In the hours that follow the master mason's sudden and shocking intrusion, I am unable to concentrate on anything other than his words. I thought I had come into a period of peace, of forging without having to fear for my life; even Vanerak seemed to have forgotten about me, so deep is he in his forging. Yet outside the only two chambers I can be in, the world moves. Dwarves may be patient, but the world can be far less so.
Masons bringing about a new age? How could that be? I hold some respect for them, yes, as all dwarves do, for their work is with what is all around us—yet when it comes down to it, all they really do is make pretty decorations and build things. This latter is important, true, but not entirely necessary either. We could get by residing in natural caves if we had to. We could get by without decorations. And they have no magic, no runes with which to bring about some new age. Runes carved into stone are devoid of power. And as for the so-called invulnerable stone the master mason claims to be investigating, it is not so indestructible. The city we are delving through the magma into is a broken one, is it not?
Broken stone. I recall what he said of miners. I grow angry. How dare he say we are no better than them? We create and they destroy. Yes, maybe they are necessary for our existence, but it is they who break the stone, not we, and through our art we protect all dwarves—including masons and miners both!
And what does it matter if the ore they dig out is pulverized and melted? This is not any insult to the stone. It is a blessing to it, for we make it pure and bring out a far stronger and more useful substance: metal, the basis of all our crafts.
The master mason was speaking nonsense. His age has rotted his mind. Even if he hates us for our power, and the miners for their wanton breaking of stone, there is no way to equivalate us.
Yet his words will not leave my mind. When I get to work in the forge, shaping metal and rune, they are at the back of my skull like a thorn, pricking my thoughts and distracting me. Tungsten square after tungsten square fails. Long, nearly complete threads break with sudden flashes of sparks. My realm of metal has been invaded. I cannot find peace in it.
The higher we rise, the more alike to miners we become. These words in particular enrage me. I became a runeknight to escape the drudgery of breaking stone. Each craft I make, I rise higher above it. I have other reasons to craft too, of course—no longer do I craft solely for my own gain, but to help others also. Yet my first reason remains too. I may not be ashamed of my past anymore—I was once a miner, I accept that, and no longer do I hold any hatred for them—but that does not mean I would ever be willing to go back.
But according to the master mason, the higher I rise, the further back I sink. If he is correct, all this time I have been striving to get away from the drudgery of mining, I have instead been growing closer to it.
My strike on the tungsten fails—a black crack erupts in the white glow. I scream a curse and toss my hammer to the floor.
“What is wrong with you?” Nazak snaps. “Where is your patience? You hammer like an initiate.”
I turn to him in a fury, then remember who he is and calm myself. “I apologize, honored runeknight Nazak. My arm seems dull lately.”
“Be more careful. Do not insult our Runethane's gifts.”
“Yes, honored runeknight. Again, I apologize most profusely, to you and him also.”
I pick my hammer up off the floor. I feel its weight in my hand. Masons use hammers too, to break the stone. Are they not closer to miners for that? We runeknights do not break things. Even if we fail a craft, its metal will be apologized to and reused.
The higher a runeknight rises, the less they harm metal also. Our strikes become more accurate. We make the metal into shapes it is pleased with. We never harm it.
And then, here in the forge, as I stare into the glowing tungsten, a revelation comes upon me. I recall Braztak's riddle. What goes into the Runeking's foundry but never out?
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The answer is metal—this I have always known. Yet as to what is done to the metal, I have not yet been able to work out. I have considered dozens of ideas—perhaps the metal is folded in on itself, perhaps it is compressed, perhaps it is transmuted into some other substance. Each idea I have rejected: ordinary dwarves can fold metal, compressed metal would weigh a great deal and require many runes to reduce that, and though true metal is beyond metal it still retains all base properties and thus cannot have been transmuted.
It also must be a dangerous process, or else it would not be kept secret from those of lower degrees. Braztak told me I must work it out for myself, and Nazak said that learning it would only harm me, for the process is too dangerous.
But what if it is kept from the vast majority of runeknights for another reason?
What if that reason is shame?
