I shuffle forward another step and peer closely at the almergris powder. It’s the same waxy yellow as the raw stuff we scraped from the jelly’s insides, yet its texture is the opposite: like that of fine glassmaking sand. It sparkles like diamonds; the light reflected from it doesn’t take on the orange of the furnace and is pure white instead.

“Certainly looks impressive up close,” I say.

“Yes. Smells a bit, though.” He grimaces. “Brings back bad memories.”

“For all of us, I’m sure. And the whole fort will be stinking of it soon enough.”

“Indeed.”

“But is it as hard to work with as they say?” I gesture to his covered trident. “I couldn’t help but see the flashes. You’ve already started grafting, have you?”

“Not yet. I’ve just been experimenting with what concentration works best.”

“Concentration? Are you mixing it with something?”

“Yes. Almergris should never be combined with another reagent, so the wisdom goes, but I think that’s an awfully narrow minded opinion. Don’t you?”

“Surely it’s deadly enough without adding other factors to the mix.”

“Surely they’ll make it less deadly,” he counters.

“Do you think so?”

He shrugs. “Yes, but also less effective. That’s the real reason no one bothers to mix it with anything, I think. Not that they’ll tell me.”

“I’m surprised you thought to ask them. Don’t you prefer to work things out on your own?”

“A bit of extra knowledge never goes amiss, no? We’ll be learning a lot once the new batch is ready, anyway—I imagine Cathez will force us to listen to him and the other senior runeknights drone on about it.”

“Is that how forging is usually taught down here?”

“Essentially. You’ve been spared that, of course. When initiates come down for the first time they’re subjected to a great deal many lectures and training sessions. It was all very dull.”

“You remember them well?”

“Barely. Anyway, what did you want to ask about almergris?”

"Keen for my runic knowledge, are you?"

"I am." He smiles. "Go on, ask your questions. I'll answer as best I can."

I shrug. “Anything and everything. Why it can only be used with runes of light, for a start. And why runes of light don’t work with other reagents.”

“It can be used with any runes. Runes of light work with different reagents too, they’re just not as bright.”

“Oh,” I say, taken aback. “Really?”

“Yes, my brother and I tested it before. We were told that runes of light grafted with ordinary reagents are useless against the darkness, and to stop messing around.”

“And you’ve grafted other kinds of runes with almergris too?”

“No. It wouldn’t be worth the shouting at we’d get. Almergris isn’t to be wasted—though with the massive amount we have I think we can afford to waste a bit of it. Well, not waste: experiment on.”

“You think it can be done, though. Using almergris to graft other runes.”

“Why not? I’ve never heard of any of the eight reagents not working with certain runes, even if some reagents do suit some runes better than others.”

I nod. “I see. Another question: why does no one enrune their armor with light? Would that not render them invulnerable to the darkness?”

“Afraid I don’t know the answer to that one—I’ve asked, but no one’s ever given me a proper answer.”

“Oh. A shame. I imagine you’ll try it at some point.”

“I might, I suppose. Right now I’m focusing on my weapon.”

I give him another conspiratorial smile. “I bet its poems are about more than simply light.”

“Yes. My poems will have a theme of strength and toughness to them as well, naturally.”

“Naturally. I meant something more unique, though.” I raise an eyebrow. “Am I right?”

He smiles. “You might be. But what’s this runic knowledge you’ve promised me?

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“Are you familiar with Script Four of the Yttrite Caverns? You must be: I’ve seen it on other dwarves’ crafts down here.”

“I am.”

“So what do you think of this?” I gesture to my breastplate.

He peers at it. His eyes widen. “I never knew the script had such depth to it.”

“It’s surprisingly deep.”

He brings his face closer. Hints of red and violet reflect on his bone-pale beard.

I feel rather uncomfortable drawing his attention to my runes this way, yet it's not as if I’m not revealing my unnatural abilities. If anyone asks awkward questions, my answer will be: there are many more runes known up above than are known down here.

“You learned these runes up above?” he asks.

“Where else?”

“Naturally... This one intrigues me. Two circles, in such a jagged script.”

“Interesting, right?” I lick my dry lips. “Do you want to copy them down? I won’t charge you.”

“Oh, there’s no need for that. I never forget a rune—certainly not one so interesting as this.”

“So what exactly have you got planned for your trident?”

“Something interesting.”

“Nothing so dull as speed, or unnatural weightlessness then.”

“Unnatural weightlessness! There’s an idea—our weapons don’t actually need any impact force, after all. Those maces could be swung a lot faster if they weighed nothing.”

