Legend of the Runeforger: A Dwarven Progression Fantasy

I rush through the wrecked tents, turning over smashed bodies and slamming visors up to see if any of the scattered dead and wounded are of the Association. Though, there aren't many wounded, mostly dead. Whenever the monster got a hard blow in, it killed. Those who did escape with only injury are mostly senior runeknights.

A sheet of canvas is covering one body. I pull it away and my heart sinks. I recognize the armor immediately. It's one of the tenth degrees, Katak, the hammer-wielder, and his level of armor never could have survived such a heavy blow. His left upper leg and hip are crushed nearly flat. Judging by the shocked expression on his face, death must have been quick.

I groan and cover his face with the canvas.

“Braztak!” I shout. “There's one of ours here. Dead.”

“We'll deal with the dead later,” comes the reply. “Find some healing chains, and quick! Pellas is wounded.”

“Badly?”

“Get the healing chains!”

I dig around the snow in a panic, then notice a pack with chains spilling out of it not ten yards away. I gather them up and rush across to where Braztak and a few others are kneeling over a fallen Pellas. Her short blonde hair is spread in a halo in the snow around her head. They've taken her breastplate off—it's dented and crumpled like tin.

“Chains!” I cry, and throw them to Braztak, who's more experienced at applying them than me. “Pellas, what happened?”

She groans and rolls her eyes. The right side of her chest is purple and red all the way down. Braztak starts to wind the chain around her. She groans and flails at him. Someone restrains her hands.

“She caught one of the tusks,” says a dazed-sounding Guthah. “Threw her into the air. The other one got me. I'm fine, though.”

“I told her runes of strength were a bad idea,” I say under my breath. “Damn this!”

“We're still missing nearly a dozen,” says Erak. “Zathar, tenth degree, the rest of you! Go find them!”

I nod, reluctantly back away, and hurry back into the camp to see who else from the Association has perished.

Everything is chaos, total disarray. Ripped canvas and splintered aluminum poles litter the ground. Red stains of frozen blood are everywhere. Dwarves from other guilds are dragging their torn dead and screaming injured through the snow, or huddling in groups and shouting and swearing and wailing in grief.

“Someone over here!” Guthah shouts. “Zathar!”

I rush over to see who it is. It's one of the dwarves I don't know too well, a sixth or seventh degree I think. He's been decapitated, his neck-flesh torn and spine popped as if the beast ripped his head off with its trunk.

“Should we drag him back?” asks Guthah.

“No. Keep searching for wounded.”

A groan sounds from the perimeter. I look up to see a dwarf stumbling back toward the tents. His armor is familiar.

“Mulkath?”

I rush over. He nearly collapses into my arms once I make it to him. His mercury runes have changed color to a dull, almost dark gray. His belly plates are bent inward.

“Did it pick you up?”

“Yeah. And threw me out.” He coughs. “I didn't run away, Zathar. Never!"

"I didn't think you had."

"No? So many did. Ran right past me! Pushed me into the snow, the fucking bastards."

“How many?”

"I..."

He coughs again and slumps to his knees. I pull him back up.

“...saw a good couple dozen legging it out,” he finishes.

“Any of them ours?”

He coughs again. “Couldn't see. Shit, everything looks so dark.”

“Come on. Braztak has healing chains.”

I help him over to where Pellas and the rest are. Her eyes are closed now, but thankfully she's breathing evenly. Her ribs may be broken but I don't think any pierced her lungs. Someone's found more healing chains, and I leave Mulkath to have them applied.

As I make to rush back into the camp, Guthah holds up a hand and shakes his head. I stop.

“Found four more of ours,” he says grimly. “All dead.”

“Any tenth degrees?”

“Two of them were. Losan and Yalot.”

“Ah, shit. I shouldn't have run off. I shouldn't have.”

“It's all right. You did the right thing. You wanted to take it on in place of us.”

I wish that was my reason.

“Are all accounted for?”

“There's still two missing,” another guildmember says.

“Who?”

“Faltast and Ulat.”

I look across the camp. It seems that most of the bodies and the wounded have been cleared off to their respective guilds. In fact, I can see no more bodies.

“They might be buried in the snow. Or under canvas.”

We go to check, tearing destroyed tents up from the snow, shoving through bloody snowbanks where the beast's heavy movements scraped the ground up. We find open packs, crushed beerskins with their contents freezing onto the snow, a few twisted weapons—but no trace of Faltast, nor of Ulat, who is one of my tenth degrees.

