None of the searches find anything. Runethane Yurok orders that everything be searched once more. We do so, and again no fragment of the deep darkness is found. He orders a third search, and again, nothing.

He suspects that the fragment retreated after claiming its first victim, and is now hiding in the caverns above the fort, preparing to return and slay more unsuspecting dwarves, so he issues several decrees to ensure our safety. They are inconvenient but accepted without complaint, for we all understand the gravity of the situation.

Emergency decree the first: no dwarf is to wander the fort alone.

Emergency decree the second: torches or light-enruned weapons are to be carried at all times.

Emergency decree the third: the regular guard of the Shaft is to be doubled.

The third decree does not really affect me, though I don’t get to see Nthazes so often, and the second is only a minor inconvenience, but the first? That one changes things. No longer am I independent, able to forge and work where and when I please. Each time I want to go down to continue my attempts at forging titanium, I have to find another dwarf to come down with me, and they always seem to be away—on hunts, already doing their own forging, down at the Shaft, doing other jobs, or simply eating or sleeping.

The only person who will accompany me down consistently is Jaemes, who didn't fail to notice I was the only dwarf who didn't scream insults and brandish a weapon at him in the Runethane's hall. With his research having hit a dead end, he has plenty of spare time to help me.

This comes with its own set of problems, however. His theory that Mathek was murdered by another dwarf has not made him popular, and as a result of my association with him—and the fact that I’m an outsider myself—I find the other dwarves growing somewhat cold toward me.

At mealtimes I am asked less questions about the world near the surface, and more about my personal history. Heartseeker draws comments about its dark halo. I start to hear complaints about ‘abovers’, their lack of appreciation for the fort’s mission, and their strange customs and ways of speaking.

“Why did you have to confront the Runethane like that?” I complain to Jaemes one time as we walk to the forges. “I know you wanted your opinion heard, but was that really the time?”

“Some people are able to keep quiet when the truth is at stake. I am not one of them.”

“Even so, you might have spoken with a little more respect. He’s the Runethane. Telling him that he was wrong, right to his face in front of all his runeknights, was foolish. You should have waited to talk to him afterward.”

“Maybe. But he’s refused to see me for nearly a year now, and I had to tell him somehow.”

“Why didn't you just tell Commander Cathez? Quietly.”

“He doesn’t listen to me either.”

“Then what difference does it make?”

“Because I believe what I said is the truth. I’m an academic, I seek the truth and then I say it. It’s my job. My role in life.”

“You should try to think more carefully about how you say it.”

“I think there’s no better way I could have said it. Now that the searches have turned up absolutely nothing—as I knew they would—I’m sure that at least a few of you are considering my theory in private.”

“Yes, I think a few probably are. And I think they're starting to think maybe I did it. Maybe they’ll start suspecting you too.”

“Murder requires a reason. What reason could I have had for killing Mathek? I barely knew him.” He shakes his head. “No, logically, I cannot have killed Mathek.”

I think in silence for a few minutes.

“I can think of a few reasons,” I say very quietly. “One, you are interested in dwarven physiology. Maybe you needed the blood for research. Two, you want the Runethane to approve an expedition to the deep dark, and might think he’ll become more keen on the idea if he starts to believe it's changed somehow.”

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“If that was my reason, I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to tell him it wasn’t the deep darkness, would I?”

“Still, it is a motive. And I can think of a third reason also: dwarves aren’t always logical. I don’t know about you humans, but once we take a disliking to something, it’s hard for us to let go. And I think quite a few down here have taken a disliking to you.”

For once he has nothing to say.

“Well?”

“You’re smarter than I gave you credit for,” he says quietly.

“I’d watch my back if I were you,” I warn. “Not for whoever killed Mathek, but for Mathek’s friends.”

He nods. “Yes. Yes, that’s probably sensible.”

We enter the forging hall and I make my way to the nearest unoccupied forging pit. Usually Jaemes stays out near the storage crates where it's cooler, or else walks around in a figure of eight which he claims helps him think, but today he sits by the edge of my pit, politely looking away.

I think I'm finally getting the hang of forging titanium. Although my last few attempts at making the toecap also ended in failure, they weren't quite as catastrophic as my first few. In fact, if I were a runeknight of eighth or ninth degree I might have considered them successes, but as fifth degree I must have higher standards.

