Legend of the Runeforger: A Dwarven Progression Fantasy

The next day I find myself sitting atop an ore wagon. It's shuddering as it rumbles out the city and down into the stalagmite forest.

Easy job. Runeknights come here all the time. So Whelt tells me. Nothing worse than bats for sure.

Except, that is, for our fellow dwarves.

There's ten of us on this job. Whelt and I are the only ones from the Association of Steel. The other friend he managed to persuade is an old dwarf from another guild who keeps his head down and doesn’t talk much.

The other seven, sitting opposite us, are bad luck.

They're from a nearby guild nearly twice our size, the Troglodyte Slayers. Each is equipped with densely runed bronze and carries a square shield sporting their guild's emblem: a falling stalactite impaling three troglodytes. Their visors are down and have been since we started off three hours ago, but Whelt tells me he has a bad feeling about one of them.

"See him in the middle, Zathar?" he says in a low voice. "Pretty sure I know who he is, and that’s not good."

"Who?"

"Think he’s Hathat's big brother. Met him before, and I can tell by the way he sits. Relaxed. His runewriting is similar too."

"Only similar?"

"I'm not sure yet. But I think that's him."

"How come he's in a different guild to Hathat?"

"Isn't it obvious? Hathat wasn't good enough to get into that one."

The darkness around us grows deeper as we head further away from the city, for the light of the sun mirrors only reaches so far. The stalagmites become thicker and taller. Some now tower as high as my five story miner barracks did. Each is a kind of brownish cream color, smooth and pearlescent with moisture.

And moisture means cave beasts.

I can see the occasional flicker of movement in the darkness. The tail of something skittering away. The hint of a clawed hand around a distant spike. An eye blinking.

My palms grow sweaty in my gauntlets. Nothing this close to the city would dare attack ten armored dwarves, surely. But how deep into the forest are we going?

An hour later, the bronze-armored dwarf Whelt pointed out stands and puts his visor up to better survey the landscape. The resemblance is definite. He's a little taller than Hathat, and his eyes are a little deeper set, but they're brothers for sure—same slightly upturned nose and downturned lips.

"Never been in this part of the forest before," he muses. "Polt, you're the geography expert. What are we going to find out here?"

The dwarf next to him shrugs. "Same as anywhere."

"Bats and salamanders?"

"No salamanders up here, idiot. No magma."

"Dragons?"

"Of course not," snaps Polt.

"Cave bears?"

"We're too far from the surface. Shut up already."

Hathat's brother laughs and slaps Polt's helmet, which dings. "Just winding you up. Giving the young ones a bit of a scare." He gives me a nasty grin. "You feeling scared, initiate? What about you, Whelt? How's my brother doing?"

Whelt shrugs. "Fine, Kazhek, I think. Don't spend much time with him."

"No? You too good for him or something?"

"Maybe."

"Shame. I'm curious to know how he's getting on."

"Ask him, then."

"Nah, he doesn't like to talk to me that much. Likes to complain to Jalat, though. Isn't too happy about the sorts your guild is letting in these days."

He grins at me again. I scowl back.

"What's your problem?" I say.

"Nothing, nothing. Why should I care about what happens with you lot?"

He turns back around and the conversation ends, for now.

The ore caravan continues on its way. It's massive, maybe even as long as the guildhall, but a bit thinner. It's made of three sections: a long tail in which the ore will be stored, a shorter middle section into which are crammed about thirty miners and their picks, then the front section in which sit the driver and expedition boss. A trio of massive blindboars drags it all, grunting and heaving. Their stink is like a mixture of old pork and sweat.

"Never been on a caravan this big," says the old runeknight next to me. "But seems odd to be all grouped up."

"Yeah. Why aren't we spread out?" I ask Whelt. "Isn't it dangerous to have us all sit in the middle?"

Whelt shrugs. "Nothing dangerous this close to the city."

"Really?"

At that moment I glimpse a flapping motion out the corner of my eye. I spin, spear up at the ready, but the bat hovering a few meters off the side of the caravan is only the size of my hand.

Kazekh laughs. "Careful of that beast. If you don't stab it now, it'll come back and drain every last drop of your blood. Isn't that right, Polt?"

"No," Polt snaps. "Cur-Thaz only goes for large herbivores. It latches on for weeks at a time. It doesn't bother with dwarves."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes!"

