Our journey proper into realms far above the fort begins. The walls either side of us become smoother and better lit. The stone changes from dark gray to light, then back to dark, but a different shade, then to black run through with veins of quartz, then reddish, then bluish. The path grows wider by degrees until there’s nearly enough room for two lanes of traffic.
“Yes,” Feltram confirms one mealtime. “The roads will get busy soon enough, once we pass through Runethane Ilthik’s city. Don’t worry though. We know what we’re doing; there won’t be any collisions.”
I ask him to remind me how many more realms we’ll have to pass through before Allabrast.
“Eight, though two of those are rather large. And the Allabrast region is large, so even once we cross that border we’ll still have some ways to go. Though,” he adds with a slight smile, “we’ll be on the tracks by then. You’ll be amazed at the speed.”
After about nine or ten long-hours, in familiar terms roughly a month, we reach the border between the realms of Runethane Kathak and Runethane Ilthik. It’s marked only by a deep line cut into the walls of the tunnel and a small guard platform. Feltram, up top with us for once, waves to the runeknight up there as we pass, and receives a wave back in return.
“I though there’d be more fortification,” Nthazes says.
“No, these two realms have been part of Runeking Ulrike’s domains for a long time. In a short while we’ll pass through the old border. There’s more fortification there.”
In another hour—or half a short-hour, I need to start getting used to Allabrast time—the road crosses through a large cavern, wide enough for an army to march through in ranks of at least fifty. It's pockmarked above with murder-holes, and turrets and the remains of rusted ballistae adorn the sides. I grip Heartseeker nervously, fearing that something might jump out, but nothing does.
Two long-hours after this, we enter the city of Runethane Ilthik. Feltram tells us he’s an old Runethane, more than seven centuries—or as he puts it, nearly ten thousand long-hours. His runeknights oversee great mining operations which carve out many tons of iron and copper from his eastern regions and extract coal from the western ones. As we pass through the cavern city I see many runeknights armed with hooked spears and wearing extraordinarily heavy-looking plate.
“Troll-slayers,” one of the caravaners tells me on our rest just outside the city borders. “They’re got terrible troll problems down here. The beasts eat the iron and develop a tough shell. Hammers and axes just bounce off, so they have to drag them down with hooks and stab them in the soft bits.”
“We won’t meet any on the road, will we?” I ask.
“Probably not. Most are out east of here.”
Fortunately for us, his prediction turns out to be true, and our journey continues free of trolls and other wild beasts. The road widens and the tunnel roof over it changes from a rough oval arch to a square one set with geometric carvings. We reach a large rest station, and for the first time I see other caravans.
Most are somewhat larger than ours, of up to a dozen large carriages. The majority are wooden, but one, guarded by runeknights wielding hooked spears, is plated with rusted iron.
“They’re to thank for us not being attacked by trolls,” Feltram explains. “They’ll turn off one of the side roads and the rust’ll attract the bastards. Their carriages are empty right now, but soon enough they’ll be chock-full of troll steel.”
“Maybe it's full of the stuff already. It's rumbling loud enough.”
“No. I can tell: there’s a full contingent of guards with their armor still clean. You ever fought a troll before, Zathar? They’re no joke.”
I nod. “I know well. Thanerzak’s realm had plenty. Probably still does.”
“The iron trolls are bigger than most. Their shells make for rare crafting material as well, if you know how to work it properly.”
Next we pass through the border to Runethane Jetick’s realm. This one is more what I’d imagined a border to be like: a portcullis is lowered and a group of twenty runeknights emerge from a guardhouse cut into the rock to examine our goods. Feltram is led into the guardhouse to show some documents.
I watch over the dwarves sifting through our belongings. They look different to the dwarves from the realms below here: their skin isn’t so gleamingly pale and their beards are mostly light brown or red instead of blonde.
“You don’t look like one of these lot,” one of them asks me. His accent is closer to my own than to Nthazes’. “You’re not a smuggler, are you?”
“I assure you I am not.”
“We’ll see,” he says in a disbelieving tone as he opens my chest of belongings and sifts through my toiletries. My heart skips a beat as he turns over my ruby of unaging.
“What’s this, then?” he asks.
“A failed craft.”
“I can’t read the runes. What do they say?” He licks his lips greedily.
“It’s a poem of unaging.”
“Can you read it to me? If they’re illegal runes, then—”
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At that moment, Feltram appears and claps a hand on his shoulder. “There’s no such thing as illegal runes,” he snaps. “Not in this realm nor the next, and that’s by order of Runeking Ulrike.”
The guard scowls. “Well, maybe not, but...”
“I hope you’re not trying to thieve from my caravan.”
I notice that Feltram’s hand is on a long knife at his belt.
“No, no,” the guard says hurriedly.
“Good. Your commander says everything’s in order, so we’ll be on our way now. Clear off!”
The loaders tidy up our goods and soon we’re back off again. At the next stop, Feltram apologizes to us.
“Sorry about that. The border guards around here are well known for being a bunch of greedy carrion-bats. You need to be firm with them.”
“Would you really have stabbed him?”
“No. But I know a few who might’ve.”
“Disgraceful,” Nthazes says with disgust. “Zathar’s often talked of the greed that goes on up here, but seeing it with my own ears is something else.”
“Seeing with your ears, ay?” Feltram chuckles. “Yes, there’s a lot of greed between dwarves, it’s true. But I wouldn’t say that’s a bad thing. If we didn't have greed, then why would anyone delve for metals and gems? As long as greed’s done honestly—it’s just business.”
“Some would say that’s hill-dwarf speak,” says one of the other caravaners.
