Legend of the Runeforger: A Dwarven Progression Fantasy

It turns out that the key has been dredged up already: that was the chief’s final order to his people before we left. A troll kneels so that our faces are level, then he holds it out in both palms.

I snatch it from him and bring it up to my eyes. I peer closely, turn it over in my hands again and again looking for the smallest chip, the faintest scratch. Dwatrall and Hayhek watch me bring it even closer. I run my eyes over it back and forth from less than an inch away, scanning every single millimeter. Somehow I can tell that if it's damaged the black dragon will notice instantly and give me a slow death.

After many minutes I allow myself a sigh of relief.

“No damage?” Hayhek asks.

“I don’t think so. I hope not.”

“I am glad,” Dwatrall says. “What does it unlock, though?”

I look up at him. “It’s the key to my happiness. That’s all I know for sure.”

“An interesting answer. I hope it opens the door you need it to.”

“I hope so too.”

“It is time to say goodbye, now.”

“Yes.”

Hayhek bows deep. “Goodbye then, Dwatrall.”

I reach out and shake his hand firmly. “Goodbye, Dwatrall. Our debts to each other are cleared.”

“They are indeed. However, I hope we will continue to call each other friends.”

“Of course.”

“And do new favors for each other, with no worry over who is in the debt of whom.”

“Yes. I’m sure we will meet again.”

“I’m afraid we do not know the way to the city. You will have to find the way up through the dryness yourselves. I fear you face a difficult journey.”

“We’ll manage,” Hayhek says. “And we’ll manage quickly.”

“I hope so.”

We receive small sacks of provisions, then he escorts us out the grotto to the drop-hole beyond. After another handshake for both of us, we go.

A splash later and we are walking along the damp tunnel. Our footsteps echo, the smell of river troll fades and is replaced by that gritty, vaguely bitter scent of raw stone. In my left hand I hold Heartseeker firm, and tied to my chest with many straps of leather is the diamond key. It is swaddled in leather from the tentacle beast, soft and squishy for maximum protection, although I’m beginning to think the key is a great deal more resistant to damage than its fragile appearance suggests.

“How long do you think it will take us to the city?” Hayhek asks.

“I’m not sure.”

“We need to plan out a route.”

“What route is there to plan? This far down is unmapped. All we can do is keep on until we find a turn that takes us upward.”

“This part is unmapped, but there are parts that are. We should make it to one of those first. At least to some area I’ve been to.”

“Might be a good idea.”

“We should pause, and come up with something. We can’t waste time going the wrong way.”

“Yes...” I say.

“Zathar!”

I spin around. Hayhek is a good fifty paces behind. I force my legs to halt, then turn and hurry back.

“Sorry,” I say. “Sorry.”

“What’s got into you?” He frowns at my chest. “And where are you planning to take the key, anyway?”

“Upward. Along with you.”

“Broderick’s soldiers want it badly. They’ll kill us if they ever spot us with it... Are you planning on hiding it somewhere?”

I shift awkwardly. “Not as such...”

Hayhek takes a step up to me. “What is it, Zathar?,” he whispers. “Really?”

“I...”

“We’ve had our differences.” He looks down and swallows. “Yezakh... Partly it’s your fault he’s dead. Even if you saved us both in the battle, what happened after...”

I have no reply.

“But I’m strong now, thanks to you. You helped me become strong enough to protect my family, when I get to them.”

“You’re welcome.”

He looks into my eyes. “I can trust you now. But we have to trust each other down here. Zathar, what is the key for? And where are you taking it?”

“It’s...” I trail off.

“Please!” begs the old dwarf. “We have to trust each other. You have no reason to doubt me, I promise. I just need to know. We shouldn’t keep secrets from each other. Not all alone down here.”

“You’re right. I know. Just...”

“Please, Zathar.”

“It’s the Runethane’s key,” I say reluctantly. “What it unlocks, I honestly don’t know. Honestly.”

“If you don’t know, then why do you have it?”

“I have it because it’s my path to happiness. To something I thought I’d lost.”

“But where are you taking it?” he demands. “Where, Zathar?”

“I can’t say!” I suddenly snap. Guilt wells up within me. “I can’t say,” I repeat quietly. “Not now. Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Because... I... Look, I'll tell you eventually. I’ll say it eventually, I promise. But you must promise not to hate me for it,” I beg. “Once we get to the city I’ll tell you.”

“Is that truly a promise?”

“Yes. It is.”

He nods. “All right. I’ll accept that.”

“Then let’s keep going,” I say. “Did you have some route in mind?”

“In the east there’s a spacious cavern, one of the very old mines. Shouldn’t be too many miles from here, and on the same level. I can remember the way back from there.”