The trick, as always, is to use all of my senses. On my first attempt I used none of them, just mistaken instinct, but now I have worked out a near-surefire way to judge the metal’s temperature.

I cut out a piece of my much-diminished titanium sheet and shape it into a semi-circle. I hammer it into a curved half-bowl shape, then examine it closely using both my eyes and ears. The chime it makes is uneven, as expected, so I commence the fine tuning of its structure, taking into account how the heating and cooling will affect the final shape with extreme precision.

Done, and it’s exactly the same shape as my last few near-successes. I’ve finished relatively quickly too—by now I’m used to the strangely shaped hammer and the sheet I have to drape over the anvil.

Now for the hard part. I turn the furnace up as high as it will go and place the toecap in the exact horizontal center exactly two and a half centimeters from the flame-guard. Positioning was another aspect I was lax with before—but no longer.

I kneel down in front of the furnace and stare at the titanium as its color progresses from red to yellow to white. However, I’m not just using my eyes to judge. I have my runic ears equipped and am listening carefully. As the titanium expands it makes a very subtle creaking, and its changing shape also very slightly affects how the roar of the furnace reaches my ears.

Tongs in hand, I wait patiently for the creaking to reach the correct tone. Nearly, nearly, now! I dart in with the tongs, clamp them very gently around the bright metal, and deposit it two and a half centimeters from the front of the furnace, and turn the heat down halfway. Once more I patiently wait.

There. I pull out my craft and place it down on the anvil. Very slowly it begins to cool, making a faint keening sound as it does so—it almost sounds like a living thing, a baby making its first cries as it enters the world.

The yellow dims to dull red and already I know I’ve done it. The shape is as I envisioned it. Grinning ear to ear, I call up to Jaemes.

“Take a look at this!”

He peers down at the toecap. “Very good,” he says. “Looks strong.”

“Of course it’s strong. It’s perfectly formed.”

“Congratulations.”

He does not sound quite as enthusiastic as I’d like, but I suppose that can’t be helped. Expecting a human to appreciate the finer intricacies of forging would be like expecting a troll to appreciate table manners—though maybe that’s being a little unfair on the river trolls.

I admire my craft for a few more seconds, then place it carefully on a shelf and start work on the toecap of the other boot. Let’s see if I can forge perfectly twice in a row.

The hammering goes fine. So far, so easy. I turn the heat of the furnace back up and insert my craft two and a half centimeters from the back.

I listen, watch and wait. The titanium glows bright white and creaks just as it should. Nearly, nearly—then sweat drips into my eye and I lose my timing. Cursing violently under my breath, I pull my craft to the front of the furnace and turn the heat down. Damn! I can already tell from the tone the titanium’s making that I was too late.

Maybe I can compensate by leaving it in the yellow stage for a touch longer before I remove it. I do so, but after only a few seconds watching it cool on the anvil, I can see the shape is wrong. Not warped, per se, but not symmetrical with its counterpart.

I step back from the anvil and think hard.

These aren’t runic ears I’m crafting, so does it even matter if both pieces aren’t symmetrical? Certainly I’ve never been overly worried about perfect symmetry before. For most runeknights, armor is good enough as long as both sides are nearly the same. And some even make their armor asymmetrical on purpose to better fit the different runes they wish to graft to either side.

Yet if both sides are totally symmetrical, and I graft the same runes on both sides—which I already plan to do—the overall balance of the armor will be superior. And I don’t want to be caught off balance fighting a dithyok, or the deep darkness, or some crazed murderer.

No, I have to try again. I must strive for perfection. Grimly I toss my failed craft away and restart.

This time, no sweat drips into my eye at the crucial moment. I watch carefully for any warping as the craft cools on the anvil, and there is none. None that is obvious, at least—I must confirm up close. Fingers trembling, I hold it and its counterpart up to the furnace-light, and the reflected flames play across both surfaces in exactly the same manner. I chime them both and both make exactly the same sweet note.

I grin widely—success at last! Now all I have to do is forge the segments that will go over the top of my feet, the plates that will protect my heels, the soles, the clasps, then finally fit all the pieces together without scratching or bending them.

After that, I’ll be able to start work on my gauntlets.