Galar’s warning dominates my thoughts for the next few days. Something seemed off about it, like a defect in piece of metal you can’t quite see, yet can tell it’s there all the same. What he said was significant, I’m sure of it. How he said it too.
I go over every last detail of our conversation, recalling every word he said, every facial expression he made, the tone of his voice. Why did he suddenly turn so cold? Was it just because of the uncomfortable topic of Mathek’s death? No, his expression definitely changed further on my second question. Did he think I suspected him?
Do I suspect him?
Surely if he was the murderer, he’d have been eager to insist the darkness was responsible. Admitting that Jaemes might be right, that the culprit may be a dwarf, would be stupid, unless he was trying to double-bluff me by saying something he knows any sensible killer would never say.
What would be his motive, though? I’m pretty sure he’s telling the truth about not having much to do with Mathek, for I don’t remember ever seeing them speak to each other. Mathek never got involved with him and Fjalar’s stupid arguments, so no reason for enmity there.
Him and his brother are very interested in their crafts: did Galar create some awful knife and use Mathek as a target for testing? Yet he’s never struck me as particularly malicious. Immature and foolish, slightly insane perhaps, but never malicious. There’s beasts up above to test weapons on, and if it required a dwarf target, well, surely he’d have done in his brother.
Their relationship has worsened even further since Cathez forbade them from working as one. Gone are the violent arguments, replaced by hateful silence on the rare instances they are together.
I decide to talk it over with Nthazes next time I can catch him. Jaemes too—I mean to bring him into my investigations soon. I’ve been avoiding that until now, since I didn't want to draw suspicion by visiting too often, but now it seems to me that his powerful mind will be necessary if I’m ever going to solve this mystery.
Until then, though, more forging. Honestly, I thought I’d get sick of working on the same craft for so long, but now my titanium boots are approaching completion, I feel a little sad. The last few stages have almost gone too quickly—once the soles were complete, grafting the rest of the runes proved easy, since I had to make them simple to accommodate my lack of materials. I'd have preferred to use the runes of abyssal scale from my rusted boots, but the glasolite I need to scrub the metal from them proved too expensive, so simple had to do.
All that’s left is to insert the gelthob leather padding. It has an odd, almost slimy texture to it, as if the rigorous tanning process it went through wasn’t quite enough to remove all the ichor. It feels unpleasant on my hands—I’m glad I’m wearing socks.
I cut the sections into a shape, a trivial task compared to how hard getting the titanium done was. With a binding glue I stick it into the boots, making sure it's packed neatly for comfort and a tight fit. The glue will take a while to dry, so I pass the time by going over my plans for my amulet of unaging.
I’ve decided on the basic shape and narrowed down the materials to a selection of three, but that’s all. Try as I might still can’t work out the form of the runic poem I’m going to compose for it. My mind swirls with runes, I arrange them into patterns, but none of them seem quite right.
Enough time has passed. Now for the final test: I equip my boots. The plates open out when I push my feet in, then lock back in place—Jaemes tells me that human plate armor is so badly constructed it takes hours to put on, but not so dwarven equipment.
I take my first step. The new leather creaks a little, but the titanium plates make no noise, just slide against each other soundlessly. I take another few steps, and smile. The boots feel liberating to walk in, almost like I’m not wearing boots at all. They grip the stone just as well as I hoped too, and the wavy soles don’t raise sparks from the stone like I've seen some badly-made metal soles do.
Grinning in satisfaction, I up the pace a little as I circle around the anvil. The runes of speed I’ve worked into the poems adorning the top and sides are working just fine despite their simplicity. I’m definitely moving faster than I could in my last pair. My legs feel light, my feet nearly too light.
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If I’d had something like these on during my wanderings, I’d have cut a couple years off my journey at least.
