I spend the next long-hour and a bit reading and writing runes. Partly as preparation for the upcoming trial, and partly because it calms me, takes my mind off the pressure. There's plenty to get absorbed in. Not all runic dictionaries are created equal: some of the volumes here are thousands of pages long, with tens of thousands of runes explained in exacting detail.
For example, there's a script called Third Hatahok, which I've utilized before and is fairly common, especially on armor. Until now I'd always thought it to be on the simpler side of things, yet the dictionary I'm now holding in my hands contains double the runes it ought to. It turns out that there's six sub-scripts linked to Third Hatahok, containing extended forms of the common runes. This dictionary is new—maybe they're a recent discovery. I feel they are brimming with potential. When I sleep they twist and reshape in my dreams.
I write some poems using them, just drafts, nothing serious. A few of them come out twisted, though not to the same degree as those on my armor are. Maybe if I'm unfamiliar with the script, I can't make additions to it so easily—except I seemed to manage with runes of light. Though, I had been exposed to plenty of those.
Despite the distractions, as time passes, I begin to fret. When will the damn trial start, anyhow? And will I ever get my own armor and Heartseeker back? I feel vulnerable without them—what if some of the guards here have been bought by Vanerak?
Mostly though, I worry about who I'll be facing. I keep imagining some ancient master of metal and runes, who has been too busy forging over the past century to bother with something as trivial as an examination.
One of these worries is resolved quickly, though not how I'd hoped. Two guards bring up my armor and Heartseeker, and inform me they're to be kept securely somewhere away from here. They'll be returned if I'm found innocent. They don't tell me what'll happen to them if I'm found guilty. Maybe put on display somewhere, or melted down.
Actually, no. Vanerak will get them. Maybe he'll do so even if I'm found innocent—maybe he'll even get hold of them before the trial. My next few sleeps are haunted by nightmares of him running his hands over them.
Then, just after I'm finished brushing the crumbs from my beard one mealtime, special investigator Natarak shows up at the cell door. He calls me over.
“What is it?” I say.
“You're called to the reading of the rules in two short-hours,” he tells me. “Put on the formal robe for it.”
He hands me a complicated garment of fur and silk and heavy chains through the bars.
“The reading of the rules?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. The rules are read.”
“Is that all?”
“No. You'll meet your judges and your opponent also. I hear he's most capable.”
“I see. Thank you for informing me.”
“It's my job,” he says sharply, and leaves.
----------------------------------------
The reading of the rules is about to take place. I'm waiting in a sub-cavern of the grand hall of justice. It's a legal arena, a semi-circle of benches angled to face a bare patch of stone floor. This is where I am, feeling awkward and small in my strange chain-adorned garments. I'm sitting on a hard wooden chair—one of two. I guess that the other is for my opponent.
Solemn looking clerks and guards in many kinds of armor fill up the benches. They leave a space in the middle of the top row. I guess that the judges will be sitting there.
I can't help but feel slightly duped. Why didn't I get the full rules before I agreed to take this trial on? Maybe they're slightly different for each case, though I can't imagine why. Or perhaps it's been so long since this kind of trial took place that they forgot.
Or maybe this is just a formality, or another ritual, where the judges will pass hammers over my head. I suppose I'm about to find out.
After another half hour or so of waiting, a gong rings. Everyone on the benches stands, and I do also. Everyone looks to the entrance to the room behind me—I resist the urge to turn around, in case that's somehow disrespectful.
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Past me walk three ancient dwarves. They're not elderly like common dwarves get after too many years—their hair is not gray, neither is their skin wrinkled—but their eyes are weary, as if everything that can be seen has been reflected in their pupils at one point.
Each wears exquisitely enruned armor—of at least second degree quality—and around their necks are white scarfs emblazoned with a golden hammer. At their waists hang golden hammers also.
They climb up the stairs between the benches and take their places at the top center. Only after they are seated does everyone else sit. I make sure to sit down last, after bowing respectfully to them, but they don't acknowledge me at all.
A few more important looking dwarves enter and sit on the edge seats. They don't look solemn, but rather curious and excited. I'm trying to guess what their roles are when the middle judge stands up and clears his throat.
“Dwarves of the court,” he says, voice clear and loud. “We are here now for the reading of the rules of the trial by forging of Zathar. He is charged with betraying his Runethane out of malicious greed. If he be guilty, may his crafts shatter.”
