We thunder along the tunnel into the quietness. It increases in stages—first our shouting is quelled, then the clanking of our boots fades, and finally only the barest outlines of what’s around me remains. I have no idea what’s going on, what I’m meant to be doing: all I can do is hold my mace high and follow the tide.
I try opening my eyes and immediately understand why vision is so useless in these battles. Black and white flashes: my eyes burn in pain one moment, are as good as blind the next. So I listen for the darkness. Just as I’ve been told, there come deeper silences, tendrils of stilled sound that twist then vanish.
It’s already here then! My heart misses two beats. We’re already fighting, and I don’t know how to strike back, what to do, what the strategy is meant to be. Charge? What the hell kind of an order is that, when half your force has never faced the enemy before?
Maybe realizing this, Cathez belts out some further orders: “Attack only when the silence and chill is at its worst! Attack before then and you risk leaving yourself open! And never open your eyes, or you risk blinding yourself!”
How do I know when the chill is at its worst, though? It all feels cold and quiet to me as we thunder forwards. Something passes over my shoulder, so cold my bones ache, and my hearing goes in one ear, so I strike out. But an instant before my blow hits where I think the darkness is, the chill feeling vanishes.
Was that the darkness aiming for me? Did it hit me? I can’t tell, can’t know anything. The dwarves around are shouting, I think, it's so hard to hear—I was under the assumption that runic ears made it easy to detect the darkness, yet this isn’t the case. It just makes it slightly less than impossible to tell when it’s coming for you.
“Halt!” Cathez orders; it’s a faint sound but the senior runeknights are accustomed enough to the darkness to hear it properly, and they halt us. The darkness seems to be retreating; gradually sound returns.
Just like that, my first encounter with the darkness ends as soon as it begun. There’s a line of figures ahead of us: we’ve met the advance guard and the darkness did not want to battle all of us at once.
No. It would be a mistake to assume it's retreated out of fear. Likely it’s gone because it gained the information it needed. Maybe some fraction of it managed to bypass us to scout out the rest of the descending force also.
“Belthur,” the Runethane says gravely. “Your advance met with some resistance, I see.”
“It did,” says Belthur. He stands with the advance party of twenty or so other senior runeknights. “Not too much though. This was not the full force of the darkness; it’s saving that for later.”
“An exploratory attack then, to meet our own.”
“Indeed. I’m glad you will be taking the lead from now on, Runethane. It was not pleasant, having to hold it back with no support.”
“But you managed, with no losses that I can see.”
“There were a few close calls.”
“Still, you are all honored for it. You will be well compensated when we return victorious to the fort.”
Belthur bows his head. “Doing my duty is all that matters to me, my Runethane.”
Apparently, so I heard on one break from the kitchens, he volunteered to lead the force, and the Runethane was glad to accept his request. I find this very strange: why should Belthur, so keen to derail the expedition, suddenly wish to lead one of its most dangerous missions? And why should the Runethane allow someone so rebellious to take the command in place of Hraroth, who was originally meant to lead?
Perhaps he was hoping the darkness would fell him, or maybe he’s just that blind to Belthur’s true feelings about him.
I recall the words of the runeknight who delivered Jaemes’ reply to me: about choosing the right side. I listen around, and detect a coldness in the air beyond that left by the retreating darkness.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Criticism of the expedition died, but I’m starting to think that Nthazes’ sense of duty to the Runethane no-matter-what isn’t a belief shared by everyone. Belthur is still up to something, and his support hasn’t diminished.
My heart sinks. Now I have three worries: the killer, the darkness, and potential rebellion.
“We’ll rest here,” announces the Runethane. “Once the rest of us are down, we’ll take a meal, then advance. Cathez, have a perimeter formed. Belthur, your squad can go to the back. You’ve earned the safety.”
“Thank you, my Runethane. Though I hope to be at the forefront of the action again soon enough.”
“Oh, we’ll all have action soon enough,” laughs the Runethane. “Don’t worry about that.”
Is there a bitter edge to his laugh? Maybe he’s not as blind to rebellion as he seems. Or maybe I’m imagining things.
