Vidar woke groggily when someone shook his shoulders.

  “Get up, shit goblin! You’re on my foot!”

  His eyes were glued shut with gunk and he had to wipe at them and then physically pull his lids open. Even in the darkness of morning, his eyes stung from the light of the moon far above them. Freezing cold billowed into the shack from the open door and a crowd gathered outside, waiting.

  “Morning already?” Vidar croaked.

  Ida leaned into the room and sniffed. “This place is terrible. You boys sure are smelly.”

  He got to his feet and swayed, necessitating a hand on the wall to keep himself from toppling over. His limbs were heavy and the ravenous hunger in his belly told him he’d used far too much essence the night before.

  Vidar staggered out into the cold, shivering. Siv stood next to her sister, her eyes full of intense energy. He envied those eyes.

  “I did it,” he said, lowering his voice so none of the others overheard.

  “You did what?” Ida asked, her voice far too loud.

  “The warmth rune. Sowilo. I did it.”

  “So you’re some sort of wizard now, huh?”

  “What?” he asked, shaking his head. “Magic isn’t real. This is something anyone can do, as long as you don’t fear the guild. Like I said, I could teach you two.”

  “Don’t you know what they do to witches?” she asked, teasing as they set off to get some meager rations into their bellies.

  Many children’s stories told of witches and wizards. Witches were almost always evil and ended up slain by the hero of the tale while wizards would be wise old men giving advice to kings and queens. Usually, the stories taught children to listen to their parents and not wander off in the woods, or other lessons of that nature.

  “You’d rather become the queen of thieves?” Vidar asked, his voice unable to hide what he thought about that choice.

  “Queen of thieves?” she asked, pursing her lips. “I kind of like that name.”

  By the time they made it to their meal, Vidar was thoroughly cold and miserable. He finished his small helping with speed and then headed out. There was much to be done today.

  First, he retrieved the padlock from its hiding place. With that in hand, he headed to the locksmith. Unfortunately, the bastard hadn’t opened his workshop yet, but the blacksmith next door was already hard at work lighting his furnace. Rather than using a sowilo rune, the man prepared a regular forge.

  “Apologies, but do you know when your friend next door usually opens?” Vidar asked. The wide back of the man hunched down over a bunch of tools.

  He straightened with a groan and turned, scratching at his bushy red beard. “It’s early yet, boy. What’d’ye need ’im for?”

  “I’m a customer,” Vidar said, pulling out the padlock. “Perhaps you’re better suited to help me with this. I’ve been to other blacksmiths, but they wouldn’t even take a look. Do you know a way to remove all this rust?”

  The blacksmith took the hunk of metal and turned it in his hand before giving it back. “Best get a new one, aye? That’n willn’t lock again no matter what ye’do. Not when the rust gets all up inside.”

  “That’s not what I’m after. There is an inscription on it. At least, I think there is. All I want is to read it.”

  “Ah, that’s something different, then. Soak the blasted thing in vinegar.”

  “Vinegar? That’s it? Then what?”

  “Rub it.”

  “Rub it?”

  “Grab ye a rag and rub it fast n’ hard. Ye lad knows how to rub it, aye?”

  He made an obscene gesture with one hand and then let out a booming laugh, like he’d just reached the pinnacle of comedy. Heat blossomed in Vidar’s face, but he didn’t dignify that with an answer.

  “Thank you,” he said. “The locksmith. When does he open?”

  The blacksmith still grinned hugely when he answered, “Not before sunup, at least.”

  Vidar sighed, then looked around the blacksmith’s workshop. “You don’t need any runes rejuvenated, do you? I could help out. For a price.”

  “No, don’t trust ’em.”

  “You don’t trust runes?”

  “Devout, I am. Did the angels use runes, you reckon?”

  Vidar cleared his throat, thinking of what he’d seen in the tunnels under the church. “I don’t think so.”

  “No runes fer me. No, boy. Don’t trust ’em.”

  Vidar backed away and thanked the blacksmith for his help and the information. With no way down into the sewers without the key, there really wasn’t much for him to do but wait.

  After standing around in the cold for a few moments, Vidar decided that just waiting wouldn’t cut it after all. He looked around for a good, empty spot. Very few people were up and about at that early hour, but he didn’t want anyone seeing him working on the wooden discs. He found an empty street with few windows overlooking it and withdrew the kenaz rune.

  The wood wasn’t just painted red. A groove ran along the lines. Or rather, the lines of color ran in the grooves. It was a good way of protecting the runic symbols from being scratched or worn away. Vidar made a mental note of yet another thing to ask Alvarn. There had to be some sort of special tool to make them.

  On that dark, early morning, Vidar didn’t have such luxuries at his disposal. Paint and wood, he did have. He didn’t lug around the whole bag of wooden discs, of course, but kept a few in a pocket after hiding the rest when he’d retrieved the padlock.

  A group of men in workers’ clothes walked past the opening to Vidar’s street. One of them peered at him, but none stopped.

  “I really need to find somewhere inside to work on this,” he muttered, uncorking the paint. To make his discovery less likely, he dimmed the light rune and placed it behind a crate, where he hunched down with a wooden disc in one hand, paintbrush in the other. After consulting the rubbing again, Vidar painted the symbols. Each line was its own stroke, precise and with just the right amount of tilt.

