There is no night in Allabrast. Realms close to the surface have such, and other places have artificial dimmings and brightenings of lamps. Yet though Allabrast has no such cycles, there is something that could be called 'night' here, though it is not a time, but a location.

Past the westward and downward outskirts of the city are caves of chalk. This is curious, since there is little chalk nearby, nor is chalk often found so far down. No one is quite sure why the bones of the underworld have grown in such a manner. This chalk is not the ordinary kind either—it is pure black dotted with tiny spots of white, so that traversing the caves creates the illusion that one is climbing through the surface sky during starry midnight. A disturbing yet exhilarating sensation for a dwarf.

No one lives here, for the black chalk dust is toxic if inhaled too much. Yet the chalk night is far from un-utilized: the darkness and poison make it the perfect location to do criminal business. There is great secrecy, and if a deal goes wrong, the offender can be left in the winding mazes to die of a seemingly natural cause.

Right now, Vanerak is down here with three very important dwarves. They stand uncomfortably close together at the dead-end of a tight tunnel.

“The trial is nearly to begin,” Vanerak says. “Have you decided on what the first contest will be?”

The head judge speaks first: “Not quite. We have some ideas, but...” He hesitates. “We are waiting for your input, still.”

By input he means approval. Some while ago Vanerak found, by happy chance, some irregularities in the courts' financial records, and by following the trail of coins up, one of his cleverest subordinates uncovered a lucrative scheme, the main beneficiary of which is Judge Gerapek.

The scheme will remain unknown to all but Vanerak, a few select Reconquerors, and Judge Gerapek—just so long as certain favors are carried out.

“I am interested to hear your ideas then,” says Vanerak.

Judge Caletek clears his throat. His eyes are lifeless, and have been ever since Vanerak found out about his little secret. A very gruesome skeleton in the closet indeed, has Judge Caletek.

“We have narrowed it down to three options. Breastplate against spear—“

“No,” says Vanerak. “The traitor is a spear fighter; he knows too well how to defend against one.”

“I apologize. The second option is hammer against helmet. The third, sword against shield.”

“The third interests me. The traitor is inexperienced with both crafts.”

“I believe the hammer and helmet has more potential,” says the last judge. “It gives us the greatest chance to bring a sudden end to the trial.”

Judges Gerapek and Caletek lean away from him slightly. This judge is the strangest of the three. In Vanerak's experience, when blackmailed, a victim will hold one of two feelings: hatred for the blackmailer, or intense regret regarding what he's being blackmailed for. However this Judge Daztat has become almost pathetically eager to please. Vanerak is not sure why. Perhaps he's under the mistaken impression that if he does a good job here, Vanerak will burn the letters.

“Explain,” says Vanerak.

“Victory by obliteration is the quickest method of ending this. You are eager for your revenge, I know. Surely a fast end is the most preferable.”

“Of course. How will a contest of hammer against helmet achieve this?”

“Because Zathar does not understand the nature of this trial. He will forge an ordinary helmet. Well-crafted it may be, but it will not stand up to the immense weight that Barahtan will put into his craft.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“You seem very sure of what Barahtan will make,” says Gerapek, critically.

"He's well-learned. He knows the nature of a trial by forging better than this Zathar does."

"Perhaps."

“So what do you think, Vanerak?” Daztat says eagerly. “Hammer against helmet?”

Vanerak considers. If Zathar is defeated in the very first strike of the trial, the despair on his face could be amusing to witness.

“Yes, why not? Sword against shield we can save for a later round.”

“Very well then,” says Gerapek. “Hammer against helmet it shall be.”

“Good. I'm sure you will render a fair judgement when all is forged and struck.”

The three judges look a little uncomfortable at this comment, but Vanerak knows they will obey. Bribes are a useful tool, but blackmail is even better. Dark money and dark deeds—that is how to get ahead in Allabrast.

