We do manage to find an inn, the Prancing Rock-Ox, and it only takes us about two short-hours—that is to say, roughly four regular hours like were used in Thanerzak’s realm. We also lose six of our gold coins, two to the lift operators and four to the owner of the inn—payment for two long-hours in a shared room dug into the most upward part of the cave establishment.
I sit down heavily on my bed. It’s comfortable, far more so than the hard mattress I slept on in the fort, and the stone or wood I’ve been sleeping on during the journey up here. Nthazes and I decide to rest for now, and wake in three short-hours to ask around about which of the Thanic Guard is the most approachable.
My mind is too tired for dreams, and I wake up—from the chime of a thinly elegant sand-timer—feeling rather refreshed. Nthazes and I climb down the ladder to the main room of the inn for a meal and some drink, and hopefully also some talk.
“Your order, sir runeknights?” asks the server, a pretty young dwarfess with curled blonde hair. She presents us a thin aluminum tablet with the names of various foods and alcohol on them.
“I can read the runes,” Nthazes says to me, “but I have no idea what anything is.”
I squint at the aluminum. I can guess at what a few of them are, at least. “We’ll have the pork jelak-zham and some beer, please,” I tell the server.
“Hot or cold?”
“Hot for me.” I’m not in my armor, which needs another clean and polish, but a thin robe that came with the room. “Nthazes?”
“Hot for me also.”
“Very well,” she says somewhat sharply, and hurries off toward the kitchens.
“Wait!” I shout after her. She stops. “You didn't show us any prices.” If there’s one thing I know about inns, it’s that they like to charge you through the nose for pretty much everything. “How much will this set us back?”
“Meals are complimentary,” she says, then disappears.
“That’s a nice surprise,” Nthazes says.
“Hmm. I don’t quite believe her.”
“Why not?”
“Oh,” I wave my hand dismissively. “You know. City things. They like money up here, you know.”
“I can see. A lot of gold and platinum on display, don’t you think?”
He makes a sweeping gesture. He’s not wrong: every dwarf in here, sitting around long square tables and smaller round ones, has some kind of gold, platinum, or at the very least silver worked into their armor. More than a few have every plate made out of the stuff. Good plain steel, titanium, aluminum or tungsten appears to be something they want to avoid.
Their weapons too are fascinating to me. Mostly, as I noticed yesterday, they wear swords. The scabbards are plain leather, the dull material rather conspicuous against their fancy armor, yet down each is a wide slit to show off the weapon within. Runes of dozens of different scripts, most of which I cannot read, glow with strange lights. Some are crimson like blood, some green and shimmering like etched pools of acid—some even darkly suck in the light, similar to Heartseeker.
I’d worried that its glow would stand out, identify me to others from Thanerzak’s realm, but now I doubt this’ll be the case. It's far from the most remarkable weapon in this city—I spotted some very odd looking creations on the roads yesterday.
Anyway, so what if Heartseeker betrays my identity? I’m here to confess my crimes, aren’t I?
“Here you are, runeknight sirs,” the server says on her prompt return. She sets two wide plates on the table.
“Wait!” I call as she hurries off, presumably to get our beers. “We asked for hot!”
The slabs of gray pork on our plates look very cold indeed; inert as the ceramic itself. The unidentifiable orange vegetables beside them are similarly chilled-looking. Ten seconds later, the source of the confusion becomes apparent, as the server sets down two mugs of bubbling, steaming beer.
“Some problem, sir runeknights?” she asks.
“Hot beer?” Nthazes says, frowning at the liquid in front of him.
“Hot beer?” I say, aghast. “Hot beer?”
“You said hot,” the server snaps.
“We meant the pork, obviously!”
“Hot pork?” she says, in a tone of disgust. “Pork is eaten cold, everyone knows that. It’s a travel food. Salamander is the only meat eaten hot.”
“Not where I come from.”
“Well, you’re not there now, are you?”
“Could you maybe heat it up for us?” Nthazes asks politely.
“The cooks would refuse. You can buy something else, if you’d like.”
“You said the meals were complimentary,” I say.
“One meal every long-hour is complimentary.”
