“Do you know of the realm of Runethane Yurok, and the fort against the deep darkness?” Nthazes begins.

“Ay, I know of it,” says Halmak. “Though I can’t say I know much about it. A rather out of the way place, is it not?”

“It’s far, yes.”

“Are we to believe you hail from the fort?” asks one of the elders.

“Yes, we do. We have just come from there.”

“I was led to believe your vigil never paused,” says Halmak. “I have only once met one of you.”

“The Runethane’s chamberlain, perhaps.”

“Perhaps.”

“Let me guess,” says an elder wearily. “You are here to request reinforcements. I’ve heard it is difficult to persuade... immigration down to the lower depths.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Nthazes says. “However—”

“You are not the first to petition our guild in such a manner,” continues the elder, cutting him off. “Our guild’s services are requested by many, yet we do not send our members into danger lightly.”

“We also like things to be done through the proper channels,” another says, darkly.

“That may be the case,” Nthazes says nervously, “However, our situation—”

The elder whose beard is wrapped in chains opens his mouth to interrupt again; Halmak raises his hand for silence.

“Let them speak!” he commands.

“Thank you,” Nthazes says.

“You should get to the point quickly,” Helnat whispers to him. Nthazes nods.

“Our situation is that a terrible disaster has befallen our fort.”

“What kind of disaster?” asks Halmak. “Disasters are not uncommon in the underworld, sadly.”

“Runethane Yurok is dead,” I say suddenly and sharply. “He led an expedition too deep below and the darkness took him.”

Halmak’s eyes widen. So do those of the elders.

“You can all see what this means,” I continue. “There is an opportunity to gain a realm, to become Runethane—all runeknights of the fort third degree and above were killed.”

Some whispering starts. I cut it off.

“This is terrible news for all. Both us and you!”

I need to create a sense of urgency, or I have the feeling these dwarves will end up discussing the ins and outs of the situation endlessly, and the quicker we can get them to agree the better. Who knows how quickly the darkness might recover?

“We have brought it to you first, because we believe you will be best suited to the honorable duty ruling the fort demands.” I bow deeply to Halmak. “We hope you will be able to take us up on the offer, before we take it to the other members of the Thanic Guard.”

The elders and Halmak blink at me in shock.

“Is this true?” one demands. “We have not heard the news of the fall of another realm!”

“It will reach Allabrast soon enough,” Nthazes said. “We requested that it be spread to all the Runethanes below the capital.”

“The Runeking must know immediately!” says another. “Why have you not brought this to him?”

“It’s not so easy for runeknights of our low standing to get an audience with him,” I say. “It was hard enough getting an audience with you.”

“I will tell the Runeking,” says Halmak. “Forthwith, yet I must know more details.” He eyes us both curiously. “What was the nature of this expedition that went too deep? And what is this darkness you defend against anyway? If we are to—”

“You cannot be serious!” cries one of the elders. “You sound as if you are interested in this mad offer—which is not really an offer.” He glowers at me. “The Runeking appoints Runethanes in these cases, not fourth degrees.”

I bow my head in apology. “Of course he does. And I am yet a fifth degree. I apologize for the misunderstanding—if honored Guildmaster Halmak wishes to apply for the position, it will of course be confirmed by the Runeking, as is the proper way of things.”

“Will be confirmed?” says another elder, the one closest to us. “You presume too much, dwarves of the deep. Both regarding our guildmaster and the Runeking. Relocating the entire guild—”

“Let them speak!” Halmak roars, standing up again—the runes on his bronze glow redly as he moves. “I will hear more about this fort.” There is a hungry gleam in his eyes. “Tell me more of this expedition that went too deep, deep dwarves.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Nthazes tells it in full, from the mysterious murders, to the hunt for the almergris, to our delving below and failure, and the final unmasking of Fjalar whose evil was the catalyst for all the terrible events which befell us. As the tale progresses, Halmak leans forward by degrees. He seems curious to a frightening extent.

Nthazes finishes, yet Halmak doesn’t sit down. He nods his head. The elders look at him with worry in their eyes.

“Fascinating,” he murmurs. “A fascinating place.”

“A dark and dangerous place,” one of the elders says in a low voice. “Guildmaster—”

“We will think on this,” says Halmak.

“You will?” Nthazes says, his eyes lighting up. “Thank you most graciously.”

“We will?” says the elder with chains in his beard. “My guildmaster, this tale, if it be true, crafts a story of an evil and foreboding realm. I feel it would be folly to go there. No matter what position you gain.”

“To become a Runethane is no easy task, no matter what realm you take,” says Halmak.

“This realm is small.”

“So it may be, Brezakh, yet maybe it doesn’t have to remain so... There is opportunity here.”

Nthazes frowns. “What do you speak of?”

“I must learn more of your fort to know. We will discuss this further at a later hour, deep dwarves.”

I quickly bow, and Nthazes follows suit. “We are most grateful for your consideration, guildmaster.”

Halmak clicks his gauntleted fingers at Helnat. The red-runed bronze sparks.

“Yes, guildmaster?”

