Nthazes decides that the Shaft is no place to welcome back an old friend of the fortress, and has Qrestad go up to find a few others to take over his vigil.

  “I don't mind talking here, really,” I say, “if you're needed. If the darkness has been stirring.”

  Nthazes, carefully winding cloth around the head of his mace, shakes his head. “It's quiet. And others can stand vigil just as well as I can.”

  After a short while Melkor, one of the other fourth degrees who fought Fjalar with me, arrives alongside another senior runeknight who seems to be a new addition. We exchange pleasantries, then Nthazes leads me up the steps and out. He does not speak—was he always this quiet?

  Has something changed about him? Perhaps the responsibility of being guildmaster is crushing down on him. Does he fear for the future with so little recruits coming in? Or maybe he thinks my coming heralds woe. I won't hold it against him if he does. My coming very often does seem to bring strife.

  We reach the old dining hall. As before, it is the only place lit in the fort, albeit very dimly, yet the light shining out through the many layers of cloth around Nthazes' mace adds enough illumination that I can see quite clearly.

  There's already food and ale laid out on the far table. We go to it, passing other tables covered with thick dust. The hall feels more lonely than even the rest of the fort—we're the only two in here. The hall was rarely crowded before, yet it was never deserted either. There were always at least a dozen or so runeknights sitting, eating, talking, and sometimes laughing. Now there is naught but eerie silence.

  Runethane Yurok was driven to madness by fear of what might have been lurking in the quiet, black corners. Might Nthazes, so much more alone now, be affected also? Affected worse?

  He gestures for me to sit down.

  “Dig in and drink up,” he says. “Hirthik does most of the cooking, and it's better than you likely remember. We have better ingredients too, and Runethane Halmak gives us regular gifts of the best ale. He worries for our sanity down here, he's told me.”

  “I see he hasn't taken up residence in Runethane Yurok's throne room. I suppose that's your place now.”

  Nthazes shakes his head. “Oh, no. We consider that place bad luck. I'm still in my same old quarters.”

  “But you're guildmaster now, right? And your armor—I see that it's much improved.”

  “Thank you. After so many of us were lost, we all had plenty of material in the stores to work with. We needed to increase our strength, we thought, and so we have. I, as well as Notok and Melkor, have risen to third. Runethane Halmak carried out the examination himself.”

  “Your metalwork is most impressive. As are your runes.”

  I'm not exaggerating: his titanium armor is truly a work of art. It's somewhat lighter than most suits of plate, with wide gaps at the joins protected only by maille, yet clever extensions make it so those parts are mostly covered when he moves. The angles all flow into each other. His runic ears are extraordinarily complex, perfectly symmetrical, and glitter with a hundred diamonds apiece.

  And the runes! Upon each plate is a separate poem written in belhaghast script, a relative of bezethast that is not so verbose but equally complex and with difficult runic flows. The way he's manipulated it is expert. He must have studied hard indeed: I could not have done a better job than he's done with his verses praising strength, fearlessness, and rampant speed toward the enemy.

  Even stronger than his armor is his weapon—too bright for me to make out the runes on it, I can only infer the incredible amount of skill and time and effort that he's poured into its creation.

  Yet despite the beauty and strength of his pieces, I can detect no true metal. He has not yet found that secret.

  “Thank you,” he says. “I put a great deal of effort into this new equipment, and a great deal of material as well. There were many failed attempts and drafts behind what I'm now in. But I persisted. We needed to try and gain strength equal to that lost down in the utmost deeps. Sadly, we still fall far short.”

  “Polkud told me you haven't had as many recruits as you hoped for.”

  “No. Not many dwarves want to live down here in this dark place. They'd rather dwell in the light and life above.”

  “Won't Runethane Halmak send any? Wasn't that why the Runeking sent him down.”

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  “He doesn't believe in forcing his dwarves to live where they don't want to. To his credit though, a significant number of his runeknights did learn to create weapons of light. They hold them above, and will descend to fight the darkness if it becomes necessary. And, we have agreed that should there be a truly terrible resurgence, the taboos shall be broken and our ancestors' weapons used, although I worry such an insult would only bring further calamity. Hanging them from the ceilings like torches was bad enough.”

  He shakes his head bitterly.

  “Have there been any resurgences recently?”

  “None, thank the Runeking. It's barely come up since our attack. Runethane Yurok, and Cathez and Hraroth, must have weakened it with their final blows.”

  “That's good. Hopefully you'll have a lot more time to gain in strength.”

  He nods, and sips his ale, takes a few bites of cold meat and bread. I watch him closely and am worried by what I see. He looks dour and sounds cold. What happened to his old fascination with the world above the fortress? Did his exposure to Allabrast kill those dreams?

  He finishes his food, meets my gaze with sad eyes. “About Jaemes...” he begins.