“May his crafts shatter,” intone the clerks and guards. The dwarves on the edges grin at each other. Some grin at me, nastily.
“If he be but another sorry victim of the black dragon's machinations, may his crafts hold true.”
“May his crafts hold true,” intone the clerks and guards. The other dwarves shake their heads at each other, or at me.
I really do wonder who they are.
“Zathar has sworn on the golden hammer of justice to abide by the results of the trial,” continues the head judge. “The million runes wielded by High Justice Ratarast have bound him to it. We are here today to set the final bounds of those rules.”
“Where's Barahtan?” a lady dwarf on the side-benches whispers to another.
“Silence in the court,” snaps one of the more formidable-looking guards.
“We will now wait for the honored opponent,” says the head judge, glaring at the dwarfess who spoke. “When he arrives the reading will begin.”
Barahtan—that must be the name of my opponent, then. Three syllables in his name means he's likely of a prestigious background. There's a few combinations of runes that could form it, depending on the script used; gold-flame-wreathed, or bright-furnace-glow, or golden-shining-gem.
All of a sudden, everyone stands again. I follow suit. Barahtan is here then. Two dwarves in brilliant gold-gilt armor lead him to the chair beside mine. They motion for him to sit down. I resist the urge to turn and look.
“Shouldn't I shake his hand?” he asks.
“With the traitor?” the dwarf in the more brilliant armor says disapprovingly. “I think you have to do that later. Or hopefully not at all.”
“I still think I ought to.”
“Just sit down, son.”
He shrugs and sits down. I do so also, then glance at his profile—his face is well-carved and his hair is like gold. Gems hang from fine silver chains in his beard. He glances at me—an oddly apologetic look, I feel. I flick my eyes back to the judges. They're talking amongst themselves in low voices.
They finish their discussion. “Defendant and prosecutor, stand,” orders the head judge.
Barahtan and I stand up. He bows low and I copy him—seems he's been told more about what to do than I have.
“We will now read the rules of the trial by forging. If they meet the satisfaction of the prosecutor, he will swear to abide by the rules of the trial and by the million runes of the golden hammer he shall be bound to it.”
Barahtan nods. I bite my lower lip. What if Vanerak's had the rules altered somehow, to give me a further disadvantage?
“Judge Caletek, if you would?” says the head judge.
The rightmost judge, the most weary-looking of the three, stands. He takes up a sheet of paper and reads from it; his voice is a dry monotone.
“The trial by forging is a trial of three rounds. All rounds are to take place in the Arena of Lost Memories. The defender and prosecutor are both to be given...”
He lists the exact tools we'll have available to us. There's a great many of them, some of which I've never heard of. What exactly are a salamander tail tongs? Or a resinate mold? The furnace also sounds very advanced: he lists multiple modes of flame, and something called an adjustable flame-break sensor. Then he talks of ceramitic anvils, three-sawed cutters... The list of tools goes on and on.
I imagine that Barahtan knows exactly how to use each and every one.
The list ends, but Judge Calatek's monotone does not. “Materials are to be bought freely at the start of each round. The defender is to be given a budget of fifty Allabrast golden wheels per round. The prosecutor will use his own money, though in the interests of fairness he must not exceed fifty Allabrast golden wheels per round.”
This gives me relief. There's at least a little fairness here.
“Two long-hours are to be given for the first two rounds, and the last round, should the trial progress so far, shall be three long-hours. During this time, the crafters will be allowed no contact with either each other nor anyone else but the judges. There will be a break of ten short-hours between rounds.
“In the first round, the defender shall make the armor and the prosecutor the weapon, then the order shall alternate. The crafter of the weapon is to be allowed ten strikes against the armor.”
I'm slightly surprised to hear this. I'd imagined the judges placing each craft alongside the other, and discussing the merits and flaws of each in depth. Instead, it seems our work will be appraised in a rather more violent fashion.
“If the weapon renders the armor unfit for protection within the ten allowed strikes, the crafter of the weapon shall be declared victor of that round. If the armor survives the ten blows, then the crafter of the armor shall be declared victor of the round.”
I frown deeply. I can't help but feel I'm somewhat disadvantaged here. Ten strikes is a lot, and two times I'm going to be the crafter of the armor.
“However, should the armor be destroyed in one strike, or the weapon break upon the armor within the ten strikes, then a victory by obliteration will be declared and the trial by forging shall immediately come to an end.”