Legend of the Runeforger: A Dwarven Progression Fantasy

“Who is us?” I ask as I approach him.

“Us sensible ones.”

“Sensible?” I stop my advance a few feet in front of him. He lifts up his visor and looks into my eyes.

“This quest is doomed, Zathar.”

Gutspiercer shivers. My ruby blazes. But I manage hold back my rage, just.

“Is it now?” I say, as calmly as I can manage.

“Five hundred set out. How many are left now? Just over two hundred, give or take.”

“It's not about numbers. It's about guts.”

“You know that's not true.”

“Most of the most powerful runeknights are still with us.”

“Only in our guild and in the Dragonslayers. Open your eyes, Zathar. Those are the only two guilds with more than half their members remaining.”

“Xomhyrk is with us.”

“Xomhyrk alone can't beat the black dragon.”

“He can with us.”

“You know that isn't true. Even with five hundred he wouldn't have been able to beat it.”

“Then why did you even come?” I fill my next words with venom: “Hoped to scavenge some treasure, did you?”

“I told you my reasons for coming. A bit of everything. I still hoped back then we could get that. And I came because my friends were coming as well.”

“Jerat may be dead, but Braztak and Mulkath are not.”

He shakes his head. “I wish them the best. But it's just reached the point that it's not worth it anymore. It's time to cut my losses.”

“Cut your losses? The loss of your friend?”

“Charging forward won't bring him back.”

“That's not why we take revenge! Not for Jerat and not for those killed by the dragon either! Have you forgotten what Braztak said back in the guildhall?”

“I haven't forgotten—”

I'm drawn another step toward him. He backs away. I take another step.

“You have forgotten!” I yell. “He said that we're runeknights! Those who hurt us, we hurt! Otherwise who will take us seriously?”

“We can't hurt the black dragon!”

“Why not?”

“It's too powerful! A mere human took out near half our forces! What hope do we have?”

“We don't need hope. All we need to do is keep going forward.”

“We're going to our deaths!”

“And? So what? If I die, I'll still be fulfilling my oath. And as for you, you'll be keeping your promise to Xomhyrk.”

“I never promised anything.”

“By joining us you promised to see this quest through to the end. To the very end. Not halfway to the mountain, scared witless by some simple beast."

"I don't want to die."

“Why not?”

“Why not? Why not?” He's raising his shield now. “What? Listen to yourself! No one wants to die!”

“No, but a runeknight must accept the risk.”

“I did, to a degree. But there's a difference between taking a risk and committing suicide. I'm sorry, but I'm out now, Zathar. I'm out.”

“I won't let you go!”

I lash out with Gutspiercer to hook it around his ankle, but we've sparred too many times for him to fall for that trick. He steps over it then dodges back, shield held high covering waist to collar.

Yet his axe remains at his belt.

“I'm going. I'm out,” he repeats. “You can't stop me.”

“Listen to yourself!” I cry. “What would Jerat say if he could see you now?”

“He doesn't see anything—he's dead. He was drunk and his drink killed him. And now you, and Braztak, and Mulkath, and Xomhyrk, and everyone else—you're going to kill yourselves too.”

“We agreed to fight to the death. And so did you.”

“I'm out now. I'm leaving.”

“You are not.”

He shakes his head. He's clasping the head of his axe with his right hand, readying to pull it up.

“We're talking in circles here,” he says. “This is over. I'm leaving. Go back to the camp.”

I raise Gutspiercer. My ruby amulet is thrumming with power. My armor doesn't seem to be pulling me back anymore either. It knows that what I'm about to do is for the good of the expedition. Cowardice and oathbreaking has lost us more than a hundred of our force already. It can no longer go unpunished.

I understand how Wharoth felt now, wanting to kill me. Despite all the time he'd spent on me, all the effort he'd put into instructing me, his love—for that is what he feels for me, fatherly love—despite all that he knew that oathbreaking and betrayal cannot go unpunished.

Faltast is my friend. But he has just admitted outright that he is breaking his oath.

“Zathar...” he says, backing away further. “Don't do this. Don't be a fool. We're guildmates, remember?”

I can feel the poems engraved into the ruby. Their runes are burning into my skin. For a moment I hesitate—do I really desire to punish, to deliver justice, or do these feelings just mask the ruby's simple desire to kill?

Is it really me making this decision?

Gutspiercer slashes down. The vertical strike is fast but predictable. Faltast brings up his shield and Gutspiercer's tip slams into it at a shallow angle. Sparks fly, illuminating flecks of snow in the air, mingling with them before quickly dying. I strike again immediately, sideways this time. He brings his shield back and blocks this strike as well, but my angle is better this time. Gutspiercer digs in slightly and Faltast stumbles.