“I see.” I snort in disgust. “I thought it’d be something like that.”
“Would you like another meal?”
“No, no. We’ll eat our cold pork and hot beer.”
“And enjoy it too,” she snaps, then vanishes again.
“Maybe it’s not so bad,” Nthazes says hopefully.
We dig in. He’s proven wrong. The cold pork is depressing and the hot beer vile. I think I preferred salted gelthob and mushroom tack. Still, we manage to get it down, then lean back clutching our bellies.
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“I’d always thought those up above ate better than us down in the fort,” Nthazes says, grimacing.
“I’m sure somewhere serves good food,” I sigh. “Just not here.”
“Everyone else does seem to be enjoying it though.”
Indeed, the dwarves crowded into the inn are throwing down their hot beers with relish. It’s an ugly sight.
“We need to start talking to them,” I say. “Find out about these Thanic Guard.”
“To whom, though?”
I examine the groups nearest to us. To our left is a squad of five runeknights of about six or seventh degree, all in similar looking armor, with swords of solid bronze enruned with silver. Probably they’re all the same guild, and there’s no space at their table anyhow.
To my right is a group equipped in armor of various types and metals, staying very silent. There is one free seat, but the atmosphere is such that I really don’t want to intrude.
Behind me is another full table. Behind Nthazes is a long table with many empty seats, and many free spaces, though again, no one is talking. I stand up to see if there’s anywhere else more promising, and there isn’t. Either there’s no free seats, gloomy silence, or the raucous laughter and enthusiastic swigging of beer that only happens between close friends.
“We’ll go to the table behind you,” I say quietly.
“I don’t think there’s any need to whisper.”
“No, but it doesn’t pay to be too careful. And don’t talk about the darkness. We don’t want to cause any kind of panic. Probably quite a few here know of Runethane Yurok and the fort, even if it is very far down.”
“All right, understood. You know better than me. Though, I feel that we should try to be at least a little friendly.”
“Okay. Let’s talk to...”
I examine the occupants of the table. Three are at least third degree, in uncommonly plain armor with few embellishments, and tight yet neat and well-composed runework on every plate and ring. They sit together with grim faces, and have long spears propped against the table. Clearly they’re outsiders like us, and probably don’t know much about the Thanic Guard.
A group of five at one end are nearly polar opposites: their armor is loosely made but of fine materials, with embedded diamonds that look to be more to show off wealth than be of any runic use. They laugh as they swig their hot beer, and chat loudly, uncaring of the grim trio nearest to them.
Something about them makes me reluctant to approach—I feel we’ll be laughed at for some reason, and I don’t want to lose my temper. I look at the other seven occupants of the table, all sitting alone, and my eyes settle on one that sips her beer quietly, in steel and gold armor that looks to be about fifth degree in quality.
“Let’s talk to her,” I say to Nthazes.
“A dwarfess?” He sounds a little worried.
“Yes, what difference does it make?”
“Never talked to a lady runeknight.”
“I’ll do the talking.”
We walk up to her and I clear my throat. “Excuse me,” I say politely.
She gives me an irritated look—maybe a lot of dwarves like to irritate her when she’s alone, though she’s no beauty.
“What is it, young one?”
“We’re new in Allabrast—like most here, maybe.”
“And? Are you looking for a companion for your next job? I’m busy, I’m afraid.”
She turns back to her beer and steaming slab of what must be salamander.
“Just information,” I say. “We won’t bother you much, but we want to know a bit more about the Thanic Guard.”
“Why’s that then?”
“We have a request to make of one of them.”
“I wouldn’t bother. There’s always hundreds wanting an audience with one, but they’re busy forging, fighting, the usual.”
“Hundreds?” Nthazes says, somewhat incredulously.
“Of course. They’re powerful first degrees—everyone wants to be friends with them. You’re wasting your time.”
“This isn’t just any request,” I say.
“That’s what everyone says. If you want them to listen, you’ll have to offer something in return.”
“Like gold, I expect.”
“A great deal. They have a lot of it already.”
I sigh. “We don’t.”
“Maybe if you were second or at least third degree, they might want you in their guild, or on their next battle, but you don’t look quite up to that.”
