“Those must be the tracks,” says Halax. “Over there.”

Vanerak looks to where the runeknight points. The snow is heavily trampled.

“We will move at half-speed,” Vanerak orders. “We will catch up with them once we're out of sight of the hill.”

They slow their pace as they make their way around the walls of Heldfast Hill, whose guards they took leave of just a few minutes ago. The dwarves on the walls, faces shadowed from the sun by long brims, look down on them curiously. Vanerak barely notices them. His palms are itching. Zathar is nearly in his grasp.

Onto the tracks they move, adding their bootprints to those left by Wharoth's Association of Steel. Which pair of tracks is Zathar's? Runes do not leave imprints on snow, so there is no way to tell.

They come around the walls, and immediately Vanerak sees his quarry. The figures are made tiny by the distance, only just illuminated by the crescent moon. Yet if they're in seeing distance, they're in running distance, just a few miles away.

Now, how to take Zathar?

For all his earlier talk of guile being more effective than brute force, Vanerak knows that Wharoth will not give Zathar up easily.

“Halax, circle around them then try to get as close as you can without being seen. I want to know where Zathar is and the strength of the runeknights with him.”

“Very well.”

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

Wharoth feels warm inside, warmer than he's felt in a very long while. His belly is full of beer and meat and bread. Vitality is flowing through his veins, and he can feel vitality glowing from his guild as well. They are no longer huddled together in fear of cold and isolation. Their strides are long and strong and the rhythm of the march is even.

It feels like they're a proper army again.

“How long do you think we can keep up this pace?” asks Voltost.

“A few days. Then we'll rest once, and after that slow a little.”

“We still won't make it in time.”

“There's a chance we will.”

“Guildmaster, with respect, I do not think there is.”

“You heard what they said about Xomhyrk. He impressed them. He's no fraud.”

“He still got half of his dwarves killed in a fight with the humans.”

“But not Zathar.”

“No, but they will reach the dragon soon.”

“I am sure they will wait before attacking. We will have time to catch up.”

“We have no way to know that.”

“Either way, I know. Just as I know that we will meet Zathar there.”

“Guildmaster, you are drunk.”

“I am not drunk!” Wharoth snaps.

“Then admit that our hope is slim. Very slim.”

“What's your problem today? Are you suggesting we turn back?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what are you suggesting?”

“I just want to make my misgivings clear. That's all. Get them off my chest.”

“All right.”

“I have followed you all this way, haven't I? I'm not going to turn back now. I've been with you since the beginning. Since Zathar's first betrayal.”

“You still haven't forgiven him, have you?”

“I will abide by the decision of my Runeking.”

“Yet you do not agree with it.”

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“It's not my place to question him.”

“Do you wish him dead, Voltost? Do you hope that the black dragon devours him?”

“No. If only because I don't want to see you any worse hurt than you already are. I know, for whatever reason, that he means a lot to you. As much as a son, maybe.”

“A son?” Wharoth laughs. “He is more than a son. Voltost, he is a hope! A promise!”

“I don't follow.”

“Have you never read the runes he writes?”

“Why would I? I have no interest in fourth degree equipment.”

“They are unique. New.”

“What?”

“They are new runes, runes which have never been written before.”

Voltost looks at him strangely.

“I have not gone mad!” Wharoth snaps. “When we meet him, you will see. I'll make you see. And I'll make the rest of the guild see as well. His runes are new!”

“That isn't possible.”

“Are you saying I've made a mistake? You know of my studies. I know more runes than you, Voltost! More than most first degrees!”

“Even so, it's not possible.”

“Why not?”

“Only the runeforgers could make runes. And they are long gone.”

“He is long gone,” Wharoth corrects. “I am sure from my research that there was only one. But yes, only he could, but now, another can!”

“Zathar went down to the deeps, and originally he came from Broderick's realm, did he not? Just because he knows different runes to us doesn't mean he's created new ones.”

Wharoth scowls. “You think I haven't gone over that possibility a thousand times over? Broderick's dwarves use the same scripts as we do, and the deep dwarves use only the three scripts of light. Zathar's runes are new. Mostly variations on other runes for now, true—but some are so varied it's hard to tell what script they're even meant to be part of.”

“Variations maybe I can believe.”

