Legend of the Runeforger: A Dwarven Progression Fantasy

I lead Guthah up the line. As we pass the other tenth degrees of the guild, I order them to follow. From now on we're going to stick together—I won't have any collapsing into the snow to lie unseen. When Braztak notices this, he nods in approval. He and Erak gather the rest of the guild as well, and we march in one troop.

If the other guilds want to spread apart and risk ambush, that's their trouble. The Association of Steel will stay disciplined.

The march seems to get a bit easier after this. Maybe Xomhyrk has slowed the pace a little, but mostly I think the presence of friends is just giving us all a little more faith in our quest.

At the end of the following day, a rise in the land becomes apparent. At first it's indistinct through the haze of light snow, but in the morning the snow clears and we can see that the hill is indeed a place of dwarven ownership. A wall of well-cut, massive stone blocks encircles it, and upon its top are several squat towers. Metal glints in them. I suspect they house huge ballistae.

The hill seems to grow in height as we advance. I catch sight of small figures on the walls and the top towers. Dwarves, but are they friend or foe? How deep does their friendship with Runeking Uthrarzak run?

Xomhyrk seems unafraid. He increases the pace, and now that our goal—our interim goal, at least—is in sight, we're happy to trudge a little faster.

By late afternoon we're on an even road leading straight to the main gates. Deep grooves are cut into it, I assume for tracks, which means that it likely leads to the underground. I look back to see if any dwarves have vanished and get the feeling that a few have.

“They're opening!” someone shouts. “Look!”

I turn back to the front. The gates in the great wall are indeed swinging slowly apart. From between them emerges a small group of runeknights. Their armor glitters red, blue, green and white. As both we and they advance, I see the cause of the glittering—I've never seen so many gems embedded into plate.

Xomhryk calls for a halt. We watch as he and his commanders walk up to the party. I tense, wondering if a fight's about to break out. I don't want one to. Gutspiercer does, but I mutter under my breath:

“We're here to kill the dragon!”

After about half an hour of discussion, Xomhyrk calls for us to keep on moving. To my relief, the gates are staying open, and, moreover, the gem-covered dwarves seem to be talking quite happily to him—I've put my runic ears on to see if I can eavesdrop anything. I can't make out words, but I can at least tell the tone of their voices.

It's just getting dark when we finally reach the gates. Up close they're truly quite high, and of truly high-quality stone work. Each block is smooth as if polished and barely looks weathered, even though out here exposed to the wind one would expect them to be in a poor state.

Once through we head straight on through another pair of gates. These ones are enruned steel and set into the hill itself. We're back underground now, winding down a neat tunnel with straight walls and an evenly curved ceiling, and it's a right relief to have stone over my head again, even if I know we'll be walking back up and out soon enough.

One of the Dragonslayers comes down the line to give us some news:

“The dwarves of Heldfast have promised us a warm welcome. They are glad to have us here. In the past they have also suffered at the claws of dragons, including this one.”

This shocks me. The black dragon attacked here also? And the place survived?

“We will rest for four short-hours, then they have offered us a generous discount for the use of our forges and materials. Those of you without much gold will be gifted some by Xomhyrk himself, as thanks for showing courage in the face of the humans.

“This is all.”

He marches past to give the same news to some more dwarves further back.

“I'm glad we'll get some gold at least,” Faltast says to me. “I have a feeling I'll need quite a bit.”

“You spent a lot on your new shield?”

“Yes. Nearly everything I had.”

“It's less battered than I'd thought it'd get.”

“I find that when fighting humans, it's better to duck than to block. They always aim slightly too high.”

“I can't say I noticed.”

“We're different kinds of fighters. I prefer to be a bit more methodical.”

“Dodging isn't very dwarvish, though.”

“But practical.”

“Very true. Do you know what they eat up here?”

“A lot of good meat, but they drink terrible beer, from what I've heard. We'll find out soon enough.”

But when we get to our accommodation I am too tired to be thinking of food and drink. I collapse onto the bed still in my armor and go to sleep instantly.

I wake up and the furs under me are white with frost. I roll off them and a few bits of hair remain stuck to the titanium.

Now I take my armor off, quietly. This is some kind of communal dormitory, with many beds all next to each other, and I don't want to wake my guildmates, most of whom are still snoring.

A robe has been prepared, folded neatly at the foot of the bed, and I put it on. Before I leave I examine my armor in the dim candlelight. It looks worse than I remember. A few runes are struck clean through. I hope they have palladium for sale here, and salterite and jasperite also.

Repairs will have to wait for food, though. My belly is nearly sore with hunger. I walk out the dormitory and wander down the corridor. I hear the sound of talking, and laughter, so head toward it. Sure enough, through a high arch is what looks like a guildhall. I recognize a few faces from our army, though most here seem to be hill dwarves—a little taller than those of us who dwell properly underground, with beards a little less long.

I walk in, wondering if I'm going to have to ask one of the Dragonslayers to lend me some coin to buy a drink and meal with.

Someone slaps me on the back. I turn, and it's one of the hill dwarves.

“Here for food and drink?” His accent is strange, lilting up at the end of most words.

“Yes, though I don't have any coin on me, I'm afraid.”

“No trouble. Your leader is paying for everything. Head to the table over there, write down what you want, and we'll bring it to you.” He winks. “Your leader's paying, so buy whatever you want.”

