“Our Runethane says it is too soon for you to be let out into the main part of his realm, even under guard. However, you may meet your friend. He will be brought down. You will see that no harm has been done to him. Not a single hair in his beard has been so much as touched.”

“I thank you greatly,” I say, and bow deeply.

“It is not me you should thank, but our Runethane.”

I bow even deeper. “Of course. I apologize to our Runethane, and now thank him greatly also.”

Halax shuts the door gently behind him. I breath out in relief, for he unnerves me even more than Nazak does. It's something about the way he stares—even without his helmet of clarity of vision on, his eyes seem to be piercing right into my heart. In a way, his open stare is just as disturbing as Vanerak's mirrored one.

I've decided to stay away from gemcutting until I get my meeting with Guthah, since it'll just waste materials, and right now I don't particularly feel like wrestling with the tungsten while my guards watch on laughing either. So I go to my bookshelf and take a look at the titles Vanerak has provided me with.

Until now I've only given them a cursory look, being more preoccupied with my amulet and designs for my armor, but I decide to choose one to read properly. Just because I don't have the energy to go down to the forge doesn't mean I can't grow my skill.

Dictionary of Upper Balhalgal; Dictionary of Lower Balhalgal; Comprehensive Dictionary of Yettrig Fourth Including New Discoveries from the City of the Dead; Thesaurus for Golthog, Valstrid and Holstig Basic Scripts...

All are dictionaries and their like. Vanerak probably presumes that the more I expand my knowledge of existing runes, the deeper an understanding I'll be able to obtain of the form of runes in general, which will show through in my runeforging, somehow. Probably he's right, but I've already decided what script to use on my ears, and for my armor I promised Hayhek I'd pour all my energy into making a new script from nothing.

I yawn. Maybe I should sleep—certainly I don't feel like putting in the hard work of memorization. Then at the very bottom right of the bookshelf one catches my eye. The title is unreadable, but its color is unlike that of the others, a deep gray.

Could it be...?

Intrigued, I pick it out. The cover is cold and hard and the pages stiff. My suspicions are confirmed—this is not paper, but stoneleaf! I turn the book over in my hands, flick through it gently, marveling. How old is this thing? And where and how did Vanerak get his gauntlets on it?

The secret of making stoneleaf, paper that is not treated fungal fibers but instead woven stone whose individual strands are all but invisible without the power of a thick lens, has been lost for many thousands of years. Books made of it are rare beyond rare, and more ancient than the past two generations of Runekings.

I have never even seen one for myself before, let alone touched one. I thought they were kept in the basement archives of the very deepest libraries of Allabrast. Vanerak is a Runethane, so it wouldn't have been much trouble for him to go down to peruse one, but to bring it back? Or if it is not from the libraries, then where?

I open it up and am disappointed to find that I cannot make out a single rune. I am not familiar with this script, and it bears no resemblance with any other that I know. Maybe Vanerak has given me a dictionary that could be of use? I inspect each in turn. They pile up in a tower behind me. Now the shelves are empty, and the script the stoneleaf book is writ in was not noted down anywhere.

I curse. There might be something vital in this book. It could be about the Runeforger, or the first runes. Maybe I'll ask Vanerak about it, but then again, I don't want to spend any more time in conversation with him than absolutely necessary.

Xomhyrk could read runes he hadn't seen before. He said there were patterns a knowledgeable enough runeknight could recognize. Could I develop that ability? Through memorizing enough scripts, I think I could.

I turn to look at the tower of dictionaries stacked behind me. I smile grimly. I pick the top one off, take it to my desk, and get to memorizing.

----------------------------------------

Guthah arrives quicker than I expected, only about half a long-hour after Halax told me my request would be granted. He seems reluctant to walk in, but the guards shove him through the doorway hard.

“Our Runethane orders that you speak to Zathar,” says Halax. “It is your duty to help the runeforger, and through this help all dwarfkind who will be raised to great heights and deeps by his power.”

“I understand,” says Guthah. “I'm sorry for being reluctant.”

“Sit down,” I say to him. “Please. I just want to know how you and Pellas are getting on up there.”

