Legend of the Runeforger: A Dwarven Progression Fantasy

I fill my belly with another meal of bat-meat, wash it down with a gallon of sweet warm sap. I keep my knife clutched tight in my hand the whole time. Like a mother clutching the hand of her child, I cannot let it go.

Getting back to the city is going to be a challenge every part as difficult as the forging. Moreso. The caves are a maze of mazes; it's easy to go down instead of up, and the further down one goes the worse the creatures get, for the deeper you go the more moisture collects, which supports larger plants, which in turn support larger plant-eaters, which in turn support the carnivores—or so my brother once told me. The bat-monkey I killed was probably half the size of its cousins a few hundred feet down.

Well, in that case I just need to keep my wits about me and make sure I head upward. The big tunnels are guarded, but there’s too many small tunnels for every one of them to have been blocked—that’s where raids come from, both dwarven and beast. I can find an escape.

I set out on my journey, knife in hand, hammer at my side, pockets filled with baked meat.

A few short hours later and I am, predictably, very lost. It started out fine—I went back up the way I came to get my bearings, then came back and walked up a tunnel that seemed like it was going in the right direction. It curved down, branched several times, and now I’m here, in a tube only half as tall as me, crawling. The walls are glowing faintly with a green slime that smells of rotten citrus which I think is burning through my trousers at the knees.

It branches. One tunnel heads upwards, very steeply. The other goes straight on, but who’s to say it won’t plunge down? I climb up, knocking down gravel undisturbed for a thousand years; it rattles behind me.

It’s getting steeper, and turning into a wide staircase. A very old, very eroded staircase, but staircase nonetheless, and the ceiling is high now and arched. I stop. I’m headed back to civilization, but still in Runethane Broderick’s side of the city—yes they think I’m dead, but the state I’m in and the knife in my hand are sure to draw suspicion.

Well, it’ll be the same on the other side. I’ll just have to move at night. I continue upward.

It begins to get warmer, hotter. The slime on the walls starts to become dry and papery, coming off when I scrape against it and billowing into clouds of green dust. I cough and splutter. Strangely though, the heat isn’t coming from ahead, but from behind.

I stop myself dead. I listen. From behind I can hear scraping sounds, like iron talons grinding granite.

I begin to sprint up the steps. My footsteps echo down. I can hear myself panting in fear and exhaustion. My thighs are burning, and give out. I fall and smash my broken arm on a stair, cry out in pain. The scraping sound is louder now, and although I’m too scared to turn and look, I know whatever’s after me is huge, heavy, monstrous.

“Help!” I scream up the stairs as I restart my flight. “Help me!”

No one replies. I imagine I hear dark laughter from behind. The staircase bends at a sudden right angle—I turn to follow it and smash my nose into rock, tumble backwards.

The tunnel is blocked.

I turn, knife at the ready.

A monster stands there in the darkness. Its face is long-snouted, black-iron-scaled, predatory. Its snakish body is borne off the ground on four powerful legs which terminate in sharp-taloned feet. Wings like black shadows stretch along the walls behind it. Its teeth are as long as my fingers; fire-light emanates from between them. Its eyes are green and cruel as a cat’s.

The dragon speaks, the sound of flame given voice:

“How very interesting you are.”

“Get away from me!” I shout, and slash the air between us with my knife. “Get away!”

“How rude,” it says as it pads up the stairs toward me. “Even for a dwarf.”

“I’ll cut you!”

“I wouldn’t try. Would be a waste to break your knife after all that time you spent on it.”

“It’ll cut. Steel is sharper than iron!”

The dragon laughs; flames leap from its mouth, nearly scorching me. “Such a simplistic understanding of things.”

“Get back, beast!”

“Beast? Ruder and ruder. Us dragons are twice as intelligent as elves, and at least three times as intelligent as dwarves.”

“What do you want from me?”

I’m shaking, more terrified than I’ve ever been in my life. Dragons are cruel—they play with their food. I’ve heard bloodcurdling tales of dwarves kept as pets for decades, tortured daily with hot claws deftly wielded for some minor insult or trespass.

“What do I want? Firstly, an apology, for using my home as your forge.”

“I didn't realize.” My voice is quavering. “I didn't know.”

“Apologize!” Its green eyes flash and its fire reaches me this time, flash-scorching my knife hand.

