Jaemes watches the dwarves exit the smoky blackness in single file. Such stubborn creatures—that’s what first intrigued him about them. No matter what stares them in the face, they refuse to back down. The toughest metal they take as a challenge to twist into shape. The fiercest foe they will do their best to slay, or else be slain. To the mind of a dwarf, and especially that of a runeknight, reality is something to be improved through sheer force of will and indomitable patience. If reality refuses to match their expectations, they beat it into submission.
An admirable trait, but a double-edged one. For some metals cannot be forged, some enemies are too strong to slay, and sometimes reality is immutable. Runethane Yurok may wish for the killer of his dwarves to be the darkness, but he cannot make it so.
These latest killings prove beyond a doubt that the culprit is a dwarf.
“Time to go, human,” Commander Cathez tells Jaemes, once the rest of the dwarves have gone.
“I must speak to the Runethane.”
“He has heard what he needs to hear. It is time to leave.”
“No. You are not my commander, Cathez.”
Commander Cathez lowers his voice. “I can guess what you have to say. I would advise against saying it.”
“Nevertheless, I am compelled to speak the truth.”
“You are not going to deliver the truth, but your opinions.”
“I am going to deliver the truth as I see it.”
“Come here then!” comes the angry boom of Runethane Yurok’s voice.
Commander Cathez turns to him. “There is no need,” he says. “I will make him leave. There’s no need to waste your time.”
“I’ll waste my time however I desire. Commander, you are dismissed.”
Cathez bows low and leaves. Jaemes walks up through the shifting blackness that smothers the glow of his lantern. To his human eyes, unadapted to caves as dwarf eyes are, it is all but impossible to see. He only just stops himself tripping on the steps before the throne.
Runethane Yurok stands up and looks him in the eyes. Even up close, it is hard to get an idea of his expression, but Jaemes knows it is unlikely to be a pleasant one. Yurok is dour even counted among the other ancient dwarves Jaemes has met: no jewelry has ever adorned his milk-pale beard, no smile has ever graced his paper-white face, and his tone of voice is perpetually low and angry, now even more so.
“Well, out with it, human. What do you have to say?”
“The same as I said last time—”
“So you wish to waste my time with the same insulting nonsense?”
“The manner of these killings proves that the one responsible is a dwarf, Runethane, if you will allow me to explain.”
“Humor me,” he spits. “Quickly, and then I have a few things to say to you also.”
Jaemes does not let these foreboding words cow him:
“Yalthaz was a third degree with a mace of light, and he would not have died to the deep darkness, no matter the manner in which it might have changed, without a fight. I was with Commander Cathez when storeroom four was searched, and I saw no signs of a struggle. Nothing had been knocked over or even askew.”
“If they had fought in the open, nothing would have been disrupted either.”
“There is little open space in the storerooms, Runethane, and I have not finished my train of logic... If you would be so kind as to allow me to continue it,” he adds.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Best to be polite, Jaemes reminds himself. It’s never been one of his strong suits—as with most scholars, he prefers a direct way of communication.
“Continue then,” the Runethane says sharply.
“If the darkness had been what killed Yalthaz, he would have fought it and given Danak time to escape, or at least cry for help.”
“The darkness moves fast.”
“But so do dwarves who are used to battling it, and especially now that they are wary of shadows roaming loose in the fort. No, if they were attacked by the darkness, Danak would have made it to at least the exit of the storeroom. The darkness is not known for its lightning speed either: I have been told it is a slow and creeping thing. Unless I am mistaken?”
“Go on.”
“Danak was found in close proximity to Yalthaz—I saw the imprints in the dust where they fell, before the search disrupted them. Unless you have been told otherwise?”
“I do not generally ask to be burdened with such minor details.”
“Very well. Danak fell in close proximity to his friend, so we can assume that either he attempted to fight the killer, or that the shock of what he witnessed delayed his response.”
“Your argument is a flimsy one, human. Are you trying to tell me that Danak would not have attempted to fight the darkness? Or that he would have found watching Yalthaz, a third degree, being slain by the darkness, somehow less shocking than seeing him slain by a fellow runeknight?”
“He only had his torch. It is hard to believe he would have tried to fight the darkness with it, considering that Yalthaz held a mace of light and still perished. If the killer was a dwarf, however, he would have attempted to fight and wrestle his weapon away, which brings me to the next piece of my argument: the wounds.”
“What of them?”
“Yalthaz was slain first, as Mathek was, with a puncture to the neck. However he was not drained so completely as Danak, whose puncture wound is in his leg. A less than optimal target, but the killer had more time to drain him, with no other witness there to disrupt him—this is how I know Danak was slain second, because his body is shriveled worse.”
“Get to the point.”
“I believe the killings occurred like this, Runethane: Yalthaz and Danak entered the storeroom together, as per your decree, then split up to find the items each was looking for. Soon after, the killer fell upon Yalthaz and drained his blood with the same runic weapon he murdered Mathek with. Danak heard something—likely the crash of Yalthaz’s armor when he fell to the floor. He rushed to see what had happened, perhaps assuming a stack of metal had fallen over, and saw the killer. Then, one of two things happened. Either he was shocked and confused, unable to comprehend what had happened to Yalthaz for a few seconds in which the killer struck, or he ran at the killer to wrest his weapon away and revenge Yalthaz. Whichever the case, there was a brief struggle, then the killer got his weapon into Danak’s leg right between the armor plates, a choice of target which matches most accurately with dwarven fighting instincts. The killer then had time to drain Danak utterly before he heard others rushing down to investigate the noises.”
Runethane Yurok thinks slowly. Jaemes can almost hear the mental gears working within his skull as he tries to fit this version of reality with his own. The moment he realizes he cannot, his pale pink-green eyes narrow.
“Your story, though plausible at first hearing, contains several flaws.”
“I see,” Jaemes says, trying not to let his frustration show.
“First of all, my dwarves do not run, nor do they stand still in confusion against the darkness. They fight it as best they can, or else they are killed by it and live on in our memories as the greatest of heroes. Secondly, you are ignorant of runes: I am Runethane, and in all my life I have never come across such that could take every drop of blood from a dwarf in a single instant. Such runes have never been written.”
“With all respect, Runethane, I am not unlearned in runelore: I know at least that even simple runes can be combined to create unique and unusual effects.”
“Do not interrupt me, human. I have not finished. The third flaw in your story is this: we are a brotherhood. A family—why do you think I do not allow dwarfesses into the fort? This tradition, established by my thrice-forebearer, is continued by me for good reason: so that our familial bonds are not disrupted. No dwarf can belong to two families. These bonds are stronger than anything a human—living in your crowded, thievery-ridden, stinking, sun-bleached cities where there exist more traitors than loyal folk and more murderers than citizens—could comprehend. No dwarf would break these bonds by committing so vile an act as to take the life of his brother. Do I make myself clear?”
“Even amongst families there can exist cruelty,” Jaemes says quietly.
“Amongst human families. Not dwarvish ones.”
Jaemes knows the battle is lost. No more argument will help here: “Very well, Runethane,” he says.
“It is not very well,” Runethane Yurok snaps. “Your foolishness threatens our family. I have heard of talk between dwarves who are stupid enough to take your ideas seriously. This spreads distrust and disunity, when trust and unity are needed more than ever. You are not to spread your foolish theory. You are not to discuss it with anyone whatsoever. You are not even to write it down in what passes for writing among you humans. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Runethane.”
“I hope you do, because if you disobey this command, you had better pray to every single one of your human gods that I take mercy on you and let you off with exile and just a light breaking. Dismissed.”