I take a deep breath. “All Jaemes has done has been for the good of the dwarves of the fort, my Runethane,” I say. “Any rudeness was committed out of ignorance, never malice. He never intended to offend you in any way. He only wanted to do what he could to help. I feel that imprisonment is too harsh a sentence for him. He should be exiled instead.”
“He was not arrested for his arrogance and impudence,” says the Runethane darkly. “He is being punished for endangering the fort.”
“Exiled he could do no more danger. You would not have to use our stores to feed him either.”
“Less than one two-hundredth of our stores is insignificant. Once the darkness is dealt with he will need only one guard also—maybe none at all.”
“For a human, his sentence is essentially death. He doesn’t deserve it.”
“Destroying the morale of the fort is an act with potentially deadly consequence. One day, if you become a leader, either up there or down here, you will understand this.”
“His intentions should be taken in to account! He never intended to do harm!”
“I’ve known him longer than you,” the Runethane snaps. “I know just the kind of being he is. Make no mistake—he came down here for his own profit, the advancement of his scholarly career. The services he was to render to the fort were not to be done out of simple good will.”
“In the past, maybe. But if he was selfish, why stay down here when the killings began? He stayed because he thinks he has a duty to us. He cares about us.”
“Hah!” The Runethane’s bitter laugh echoes around the hall. I flinch. “He stayed because he is fascinated by the darkness. He wished to learn its secrets so he could write them down and be celebrated as some great heroic genius up on the surface.”
“That isn’t worth death. He was respected up at his... University, he called it. He could have left at any time, but chose to risk his life.”
The Runethane rolls his eyes. “Like I told you, I know that human better than you do. It doesn’t matter how high his position was, how respected he was. He was greedy. He wanted more, always more. Like the dwarves of old who dug the Shaft hoping to uncover treasures down below, he went too deep for his own good. He even hoped that I’d send down an expedition for him, if you remember. To find out more so that I could protect the fort better.”
“I’m sure he regrets saying that now.”
“Does he? Maybe, maybe not. It doesn’t matter.”
“Please, exile him instead,” I beg. “He doesn’t deserve death.”
“I am the Runethane! I know better than you, young one, and I know my judgment was correct. My decision remains final. He is to remain there until his sentence is complete, or he dies, whichever is the sooner.”
“You know that will be death!”
“I said your appeal is rejected! I am thankful for the runes you have brought, but my gratitude does not extend to granting selfish requests. And you are wrong that he can do no harm if exiled—there is nothing stopping him traveling to one of the other realms and besmirching the fort’s good name. We’re under-appreciated enough as it is.”
The Runethane is angry now; there is a touch of redness in his face and his eyes are dark. I’ve done all I can; I step back and bow low.
Inside, my heart is burning with anger. What is wrong with this Runethane that he cannot listen to anyone, cannot hear any opinion but his own? Even his so-called change of heart regarding leading the expedition has only served to further his interests.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Very well, my Runethane,” I say. “That will be all.”
“Good. I trust that you will forget about the human—no, I order you to forget about him, and also to forget anything he told you. The killings were perpetrated by the darkness, nothing else. There has been no betrayal. My dwarves would never betray their brothers.”
“I understand.”
“You better well understand. If we cannot trust each other down in the Shaft, then we are lost. Goodbye, Zathar. I will see you on the expedition.”
Hraroth leads me from the hall. The chamberlain closes the door behind us; it makes a loud click. Hraroth turns to me.
“Be more careful,” he warns me. “The Runethane is not to be irritated.”
“I was not trying to irritate him. I was trying to secure the life of my friend.”
“Do not disobey his orders either. He ordered you to forget the human, so forget him you must.”
For a moment I consider telling him that I won’t forget Jaemes, that indeed I cannot, and that it is a travesty for a Runethane who prides himself on caring for his dwarves to tell one of them to forget a friend, yet I quell the anger rising in my throat and instead simply say:
“Very well, commander.”
“Good. I will escort you to the meal hall, unless you have any further forging to do.”
“Later. I would like a drink first.”
----------------------------------------
I do not return to the forges after my drink and meal, but instead sleep. My rest is tormented by dreams of twisting black claws that grab at me to chill my flesh and steal the light from my eyes. They already have Jaemes, trapped in a cage of black iron, and he’s emaciated, cut off from food and water and the light of hope.
I wake sweating to commotion. Cathez is standing at the entrance to the meal hall and calling for attention. I hurry to stand in rank, heart thudding, the dark nightmare still fresh in my memory.
“We are to begin preparations for the expedition to defeat the deep darkness,” Cathez announces. “Several hunts are to take place while the kitchens are to be put to full use. The fight against the darkness will be difficult and so we will consume a great deal of food. Water and aleskins are also to be prepared.” He clears his throat. “I will assign you your tasks...”
I am assigned a job in the kitchens. This surprises me somewhat—I thought, considering my combat ability which I proved on the expedition for the almergris, that I’d be assigned to a hunt. Yet I suppose the Runethane wants to keep safe any further knowledge of runes I might have locked away.
So for the next hundred hours or more I am bathed in the steam and heat of the kitchens. I slice mushrooms by the ten thousand, cut hundreds of gelthob steaks into thousands of strips for baking and salting. We are running out of time—that’s the impression I get—the kitchen is far more crowded than I ever remember it being, and we are made to work like machines.
I used to find cooking relaxing, but there is nothing relaxing about this. All potential enjoyment is eliminated by fear and a sense of impending doom. My hearing and vision twists: the hissing steam is like snakes in my ears, the knives threaten to slash me, the fire from the ovens threatens to burn me. The expedition has started, this is its opening stage, and I’m losing my nerve already.
In the brief moments I’m allowed out the kitchens for some rest, I hear rumors about what is going on elsewhere in the fort. The hunts are meeting with success, have already dragged down half a dozen gelthobs for more meat. The winching mechanism has been tested, and its gears work smoothly—for now. An advance party has already traveled down to scout out the deep darkness.
What they saw down there is not yet public knowledge. Whatever it was, it has not dissuaded the Runethane from pressing ahead.
We are forced to work harder and faster. Even Hirthik seems sick and tired of the steam and heat. Each ration-pack we prepare is whipped away to the storerooms, and more raw ingredients take its place, a seemingly endless supply. Sometimes I feel like this job will never end, that I’ll be stuck sweating down here forever—an infinitely better fate than being forced to travel down the Shaft.
It does end, of course. The supply of raw ingredients halts and we are ordered to clean up. We dawdle, not slowly enough for my liking, and too soon we are standing in the meal hall in front of Cathez. He is arrayed in full plate, his features disguised by his helmet, and his mace shines brightly.
There is total silence. I glance around. Every dwarf without a helmet already on wears an expression of steely determination. Those with helmets on likely wear the same, unless they are using them to cover up their fear. I wonder what expression Cathez is wearing.
“All is prepared,” he says. “It’s time to travel to the Shaft. Further orders will be given there.” He pauses suddenly, as if something catches in his throat. He clears it. “Good luck. Not all of us wished for things to turn out this way, but it has turned out this way, for good or ill, and so all that we can do now is fight our hardest and trust in each others’ strength.”
We make no reply. He nods in acknowledgement, then turns and leads us out of the hall, down the corridors toward the entrance to the Shaft. My mace weighs heavy on my shoulder.