Thirteen days to prepare. Not a lot, especially for something that will determine whether or not your friends will die, and in which you have a strong chance of dying too. Still, it is some time, and I need to use it as best I can.

That is why I'm here, cloaked, walking across to the northern districts in the early morning. It's cool and damp today. Apparently on the surface there is something called rain, when water drips from the sky, and it’s because of this rain that some days the cavern air feels wet and the heads of older dwarves ache.

I’m not sure I believe in this rain. Maybe I’ll go up to the surface someday to confirm its existence, but for now my destination is one small apartment.

The apartment block is much nicer than any miner barracks, with polished brick walls, boxes of bright mushrooms lining the road before it, dainty curtains in the windows, and an enruned wrought iron gate. Yet I can’t help but notice the imperfections, the scratches on the bricks, the wilted state of some of the mushrooms, a bent point on the gate. This is not the home of rich runeknights, but of the poorer class.

I speak the runes on the gates and walk through. The apartment block is in two wings separated by a spiral staircase. I walk up one floor and along the corridor.

I knock on the door to apartment number three-oh-three.

Unlike the guildmaster, he doesn’t keep me waiting. The door swings open, and old Hayhek, smiling, beckons me in.

The interior is like I always imagined a nice place to live might be. There is patterned wallpaper instead of whitewash, polished furniture instead of unvarnished stools, a door leading to what seems to be a bathroom instead of a bucket on the floor.

Yet there is a sense of dilapidation, that things haven’t quite worked out for its owner: some of the wallpaper is peeled, the varnish is chipped, there is a drafty chill to the air.

“Sorry about the mess,” Hayhek apologizes. On that count he is wrong, for the place is tidy at least. “Come on through.”

“Thank you.”

He leads me to the dining room. The table is nicely set with all the best breakfast foods a dwarf could desire: pork sausages, roasted mushrooms with cheese, tender albino fish, bread, and of course a light breakfast beer.

He gestures and I sit down.

"I'll go get my boy. He wakes up late after a long day's training."

"Thanks."

"The rest of my family I'll leave to rest. My daughters don't deserve it, but my wife sure does. Tuck in at your leisure, by the way."

Of course it would be rude to start without them—my brother used to tell me off about that, at our paltry meals in the miner barracks. I wait, and not for long. Yezakh strides into the room grinning broadly.

Stood beside his father, the similarity is clearer than ever. The shape of the curls in their beards and hair are the same, even if Hayhek's hairline is beginning to recede, and their eyes are the same green. The only major difference is in their posture: Yezakh is almost leaning forwards, as if he's going to bound forwards like a spring, but Hayhek is slightly stooped, shoulders sunken.

They sit down and we begin to eat. Yezakh tucks into his with relish, I with a bit less, for the dragon still weighs heavily on my mind, and Hayhek eats slowly and deliberately.

“You cook this?” I ask him, to break the silence.

“No, the wife did last night.”

“Very kind of her.”

“She is kind.”

It all feels rather awkward. Apart from the sound of Yezakh munching down his food, we eat in silence. Once I’m nearly finished, I decide to break it.

“Hayhek,” I say. “Thanks for your advice. About staying calm.”

“You didn't take it, though.”

“Didn't take what?” Yezakh asks.

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“My advice about staying calm.”

“On your job? Did something happen you didn't tell me?”

“You didn't tell him?” I ask Hayhek in surprise.

“Didn't want to scare him. Not with the girls around... But he’s a young man. You tell it.”

I tell him. The young dwarf is delighted and horrified in equal measure: the killing horrifies him, my bravery delights him. The dragon terrifies him, the fact it touched his father and I, could have slain us but just warned us in a suitably dramatic manner, delights him.

“I'm jealous," he says. "I'll come next time, when I'm ready."

"You should think twice about that," Hayhek warns.

"Yeah, maybe. I'm guessing you didn't come just to tell me all that though."

“Not quite,” I say.

“Why then?”

“I came here to make a request,” I say solemnly.