His friendliness unnerves me a little bit, but I'm hardly going to refuse free food and drink, so I go to the side of the room and the table he pointed out. A tall gray-haired dwarfess gestures to some slips of paper and a quill. I ask her what I can order, and how much, and she says whatever I want, within reason.

I write down a fairly vague order, since I don't know what they have available, for meat, vegetables, and two beers. The dwarfess smirks as she takes it.

“Wait here please. We'll get you your food in a moment.”

I look around the hall, worried about her smirk, thinking that I might have made some mistake. At the far end I can see Xomhyrk, sitting with what looks like all of the Dragonslayers. They've got up even earlier than I have.

They're damn tough, those dwarves. They barely look tired, and their armor isn't half as damaged as most of the rest of ours is. It's better forged than it looks, and it looks pretty well-forged already.

“Your food,” announces the dwarfess.

She passes me a thin iron tray. It's heavy with food. There's a massive slab of dark red, steaming meat, a great pile of odd-looking vegetables, and two mugs of chilled, foaming beer, each nearly the size of my head.

“How much was this?” I ask.

“You never specified how much you wanted to pay. So we gave you the best. Don't worry though—“

“—Xomhyrk's paying,” I finish. “Thank you very much.”

I hurry to the back of the hall to where hopefully Xomhyrk and his guild can't see me, and tuck in to my meat somewhat guiltily. It's very good—I dread to think of how much it cost. The vegetables are coated with a strange smelling powder which, although it doesn't taste good, does taste expensive.

But the beer! It's some of the best I've ever had. Very strong too—once I've downed both, I find I'm not too worried about the cost of my meal anymore. I sit back and close my eyes, satisfied.

“You took my advice, I see.”

The hill dwarf who talked to me earlier sits down opposite me.

"Yeah," I say.

"Enjoying it?"

"Yeah. Your best food?"

"Close to. Your Xomhyrk is very generous, paying for all this luxury.”

“He is. More to the point, I think he's sick of dwarves running away.”

“I don't blame them too much. I wouldn't want to face that thing.”

Some more of his friends, intrigued by me for whatever reason, sit down beside him.

“I blame them,” I say. “They agreed to come. It's cowardly to back out.”

“Ah, yes, that's fair. Our elders won't ever forgive those who vanished when it came for us.”

“It really did?” I frown and sit up. My happy stupor fades as suddenly as it came on. “How are you still here?”

“It was a while back,” says one of the other hill dwarves, slightly older and tougher looking. “About fifteen years ago, give or take.”

“I see. Just after it destroyed my realm.”

“Ah!” says the younger one. “You're from Broderick's realm?”

“Thanerzak's.”

“Of course, of course. Sorry—we rarely get visitors from Ulrike's kingdom.”

“Don't worry, I'm not offended. We're not here to make war on our fellow dwarves.”

“Good. War is a waste of life,” says the older one. “Us dwarves have enemies enough. What's your name, by the way? We should introduce ourselves properly.”

“Zathar, fourth degree,” I say.

“Fourth! You look young for a fourth. My name is Jorolot Hadlak.” He gestures to the one who first talked to me. “And this here is my nephew, Yeralt Hadlak.”

Two names each! I'd read in books that some dwarves have such a tradition, with one name for their family and one personal name, but it's still a surprise to ear it with my own ears.

“It's good to meet you,” I say. “I'm very grateful for the food and shelter. As are all my guild, and the army as a whole.”

“Oh, no,” says Yeralt. “We're the grateful ones. I'm sure we're next on the black dragon's list after it's digested poor old Halajatbast.”

“You think it wants revenge? How in hell did you drive it off the first time?”

“It was tired,” says Jorolot.

“I didn't know they could get that tired.”

“Well, they're flame, you see? If they breath out too much of it they get exhausted.”

“It still managed to breath out quite a bit,” says Yeralt.

“Were many killed?” I ask.

“Several thousand. But our ballistae pulled through in the end. Got it a big bolt right through the neck. It flapped off after that.”

“Shame that it took the bolt with it,” says Jorolot. “I was one of those who worked on the poem. It was damn fine piece of work.”

“Two dwarves worked on the same poem?” I say, surprised.

“About ten of us did. One stanza each.”

“Seems like a lot of dwarves for one craft.”

“It was a very big craft.”

“They don't work on crafts together down south,” says Yeralt. “It's a taboo.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“How strange. Never?”

“Never.”

“Well, every place has its own customs, I suppose. Though I've heard you won't be sticking around long enough for us to learn much more.”

“No. We can't dally. We'll repair our armor then it's off to the mountain.”

“Ah, repairs. Always a pain.”

“An expensive pain,” adds Yeralt.

There's much nodding of heads at this.

“Indeed,” I say. “Though I think you all ought to be happy, since it's you we have to buy from.”

Jorolot laughs very hard at this. “True, true! I hope you'll buy from our guild, Zathar. Times have been hard these past few years, with all this trouble with the humans. Trade has gone right down the shit-tunnel.”

“Do you want to see some catalogues?” one of the other dwarves asks. “I have a few lying in my office.”

“I've got some with me,” Yeralt says proudly. He produces some rolls of parchment. “Always ready for business, I am.”

The other dwarf scowls. “Us sixth degrees still have a lot to learn, it seems.”

“Here you are,” says Yeralt. “Peruse, please.”

I unroll them. I draw a sharp breath and my eyes widen.

“Something wrong?” says Jorolot.

There is. Something very wrong indeed. On the parchment are listed pieces of fully-forged armor, pre-formed runes, and the introductory stanzas of full poems.