“I’m sorry!” I yelp, pulling my hand back. I can feel tears in my eyes. “I really didn't know, how was I supposed to know?”

The dragon smiles, if you can call it that. “True, true. I didn't exactly announce myself. I didn't want to disturb you, you know. You’re the most interesting dwarf I’ve seen for years.”

“Can you let me go? Please, I beg you. I won’t intrude on you again, I swear it.”

“I might decide to let you go, after we talk. If you’re a good conversationalist.”

“I’ll talk about whatever you want. Anything.”

“Sit down,” it orders.

I obey. It pads closer to me until its jaws are nearly at my face. I cringe back. Its teeth are flecked with long-dried blood, and the inside of its mouth glows like the entrance to a furnace. Its stare is frighteningly intense.

“Very interesting. Such a resemblance. I see an opportunity.”

“Resemblance?”

“That’s right.”

“To whom?”

An iron claw catches under my chin and the dragon tilts my head back. Its face draws even closer. I shut my eyes in terror.

“Your method of forging was most fascinating, you know. One armed! Such a challenge to overcome, but you know, it's not the worst challenge I've ever watched a forging dwarf overcome."

"No?"

"I don't like one-word answers!" it snaps. "Phrase your sentences properly."

"I... I mean, what was the challenge? Who was the dwarf?”

“The challenge was to forge with two mangled thumbs. And the dwarf was one who looked a lot like you. Beard was a little lighter, eyes green not blue, but his face, yes, there was a definite resemblance.”

Goosebumps rise on my skin. A chill runs through me. The dragon notices; its smile widens to expose more teeth. “A relation, perhaps?”

“My brother. That was my brother.”

“Proper sentences, good. Excellent. Would you like to know more?”

“Where is he? Where is he now? Is he still alive?”

The dragon hisses. “So demanding!” Liquid fire drips from between its lower teeth and burns holes in my leggings. “I’m telling the story here.”

“I’m sorry! Please, I would like to know more. Whatever you can tell me!”

“Very well. He crawled down the tunnels, lower down than you went by far. He snatched salamanders with his teeth, chewed and swallowed them raw to survive. He tied a rock to his right hand to be a hammer, made a contraption of sticks for tongs. And then he had the audacity to steal a young dragon’s gold bar to make his craft with.”

“He didn't have his steel!” I cry out. “He had to use something.”

“Indeed he did. I was going to kill him, you know—shove him into the magma. But I watched him at work, and I was moved. The way he worked the gold. Formed it perfectly. I let him go. After all, the more beauty dwarves create, the more there is for us dragons to steal, no?”

“I... Please don’t take my knife!” I clutch it to my chest. “I can make things for you, if you can tell me more of my brother. Where did he go?”

The dragon shrugs; its wings shift as it does so. “I have no idea.” It raises one horned eyebrow. “Or maybe I do, if you can bring me something.”

“Bring you something? Not make?”

“Yes, bring. Steal. Just a little something.”

“What is it?”

“A key. I’d take it myself, but I might draw some trouble if I were to walk into Thanerzak’s castle. It’s rather heavily guarded.”

“What’s the key for?”

“You don’t need to know that. Can you get it for me? Or are you one of Broderick’s dwarves, perhaps?”

“I was. Not anymore.”

“Good. Very good, young dwarf. This is my lucky break, it seems. Makes up for all the misfortune I’ve had so far.”

“I’m glad to be of service.” I swallow in relief. “Would you be so kind as to tell me the way back up to the city? If possible, to Runethane Thanerzak’s side?”

“Oh yes, I know these tunnels as well as I do the pattern of my own scales.”

“Please.”

It tells me the way; I thank it, profusely.

“Just remember, young dwarf, that my patience is not infinite. And having black scales is useful to me—I can walk unseen in the darkness, and when you come down here again, I’ll be watching. Enjoy your journey, and try not to die before you get me that key.”

“What does it look like?” I ask.

“Pure diamond, I’ve heard, and about as long as your arm. Not sure where exactly he keeps it, you’ll have to ask around. Once you’re a runeknight, that is. They won’t tell a little initiate military secrets.”

“I’ll be a runeknight soon enough.”

“I certainly hope so.”

It lets me past and I hurry down the stairs away from it. Like a bad dream, it vanishes into the darkness behind me.