It's disturbing for the caravaners to arrive to a fortress so deserted. I can see this on their faces—frowns of confusion followed by wide-eyed alarm as only three of us, still battered and clearly exhausted, walk up to greet them. On the past times I helped with unloading, our greeting party always numbered about fifteen.
“What’s going on?” their leader asks. He’s not the runeknight who was in charge of the last supply caravan, but looks much the same: his face is rough and grizzled from many years of long journeys, yet he remains bright eyed, perhaps because not many runeknights get to travel as often and as widely as he does.
“Runethane Yurok ordered an expedition down the Shaft to destroy the deep darkness,” Melkor says, not wasting any time in getting the facts out. “It failed. There are only eleven survivors.”
The lead caravaner blinks a few times. “Really?” he says.
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
For a few moments he’s stunned, then a look of horror dawns on his face, and the faces of the others behind him.
“Only eleven?” he repeats. “How? What happened down there?”
“The expedition met with disaster.”
“How many went down? All of you?”
“Yes,” says Nthazes. His voice sounds a little more vital than before—it's been a few weeks since I created my amulets—but he isn’t yet totally recovered. “The Runethane believed that if we all had weapons of light, we could defeat it. He was wrong. So now there are only eleven of us.”
“Eleven?” the lead caravaner repeats.
“Only eleven. With your permission, I and my comrade here would like to travel up with you to Allabrast to petition the Runeking for reinforcements.”
The lead caravaner's mouth is hanging open slightly.
“Would that be a problem?” says Nthazes.
“I... I’d like to go down into the fort to see. I’m sorry, I still can’t believe it. I know you won’t lie, but, even...”
He trails off. Melkor and Nthazes nod. We lead him down into the fort. The empty halls echo. His face grows paler and paler in the torchlight as he comes to realize the truth of what we’ve told him. When we reach the chamber of the Shaft, the great black void in its center seems to be the final proof he needs—maybe he senses the death down there.
“Only eleven,” he says quietly. “Only eleven.”
“Will you grant our request?” Nthazes asks.
He nods. “We weren’t to go to Allabrast for a while. But now we’ll go there directly.”
“Please,” I say. “Eleven cannot hold against the darkness. We need to get there as quickly as possible.”
“Of course. Of course. We’ll take you as directly as we can—I’m sure the stops we miss will have double supplies delivered once the Thanic Guard understands the situation. Though... No, this is more important.”
“Is there some issue?” Nthazes asks.
“We have some alloys that are meant to get to Runethane Jorthuk’s realm as quickly as possible. He’s hard-pressed...”
“Can they not wait?” asks Melkor.
“Ah, I was told no. But...”
“Surely the darkness is more deadly than whatever rival Runethane he faces.”
“I agree. It can’t be helped.”
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We spend the next few hours unloading the supplies: steel and titanium bars, various kinds of gem, fabrics for clothes, a couple anvils, and a great deal of coal for the furnaces. There’s also a small metal box with a bright crimson, pupil-less eye painted onto the lid. Below it are runes that read ‘almergris’.
These supplies will go unused for a while, I fear. Not until reinforcements come down—if we manage to persuade the Runeking we need help, that is. Surely he’ll agree to send some kind of force. The darkness cannot be allowed to roam free. The monster that lurks down there—whatever it is—must stay down there.
Once the supplies have been unloaded into the storerooms, it’s time for me and Nthazes to go. We’ve already packed what we need: some rations, though I expect we’ll be able to buy more on the way up; clothes; Heartseeker I carry but my ruby amulet and various forging materials are in a chest; Nthazes carries his mace of light and his hunting spear and some other spare weapons and bits of armor. We have also packed the many other mundane bits and pieces required for a runeknight’s everyday living: toothpicks, cutlery, soap, folding mirror and scissors for beard-trimming, and so on.
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We also have a third chest, small and securely locked. It contains plenty of gold and the letter of petition affixed with the chamberlain’s seal of the fort, signed by all eleven of us.
The lead caravaner, who has introduced himself as Feltram, shows us to the front carriage where personal supplies go. It’s not so big, about fifteen feet long and six wide, pulled by a single blindboar. The other four carriages are much larger. Constructed of wood reinforced with steel bars, each is about thirty feet long and ten wide, and needs two blindboars to pull.
“Where do we sit?” I ask Feltram.
“You’ll just have to sit on top with the loaders, I’m afraid. Not really a fitting position for runeknights, but it can’t be helped.”
“We don’t mind,” says Nthazes. “We’re plenty used to discomfort down here.”
“Hah, well, you’ll have to stay used to it. At least until we get to Allabrast.”
“We’d like to say our goodbyes, if you don’t mind,” I tell him. “It shouldn’t take too long.”
“Go ahead. We need to finish feeding up the blindboars anyhow.”