Now to check agility. I jump from side to side as I circle, like I’m dodging the blows of a quick opponent, and find the boots’ performance excellent; I do not fumble a single step as I dodge each and every imaginary strike—though I can't help feeling that each jump takes me just a little further than I anticipated. Decceleration next: I imagine a sword-wielding opponent predicting my forward movement and sweeping his blade in time to meet my belly, and bring myself to a sudden halt.
My boots stop still against the stone. The forward momentum of my body continues. I fall forward, and bring my forearms up—not in time to stop my nose impacting.
“Ah!”
I crawl back up to my feet, feeling my nose to check if anything is broken. It doesn’t seem to be, just bruised, along with my pride as a runeknight. Incandesite really was the wrong choice; runes bonded with hytrigite would have understood my intention and stopped my feet in time with the momentum of my body.
The incandesite just halted me with no concern for the consequences.
"Damn!" I hiss.
I take some deep breaths to try and calm down. I just need to practice with them a bit, that’s all, I tell myself, even as I imagine myself falling on my face in front of a massive dithyok as it swings its blade-arms down toward me.
----------------------------------------
“...up! Get up, equip yourselves, all of you! Light your torches!”
The words come to me as I drift in total blackness, and they sound as if they are coming from very far away. I turn over and burrow deeper into the warmth of my blankets.
“Up! Up! Up! Everyone, up!”
They’re closer now, invading my ears with their loudness and shrill tone of panic. Another bad dream—I’ve been having too many of these lately. I cover my ears and try to get back to sleep.
“Up! Get up!” Cathez screams. “Light your torches and equip yourselves!”
This isn’t a dream. I leap out of bed and scramble to put my armor on.
“Everyone, up!”
“I’m getting ready!” I shout back. “What the hell’s going on?”
“What the hell do you think?”
I grope for the flint mechanism I use to light my candle—which has gone out—and use it to shower sparks over the head of my tar-torch. After a few tries the sticky black flares to life and shadows shoot across the room, black cut outs in the orange flickering; their movement makes my heart race with anxiety.
I grab Heartseeker and burst out into the hallway.
“Get in line!” Cathez orders. “Hurry!”
He practically throws me behind him into the queue of runeknights already awoken.
“What the hell’s happened?” I ask the one behind me.
“Two! Two of us!” he cries.
“What?”
“Two are dead!”
“Two?”
“Yes, together!”
“Who were they?”
“Don’t know. They were... Oh hells, why is this happening to us?”
“Calm down!” Cathez screams back at us. “And get in a formation! Three across the back with torches out!”
Most everyone shuffles forward, but I catch a look of rage in Cathez’s eye and take it upon myself to, with trembling steps, walk to the back and stand there with my torch held out into the darkness. I stare down to where the corridor turns.
Two at once! Shit, two at once?
“Formation!” Cathez shouts again. “Three across the back... You and you!”
Two more dwarves join me, one of whom is a fifth degree with a mace of shining white that nearly blinds me from up close.
“If it killed two, how’s three going to stop it?” mutters the other through chattering teeth. He just has a torch. “Oh shit, oh shit...”
“Silence!” Cathez orders. “Silence, all of you! Give into fear and you besmirch their memories!”
“Who were they?” someone demands. “Tell us!”
“Don’t know. Bodies aren’t identified... Come on, out, all of you! Out of your rooms! If you die in your sleep don’t blame me. Human, you too!”
A few more dwarves emerge from their quarters, all wide awake no matter how deep they were into their slumbers. Jaemes comes out also, with his lantern turned up as high as it will go.
“Right,” Cathez says, quieting his voice slightly. “That must be everyone down here... Yes, must be. About the right number. Rest are with Hraroth or in the forges. Right. Right.” He snaps back to focus. “Two more bodies have been found in the storerooms. There’s no time to consult with the Runethane—I know what he’d have us do anyway: conduct another search. There’s no time to waste.”
“Two at once?” one of the last dwarves to emerge says in a fearful tone. “Two?”
“I ordered no talking! Two at once, yes. It must have grown in strength. We won’t split up, this time. Now hurry up! Double time, down the corridor, and don’t let your torches go out!”