He sits down. “Yes, instructor.”

“So, how have you been? How is life in our new realm?”

He looks fairly bad. His face is warped by the burn-scars; patches of skin are shiny like melted wax. His light brown beard has grown back, but only thinly. He's bound it into a single pleat which hangs down over his breastplate limp and sad.

“We're both doing okay.”

“Just okay? Are your new guildmates treating you well?”

“Surprisingly well. Well, they don't know I was once part of the Association. They regard us as small heroes for taking on the dragon, though some seem a little jealous.”

“Jealous? Do those ones pick fights with you?”

“Nothing like that. They just act unfriendly.”

“I see, I see. And your health?”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“My skin is still a mess. Inside I'm fine. I can forge.”

“So your arm is fine too? That's a relief.”

“It's still slower and weaker than it once was, but I can use it.”

“That's good, that's good. And Pellas?”

“She's well too.”

“I'm sorry, I should have asked for her to come down as well. It was rude of me not to.”

“It's fine. She doesn't want to come down here anyway.”

“I see. Of course. I can understand that. I sense that you don't really want to be here either.”

Guthah shifts uncomfortably and looks away.

“You don't have to reply to that,” I say.

“We can't help feeling that you somehow abandoned us. And I know the black dragon was more important, far more important, yet—”

“Yet all the same I promised to protect you. I'm sorry that I couldn't do that. I should never have made a promise I couldn't keep.”

“And then there was poor Ulat as well.”

“He deserted of his own will. And I did spare him.”

“You left him alone in the cold wilderness. He's probably dead now.”

“Probably,” I admit. “I'm sorry for that as well. I should have brought him back to face a just punishment. Same with Faltast.”

“You should have.”

“What's done is done though. All I can do now is try better. I won't let Vanerak harm you.”

“Runethane Vanerak,” Halax corrects. “You are to address him properly, no matter the context in which you speak.”

“I apologize. I won't let Runethane Vanerak harm you.”

“Can you keep that promise?” asks Guthah.

His voice has a force to it I've never heard from him before. I bow my head.

“You're right to doubt. I don't know if I can. I take it back. But if it's in my power, I'll try to see that you come to no harm. That's what I swear. I'll protect you if I can.”

Guthah nods. “I'll accept that. Though to be honest I'd rather rely on my own armor than you anymore, instructor.”

“Of course. That's what you should do. I see you're in new plate. Has our Runethane given you materials as promised?”

“Plenty. And we've paid for instruction from some of the senior runeknights too. I think I'm getting better with my poems.”

I read the first few lines on his breastplate. The runes are well chosen, and they rhyme while keeping a decent flow of power. They're not the best formed, and the metal they're made from is low quality, but as a whole, the work is of solid ninth degree quality.

“You are getting better," I assure him. "Are you looking to take the examination soon?”

“We both are, but we've heard they're harsh down here. Our Runethane doesn't think progressing up the degrees should be easy.”

“Many deaths each time?”

“A few, yes. The others don't care—they say if the examination had no risk then it would have no value.”

“They're not wrong, although...” I feel Halax's eyes boring into me. “Well, I'm sure you'll both do fine. It can't go any worse than your exam for tenth did. I don't think he'll unleash anything like a bzathletic on you.”

“I hope not.”

“You'll face up to whatever comes at you just fine. You've faced far worse than whatever he can bring in.”

He nods. “I can't imagine there being lightning, or a monster of ice, or, well, a dragon.”

“Exactly. If you could face down the black dragon without fear, you can face down anything.”

“Yes. Even if my arm doesn't work as well as it once did.”

“A better spear will make up for that.”

He nods again. “It will have to.”

I pause, feeling a little awkward.

“There's another reason I asked for you to come down here, actually. A somewhat selfish one.”

He frowns. “Oh?”

“I wanted your advice on something. About forging.”

“Me?” His brows shoot up in shock. “You want advice from me?”

“About gemcutting. Your father was a gemcutter, wasn't he?”

“He still is.”

“So I assume you know the basics of it.”

“Just the basics. He only taught the real secrets to my brothers.”

