Our search is a chaos of yelling, waving torches, shifting shadows, random shouts of shock and panic, and above all extremely thorough. We ransack the fourth storeroom to start, the scene of the killings. We tear apart the shelves and scatter their contents across the floor, which we turn over and over again under the blazing light of our torches. We dismantle towering stacks of steel and titanium, and illuminate each and every sheet on both sides, inspecting them for any drops of blood, unnatural dark stains, anything that might indicate where the shadow was hiding or is still hiding.
Part-way through our search, a group of ten higher ranking runeknights, their maces and hammers ablaze with light, is sent in to help us. Nthazes is not among them and my stomach churns with worry—we still don’t know who the bodies belonged to, they were in even worse condition, apparently, than Mathek’s was—not just drained but desiccated.
By the time we are done, the storeroom looks as if it has been smashed by an earthquake, but there is no time to put it back in order as Cathez hurries us to the adjacent one to repeat the process. Once more everything is turned out: shelves pulled down, chests broken open and their contents scattered, gems torn from secured racks and held up to intense runic light. Blood reds and sapphire blues flash across the wreckage, casting weird shadows that make our hearts pound—any false sense we had until now of safety in numbers has been thoroughly crushed.
We move on to the next storeroom, and the next. Everything is searched and nothing is found. Just as after Mathek’s death, not a trace of the killer, be it dwarf or darkness, is left for us.
Once the last storeroom has been turned out, Cathez calls a halt. He informs us that the Runethane is aware of the situation and that we are soon to be given further orders. The forges have apparently been searched by another third of the fort’s runeknights while the rest are guarding the Shaft and the road out.
He also announces the identities of the killed:
“Danak and Yalthaz, may we never forget their names.”
I let out a sigh of relief that it’s not Nthazes, then feel terrible when the pair’s friends cry out in shock and sorrow.
“Search everything again,” Cathez orders us. “If there’s anything at all unusual, immediately inform a senior runeknight.”
We do so. The panic is a little less this time—maybe we’re too exhausted—and the searches less chaotic, done in sections rather than at random, yet again we find nothing. I consider the possibility that we may have accidentally obliterated any clues in our crazed urge to illuminate each and every object.
When we’re finished, Cathez leads us down to the hall of Runethane Yurok, where at the mirror-doors the chamberlain and other first degree guard meet us with stern faces. The light streaming from their maces is brighter than it was last time, so bright that my vision is obliterated and I must close my eyes to stop pain jabbing through them.
“All the storerooms have been searched twice over, chamberlain,” Cathez says deferentially. “We found nothing.”
“Very well. Enter.”
The chamberlain swings the mirror-doors open just wide enough for us to enter in single file. Dark smoke, thicker than last time, subsumes me, shifting the air currents in confusing ways that make the floor seem to rise and fall like the tides of the magma seas. Dizzily I make my way into the ranks of fifth degrees—Hraroth and his search party are already here—and stand still at attention.
Vaguely I can sense the presence of the Runethane at the front of the room, looking down upon us. For a while there is silence, and I realize that we are waiting for the arrival of the bodies.
They come carried on stretchers, the six dwarves bearing each walking more slowly than when Mathek’s body was carried, for Yalthaz and Danak were both in armor when they were slain, though with no helmets; their heads are bare to reveal their shocked, shriveled faces. I see a hole in Yalthaz’s neck, while Danak was stabbed through his segmented thigh-plate.
Yalthaz was a third degree—no one is safe.
After the stretcher bearers have laid down the two bodies in front of the throne and returned to the ranks, Runethane Yurok speaks:
“Commanders, come forward.”
Cathez walks forward and stops just in front of the steps up to the Runethane’s throne. Runethane Yurok looks down at him. Through the interference of the thick smoke it is hard to determine their expressions or body language, but I sense cold anger from the Runethane and fear from Cathez.
“You have searched the storerooms?” he asks.
“I have.”
“What of the forges?”
“I led the search of those,” says Hraroth. The grim first degree holds a mace of light, its rays only barely able to penetrate the dark smoke—which is liquid darkness, that’s what it must be, I realize: what else could be so smotheringly black, yet breathable and scentless?
“We searched the forges, meal hall, kitchen, and quarters,” continues Hraroth in his deep voice. “We also scoured the corridors between them with our light.”
“And what did you find?”
“Nothing, and I know the deep darkness better than most.”
The Runethane turns back to Cathez. “And you found nothing also.”
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“No, my Runethane.”
“Did you turn out every shelf?”
“We did. Twice over.”
“Every chest? Inside and out?”
“Yes.”
“What of the gem racks? Were they inspected?”
“They were.”
“How thoroughly? Was each and every gem checked individually, scoured with light in case some trace of the darkness had wriggled into it?”
“They were, yes.”
“And yet still you found nothing?”
“Yes.”
Runethane Yurok looks up from his two commanders to sweep his gaze across us directly. No doubt his runic ears are so well crafted he can make out the shape of each and every one of our faces even through the shifting tides of smoke, and I feel myself shiver slightly. Likely he pays at least a small amount of special attention to me, the outsider.
