Nthazes wrestles the concussed killer fully to the ground, grabs his wrists and pushes down with all his weight to pin them. The killer moans in pain. I run for the sword. It’s still shivering slightly on the stones, making its position easy to hear. With utmost caution I take it up by the handle and hurry back into the light where I can examine the runes.

They’re not what I expect at all.

There’s no halat here, no saset ‘consume’ nor khalet ‘drink-to-full’. Neither is there a single mention of blood, flesh, nor anything else I’d imagined the murder weapon to have. It’s not even a particularly well forged weapon, especially considering the high quality of the killer’s armor. It’s plain steel, slightly unbalanced to my hand, and the runic poem it does have is a rather uninspired one composed mainly of runes of sharpness and durability. It doesn’t even have any clever metaphors, and the rhythm of several stanzas is rather suspect.

“We’ll need to strip his armor off,” I tell Nthazes. “This isn’t the weapon he used on his other victims.”

“What is it?”

“Just a plain sword. Not well made.”

“End this, traitors,” gasps the killer.

“No chance,” I spit. “Not until we’ve stripped and tied you.”

“What?” he groans.

“I said, not until we’ve stripped and tied you. Or, you can make this less humiliating for yourself and tell us where you’ve concealed the weapon.”

“You’re holding my weapon.”

“I mean the murder weapon.”

“Wait, Zathar!” says Nthazes. “Why would he change weapons?”

“I don’t know. But we’ll have that information out of him soon enough. I’m going to start with his boots. Maybe he has it slipped down there. And who is he, anyway? Do you recognize him?”

“It’s Belthur.”

“I thought his voice sounded familiar.” My mouth twists in disgust. “You were Danak’s friend, weren’t you? I talked to you both. You scum. You betrayed his trust.”

“I didn't betray anyone’s trust!” groans the killer, slightly louder than before—his concussion is wearing off.

“What else do you call killing your best friend?" I spit.

“I didn't. I’m not a traitor.”

“You look like one to me. Act like one.”

“Outsider fool!” he roars, and he struggles violently. “I’m not the damn shadow-dwarf! Do I look like a shadow?”

“Zathar, I think he’s telling the truth,” says Nthazes.

“Of course I’m telling the bloody truth!” says the killer. He hisses in pain. “Ah, my head! Who the hell hit me? Nthazes? I thought you were more sensible than this!”

I scowl. “If he’s not the killer, why did he attack me?”

“You attacked me!”

“Yes. After you crept up on me with a drawn sword.”

“I was hunting for the killer!”

“Bullshit!”

Nthazes’ shoulders slump. “I really think he’s telling the truth, Zathar.”

“We can’t be sure,” I spit. “I’ve met some nasty liars in my time. Don’t trust him. We have to strip him.”

“Fine, do it!” Belthur snaps. “I don’t have anything to hide. That sword’s all I brought with me.”

Muttering dark curses, I kneel down and undo the straps of his boots, pull them off his feet, tip them up and shake hard. Nothing comes clattering out, so I move on to his greaves, then the knee and thigh guards, and the tasset skirt and codpiece. I shake each, hear nothing but the rattle of straps; I inspect each with the fire of my torch, and the plain metal reflects my flames clearly.

“Satisfied yet?”

“No. Breastplate next. Stand him up, Nthazes.”

“Let go of me, Nthazes! I’ll take it off myself.”

“Don’t trust him,” I warn.

“He won’t run away,” says Nthazes. “Not without the runes of speed on his greaves. And he can’t fight us like this either.”

“Fine. Just be careful.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Nthazes gets up off Belthur slowly, relaxing the pressure on his wrists very cautiously, until he’s sure the third degree won’t make any sudden moves. Belthur does not, just stands up slowly and removes his breastplate, pauldrons, bracers, gauntlets and helmet without complaint.

I inspect each in turn and find nothing. He scowls at me.

“Happy?”

“Not yet.”

I pat around his clothes none too gently to see if I can find any hidden sheaths or straps. I do it again, slapping harder. He winces with each strike.

“Nothing there, is there?” he says.

There isn’t: just skin and hair. I let out a slow breath. Disappointment weighs heavy on me.

“It seems we’ve been mistaken,” I say.

“Too right you were.”

“I apologize.”

“Too bloody right you do. And Nthazes? Are you going to apologize for cracking me on the head?”

“I’m very sorry. Though I do think that if we’re going to apologize, you ought to as well.”

“What the hell for?”

“For nearly killing Zathar here.”

“His fault.”

“And also yours, for skulking around alone... We’re both in the wrong here, Belthur.”

“We are bloody not—”

I let out a dark laugh. “Oh yes we bloody are. You were hunting for anyone hanging about alone, and we were sitting around trying to lure anyone hunting around alone. Same thing, different methods.”