“Very true. I’m surprised no one’s thought of it before.”

Galar snorts. “I’m not. They’re all so traditional—apart from the Runethane. He has good ideas. It’s just a shame you get to see him in one of his bad moods.”

“What kind of ideas?”

“Bringing down a scholar—not that he’s been any use to us yet.”

“He’s been helping treat your brother,” I retort.

“Has he? Yes, he did claim to have some knowledge of our... Physiology, he called it. The Runethane’s had better ideas too: he crafted those doors, you know. A runed door! And all that smoke within, to make a safepoint in case the fort ever gets overwhelmed.”

“It’s not just to keep himself safe, then.”

“That’s just a nasty rumor some like to spread. We’ve got more food because of him too. When he was a first degree it was him who spearheaded the effort to nail all those climbing spikes into the cavern walls.”

“No one had thought to do that before?”

“They had, and failed. He put together a proper force to keep the predators away.”

“I see.”

“I was just a tenth degree then, of course. No one back then saw the value of building links to the uppermost levels—but I guess it came in handy in the end, didn't it?”

I raise my eyebrows. "Not so handy for thirty-one of us. Plus all the injured."

"True. Almergris is very precious, though. My brother would say the same."

“We'll see when he's recovered. I'm surprised you've been around so long, by the way. Where I come from, the older dwarves can be reluctant to try new methods of forging."

“Older? Ah, when someone is long in time, right?"

"That's right."

"In that case I suppose I am old. That’s how I’ve learned so much.” He pats his chest. “My amulet keeps me going strong.”

“Your brother too, then.”

“Naturally.”

“Why do you stay at seventh then? You could go higher. I’m sure of it.”

“Of course I could,” he laughs. “But you needn’t bother trying to encourage me. I’m happy where I am. Just high enough not to be disrespected, low enough that no one gives me anything difficult to do.”

“I suppose they can’t force you to move up.”

“Oh, Cathez used to try. The commanders before him too, before the darkness got them. But you’re right: they can’t force us. Besides, they rather soured on the idea since Fjalar and I started arguing so much. Who wants someone like that leading a hunt or standing guard at the Shaft?”

“Is it all an act then? Your arguing.”

“Hard to say. We exaggerate a bit.” He suddenly spits on the floor. “But he does piss me off! Thinks he’s better than me.”

“If he pisses you off, why work with him at all?”

“Same reason I’m talking to you: to exchange ideas.” He smirks. “Pissed the hell out of Cathez too.”

“But then who gets to use what you make? A dwarf’s crafts are his own—unless you reject that tradition too.”

“That tradition exists because a dwarf can use something he knows inside and out better by far than he might use something unknown. And he also doesn’t want to sully his hands using something he judges inferior.”

“I see. Then you both used your crafts?”

“When we worked together it was usually something experimental. Proofs of concept, if you will. Not weapons and armor.”

“Interesting. I’ve never tried anything like that.”

“It’s worth doing.”

“Discover anything useful?”

“We discovered many things, some of which may come in useful in future. Let me see... I won’t tell you outright... Let’s just say that the inside of my trident isn’t going to be what it seems.”

I frown. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“You can work it out for yourself, I’m sure. That breastplate proves you’re a fine craftsdwarf—surely you can puzzle out a little riddle.”

“I’ll think on it.”

“Come back to me with the answer. You only get one shot, though.”

“All right then. I’ll leave you to your work. Try not to burn your eyes out.”

He scowls. “Only an idiot would use almergris with his eyes open. Don’t you worry—my eyes will be tightly wrapped.” He taps his runic ears. “These are all I need. They’re more sensitive than you know.”

"I hope mine will be up to the task also."

"Oh, you'll be fine. Only the idiots will lose their sight."

I leave his pit and make my way back to the meal hall, feeling slightly worried about the remark about his ears—has he overheard me talk about suspecting him? No, I’ve never spoken about that with him or his brother around. He was just boasting of his crafts.

What to make of his craft? The inside is not as it seems. What's that meant to mean? Does he mean the gaps between the prongs, or has he made the entire thing hollow? For lightness? Or maybe he’s to fill it with another kind of metal.

Or fill it with blood. I freeze in my tracks. I shake my head and keep on walking. No, no. If he’s the killer he wouldn’t be so stupid as to lead me toward that conclusion, no matter how off guard I got him with all my talk of forging.

It’ll be filled with runes, no doubt, for some original effect. Maybe the runes of light are going to be on the inside, to cut though the darkness like swords.