Stores of tungsten are made freely available to every runeknight of seventh degree and above. Platinum and gold wire have their prices slashed in half. Large quantities of incandesite are imported from Allabrast at high cost to be sold for cheap. Hytrigite is brought forth too, as well as every other sort of reagent, and gems flow into the realm like gravel rolling down a rockslide. Vanerak must be burning through his wealth at an incredible pace for so many resources to be brought in so quickly—the mass-forging commences barely a long-hour after the end of my second expedition.
Vanerak decrees that every runeknight of seventh degree and up must forge a weapon utilizing my runes of magma distorted. At first most fail, though usually not in spectacular fashion. They just do not generate enough conflicting runic force to cause any real damage to the demons.
Runic flow calculations are the bottleneck. The ones a user of my runes must perform are an order of magnitude harder than any a seventh degree would usually tackle, and even fourth and third degrees sometimes see their poems' power fizzle out upon completion.
Halax is the one who cracks the math. Through many long-hours of research and experimentation, he comes to a deep understanding of how the flows cross and then power or diminish each other, sees a pattern which he teaches to the other runeknights over a long series of mandatory lectures. It is a little frightening, the way he seems to be able to manipulate my runes more easily than I myself can.
No one actually copies his poems, of course, but armed with his equations even the lower ranking runeknights start to see success.
Metalwork proves not to be as harsh a challenge for the others as it was for me. Helzar knows well how to shape barbs and serrations so they will not weaken a craft's overall structure. She is reluctant to share this knowledge, but at Vanerak's order she does, teaching the runeknights her advanced welding techniques: the precise ratios of reagent she uses and the temperatures they must be burned at.
Runeknights do not make weapons for each other—Vanerak will not see our taboos broken that totally. Yet he makes sure that knowledge is freely shared. If a runeknight's weapon is judged to be particularly powerful, he or she must report to a first degree in detail about its making. The most noteworthy processes are etched into tablets, and these tablets are erected near the main forging-halls for all to see and draw inspiration from.
As more powerful weapons are forged, each built on a foundation of knowledge gained in the forging of its predecessors, the expeditions move deeper into the seas. The demons' counter-assaults disintegrate and Vanerak's runeknights can plunder freely. Not just shards, but wide sections of wall and the heavy remnants of pillars are dragged back through the magma by teams of bound miners. The storage cave rapidly fills and more must be designated.
All order in these stores is overwhelmed. It is rumored that less artifacts are making it in than recorded, that some might be disappearing. Spies—whose they are and from where no one says—are blamed, but no one gives it too much thought. The discrepancies could just be due to scribal error anyway. And who cares for a few coins when treasure is flooding in by the short-hour?
Perhaps Vanerak would have any thieves hunted down if he was not so busy in his forge. It is rumored that the blade he is working on will be able to kill ten demons with a single sweep—if he is indeed making a weapon. Some whisper quietly that he has started work on a kingly crown.
Such an accusation is traitorous. Nazak puts a stop to the rumor, though it never entirely goes away.
So, a great deal has been happening. Yet I am part of none of it. My purpose has been fulfilled to an acceptable degree—we now have a way to battle the demons without taking unsustainable losses, and I am too precious to be risked further; Nazak tells me that I am forbidden to enter the magma sea.
I am given a somewhat menial task to occupy myself—creating a new air-cable, an improved version of my first, and longer, with an appropriately lengthy poem to go on it too. I am assured that this one is to be for my personal use, though when I ask when I'll be allowed to use it, be allowed to return to slaying demons, Nazak's reply is a sharp negative.
Yet despite this disappointment, my circumstances have improved somewhat. I may not be permitted to leave my cell, but for the first time since I was taken here others are permitted to talk with me more or less freely. No one has more knowledge of my runes than I do, after all. Runeknights from eighth degree to second come to ask me for clarifications about their meanings and advice on their usage.
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A change has come into their attitude toward me, a change I once believed could never happen. No longer am I the traitor. Instead I am the savior or, at the very least, a figure neutral in morality. I felt this change coming on slowly before the completion of my trident, but now that my runes are winning us victory after victory, the runeknights' hatred of me seems to have melted away almost completely.
Yes, many lost family and friends to the black dragon. Yes, they understand well that it was me who granted it such massive power. But that was in the past. Here and now in this moment my runes are saving lives.
