:

“Hail to the Runethane! Hail to the Runethane!”

“Silence,” says Vanerak.

His quiet voice cuts through the shouting and wailing like a razorblade. The runeknight and miners fall silent in an instant.

“Runeknight, why have you not yet pierced through to the next chamber?”

The overseer gibbers unintelligibly.

“Stand up and speak clearly,” Vanerak orders.

He stands. “The rock... Black stuff... It's too hard!”

“Your miners are drunk. Why do you permit them to drink so much?”

“They said they work faster when drunk!”

“And you, a runeknight, took the advice of miners?”

“I thought... Well, I mean, I thought, well, that they know more about breaking rock than I do.”

“Why did you not ask a more experienced overseer for advice?”

“I... I don't know.”

“What degree are you, runeknight?”

“Sixth, my Runethane.”

“So you are an overseer with some experience.”

“I... I suppose so, my Runethane.”

“You suppose? Answer yes or no, runeknight.”

“I am, my Runethane.”

“You should know better than this.”

“Yes, my Runethane. I am sorry.”

“You do not sound sorry.”

“I am most sorry, my Runethane!” he screams. “I shall do better in future! My best!”

Vanerak raises his pollaxe high and steps forward. He sweeps it down. The overseer ducks back down to the gravel, but Vanerak is not aiming at him. The blade goes through the neck of the nearest miner. His head rolls along a little. A tide of blood floods out into the gravel, staining it dark red. The other miners tense up but say nothing.

“Remove your armor,” Vanerak orders the overseer.

He hurries to obey, but his hands are trembling so badly that he cannot manage the clasps.

“Assist him, Nazak.”

Nazak lifts his axe and slashes at the buckles and clasps with expert precision. Bits of steel ping off the walls, then the tunnel is filled with clattering as the overseer's plates fall from him, leaving him in only a thin cotton shirt and trousers. He looks like a peeled crayfish, and as vulnerable as one too.

“Take up the miner's pick. Now, if you will. Good. Turn to face the wall, and strike.”

A crack echoes. A chunk of gravel falls to the ground. The dwarf looks back at Vanerak, terrified. Tears are running down his face and beard.

“Since you enjoy the drink and singing of miners so much, that is who you now are.”

“My Runethane?” whispers the dwarf.

“My words were not unclear. You are now a miner. Be thankful I did not shave your beard from your face, or your skin from your body.”

The dwarf stares, unmoving, unspeaking.

“Did you not hear your Runethane?” spits Nazak. “Be thankful! Thank him!”

“I... I thank you, my Runethane,” says the dwarf. “You are most merciful.”

“Get to work now,” says Vanerak. “A new, stricter, overseer will be down shortly. He or she will be ordered to leave the body of your fellow where it lies. Let it be a reminder of what happens to those who work laxly.”

“Yes, my Runethane!” scream the miners, still prostrate. “All hail Runethane Vanerak!”

“Hail him!” Nazak shouts at the ex-overseer.

“All hail Runethane Vanerak!” screams the new miner. “He is most merciful!”

We leave the hall and return up the stairs. My hands are shaking slightly. I clench them into fists, but my terror does not abate even slightly. With a single stroke and a few words, a proud runeknight—and a somewhat decent one, who did not drive the miners like beasts, maybe he was one of the only decent runeknights in this entire nest of tyranny—was given a fate worse than death.

I look at Vanerak's pollaxe, its edge red with fresh blood still dripping. This was a warning to me. He knows that I was once a miner, and knows I would rather die than be thrown down to that slavery again. He knows that very well.

After this, he leaves us for a while. The other four are sent with more junior runeknights to wash and be given clean clothes, while Nazak is tasked with leading me off to a high, secure guardroom for the same.

“You are to be the main event of this grand meeting,” he says as I strip my armor and change into plain black fabrics. “We are all looking forward to seeing you—and I'm sure many will like to speak to you as well.”

I ignore him and try to wipe the rock-dust from my face.

“Leave your skin grayed. A dwarf should never forget where he came from.”

“I ought to look my best before my Runethane.”

“You say 'my Runethane' a great deal, but I don't think you truly consider him your Runethane, do you?”

“Of course I do.”

“I think your allegiance still lies with a certain guildmaster.”

I look him in the eyes. “It does also,” I say. “I am still part of the Association of Steel, no matter how far away they might be.”

He smirks. “They are very far away. They cannot help you here. They can't save you.”

“I am not looking to be saved. I am here to obey my Runethane. I will stay however long he wishes me too.”

“You can't fool me, traitor. You'll flee at the first chance you get—just like you fled from the black dragon after setting it loose on us. Not that you'll be given any chances to flee, of course.”

“Hope that I don't,” I say coldly. “Vanerak will not be happy with you if I do, I imagine.”

Nazak's mouth twists into a snarl. “He will be even less happy with you. Your friends will suffer first, and worst. He enjoys killing a great deal—that is why they are here, so he can kill them when you displease him.”

“I know. I am no fool.”

“We will see.” He glances at a sand-timer he placed on a shelf when we entered. “Now, we still have a short-hour to go before the grand meeting. Spend that time thinking carefully about how you will act toward the runeknights attending. Very carefully. You do not want to upset anyone. Some here hate you even more than they fear their Runethane.”