“They might have been thrown out, like Mulkath was,” I say. “We need to check around the camp.”

“Wait!” says a sixth degree. “Faltast... He was the one with the big shield, wasn't he?”

“That's right.”

“And an axe, right? Silver.”

“Steel with silver runes, yes,” I say. I'm getting a sinking feeling. “Did you see him get thrown?”

The sixth degree shakes his head. “I saw him running.”

“No,” I snap back. “That's not possible.”

“I'm sure it was him.”

“It can't have been. He wouldn't have.”

“I think I might have seen him too,” says another dwarf.

“Might?”

“Probably it was him. I recognized the shield.”

I shake my head. “No. You must have made a mistake.”

There's silence for a few seconds. The sixth degree breaks it.

“He lost his friend. Maybe that affected him—”

“He wouldn't shame us!”

The sixth degree bows his head. I shake mine. It can't be. Faltast, running away? Yet I have to admit that if any of us was going to run away, it'd be him. He told me he wasn't in this for death and duty. Not wholly.

He even had the gall to say I was drunk on my reasons for coming. Drunk! I didn't know if he was being serious then, but maybe he was.

“I'll report this to Braztak,” I say. “In the meantime, search around the camp. Stay in groups of at least three—we don't know what still might be wandering out there.”

I turn and slide quickly over to Braztak. I look down at Mulkath, who's wrapped in furs—they look like they've been torn out of his armor—taking shallow breaths. I look at Pellas. Her face looks very peaceful now, but that's not always a good sign. I look at the headless dwarf, who someone, against orders, has dragged back to lie with the other bodies of Association members.

I look up at Braztak.

“What is it?” he says. “Did you find anyone else? Faltast?”

I can see deep worry in his eyes. I shake my head.

“What's that look supposed to mean, Zathar? Did you find him? Is he dead?”

“They say he ran away.”

“What?”

“One of the sixth degrees said he saw Faltast fleeing.”

“No.”

“That's what I said. But...”

“But what?” Braztak snaps.

“Back before we left off, he admitted he was in this partly for the treasure. That he wasn't interested in charging headlong into danger—"

“He's always been cautious. Doesn't make him a coward.”

“I'm as shocked as you are!” I say. “But with my ears, a couple nights ago, I heard his voice on the wind.”

“Saying what?”

“Saying he thought all this was hopeless.”

“He wouldn't betray Jerat's memory.”

“I don't think so either.”

“He might have been thrown out the fight, like Mulkath here.”

“I've got the other dwarves searching. What about the other fourth and third degrees? Where are they searching?”

“They're scouting to see if there's any more beasts headed our way.”

“I see.”

“Faltast will turn up. Dead or alive.”

“That may be so.”

“He can't have run away,” Braztak repeats, as if he's trying to convince himself. “Can't have!”

“Some others did. From the other guilds.”

“Of course. They always do.”

“Until now with no consequence,” someone says.

Wait. Who said that? It was me, wasn't it? That was my voice. For some reason it sounded a little distant.

Braztak frowns. “What do you mean?”

Gutspiercer has started to tremble in my hands. My ruby is growing hot against my chest.

“Zathar?”

Anger blazes to life within me.

“How dare they abandon their comrades? Abandon us! Abandon their quest, their promise!”

“They're weak. It can't be helped.”

“No,” I say. “No, it can. Xomhyrk told me that those who disobey him must be punished. In my opinion that's what's gone wrong here. None of those who've betrayed us have been punished. They've been allowed to go free.”

“His methods aren't yours to question.”

“Why the hell not? If his Dragonslayers had caught a few of those who ran from the dragon, stripped them down, cut them up, maybe we'd have had more fighters tonight.”

“Listen to yourself, Zathar!” Braztak's anger has turned to alarm. “It might have resulted in more desertions.”

“Even so, betrayal shouldn't go unpunished. I am here to absolve my betrayal. I won't let others tarnish that!”

“Calm down! You're not making sense!”

I gesture wildly at the injured and dead. “They turned their backs on our friends! They cannot be allowed to go free!”

“Stop this, Zathar! Calm down. Stay here!”

He reaches for my shoulder and grabs it. He's guessed my intentions. I pull backwards and his gauntlet slides off.

“There's no stopping this!” I shout. Gutspiercer is shivering violently now. My ruby is blazing. “They must be punished!”