“You must know more than me though. I know nothing.”

“I suppose. I had plenty of chances to watch him work.”

“I was hoping you could tell me how to do it. Our Runethane doesn't like his senior runeknights using pre-cut gems. He thinks we can do it better ourselves.”

“Yes, a lot of runeknights are of that opinion.” He glances at Halax, and doesn't expound on the thought.

“I don't mean to offend you or your family, of course. But it is his opinion, and so I've been trying myself.”

“How did it go?”

“It went poorly.”

“That's why apprentices practice on stones.”

I laugh. “Yes, I ought to have done that too. I broke it apart completely.”

“You broke it apart? How?”

“I couldn't aim the chisel properly.”

“And it shattered?”

“Not as such. I just couldn't get the shape right, and kept going, and after a while the gem wasn't there anymore.”

“That's no surprise. Instructor, it's gemcutting, not gem-chiseling. The chisel is just to get out the rough shape. Then you use a saw. A very fine saw, with diamond teeth.”

“And if I'm to cut diamond?”

“I wouldn't try that anytime soon.”

“Oh, of course. I won't. Not anytime soon. So you're saying I cut it into shape?”

“First you make a diagram of what shape you want. Then you get the rough shape with the chisel, then you gradually facet it. Then you sand, then you polish. Polishing takes the longest, though it isn't as nerve-wracking as the faceting.”

I nod. “I think I understand.”

“Those are only the very basics. You have to think about what shape will best fit the gem, bring out its best qualities. And when you sand you need to be careful not to sand away too much and ruin the shape. Then...” He waves his hands. “There's too much for me to explain. And a lot more I can't explain. I don't know what degree I'd be if I were a gemcutter, if they had degrees, but not a very high one.”

“The basics are all I need. I'll work out the rest for myself.”

“Yeah. I'm sure you will. I'd like an equal exchange though, instructor.”

“Of course.”

“I'd like some advice on my own armor.”

“Stand up.”

He does so. I read the poem on his breastplate in full. It describes a dwarf taking blows from many opponents, though none fell him. It has all the right runes but very little originality.

“You can sit back down. It's decent enough metal, but your runes... Well, they're better than they used to be. You need to be a little more creative though. The metaphor is important as well as the runic flow and what runes you use. It's more important, in my opinion. Try to be a little more original.”

“How could the runes tell if the poem is original or not, though?”

“Why would they have to?”

“I mean, surely they're what gives the poem power. Not the reader.”

“It's... It's not about the originality, not really.”

“What then?”

“It's about if the metaphor fits you and this particular piece of equipment especially. You write a poem the same as everyone else's, with the most obvious themes, then you're not writing a poem for your equipment in particular.”

He nods. “I think I understand.”

“Think carefully about your way of fighting, and what you want your equipment to do. Then create a poem to fit.”

“I will.” His face takes on an expression of grim determination, mouth a thin line, eyes hard, so that despite the weak beard he looks more dwarvish than ever. “I'll remake it from the start. I still have the funds. And I'll pass the advice on to Pellas too.”

“You're more patient than I ever was,” I say. “You, and Pellas also. Do you spend a lot of time with her?”

Something shines in his eyes, and his grim expression softens slightly. “You could say that.”

I smile. “Good on you both then. And good luck with your forging.”

“Thank you, instructor. We'll try to do you proud.”

“And I'll do the same, down here. I hope my runes prove useful to you, when our Runethane lets them filter up.”

“I'm sure they will.”

"And... I really will try to protect you. Maybe I can't do much from down here, but at the very least, I'll do my utmost not to put you both in any danger."

"Thank you, instructor. Please try to keep that promise this time."

"I will."

He stands, bows, exits. I feel a little sad, a little empty. He didn't think my last words meant very much. I could tell by the look on his scarred face.

“That was good advice you gave him,” Halax says to me. “Many runeknights undervalue the beauty of metaphor, but you seem to understand it well, even if your poems are too short and simple to be truly great.”

“Thank you,” I say, a little taken aback.

“I look forward to utilizing your runes. They have the potential to raise up my power to even greater heights.”