We hurry down from the fort entrance back to the chamber of the Shaft. Jaemes, Melkor, and the others come up to shake our hands and tell us good luck. After this is finished, I ask Jaemes:
“Are you sure you want to stay down here?”
“I’m very sure. I came down to understand the mysteries of the darkness, and I plan to either solve them or die of old age. And hearing what you saw down there has given me plenty of material to speculate with.”
“Knowing your enemy is very important,” Nthazes says. “I hope you hit upon some useful idea.”
“I hope so too. And I hope I’ll see you back down here soon, Nthazes. You too Zathar—though I know you’ll be staying in Allabrast for a little longer.”
I found the opportunity to tell him of my crimes a few days after I told Nthazes. His reaction was much the same: he assured me that everyone makes terrible mistakes when they’re young, and that it wasn’t my fault if I was manipulated. Besides, he also said, putting myself at risk to stop Fjalar has probably ended up saving dozens of lives. If he’d been allowed to roam free, none can know how many dwarves would have fallen to his needle.
On the subject of my new runes, he was very excited, though I don’t think he quite grasped the gravity of the concept. Even so, he encouraged me to develop my abilities, and wished me the best for my future.
“Yes, a little while,” I say. “I’ll return someday though. Or some long-hour.”
He claps us both on our shoulders. “Well, good luck.”
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Now it’s really time to leave. We climb up onto the top of the lead caravan with the ten loaders. They’re tough looking dwarves, and though probably friendly enough, I don’t expect much conversation from them. They’ve already got the magnetic playing pieces of some game laid out, their entertainment for the long journey.
The only runeknights here aside from Feltram are those driving the five wagons. Each is seated in front of a carriage behind its blindboars or boar, equipped in what looks like aluminum armor. Feltram is inside the belongings caravan doing some kind of administration work.
Nthazes and I grip the hand-rails and watch as the lead driver raises his whip. He strikes the blindboar hard: one, two. They let out grunts of irritation as they start off. Their great muscles shift beneath their bristly white fur. The wheels of the carriage rumble on the stone road. It’s loud, blurring out all useful sense from my runic ears. I take them off. Nthazes keeps his on, despite the oil lamp the loaders have and the light from his gauze-wrapped mace. I think he’ll make a strange sight for the dwarves of the capital if he keeps them equipped all the way up.
We go past the smaller tunnel that leads to the Mushroom Farm, then are on our way up a path I’ve never been before: the road out.
“Feltram says we’ll pass through Jaelstam first,” Nthazes tells me. “Where I was born.”
“I remember you telling me. A few of the runeknights had ladies there, didn't they?” I say.
There’s a sad thought. So many lives have been cut short, destroyed. So many that it’s hard to fathom. Their loss hasn’t hit us survivors as hard as maybe it should—fear of our vulnerability to the darkness is outweighing our grief—but I think the scale of the tragedy will set in for everyone soon enough, especially if reinforcements are sent and hours on duty lessened.
Though I won’t be there to see that.
“Yes,” Nthazes answers. “Casual relationships mostly. Most initiates come from there as well. There’ll be shock once the townsdwarves find out. Maybe a panic.”
“We should ask Feltram not to announce it. Though I feel bad about keeping them in the dark.”
“We won’t keep them in the dark. Feltram will have the mayor there notified, and it'll be him who decides whether or not to tell everyone.”
“Mayor? No Runethane?”
“No, no. It’s a small town. Part of... Runethane Kathak’s realm, I think. But his city is some ways off east.”
“Maybe we should be petitioning him for reinforcements.”
“Melkor read some of the Runethane's correspondence with him. He’s at war too, and doesn’t have so many runeknights anyway."
"Probably that describes a lot of the realms between here and Allabrast."
"Yes. So our best chance of help is the Runeking. He’s the one who can make the important decisions.”
“I see." I scratch my beard. "You know more about the rest of the underworld than I thought.”
Nthazes shakes his head. “Not really. I’m just making guesses. The extent of my knowledge ends at Jaelstam. After that, it’s all unknown.”
He turns from me and stares ahead over the blindboar. I look also. The cold cavern air is rushing through our hair and beards. The carriage is leaned back—we’re traveling upwards, gradually. I wonder how long the journey will take in all. I’ll have to ask Feltram once we stop for our first break.
I look at Nthazes. There’s a spark of life in his eyes that I’ve not seen recently: it’s the spark that was always present when he asked me to tell him tales of my time up above, where he so desired to go. Now, finally, his wish has been granted. I wonder if he feels guilty about so many having to die for this to happen.
He seems to read my mind. “I wish the circumstances were different. But even so, I think I deserve this. Don’t you?” he says with a smile.
“You certainly do.”
Onwards and upwards we go, leaving the fort far behind.