He nods seriously. “Of course. What is it?”

“I am going to take the exam to become runeknight. I would like to train with you both.”

“With my father?” he frowns. “Why?”

Hayhek looks pained. “I know more than you know, son. Even if I can’t move so well anymore.”

“Your father’s brave,” I tell Yezakh. “When the dragon came, he drew his weapon. Shouted a warcry.” I laugh a little. “I just tried to run, you know?”

“If only he was braver more often.”

Hayhek shakes his head. “Not that easy, son. You’ll understand, one day.”

“Maybe.” Yezakh shrugs, then smiles. “But I’ll be happy to beat you up some more, Zathar. Not in the sparring gravel this time?”

“No. Somewhere there isn’t an audience.”

And thus my thirteen days of training commences. It takes place in a disused tunnel beneath their apartment—since the cavern has been occupied many hundreds of years it is full of disused tunnels—and Hayhek is a strict master. I train in my armor, fully plated up, with visor down so I get used to not being able to see properly.

The tunnel echoes each day. First with the sound of heavy breathing, as Yezakh and I train our bodies. Pushups, pullups on the ladder, and running and jumping until we fall down, and then we must get up again. Then we drill, blocks and attacks. We fight with sticks rather than blades or hammers, but a stick still hurts if it hits you in the head with enough force.

Then the sparring commences. Non-stop, two hours at a time. I need to feel my opponent, Hayhek tells me, never shouting but always stern. I need to feel my opponent through the blows to my armor. Some will always get through my shield or weapon's guard, so I need to learn to use those shocks.

Runeknights have to be tough, I know that, have always known that—but this tough? I am dehydrated nearly to fainting by the end of each lesson from the sweat loss. Hayhek says it’s good for renewal, gets the weakness out the body.

After I pass, I’m going to save up for gold, and forge myself an amulet of endurance. Several, because I don’t want to go through this all again, worse than this again, no way.

In the evenings I stagger across town and do not cross the street to my apartment, but head into the guild library. The first part of the exam is written—at least half of being a runeknight is knowing the runes, of course. I study until I drop at my desk, then when I wake up I close my books, stand, and head back across town for the next day of physical endurance.

Only on the day before the exam does Hayhek allow me a rest.

“I’m dead,” I say that day, leaning against the tunnel wall. “My muscles are shreds.”

“They’ll recover. We’re dwarves. We’re not like surface-dwellers and cave beasts. Our endurance is legendary.”

“Only because we know how to forge amulets.”

“Forging those amulets took endurance of the mind and body.”

“You sound like the guildmaster.”

“If only I was like him,” Hayhek chuckles. “My endurance didn't carry me so far, sadly.”

For the last few days Yezakh has been away, working on his forging, so we’re alone.

“Why are you still only of the eighth degree, Hayhek?”

“You sound almost scared. Don’t want to end up like me, eh?”

“No.”

“I told you before, family comes first. Once you have children, well, life ceases to be about just you anymore. That’s why I gave up.”

“Surely the higher you rise, the more you can do for them.”

“Can do a lot, but you can't be there for them. If you ever have children of your own, you’ll understand.

“I don’t plan to. Not yet. Not ever, maybe.”

“Yezakh says the same. Well, you’ll make your choices and I made mine. Good luck for the day after, Zathar.”

“Thanks. Any last advice?”

“You really going to keep using that spear?”

“Yes. New handle, though.”

He shakes his head. “Kazhek will be watching. You should find something else.”

“Didn't have time to forge anything.”

“Well, in that case, don’t kill the examiner.”

“I heard you can’t win, anyway. That it’s about how long you last.”

“Yes, well, it’s rare. Still. Try not to get unlucky, either way.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good, good...”

He stares down the darkness of the corridor, like he’s searching for something, far back in the darkness of his lifetime. I wonder if he sees regrets there. Maybe when my beard is gray, I’ll understand what he’s searching for.

In the meantime, my eyes are on the future.

It’s time to become a runeknight.