"You got lucky this time then, initiate."

I roll my eyes and sit back down.

"Was that a bigger bat I saw just—"

"Will you shut it!" snaps one of the other visored dwarves, a woman slumped against the railing. "I'm trying to sleep."

"Alright, alright. No need to be a bitch about it."

She sits up angrily. "And why are you all sitting next to me, anyway. Spread out!"

"Relax, sis. There's nothing dangerous this close to the city."

"We're heading deep, or didn't you hear about that bit?"

"Deep?" Kazhek looks puzzled. "In this great lump of a train?"

"The train's not going deep. The miners are."

Kazhek rolls his eyes. "Doesn't matter for us yet then, does it?"

She shrugs. “Fine. Yeah, you’re right. But I still want you all to fuck off. Just remember who got us this job.”

“Whatever.” Kazhek pulls out his warhammer and smacks it against his bronze shield, which rings like a gong. The sound echoes off the stalagmites. “Stand up then, you lot, or I’ll have boss up front dock your pay. Up, up.”

The bronze-clad warriors stand up, grumbling. Polt makes sure to violently collide with Kazhek.

“Congratulations,” he says sarcastically. “Your sister still whips you like a dog.”

“Like to see you stand up to her. You’ve seen her angry... You want to go to the front or the back?”

“Front. Might see something interesting.”

“Doubt it, but sure. Hey Whelt, take the old guy and initiate to the back. You can pass the time counting the shits the boar are leaving for us.”

Whelt rolls his eyes. “I’m staying right here.”

“You going to fight me in the arena for it?”

Whelt pats his axe. “Fuck off, Kazhek.”

“Whatever. Initiate, old man, you’re off to the rear then.”

I scowl. “Why should I?”

“You’re the only initiate here, that’s why. Do as you’re told.”

“Who made you the leader? We’re not even in the same guild.”

The old dwarf tugs at my arm. “Hey, let’s just go.”

“He’s right,” says Kazhek. “Old and rusty he may be, but he’s wise. Go away. Or do you want to fight me too? I don’t mind teaching the odd initiate a few sparring tricks, not at all.” He laughs. “I’m a born teacher.”

I can feel blood turning my face hot, and feel my hands curling into fists. Whelt claps a hand on my shoulder.

“Just go, Zathar. Not worth fighting over. You won’t win.”

Cursing, humiliated, I turn and walk over the shivering wood to the rear of the caravan. I lean on the rails. Just as Kazhek said, I can see the boar dung trailing off behind us into the distance. I can smell it too.

“Fucking asshole!” I shout, and smash my fist down on the railings.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” says the old dwarf. “Idiots like him aren’t worth getting upset about.”

I glare at him. “I was this close to smacking him. Fucking asshole.”

The old dwarf shakes his head. “Then it’s a good thing you didn't.”

“So he’s a runeknight, I’m not. He’s a few ranks above me, so he gets to boss me around, is that it?”

“He gets to boss us around ‘cause he’ll beat us up if we say no. That’s how the world works.”

“What the hell would you know about how the world works? Your beard’s gray, and you’re on a shit job like this? Are you too scared to do the next exam, or something?”

He smiles sadly. “I’ve got too many kids to have the money for it. I’m happy where I am.”

“You don’t sound very happy.”

“Well, maybe. But as long as my kids are, I don’t mind.” He looks closely at my face. “My son talks about you a lot lately.”

“Your son?”

Then it hits me—this old dwarf has the same curly hair as Yezakh, the same small build too. Fifty years ago they might have looked identical, but whatever energy this dwarf had when he was Yezakh’s age is long gone.

“Yeah.” He looks put out. “You don’t remember him? You sparred him last week too.”

“No, no,” I say hurriedly. “I remember him. Good kid.”

“You’re a kid too. Hope you do things better than I did.” He grabs my hand and shakes it. “Hayhek.”

“Zathar.”

“I know. Try to keep calm these next few days, yeah? I’m sure you’ll make it up to where Kazhek is soon enough.”

“Thanks.”

The caravan rumbles on for a few more hours, then it stops before the mouth of a tunnel that sits like a pool of absolute blackness between two massive stalagmites. We disembark, and the mining operation begins.