Belthur shakes his head. “Don’t lump me in with your idiocy, outsider.”

“Outsider I may be, but at least I know how to fight.”

“I had you!”

“Calm down.” Nthazes sighs. “This isn’t like you, Belthur.”

“Isn’t like you either.”

“No. Maybe not. We’ve all been driven to the edge.”

“What would you know? It wasn’t your friend who died.”

“We’re all comrades here.”

“I suppose so.” Belthur lets out a shaky sigh and sinks down to the floor beside his armor. He rubs the back of his head. “Oh, damn this. I thought I finally had him.”

“Us too.”

“How many times have you gone sneaking around, hunting?” I ask.

“Nearly two dozen.”

“And nothing?”

“Nothing until now.”

“Damn.”

“Damn indeed.” He lets out a shaky breath, then laughs a little. “Oh, I’ve been an idiot, haven’t I? We all have.”

“Our plan is fine,” I say stubbornly. “Eventually the one who comes across us will be the killer. Unless you get him first.”

Nthazes shakes his head. “Maybe not. The last killing was in the forges. I think he’s cautious of the storerooms now. Pushed his luck when he came across Yalthaz and Danak, maybe they nearly beat him. From now on he’s being more careful.”

“Why didn't you think of that earlier?”

“I was just desperate to do something, I suppose. Not thinking straight.”

He sounds more glum than ever.

“We’ll get him eventually,” I promise.

“Maybe. Maybe.”

“Not now though,” Belthur sighs. “If you’ll let me get my armor back on, we best get out of here. If there isn’t four of us, we’re breaking the decree.”

I step away from his armor. “Go ahead. Sorry for stripping it off you.”

“No hard feelings. I might have done the same... Might have killed you first, even.”

“You’re lucky I’m so merciful, then.”

“I’ll send a message out to the others. Tell them you two are hunting as well.”

“The others?” asks Nthazes.

“Yes, there’s four of us. Porok, Lothan, and Tyarok. We take turns hunting for the killer.”

“We’re not the only ones, then,” I say.

“You aren’t.”

“Good,” Nthazes says. “The more the better. We should work together.”

“I’ll suggest it. They aren’t sure about the outsider though—especially not that spear.”

“It goes to blood, not the other way around,” I say. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Still looks suspicious.”

I shrug. “Well, I can’t deny that. Not sure how it ended up that way—some reaction with the abyssal skin and the runes.”

“It’s an impressive weapon, whatever it’s made from.”

“Yours wasn’t. Don’t you have anything better? Why that sword?”

“It’s an old piece I made for practice. The only thing suitable for close quarters.” He scratches his beard. “Yeah, I suppose it’s a bit embarrassing. Not that whatever Nthazes had was much better.”

“I best start sweeping up the pieces,” Nthazes says. “Tough helmet, by the way.”

“It was,” Belthur says, grimacing at the dent in it.

----------------------------------------

Not long after Belthur finishes getting his armor on, and Nthazes finishes scraping together the shattered remnants of his lead mace, a large group of dwarves barges into the storeroom to investigate the commotion. We join them surreptitiously—Lothan, one of Belthur’s allies, is one of those investigating, and after some hushed whispers from Belthur, he deflects the suspicion of the other dwarves when some comments are made about me never being down there with them. At any rate, no body is found, and those who thought they heard fighting are roundly chastised for scaring everyone needlessly.

Before long, we're back in the meal hall. I tell Jaemes we’ll have another meeting with him down in the forges later on, then I trudge over to my blankets and lie down.

My disappointment is immense. We almost had him! If he’d been the killer, he would be trussed up like a pig right now, weapon laid carefully down out of reach for inspection by the Runethane. The fort would be safe, I would be redeemed some for the terrible havoc I wrought ten years ago, and Nthazes would have the leverage he needs to persuade the Runethane to let him fulfill his dream.

But Belthur wasn’t the killer. Just another fool like us with some crackpot plan to catch the killer by himself. I’m not sure who’s the stupider—us for thinking such a primitive lure would fool anyone clever enough to kill three times without being caught, or Belthur for having his partner’s only role be to provide his alibi. Stupid, stupid, stupid. We are no closer to catching our enemy. He will kill again, somewhere we do not suspect, and our failure will be complete.

Poor Belthur. All he was doing was trying to avenge his friend, and we nearly killed him for it. If his helmet had been any thinner he’d have a cracked skull.

I shut my eyes; open them to excited chattering, the clank of mug against mug, the thick smell of foaming beer. I sit up in surprise and catch snatches of conversation:

“...white jelly!”

“A what?”

“It’s where almergris comes from, that’s what!”

“Three cheers for Hirthik! We’re saved!”