“All right. We'll try to reach there, then.”

“Okay. I'll lead the way. Just don’t rush off ahead of me. Safer to stick together.”

“Of course.”

The black dragon rides the magma river as it has continued to do for a whole week now. Dragons are creatures of flame: living embodiments of that greedy element that consumes and consumes and cannot stop until it is exhausted. While salamanders and other creatures can survive in magma for long stretches of time, only dragons can bathe in it indefinitely.

Magma does not froth and splash like water does. It is easy to forget that it is not just very hot water, but stone with all the weight that entails. Its tides are thick, gelatinous. The black dragon is submerged just below the surface, and anything looking from above can see the bulging disturbance its mass creates. It would prefer to be deeper, hidden totally from view, but it does not want to risk pressuring its wounds. The bright bleeding has stopped and it does not want its blood to start flowing once more.

It continues its journey among the flow of molten stone for a while longer. A dwarf—one of these odd dwarves who judges time by the light pouring from the ceiling, at least—would count a couple of days.

The black dragon now has a decision to make.

It could continue. Keep on going until it reaches a place where no dwarves live, and there rest and heal. There are still such places: the verminous little ape-beasts haven’t spread everywhere.

But hiding won’t get it what it seeks. The key is its goal, and it has waited long enough. There is a chance, however small, that its little dwarf has managed to retrieve it among the chaos of battle. Chaos breeds opportunity, after all. And dwarves are nothing if not opportunistic.

They’re nearly as bad as dragons. Whenever they see a chance for power or riches, they grab it with both grubby little hands.

The black dragon raises its scarred face from the molten rock. Its green eyes flicker from left to right until it spots a ledge it recognizes—there are few paths under the great cavern it does not recognize. With a mighty beat of its wings it soars up and out the magma. Bright droplets fly in its wake; they turn dark and hard as they fall downward, then liquify again when they rejoin the stream.

It lands heavily on the ledge. For an instant it forgets its severed hand and bashes the stump on the stone. Pain jumps up its arm and it hisses in anger. The axe dwarf will regret that blow in time! But the black dragon lets the angry hiss die. At the moment it must focus on approaching the city with stealth.

It creeps along the tunnel silently. It slows its breathing to calm the raging fires of its flesh and blood, and the glow of the scars in its black scales fades. Invisibly it walks onward, listening intently for echoes of dwarvish voices.

Its ears are uninjured and keen as ever.

Our journey is taking many sleeps and meals. The tunnels feel endless and empty. A few times a march they expand into small caves with nothing of note but small stalactites and the occasional bat or salamander nest. These provide food at least, but we never seem to have quite enough. We’re constantly running on half-empty.

“Are you sure you know the way to this mine?” I ask Hayhek, many times.

“I’ve been down below the city more often than I can count,” the old dwarf always replies. “I’m feeling my way to it.”

I’m starting to doubt his cave-sense. True, he’s more experienced than I am, and it should be better developed than mine. But we seem to change direction every other march and I don’t get any sense that we’re moving upward. The air is just as warm and heavy as it was when we left the river trolls.

“Are you sure you know the way?” I ask after a particularly meandering trek.

“Yes. Just trust me.”

Another sleep later and we finally find ourselves moving upward. This tunnel is a steep slope which after several hours becomes steep stairs, vaguely reminiscent of those I first met the black dragon on. It turns at a right angle and the stairs become a double set with a pair of minecart tracks down the middle separating them. The air begins to smell faintly of rust.

“This might be it,” Hayhek says cautiously.

“I hope it’s the right mine.”

“It probably is,” Hayhek assures me, unconvincingly.

We continue to walk up the stairs. Eventually the tunnel levels off and we are walking down a dead straight minecart track. Glowworms hang from the ceiling in their strands of bright mucous. Some are curled around limply struggling flies, slowly sucking the life from them, jaws clasped tight onto juicy abdomens.

We come to a crossroads and Hayhek holds up his hand for a halt.

“I recognise this place,” he says, smiling. “I’ve been here before—I’m sure of it.”

“This is the right mine, then?”

“Yes. For sure. The main shaft is still a fair bit away though.”

“Do we go left, right, or straight ahead?”

“Left,” he says with confidence. “Left, then right. Then a march of ten hours or so. And from there, only a couple days until we’re up in the city.”

“Days. Will be nice to see those again.”

“It sure will. I just hope...”

I clasp his shoulder. “They’ll be safe. Believe in that.”

“I do.”

“Let’s get a move on, then.”

“Let’s,” he agrees.

We turn left and march. We keep on marching. As the hours pass, I begin to sense a curious dryness and the faintest hints of a cruel heat. I clutch at the key strapped to my chest and start to sweat.