“Find lodgings here for these two. Their meals and beds are to be free of charge, and they are free to use our forges as they see fit. We will have many discussions. This arrangement could be convenient for all of us.”

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

And thus we move into the Red Anvil’s guildhall—or rather guildtower. Helnat assists us, with some reluctance—I get the feeling she was rather sick of being cooped up in her guild and had been enjoying her holiday in the Fireflea District.

Our new rooms are plush, quite far up in the tower, and have running hot water. A far cry from the living conditions I am used to; it’s clear that Halmak is keen for us to stay and not deliver news of this opportunity to other members of the Thanic Guard.

This is indeed a tremendous stroke of luck. He wants to help us.

But I am beginning to see the catch.

My impression of Thanic Guardsdwarf Halmak is certainly a good one. He’s strong-willed yet not overbearing, an incredibly talented smith uncommonly happy to share his secrets, a fair judge when it comes to wrongdoing, and generous with his immense wealth. I see no signs of cruelty from him, and hear no cruel stories about him either. The dwarves of the Red Anvil are proud to call him guildmaster.

Yet all the same, there’s a greed about him. He asks questions about what minerals are found in the rocks around the fort, about how quickly caravans can make it up, about what rare fungi and creatures dwell in the caves above it. Most uncomfortable for Nthazes, who looks pained every time they are asked, are his questions about the lost city below and its chained sorcerer.

“Don't worry. I am not considering any kind of immediate attack,” says Halmak. “I am simply doubtful of the logic of an endless defense.”

“Defense is our tradition,” Nthazes says stubbornly. “Runethane Yurok died when he broke it.”

“Yes. Of course. And I will respect your traditions. But you must understand that I must consider everything...”

As the discussions continue, I grow worried for Nthazes and the other deep dwarves. It has become clear that Halmak has great plans for the fort if he gains it: no longer will it be a fort, but a city of industry—minerals will be mined, fungi farmed, even the vicious forest above will be tamed and its creatures exported to arenas all throughout the underworld.

“He doesn’t understand,” Nthazes complains to me one night—the last quarter of each long-hour is treated as such. “The fort is not an enterprise. It exists for the protection of all above.”

“I don’t think you’ll find anyone up here who’ll see it that way. Like Feltram warned us: up here they care for money.”

He looks at me suspiciously. “You don’t seem all that concerned.”

“I am! Believe me, I want the best for you all. And I don’t ever want to hear of a repeat of that expedition.”

“Good.”

He looks glumly into his cup. Red light from the fireplace plays across his face and beard.

“There will be changes,” I say. “I think that’s inevitable. With only eleven left—and me gone, that’ll make ten—the reinforcements will change things, whoever they are. They’ll think differently.”

“We should approach others of the Thanic Guard. Maybe there’ll be someone who takes our duty more seriously. We’re doing the fort a disservice by restricting ourselves.”

“You’re probably right. But I don’t think he isn’t taking this seriously. If he claims the realm, he’ll want to keep it safe.”

“Can he keep it safe though? That’s the real question.”

“It’s not as if this is decided yet anyway. The Runeking will make the final decision.”

“Will he? From what I gather, he rarely even attends councils in person. Just views through his eyes and sends a letter down occasionally. Too busy forging.”

“He’s held things together for more than a thousand years. He’s doing something right.”

I stand up and yawn. I still can’t get used to the warped sleep schedule of Allabrast. Converted to normal terms, they stay awake for a day straight, have a short nap, stay awake for nearly two days, and only then have a normal sleep. All in all, they get rather less rest than I’m used to.

“I’m heading back to my room.”

“Sleep well,” says Nthazes. “Hope you have better dreams than I’ve been having.”

“It’ll turn out fine in the end,” I reassure him. “Tell you what: I’ll ask around town a bit tomorrow, see if any of the other Thanic Guard seem promising.”

He nods. “Thank you.”

I leave his room, and just as I'm about to enter my own, someone calls for me.

“Zathar?”

I turn. One of the lower ranked dwarves of the guild is standing in the corridor. He looks nervous.

“What is it?”

“There’s someone asking for you down at the entrance to the guild.”

My heart jumps. Has Vanerak found me?

“Who?”

“He says his name is Wharoth.”

I sense my mouth open slightly. Tears sting in my eyes. An intense feeling of hope floods into me.

“Guildmaster Wharoth?”

“Yes. Of the Association of Steel, he says.”

I blink the tears out of my eyes. Can it be? Can he be?

“Do you want to see him?” the dwarf says. He swallows. “He’s waiting just outside the guild entrance.”

“Take me to him!” I blurt out.

The dwarf hurries me down the spiraling stairs. Can it be true? Can Guildmaster Wharoth really be alive, and here? What am I going to say to him?

Will he forgive my crimes? I steel myself to meet him. The dwarf hurries me through the meal hall, past the red anvil, through the doors of the guildtower.

A bag is thrown over my head; my arms are pinned behind my back at the same instant I feel a cold blade at my neck. Armorless and weaponless, I can do nothing as my assailants wrestle me into a waiting carriage. My face is pressed into rough wood, then we are speeding down the street.

To where, I do not know.