I don't let up, strike again. He blocks. I strike a few more times, looping wild swings yet each perfectly aimed. He blocks them all. He's skilled.

“Zathar, stop this!” he pleads. “We're friends!”

But I cannot stop. He's an oathbreaker, a traitor, and must be punished. Nevermind the voice at the back of my head saying that I was given a chance, and that I just gave a tenth degree a chance, and so maybe Faltast deserves a chance too. That voice is too faint.

Sparks spray from his shield with each strike. They scatter onto the snow. His steel is well-made, but Gutspiercer is the stronger of the crafts. His shield's runic power is fading—each blow bites into the metal a little deeper.

“Stop!” Faltast shouts again.

My next blow comes from below. It strikes hard into his shield, nearly gets through, and the force makes it ring. He's lifted backwards off his feet. He sprawls into the snow. Gutspiercer is up, and now I bring it down at his chest.

He parries with his axe, but a one-handed parry against a two-handed blow is never a sure thing. Some of Gutspiercer's momentum is robbed, but not enough, and the point buries itself two inches into the side of his breastplate.

He screams. For a moment the voice in my head telling me to stop and that this is enough grows louder, but then it suddenly diminishes. I tear Gutspiercer out and slash down once more.

This time he rolls out the way. Gutspiercer strikes the frozen earth. Faltast cuts at my wrist and the blade cleaves into my titanium plate, nearly all the way through but not quite. I curse and flail my arm away to get the blade out.

He quickly rolls to his feet and gets into proper fighting stance, with his axe held ready to strike.

“This is your last chance,” he says. “I'm going to get serious now.”

I ignore the threat and swing, once to feint, then circle back for a real blow. Again he uses his shield to block, and this time Gutspiercer goes right through. He shouts in surprise. I pull to free my weapon, but the point is through at an awkward angle. Faltast takes advantage of this, and turns his shield sideways to lock my weapon further. At the same time he slashes at my head. I twist my head to avoid the blow and so it crashes onto my collarbone.

I feel a hot line of blood appear. I scream in rage and let go of Gutspiercer with my left hand to grab at his axe-arm. He pulls it back out of range, so I shove in closer and grab his neck. He lets out a yelp of pain—the cold must be intense.

I'll freeze his blood!

He struggles backward in an attempt to free himself. I slide with him, keeping myself pressed close. My hand stays around the chainmail underneath his helmet. He gasps and tries to strike me with his axe, but with us pressed this close together both our weapons are useless. This is wrestling range, and contact with my frozen armor means slow death.

He makes a gamble and hooks his leg around the back of mine. He twists his body. We both fall into the thin snow. Our armor-plates screech against each another. We roll, and he manages to get on top of me. He raises his axe high and brings it down.

I'm forced to let go of his neck. I cross my arms in front of my face and block the impact. His axe bites for a moment, then skids off. He raises it again, batters down again. This time it cuts deeper, nearly into my flesh.

It's sharper than I ever gave it credit for, and given more time he could cut my wrists to pieces, but the cold gets too much for him. He throws himself off of me and rolls away. The momentum is enough to free his shield from Gutspiercer with another small spray of sparks.

I watch him retreat for a few seconds, then I leap to my feet. It seems strange to have the energy to leap, after so much chasing, fighting, killing—but I've got just as much energy as I had when I first set off from the camp. It's my ruby—it'll keep me going until the killing is done, and it isn't yet done.

I kick off and slide after him. He hears me, glances back, redoubles his pace, but it's hopeless. The air flows around me. Usually when you run you can feel the wind dragging at you, at least slightly, but I don't feel any of that.

In a few seconds I'm in range. I hesitate, expecting him to turn around for a sudden strike, but he doesn't, just keeps running. His coward's instincts have got the better of him.

I raise Gutspiercer and strike at his back. He throws himself sideways—too slowly.

Gutspiercer sinks into the back of his right calf. It continues into the ground, pinning him. He falls to his face, screaming like I've never heard him scream before, like a boar, like a hurt animal.

“You brought this on yourself!” I yell. “Oathbreaker!”

I tear Gutspiercer out. He tries to roll onto his front, but my final strike is filled with righteous fury—I am doing the right thing, justice must be done, the quest must succeed—it has the speed and power of an avalanche behind it.

Gutspiercer sinks into his back just left of center, through his heart.