“You found nothing, did you all?” he booms.
No one is brave enough to reply—a few exchange glances with the dwarves next to them, but most don’t even do that.
“Well?” Runethane Yurok demands. “Did you find something or did you not?”
“We found nothing,” says someone from the ranks of the third degrees. “Nothing at all.”
The Runethane clenches his fists, breaths deep as if to shout something, then sits back heavily on his throne.
“My Runethane—” begins Cathez.
“This cannot be!” Runethane Yurok shouts suddenly, frustration and anger overwhelming him. “This cannot be! You did not search properly!”
“We turned out everything,” Cathez says, his voice calm though with a slight tremor of fear. “There was no darkness.”
“And what about you, Hraroth, eh? You really went through every single millimeter of the forges, did you?”
“We did,” Hraroth replies. “Twice over.”
“You must not have checked properly!” the Runethane shouts. “You must have been lax!”
“Have you ever known us to be lax?” Cathez asks calmly.
The Runethane violently grips the armrests of his throne, so violently that if they were made of anything weaker than steel they would shatter to splinters. Slowly, however, he relaxes his hands. I hear a slight creaking as the armrests are released from their strain.
“No,” he says bitterly. “No, I suppose I have not. Yet it is hard for me to believe that you have found nothing.”
“It is hard for me to believe as well,” says Hraroth. “I wish it were otherwise, and that we had rooted it out.”
“What about my decrees?” he asks Cathez. “Are they being followed to the letter?”
“They are, my Runethane.”
“No one walks alone?”
“No... Well, very short distances perhaps.”
“What do you mean?”
“For example, if a pair of dwarves returns from the forges, one enters his quarters, and the other must walk a short distance alone to his own.”
“I see.”
“No deaths have occurred in the quarters, however.”
“Yet.” Runethane Yurok turns back to Hraroth. “Has anything unusual been noticed in the Shaft?”
“If the deep darkness had made any unusual signs, I would have informed you immediately.”
“So there has been nothing.”
“No. The usual distant roiling.”
“There are no signs of an incursion?”
“It is hard to say. If there is to be one, it is still in the preliminary stages.”
“We should increase the guard further. Up the number of runeknights on duty at any one time by another third.”
“A third of the original number, or a third of the doubled number?”
“The doubled number.”
“My Runethane,” Cathez says. “I hesitate to criticize your wisdom, but if some part of the darkness is already loose in the fort, increasing the guard at the Shaft will only be counterproductive.”
“It is to stop the darkness from letting loose any further fragments..”
“Even so, I would offer an alternative suggestion. Pairs of guards should be posted to the corridors at strategic locations. This would prevent the darkness moving freely throughout the fort.”
“A sensible idea. We shall do that also.”
“Our forces will be stretched thin,” Hraroth says. “Fatigued also, and there will be less time for improving our equipment.”
“Improving the equipment of senior runeknights, who already have weapons suitable for combatting the darkness, is not a priority at the moment.”
“Very well, my Runethane.”
“Yet this brings to my mind an important point: we are not equipped as well as we should be. How many runeknights wield weapons of light, Commander Hraroth?”
“Fifty-three... Fifty-two, my Runethane.”
“This number must be increased. We’ve been too worried about the danger involved in creating runes of light until now. This foolish fear must be put to rest. From now on, all are to halt their current projects, and forge new weapons. Senior runeknights can teach the enruning of light—”
“My Runethane!” Cathez interrupts, aghast. “The injuries and deaths that might—”
“Will be less than if the darkness is allowed free reign over the fortress!” snaps the Runethane.
“Even so,” says Hraroth, “We do not have the required resources. Deliveries of almergris have grown infrequent.”
“How much do we have?”
“Less than twenty kilograms by my count,” says Cathez.
“That should be enough for at least a dozen runeknights to forge with.”
“Much will be wasted if we force those below fourth or fifth degree use it. There is a good reason the price to access it is set so high.”
“Those lower have used it before.”
“Only those supremely confident in their skills, and even so, many come to regret it.”
“Hurrying the creation of such weapons is inadvisable,” Hraroth says. “We could lose near half of the tenth to eighth degrees. An extreme waste of potential, and a danger to the continuation of our existence here.”
“Very well, but still, I won’t have those twenty kilograms sit around wasted. Have every fourth degree not yet with a light enruned weapon construct one, and half the fifth degrees also. They will not have to use honor to access the almergris.”
“Understood,” says Cathez.
“Good.”
The Runethane looks down at one shriveled body to the other, and the dark smoke shifts as he shakes his head bitterly. He mutters something, but the shifting currents of the air distort his words so that I cannot make out what he says.
“Is there anything else you would ask us to do?” Cathez asks.
“I will consider the options and issue further decrees, which my chamberlain will deliver to you. All are to wait in the meal hall for him. No one is to move around the fort."
"Understood, my Runethane."