“Nonsense!” Feltram snaps back. “As long as you aren’t selling enruned crafts, there’s no issue.”
“I have a lot to learn, it seems,” says Nthazes.
The next time we pass through a border, I make sure to fix those searching with a hard stare, and angle Heartseeker down slightly. Nthazes unwraps a few layers of gauze from his mace so they can tell the strength of the runes.
We have no more trouble with thieves.
About thirty odd long-hours into our journey, we pass the halfway point, and the roads are now properly busy. We pass another caravan at least a couple times every short-hour—some of them great thundering things of twenty or thirty carriages—and then we come to a great cross of six intersecting roads. I can also hear thundering from above and below, suggesting that more roads meet here beyond what we can see.
“What a racket,” Nthazes says, wincing, and he removes his runic ears for the first time. “I suppose I’ll need to get used to relying on my eyes.”
The caravan performs a complicated series of maneuvers to get onto the other road—accompanied by much shouting from both our drivers and those of other caravans—and then we are corkscrewing up a winding side-road. As we round one of the bends, my eyes widen. One side of the wall has become a plate of rune-etched glass, of runes I cannot read, and through it I see another bustling intersection, but not of roads: of steel tracks. Some come down on great ramps from the ceiling. Carriages rush along them. They have no blindboars fixed to them.
“What in hell?” I whisper.
“Just magnets,” says one of the loaders, and he holds up a piece from the game they like to play. For the first time I notice that it’s carved into the shape of a carriage, and that the board they use is a great maze of stenciled tracks.
“They use magnets to pull the carriages?”
“That’s right. I used to work laying them, a few years back. It’s a dull job—basically mining in reverse. This is much better.”
“Incredible,” says Nthazes, shaking his head.
“It’ll be even more incredible once we’re on them,” says the loader, grinning.
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Terrifying might be a more appropriate description. We crowd into the front carriage alongside the loaders, five drivers, and Feltram.
“It’s all done automatically from here on!” Feltram shouts happily. “No more work for us for a while.”
“You mean we don’t have any control?” I cry, straining my voice to be heard over the rumbling coming from all around—and we aren’t even moving yet!
“None at all! It’s all done by the New Dynamium Guild: a very old guild, with connections to the Runeking himself. We’re in very good hands!”
“There’s never any accidents?”
“I wouldn’t say never, but they’re very rare!” He pats me roughly on the back. “Don’t worry, and this’ll calm your nerves! Break out the ale, my dwarves!”
The loaders give a whoop and begin pushing and shoving two large barrels from the back of the carriage to the front where we’re all crushed together like geckos in a tin. One of the caravaners draws out a hammer with a long spike at the back, drives it through the top of one of them. Feltram pushes a tube into it—at the other end is a brass mouthpiece like from some instrument. He sucks deeply from it.
“Drink up!” he roars.
“Didn't you say it was disrespectful to the goods to drink and eat inside the carriages?” I ask, but no one seems to hear.
I guess this must be an exception to the rule. The mouthpiece is passed around the dwarves, with no attention paid to status and rank. Soon it comes into my hands. Feltram grins widely at me, and I shrug and take a swig.
The taste is awful, rotten hops and stomach bile, but it sure does deaden my nerves. Instead of screaming in fear, I find myself laughing raucously as the carriage tips forward and we rapidly accelerate down, down, down, then begin to spiral up and up and up and around.
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The rest of the journey passes so rapidly I can hardly believe it took me over ten years of fleeing to arrive at the fort, even though I suppose this journey is only half the distance to Thanerzak's realm, and I took a much more circuitous route. We go through a border every two or three long hours, and stops for toilet breaks are rare. I finally get an answer about why we’re now allowed to eat in the carriages: it’s just necessity. Speed and profit over tradition.
The loaders teach me their game of tracks, and I play to pass the time for a while until I realize I’ve already lost three gold pieces to them.
Then, at one stop, Feltram beckons me and Nthazes to the side.
“We’re nearly there. Four long-hours and we’ll be in Allabrast. Do you have any idea where you want me to drop you off?”
“As close to the Runeking’s palace as possible,” says Nthazes.
Feltram shakes his head. “You’ll be wasting your time if you go there directly. He rarely leaves his foundries. If you want to get to him, you’ll have to go through the Thanic Guard.”
“Who are these Thanic Guard anyway?” I ask. “You’ve mentioned them before, but I still don’t quite get it. Are they Runethanes, or something else?”
“Ah, I’d always assumed you knew. Sorry. They’re first degrees strong enough to be Runethanes, but with no realm of their own yet. Something of an in-between stage.”
“But they hold power?” Nthazes asks.
“Yes, each rules over a district of the city. They have more to do with the hour to hour running of things than the Runeking, actually, though more important decisions do have to be approved by him. You’ll need to persuade one of your cause, and he or she will bring it up at the next council meeting.”
“I see,” I say.
“Vanerak—one of the newer ones—he was with Runethane Thanerzak, wasn’t he? You said you knew of him. Maybe you could go to him.”
I shake my head rapidly. “No. He’s... That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“I see.” Feltram strokes his beard. “Well, to be honest, I’m not too familiar with the politics inside the city. You’ll be better off asking the locals. Find yourself somewhere to stay and ask around.”
“All right,” Nthazes says. “You have any recommendations?”
“Hmm. I’ll think on it. Somewhere not-too central will be best. The closer you get to the foundry-palace, the... snobbier the dwarves tend to get.”
“How do you mean?”
“You’ll find out for yourself soon enough. Try not to insult anyone, or you might end up in a duel—actually, no, the Runeking outlawed those some time back. You should still be careful though.”
Four long-hours later, we arrive in Allabrast.