Legend of the Runeforger: A Dwarven Progression Fantasy

The last grains of sand drain into the lower half of the timer. I stand up from the hard chair I've been sitting in, thinking in, worrying in, and Nazak leads me out the guardroom and through the winding corridors of the palace. We emerge back into the entrance hall, where the master mason is still polishing the floor to perfection, and go through it to a wide set of stairs.

The steps are already crowded with hundreds of runeknights. A group of senior ones, their weapons bared, flanks me at Nazak's beckoning. Judging by the vicious stares some are giving me, they may have cause to use them before the grand meeting is over. Waves of hate radiate over me, hot as if from the magma seas themselves.

At the base of the stairs are doors of brilliantly worked platinum bars. Thin platinum sheets over them are wrought into the shape of dragons, each unique, and slightly different in proportion and face to the black dragon—these must be the ones Runethane Thanerzak defeated.

Through the gates is the grand hall. Grand is indeed the word for it: it is like the cave outside in miniature. Bands of quartz encircle it. It is worked as finely as the road outside was, however the theme here is not history but geography, the floor and walls and ceiling made to look like the chasm of Hazhakmar and the stalagmite forest—each spike and hill has been portrayed with painstaking detail and accuracy. Runic inscriptions detail where each dragon was thrown down by Runethane Thanerzak, and tell of who injured where and who fell to what kind of blow.

Nazak and the guards hurry me past the benches, which are already full. Those on them glare at me hatefully. Food and drink has already been laid out, but no one is touching it, despite its rich scent. Dwarves of Allabrast would be already digging in, uncaring of whether or not so-and-so Runethane or Thanic Guardsdwarf was here. Not so Vanerak's dwarves—they have been disciplined through fear.

The far end of the hall is raised up a few steps. It is bare of furniture but for one well-carven chair, and it is bare of common runeknights also. Nazak takes me up the steps and leads me to a corner. He and the other guards form a protective wall in front of me—he's taking no chances with my safety.

The hall fills up until it is packed, then it fills up some more. The crush becomes like a close-linked chainmail of steel armor and bearded faces, spears and other polearms poking up here and there. The air shimmers with runic tension. Voices of gleeful hate carry through it:

“He finally pried him out!”

“The traitor is here! He's ours!”

“How will he be executed?”

“He says he helped slay the dragon—I don't believe a word.”

“Burning my money's on.”

“Flaying, then beheading.”

“De-bearding.”

“But what's the other piece of news?”

After some more waiting, and trying not to listen to everyone speculating on how I'm to be killed, the other four prisoners are brought in by Halax. He leads them to the other front corner. A few runeknights look curiously at them, but most still only have eyes for me.

A hush falls. I peer past my guards' wall of weapons and see that Vanerak has entered. The silence becomes absolute—it's as if the whole hall holds its breath. The soft, low clinking of his armor is the only sound. He hasn't cleaned his pollaxe of the miner's blood: he wants it to be completely clear that what he decides is law, on pain of death, no matter how much his runeknights dislike it.

And I have a feeling that they are going to dislike what he has to say very intensely.

He walks through to the front of the hall, up the steps, and to his carven chair. He turns around but does not sit down.

“All hail Runethane Vanerak!” Nazak bellows.

“All hail Runethane Vanerak!” bellow the runeknights. The sound is deafening. “All hail guildmaster of the Reconquerors! All hail! All hail!”

Vanerak holds up a hand for silence; the chant stops still in the runeknights' throats.

“I have returned from my quest,” he says.

His voice is as cool and quiet as ever; he has no need to bellow.

“And I have brought you two very great gifts.”

Nazak signals with his hand and the hall erupts into cheering. He makes another signal and it ceases immediately.

“The first gift is a piece of news. It is knowledge that will set your hearts at ease, though maybe some will feel bitter nonetheless: the black dragon is dead.”

The runeknights cannot help themselves: there are gasps, cheers, and a few even break down weeping. Vanerak does not stop them, just looks on impassively through his mirror-mask. Eventually silence falls of its own accord.

“Some of you are in disbelief. That is a fair reaction. I can assure you, however, that I witnessed its death and final flaking apart to ash with my own eyes. So did the runeknights who came with me on my quest. So you have no reason to doubt.”

I tense up, wondering what lies he's about to tell of its death.