No. The master mason is a mason. He knows stone, not metal. Why would he know a secret that only the greatest runeknights can ever learn? Masons cannot even read runes, beyond a few of the simplest scripts!
He has masons everywhere. He has walked through every cavern in Allabrast, perhaps, maybe every cavern in Thanerzak's city also. He knows hidden cracks, hidden peepholes. Maybe he saw something. And maybe he is also older than he has any right to be, for a dwarf with no amulet of unaging. He works stone as well as any runeknight works runes. It could even be that the masons are not so devoid of magic as is commonly thought.
No. It is impossible. He was simply insane with anger. He wanted to insult me, that's all. Yet still I cannot dismiss his words; they remain embedded in the back of my skull. Miners are murderers of stone—what if runeknights are murderers of metal? What if the reason that metal flows into the Runeking's foundry and never out is that he mines it? Mines the metal!
Junior runeknights could never be allowed to know this secret. If rumors were to spread—all would collapse. If it became known that we were abusers of metal just as miners are abusers of stone—the consequences could be disastrous.
This, then, could be the secret of true metal. This could be the terrible, shameful secret that only the most powerful runeknights can be allowed be know:
We mine the metal itself.
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“What are you doing?” Nazak demands. “You are to work on your cable.”
“My cable hasn't been progressing. I'm going to work on something else.”
“You are not permitted to.”
“Why not? Through making this craft, I will improve my skill with tungsten. This will in turn improve the quality of my cable when I return to it.”
“I can tell the shape of what you are making. It is a knife. It is not to kill demons, but dwarves. You are a fool! Did you think I would not be able to tell?”
“It is not to kill demons, no. But neither is it to kill dwarves.”
“Then what is it for?” he demands.
“It is a mining tool, honored first degree.”
“What?”
“A mining tool. It is just an idea I had.”
“What kind of idea?” His eyes narrow. “Are you trying to mock us?”
Is my theory wrong? Did I misread the master mason's words? Perhaps he really was just insane—yet if the true metal is within my reach, I must try. Even if this method goes against everything a runeknight ought to be, I must try. How can I ever protect Guthah and Hayhek if I do not improve my crafts?
“I am just trying something out, honored runeknight Nazak. I'm not trying to cause offense to anyone.”
“Then cease making miners' tools. They are not needed.”
“I believe they are—they will improve the power of my crafts. And that is what you all want, isn't it?”
“We need more runes.”
“Which I can only create for great crafts. And the greater the craft, the greater my inspiration for them.”
“A mining tool is not a great craft. You are mocking us.”
“It is to assist in the creation of great crafts. It is to uncover...” I hesitate. “It is to uncover the truth, honored runeknight. The truth of metal.”
He stands. He grips the bars hard and they squeal against his gauntlets. “You mock us! You must stop!”
His words may be words of anger, but his tone speaks of sudden shock. In this moment, I know I have hit upon the truth.
“I cannot stop,” I say. “And you have no right to stop me. To stop another dwarf's forging.”
“You will put down your tools!”
“And deny to our Runethane what could be my most powerful runes yet? To deny to you all those runes too? I thought I was here to bring about a new age for all dwarfkind. How can I do that if my very forging is shackled?”
“The runes for—for what you speak of are no different to the ones you already know. Cease this!”
“I refuse,” I say calmly. “Our Runethane will punish me if I do as you order. He will punish you also. He will hurt what you love, if you restrict my runeforging.”
“This has nothing to do with runeforging.”
“It has everything to do with it. The greater my skill in the forge, the further my skill with runes grows. I am a runeknight, not a metalworker. I am an artist, not a manufacturer.”
“This is nonsense.”
“Our Runethane believes otherwise, or else I would never have been allowed to forge down here.”
“Do not insinuate that you know our Runethane's thoughts!”
“Then call him down here and we will ask for his thoughts! Well? Shall we? Your attempt to stop me will anger him. You know this!”
Nazak's grip on the bars tightens further. The metal bends. Cracks form and the right bar splits apart. The metal screams.
“All of you below second degree, out!” he shouts. “Now!”