Many who come to ask after my runes end up asking me about the black dragon—especially those junior runeknights who never saw it for themselves, or were too young to remember properly. I tell them the full truth and resist the urge to justify my actions, instead leaving judgment up to the listener. Several pity me—they understand from my tale that black dragon was as cunning as it was powerful. What chance did a desperate tenth degree have against it?
Of course, not all offer words of forgiveness. But even those who don't forgive me at least grudgingly respect that in the end I did take a hand in destroying it, even if Xomhyrk—and Vanerak, they believe to my disgust—did the greater part of the work.
It is through these many talks with the other runeknights that I learn of the goings on in the caverns outside my cell, even if I cannot participate in them directly. Dozens of long-hours pass, then dozens more. My fear and hatred of Vanerak diminishes, though never quite vanishes, as the breaks between his questionings about my runes and runeforging grow longer—it almost seems as if he's losing interest in the subject. I dare to hope he has discovered that my power is indeed unique, and that there will never be any way for him to copy it.
I begin to settle into this life. It is not entirely comfortable, yet I am content with one fact: for once I managed to keep a promise.
“It is good to see you again,” I say to Hayhek one hour.
He has arrived after one of my forging sessions, as he often does, for drinks and talk. The guards do not care that he comes to meet me without applying for express permission—he has become a somewhat popular figure since it came out that it was he who first informed Vanerak of my treachery.
“Good to see you too,” Hayhek replies. “May I have some beer?”
“Help yourself. It's the best I've been given so far. Maybe someone thinks my runes will come out better if I write them under the influence.”
Hayhek chuckles. “Do they?”
“I've never tried. Perhaps next time.”
“I experimented once with quenching in beer, you know, when I was young.”
“How did it go?”
“Badly—but maybe someone more skilled—”
We laugh. He's become a lot happier since the forging of my trident and our subsequent victories and looks it too; his slightly wrinkled skin has a ruddy glow to it.
His appearance has changed in a more significant way too. He has forged new armor for himself: a harness of tungsten and ruby similar in style to his old suit, but far better executed. His weapon is impressive too, an axe that is a curling nest of barbs which hum slightly with distorted power. It's a fair amount better than most fifth degrees' weapons, partly in thanks to the extensive advice I gave him about my runes.
“You get much done these past seven long-hours?” he asks.
“Has it been that long?”
“Yes—I came up here a couple times, but the guards told me you were asleep or forging.”
“I see. Well, I haven't progressed much, I'm afraid. Still drawing out the threads.”
“You really think the tungsten comes out better that way?”
“I know it does.”
“Must be hard work, though.”
“Hard and very dull, but it'll be worthwhile in the end. How about you? Bring in many more shards?”
“My team dredged up a section of wall not two short-hours ago,” he says proudly. “It wasn't the biggest, but it was decorated beautifully.”
“Which script?”
“No script, just pictures. Incredible ones though, some of the most detailed yet. If they weren't black and solid you'd swear they were living flesh.”
“Fascinating,” I say without really meaning it.
Rather than the art, pretty as it may be, I am far more interested in the oddly powerless runes. I am sure they are examples of the First Runeforger's earliest work, which means that should we decipher them, I might discover a clue to my own powers—or even knowledge about the sphere.
Hayhek shrugs. “Whatever pays. The masons seemed excited about it at least. There's a rumor everything without runes is going to be moved to a separate cavern, one for general viewing.”
“Seems a lot of work for little gain.”
“Well, the masons are doing a fine job preparing the new caverns. They have to be kept happy.”
“I suppose. I wish Nazak would let me out to see some of these new caverns. My legs are getting weak.”
“Maybe eventually.”
“Maybe.”
We spend the next short-hour discussing his new project, a pair of boots that fan out like fins to increase his maneuverability. He asks for my advice at beating tungsten flat, and I ask how he plans to use my magma-runes to create a poem for agility. He quotes a few lines to me. He has developed some ingenious metaphors, and once again I am amazed, and more than a little frightened, at how my runes are being used in ways I never anticipated.
Runeking Ulrike told me that the First Runeforger was slain by those who used his runes. Sometimes I worry that this will be my ultimate fate—but I do not think Hayhek will be my slayer. He is grateful to me: my runes have saved his comrades' lives many times over. And he will never say this, but I think he has finally forgiven my leading his son astray.
He has become my friend.
We grow tired; he leaves. I sleep, wake, and return to the forge to work on my cable.
Life continues in peace.