----------------------------------------

I scour the bookshelves in my cell for anything that can be immediate help to me. Most of the tomes here would take years of study to understand thoroughly—reading a book through once doesn't give anyone perfect knowledge of its runes, even me—so I focus on slimmer manuals about using the latest forging equipment, catalogues of alloys and their uses, and dictionaries of scripts similar to ones I already know.

When it comes to runes, I'm not sure this is the right strategy. The runes I've made so far—if I can really claim to have made them, since they seem to leap from my unconscious fully formed—have all been fairly similar to ones I already know. Variations on a theme, not new themes entirely. So maybe I ought to be expanding my capabilities by learning more exotic scripts.

Well, we'll see how the first round goes. I just hope that my craft isn't annihilated in the very first strike.

Victory by obliteration: I wonder if it's a traditional rule, or some extra fuel thrown in to make things more exciting for the spectators.

Anger still simmers in my heart at how the Civil Force is making money off this. Justice ought to be more pure.

The hours pass. I learn what a heat-alternator is, how to operate an air-coal mixer, what snake-tail tongs are used for. Until now I've only used basic kinds of forging equipment, since that was all there was in the fort, and I couldn't afford anything better in Thanerzak's realm. Even though I've managed with them well so far, and even managed to do fine with nothing but stones and magma, I want every edge I can get. At the very least I want to know how to operate the advanced furnace I'm to be given.

I sleep very little. During one of the times I'm reading, a guard calls to me.

“Another visitor,” he says. “One Nthazes.”

I leap up and dash to the the cell door. The guard lets him through.

“Nthazes!” I cry. We embrace. "Sit down, please," I say, showing him to a chair.

“Zathar.” He looks relieved to see me unharmed. “I'm sorry we couldn't do anything to help. Some of the guild saw you being dragged into that carriage, and a few of us tried to give chase, but...”

“It's fine. Don't apologize. I was going to hand myself in anyway.”

“Not to those dwarves. I've heard rumors they were that Vanerak's.”

“I'm sure of it. Though I imagine he's avoided any trouble from their being caught.”

“Yes. Rumors go around, but apparently he always slips out of getting into trouble.” He shakes his head. “Up here is even worse than you warned me.”

“It's worse than even I thought. My trial is to be a spectacle—a money-maker.”

“I know. I would like to be there, cheering for you silently, but...”

I can see it in his eyes. He knows he has to go back now.

“So it went well with Halmak and the Red Anvil, then?”

“Well enough, I suppose,” he sighs. “He put together a plan and presented it to the Runeking—the news has made it up here, by the way, and a lot of dwarves are getting worried.”

“And the Runeking has granted him the fort?”

“Yes. He's Runethane Halmak of the fortress against the deep darkness now. Though...”

“He wants it to be more than just a fort.”

“Yes.” Misery crosses Nthazes' face like a shadow; his eyes turn down and his shoulders droop. “He has grand plans for the Mushroom Basket, and is going to bring down a contingent of miners to start some exploratory shafts for ore—sideways, thankfully, not down.”

“What about the Shaft? I hope he doesn't have any plans for that.”

“None yet, thankfully. But I can see it in his eyes. He thinks with enough dwarves, and enough weapons of light...”

“I see.”

“Still, anything of that kind will be a while away.”

“A long while away, hopefully.”

“Yes.”

Our conversation pauses, then he reaches out a hand. I grasp it and shake it firmly.

“Goodbye then,” he says. “I hope you're found innocent.”

“Thank you for vouching for me. Wharoth said you helped quite a bit.”

“Of course I did. You saved the fort, Zathar.”

“We all saved it, together.”

“Yes, but it was you we have to thank for getting rid of the killer.”

“I suppose. I hope to go down again some time, after all up here is said and done.”

“Then I hope to see you soon.” He lets go of my hand. “Goodbye, my friend.”

“Goodbye, friend. I'll see you down below.”

I wipe tears from my eyes as he vanishes down the corridor. Then I immediately return to my preparations.