  “Polkud already told me,” I say quickly. “I can't say I'm surprised. But I am saddened.”

  Nthazes nods. “We all were. The only one who didn't seem so upset was he himself. He told us he'd accomplished more than what most scholars can ever dream of. He was proud especially to have been of real help, he said, not just academic.”

  “He was real help. The smartest out of all of us. And the bravest, to go against a Runethane like that.”

  “He was very brave indeed. Braver by far than most runeknights." He pauses and looks down, then looks back up at me. "His only regret was not seeing you again. He grew very interested in your claims of being able to create new runes. I think he wished to study them.”

  “I'd have let him. Shown him everything. He would have been a lot more worthy of hearing than the one I did end up telling those secrets to. Far more worthy.”

  Nthazes leans forward. His pale blue eyes glint. “Can you really create new runes? I examined your fourth script of light. They seemed more like variations than anything truly new. But if you can...”

  “I can,” I say, a little taken aback by his sudden fascination. “Those ones of light were closer to variations, but I've made original ones since then. Truly original ones.”

  He looks up and down my armor, nodding. “The script on your armor is certainly unlike anything I've seen before. Runethane Halmak gifted us many dictionaries, yet none of them contained runes quite like those. I can make out only the vaguest of pattens.”

  “It's a script of magma. That's where I've been for the past... while. Diving into molten stone and battling demons.”

  “Demons? Were they anything like the darkness, or their sorcerer?”

  “I think some comparisons could be drawn. But in the end they were creations of a Runegod, I think, something dwarven in origin. Not like the darkness.”

  “Yes. Whatever that beast was down there, it was not a dwarf.” He takes a deep draught of ale, then a few more. He wipes brown foam from his white-blonde beard, and smiles. “I really need to relax a bit more. I should be happy! Zathar, my friend: tell me of your adventures above here. You wrote me a letter saying you were going off to fight the black dragon. I assume you defeated it?”

  “At great cost, but yes: it no longer threatens the world.”

  So, just as I did for Runethane Ytith, I tell him all of my doings since leaving the fort. I leave no detail out about my runeforging. I tell him of the sphere, the terrible heat, the loss of control, and of more besides.

  He's a better listener than Runethane Ytith was. The questions he asks are polite, and he does not demand more detail from me after I answer them, but merely nods and thanks me. And he shows empathy. When I speak of Vanerak's realm, he seems genuinely horrified by his treatment of his dwarves.

  “Runethane Yurok was many things,” he says, scowling. “But at least he cared for us.”

  I continue on to tell him of the final battle against the demons and their maker, and then of my slaying of two first degrees and my duel against Vanerak. He rocks back in awe:

  “To fight a Runethane to a standstill, even with him weakened. That is impressive, Zathar. Truly so. You've grown in power—what degree are you, now? Second? First?”

  “Vanerak recognized me as second, and after I completed my weapon, he said it elevated me to first—though I think that was simply to justify my presence to his forces. I consider myself to be second. Maybe Runethane Halmak will say otherwise, though. Probably I will have to fight an examination.”

  “Probably,” Nthazes agrees. “Our new Runethane is very fond of conducting examinations, though fortunately he's stopped sending so many dithyoks against the examinees. Too many injuries, as well as several deaths. Mostly he and his Red Anvil elders undertake the testing.”

  “I look forward to meeting him again. Though I wish he'd do more for you down here. Find some way to get you recruits.”

  “He's done plenty. We're growing steadily. It's just a matter of time, as those above like to say.”

  Finally I tell him of my battle with the iron trolls, and of my meeting with Runethane Ytith.

  “She was also interested in my runes,” I say. “And I had no choice but to tell her all I know about them. What I can do is not really a secret anymore, I'm afraid. Certainly it won't be for much longer. Now that I'm second degree, runeknights look at me, at least a little—important ones too. I've started to draw attention.”

  “And well you should. I think you can do great things with these powers, Zathar. Incredible things. Runethane Vanerak, for all his evils, was right about how all of dwarfkind could be on the brink of a new age. An age where we don't have to worry about trolls anymore, or dragons, or even the darkness.”

  “I hope so. Though I must say that my worst foes so far have all been dwarves.”

  “Well, indeed. For all the horrors of the darkness, Fjalar was the one who drove us down to ruin.” He refills his ale cup and downs it all in one swig. He shakes his head. “What a tale, Zathar. The surface especially seems a truly terrible place. Still, maybe I will make a visit once we're grown in number. I would like to see the blue light of the sky, and perhaps find some way to write it into a poem.”

  “Just avoid the humans. They were not anything like Jaemes. And beware their magic.”

  He gives me a grim smile. “Beware indeed. Believe it or not, you're not the only one in this hall who's seen human magic.”

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