“Not just variations. Don't you hear what I'm saying?” Wharoth is too excited to stop. “New runes! New possibilities! Don't you see, Voltost?” Wharoth is speaking loudly now. He doesn't care who hears him. “If Zathar can do what no dwarf has done in tens of thousands of years, maybe a hundred thousand years, then we are on the brink of a revolution!”

“A revolution?”

“A new age. And a better age. With the ability to create new runes, who knows what wonders we'll accomplish?”

“You said only Zathar has the power.”

“If he does, maybe others do too. And maybe it can even be taught. Although all my attempts to figure out how he's done it have met with failure, cleverer dwarves might meet with success. And then...!”

“Then what?”

“A new age.”

“I see.”

“I don't think you do.”

Voltost shakes his head. “No.”

“You can see that I believe though.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

“So that's why we've come up here. This is about more than just Zathar. It's about everything. Every dwarf. The future.”

“You believe this very strongly.”

“You will believe it too, when you read his runes.”

Voltost is silent for a while.

“Why did you let him go after the dragon then, guildmaster?”

“I shouldn't have.” Wharoth looks down at the snow. He lowers his voice to nearly a whisper. “Ah, I shouldn't have. I should have refused him permission, kept him in his forge. But us runeknights are artists as well as warriors, and without freedom, inspiration, what happens to art?”

“You were afraid his powers would vanish?”

“A little. I don't know their nature. But I had a more solid reason too: he swore an oath, and if I denied him the ability to keep it, what kind of a guildmaster would I be? He might hate me for it.”

“You talk like a father, you know, guildmaster.”

“Yes. Maybe you're right about me seeing him as a son. Looking back, probably we all should have gone up together, to protect him—but I didn't want to risk your lives either.”

“You are the same as me. Neither of us like taking risks.”

“That's right. But now—ah, I made a mistake. A terrible mistake. And now we're split up, and we don't even know if he's alive. The tundra is dangerous.”

“He's a survivor, that dwarf. Maybe he'll even escape the dragon.”

“You're just saying that to be nice to me. Oh, shit, I am drunk.” He blinks heavily to get the tears out his eyes. “Well, we'll see once we get there, won't we?”

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

The wind on Halax's face is bitingly cold. He's running so quickly that the air is even blowing through the thick hair of his beard, parting the red strands to chill skin that's never been chilled before.

But compared to the other pains he's gone through to gain the favor of Runethane Vanerak, it is nothing. He is a first degree and has taken many a blow for his master.

He runs in an arc across the front of Wharoth's guild, close enough that he can see them, but far enough that he looks like less than a speck of snow to them. They do not look particularly strong, on first impression. There's a lot of lower degrees.

He focuses intently to see if his first impressions are correct, for first impressions should never be trusted. The runes at the sides of his helm hum slightly; the diamonds there make a keening sound.

Wharoth himself will put up a fight: that shield is well-enruned and large, will be hard to get any blow past. He may be a second degree in rank, but in skill he is most assuredly a first. Next to him is a dwarf close in skill, with heavy armor and a heavy build, also with an axe and shield. He'll put up a fight, but he'll be a poor match against Halax. Speed does not look to be his forte, whereas Halax hates to rely on brute defense—the runes of speed on his armor are rightly feared.

Then there's a few other dwarves of third degree, and some fourth degrees that might be trouble if they can coordinate themselves properly. As for the rest, the remaining eight tenths, they are like flakes of ash that will be easily swept from the forge.

No sign of Zathar though. Halax circles back to look again, but still can't see him. There's a few dwarves with black beards, and some of those also have blue eyes, but they aren't Zathar. Zathar has a distinctive face, with a straight nose, angular cheekbones, and brows in a permanent frown. His eyes are piercing as well, always absolutely focused.

Maybe he's one of those with covered faces, for there are a lot of those. It's impossible to tell.

Bad news. They might have to round up the entire guild before killing them. Still, maybe that's a good thing. Vanerak will enjoy it, and that fun on top of finally getting hold of Zathar should put him in a decent mood for a while.

They just need to be careful not to accidentally slay him. Any dwarf who does so will meet a painful end—Vanerak seems to believe that Zathar holds the keys to a new age. Halax isn't quite sure if he believes this, but if there is to be a new age, well, who better to lead dwarfkind into it than Vanerak?

With Halax at his side, of course.