At any rate, we are now ordered to rest. I sit cross-legged on the floor, eyes still shut of course, and try not to let the cold bother me. I can’t help but shiver. Not all the darkness has gone, I’m sure of it. I don’t think it’s like a physical being, something either present or not: wherever it goes, it leaves some of itself behind.
To distract myself, I blink open my eyes to try and get a sense of the kind of tunnel that we’re in. My glimpse doesn’t tell me much: the ceiling is rough and bears the scars of many picks, like any other mining tunnel. The stone is dark and hard-looking, of the same stuff the jewels of Nthazes’ amulet are set into.
We’re not yet into whatever cavern the darkness was found in, then. That’s a relief, but only a small one.
Several hours of waiting in the quiet cold later, the rest of the expedition arrives, led by the Runethane’s chamberlain and Hraroth. They halt just before Belthur’s squad, and the Runethane calls to them.
“Ho, Hraroth. No trouble making it down?”
“None. Did you meet some here?”
“A little. It didn’t impede our advance. We’ll move out after a bite to eat and some rest. I’m sure we’re all hungry—for some food as well as victory!”
We delve into our ration packs and each take out a small portion of dried gelthob plus mushroom hard tack, wash them down with a splash of water. I’m careful not to consume too much, for who knows how long we’ll be down here?
I glance back to try and judge the mood. The silence tells me everything I need to know. Good morale means joking and talk, making light of the enemy, and there is none of that. I spot Nthazes near the back of the formation. He’s sat against the wall, very still. We’d both feel better if we could talk to each other, I’m sure, but there’s to be no breaking from our squads.
I also spot Fjalar and Galar. The latter is in squad five, with Nthazes, easy to spot by the unusual shape of his weapon. Fjalar is in squad four, on the far side of the tunnel from me. I make a mental note of their positions. If someone near them falls, we need to check the body. If it’s drained of blood as well as life, maybe we have the killer.
After we’re judged rested enough, the Runethane commands us to stand and continue the march onward. We tramp along the tunnel, the crunch of sand loud in our ears. I still feel cold despite the fairly quick pace we’ve been set.
The passage is perfectly straight, which makes sense: if you’re searching for rare minerals then there’s no reason to waste time by making random turns, though if that was the miners' purpose I’m surprised there aren’t any exploratory side-tunnels to catch any veins that could be running parallel to the main tunnel.
So maybe those ancient dwarves had a destination in mind when they dug it. No one knows—no records remain from those who dug this place. All knowledge of the first encounter with the darkness, and the rest of the fort's early history, is long since lost. Perhaps they were not after minerals after all, but rumors of some abandoned cavern with a different type of treasure.
After many hours of marching, another halt is called. The Runethane gestures to the wall. I listen to see what he’s pointing out: there’s a series of deep chips in the stone.
“This marks the furthest us dwarves of the fort have ever come,” he says. “My thrice-predecessor came to this point before the darkness forced him to turn back. But the darkness has never faced a force such as ours before, and it dares not attack us yet—not properly, at least. When it does, our combat will be fierce, yet we can prevail. Have no fear, my runeknights! Let us move along.”
Our march continues. My legs are getting a little tired now, and my shoulder too. It’s a strange feeling, to wield a weapon whose haft is nearly weightless but whose head is well over ten pounds. My shoulder feels incredibly strained. I move the weapon to my other shoulder, but after only an hour more it’s hurting just as bad as the other.
My weapon is awkward—Hraroth was right about how making only part of it weightless would leave the whole thing unbalanced. I hope the strength of the runes will be enough to make up for this deficiency.
We rest and eat, then resume the march. Still no one speaks. The chill becomes deeper, settling into my very bones. Is this some subtle attack of the darkness, perhaps? Is our life being sapped from us little by little without us even realizing it?
Surely not. When the darkness comes, we’ll know it.
“Halt!” orders the Runethane, holding up a hand. We obey. He points down the tunnel. “Ah, maybe you all cannot yet detect it. There’s a change in the tunnel. I don’t know what it signifies, but it’s best to be cautious. We’ll slow the pace. Hold your weapons at the ready.”