“The slaying was accomplished in main part by a first degree from the south, one Xomhyrk Dragonslayer. It was a long battle, and would have resulted in the dragon's victory had it not been for our timely intervention.”

I struggle to control myself. My stomach is churning, and my vision blurry and spinning, like I'm drunk—drunk on rage! How can he tell such foul lies? Does he feel no shame? Victory over the dragon was Xomhyrk's, Braztak's, the Dragonslayers', the Association's, the other guilds' too. It was also a victory of Broderick's forces who struck great wounds that we reopened, and of Runeking Halajatbast before him too, who struck even greater wounds. And yes, it was my victory as well. I am Zathar Dragonslayer as well as Runeforger. Xomhyrk bestowed that title upon me.

The only dwarf who entered that mountain who has no claim to victory over the black dragon is Vanerak, and yet he is the one who will have the credit for its final slaying.

“We assisted in striking down the dragon,” he continues to lie, “But unfortunately Xomhyrk Dragonslayer perished of his wounds before we could administer any healing chains.”

Another lie—I'm sure Vanerak could have made it to him before he perished if he'd wanted to, but a first degree, who surely had also taken notice of my powers, would have caused too much trouble.

“We did save the lives of several other dragonslayers, however. Halax, bring them forward.”

He leads them to stand beside Vanerak in a row. I try to catch the eyes of Guthah and Pellas, but they don't so much as glance at me.

“You see how scarred they are, despite the healing chains we administered. It truly was a terrible battle. They will tell you just how so, should you care to know. They have also asked to be admitted into the Reconquerers out of gratitude for our help. I grant this request. They will be given money to buy materials to reforge their armor and weapons with.”

Did they really ask, or is he forcing them? I'm honestly not sure. I've told Guthah and Pellas many times exactly how cruel Vanerak is, but perhaps they think I'm not much better. After all, I abandoned them when I swore to protect them, did I not? And I proved to be somewhat cruel and unpredictable myself, at least when it came to deserters—even when said deserters were my friends and guildmates.

Not much better than Vanerak. Could they really see me that way? I feel a little ill at the thought, and sad too. Yet another emotion to add to the turmoil of fear and anger churning in my heart.

“So,” says Vanerak, “The black dragon is dead. It is great news. Yet I have brought greater news.”

All eyes turn to me. Weapons are gripped, lips licked, teeth bared.

“Zathar, come forward.”

Nazak walks me across to Vanerak. I stand beside him, flitting my eyes this way and that—I cannot hold against any of the hateful glares for long. They pierce through me as surely as the runeknights wish for their weapons to.

“Who should we find on our journey,” says Vanerak, “But the traitor to our realm?”

The dwarves open their mouths to roar their hatred—but Vanerak holds up a palm to silence them.

“You all wish him to be punished. That is fair. He is the main cause of our downfall. It was he who stole Runethane Thanerzak's diamond key for the black dragon. The black dragon owed its power to his efforts. Even his participation in the battle against it cannot atone for that. Nor can the Runeking's mercy, which was born, as we know, from corruption within the courts plotted certain factions that wished to see us rough, warlike, and uncivilized dwarves humiliated.”

A few runeknights in the front row look as if they're about to pounce forward to slay me. Nazak gives them a warning look, but they remain like coiled springs.

“He deserves harsh punishment, yes. I agree with this. Torture and lingering death, and more. To be thrown into the magma seas to burn for all eternity. So what I am about to say I also think unjust.”

The runeknights look confused.

“The second piece of great news is not simply that we have captured the traitor. No. It is that we have captured for ourselves a great power. A power lost for a hundred thousand years or more. That has been gone from the underworld for the lifespans of Runethanes, Runekings, and perhaps even Runegods. Cultures have grown, withered, and died that never knew it—the greatest power ever given to dwarfkind.”

The runeknights continue to look confused. Some narrow their eyes at me, perhaps starting to suspect that I've played some trick or lie on their Runethane.

“I speak, of course, of the power of runeforging. Of creating new runes, more powerful and more suited to their meanings. The power of the Runeforger—the one Runeforger, no matter what some scholars misbelieve.”

A few bearded jaws drop. Those looking at me with suspicion narrow their eyes still further.

“The power called runeforging has returned to us,” says Vanerak. “And, however unjustly and ironically, as of now it is contained within only one dwarf, and that dwarf is Zathar, the traitor.”