“What about land?” Nthazes says, stroking his pale beard thoughtfully. “These Thanic Guard, as far as I understand, are powerful enough to be Runethanes, yes?”
“More or less, though on the lower end of the scales.”
“All they lack is land to call their own. How do they usually get it?”
The runeknight leans back to get a better look at us, and tilts her head curiously. “You really don’t know much, do you? Where are you two from?”
“Far below,” I say.
“How far?”
“Runethane Yurok’s realm,” Nthazes says.
I give him a warning glance, but he shrugs. I suppose as long as he doesn’t mention the catastrophe there shouldn't be a problem.
“That’s very far down indeed,” she says. “The farthest.”
“Yes,” I say. “A long way from city politics. If you could enlighten us we’d be very grateful. And we do have some gold on us, to make it worth your while. You Allabrast dwarves are particularly fond of it, I hear.”
She gives me a wry smile. “Only because prices are so high.”
“We’ll thank you accordingly,” says Nthazes.
“Very well, though I think even a child could tell you what I’m about to—a member of the Thanic Guard can win a realm in three ways: the Runeking can appoint him to a realm left vacant after its Runethane perishes—though this is rare, because usually one of that Runethane’s commanders will take over; or he can conquer it from a Runethane of a rival Runeking; or he can search far afield for a suitable cavern, though there are very few of those, and most are full of savage beasts.”
“I see,” Nthazes says, and he looks at me meaningfully.
I understand the look. The first option of the three is clearly the least dangerous, yet also likely the rarest—yet we have that opportunity to offer. None of the dwarves left in the fort is strong enough to become Runethane, and so the Runeking will have no choice but to appoint one of the the Thanic Guard.
The first one to hear of the opportunity will no doubt be very keen to make his case, and maybe he'll be keen to bring down his friends and family and guild members too.
“You look relieved,” the runeknight says. She raises an eyebrow. “Has something... happened, down there?”
“Perhaps,” I say. “Though I would ask you not to spread rumors around.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“We need to know who we should get an audience with,” says Nthazes. “Can you recommend us one of the Thanic Guard? Someone honorable, and strong, and perhaps not overly adventurous.”
She breaks into hoarse laughter. “Someone like an actual guardsdwarf, you mean?”
“If you put it like that, yes.”
“None of the Thanic Guard are like that. You don’t become powerful without an adventurous spirit, guardians against the deep darkness—that’s what you two are, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Nthazes says proudly.
“Well, I can recommend you someone strong and honorable at least: Halmak. He’s in charge of the district north of this one.”
“What sort of a dwarf is he?” I ask, thinking of Vanerak.
“Sturdy, and an expert in bronze-working and the four scripts of lost Matmarak. Friendly enough for a first degree. His mind hasn’t been completely warped by the heat of the forges, though he has a couple of quirks.”
“What quirks?” I ask.
“Nothing serious. He can’t stand the cold to a terrible degree, is all. Has runes of fire grafted to the inside of his armor. At least, that’s what the rumors say.”
“You think he’ll listen to us?” Nthazes says eagerly.
The runeknight raises her eyebrow. “If you’re insinuating what I think you are, of course,” she says quietly.
“How can we approach him?” I ask.
“He’s the leader of my guild—I can ask him.”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s why you were so quick to recommend him.”
“No need to be so suspicious,” she says hurriedly, somewhat taken aback by the glower I’m giving her. “The Runeking will make the final decision, and you can always talk to another one of the guard, if you’re unhappy with Halmak. I don’t think you will be, though.”
“We’ll see,” I say.
“There’s no reason not to give him a chance,” Nthazes says, nudging me.
“Though I warn you,” says the runeknight, “that if you turn out to be lying, or deceiving him in any way, he is quick to anger.”
“We are not lying, and have everything we need to prove our tale,” Nthazes tells her. "Well, Zathar?"
I tug on my beard. This seems like a very great stroke of luck. Too great a stroke of luck. Then again, like Nthazes says, there's no reason not to give this Halmak a chance. If this is quickest way to get reinforcements down to the fort, we'd be fools to reject it.
"Agreed," I say. "We'll give you a chance."