  After cleaning the brush with snow and putting it back in its little box, he held the sowilo rune up to the light, admiring it. The symbol was almost perfect. His hands hadn’t trembled at all, he realized. He hadn’t even thought about it. This disc would work, he was sure of it.

  Something moved in his peripheral vision and he looked up to see two men coming down his street. Startled, he looked the other way. One man approached from that way. A big, wide bastard.

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

  Their intent was written all over their faces and the way they cautiously moved forward. Vidar shoved the new sowilo rune into his coat pocket, along with everything else. His mind raced as his head whipped back and forth, trying to look in both directions at once. Vidar’s luck had well and truly run out. He saw no weapons in their hands.

  “I have a knife!” he shouted, pulling it out.

  Even at a distance, he heard them chuckling. A menacing sound and decidedly not a good sign. All windows within reach were shut tight. There was no way out. He couldn’t think. Didn’t know what to do. They were getting close now. A single thought ran through his mind. He couldn’t let all three of them get him. To that end, he charged down the street, toward the single man. Yes, he was bigger and filled most of the narrow street, but he was just one man. Surely it would be easier to get past him than the two men. Four hands versus two. It was simple math.

  That was what he told himself as he approached, holding the knife out in front of him and screaming like a madman, trying to scare his attacker. The man’s features showed clearly through the gloom once Vidar got close enough. A bald head and a blond mustache, with a face covered in thin scars. His nose had been broken sometime in the past and healed all crooked. All these things Vidar saw in a split second as he feinted left, then spun and threw himself right, bouncing on the wall to get past.

  For one short second, he was free, with the open street right ahead of him. Vidar even had the time for a small smile before something tugged on him, pulling him by the back of his coat. Vidar fell with a grunt, hitting the ground with a thud that left him gasping for air as he scrabbled forward and away. The big lout who’d caught him slid on the ice, but reached out and grabbed Vidar’s foot.

  Vidar shouted and kicked with his free foot, striking the bald man right on his stupid mustache. The nose crunched, but the bastard still did not let go. Vidar looked back and saw blood gushing down his captor’s face and mouth. The two others were running now. He didn’t have much time. Vidar kicked again, but his foot was caught, leaving him with few options. The knife was miraculously still in his hand, and he sat up with a cry and drove the blade into the left arm of the one holding him. It slid through skin, flesh, and muscle far easier than Vidar anticipated and the slight ripping sound made him sick.

  Without thinking, he let the knife slip out of his grasp as the bastard cried out in pain and pulled his arm back.

  Just like that, Vidar found himself disarmed. They would not let him go after this if they’d ever intended to just rob him. He needed to get away, and he needed to do it now. Vidar kicked desperately with his now free leg, trying to free himself from his attacker’s other arm, while searching his pocket for something that’d help. Anything.

  His fingers felt the grove of the kenaz rune and he pulled it out. He held it in both hands just as the two other men caught up. The circle in Vidar’s mind came to him easily, and he closed his eyes and pushed every bit of essence he could muster into it while at the same time triggering the rune by tearing the circle open and letting everything spill out in one powerful burst.

  Even with his eyes closed and the rune pointing away from him, Vidas was momentarily blinded. Several voices cried out in pain, and when Vidar opened his eyes, he saw all three men on the ground with their hands covering their eyes. It’d worked. The plan could not even have been called such, because it was more of a last-ditch idea in a moment of desperation, but this was the outcome he’d hoped for.

  The blade had fallen from the bald man’s arm and the wound now bled profusely. Vidar snatched it up with fumbling fingers, numb from yet again having spent too much of himself in powering the blast of light from the kenaz rune. Even with the rush of panic surging through his body, he found it difficult to breathe with the tingling numbness in his chest. Too close. Again, too close.

  Vidar turned away from the three men and ran clumsily with his arms flailing wildly, out of his control. If anyone saw him, they must’ve thought him mad fleeing with that insane gait, hunched over and wheezing for breath while his arms flopped around.

  Fear pushed him forward. How long those three would be out of commission was anyone’s guess, but Vidar was sure they’d chase after him once they were on their feet again. There was no time to lose in putting as many twists and turns between him and them as humanly possible.

  By the time he felt somewhat safe again, the use of his arms had returned and he could breathe properly again. The sun peeked over the rooftops and people milled about.

  As he sat down on a wooden bench in a small park, having utterly lost his way as he ran, Vidar realized he hadn’t seen the sun in some time. The sewers had eaten the few hours of daylight his country of Sveland received at this time of year. The sun did little to chase away the cold, however, so he withdrew his newly crafted rune, finally able to give himself a bit of warmth.

  “Dammit,” he croaked, peering at the wooden surface. “By the rotten wings of the fallen angels, dammit!”

  He threw the rune into a grove of short trees and bushes, cursing under his breath as he put his face into his hands. The paint on the rune was smudged beyond recognition, not having had the time to dry. Those bastards who’d tried to rob him were responsible for this. Responsible for ruining his first ever sowilo rune.

  Vidar raised his face to the sky and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Dammit all to hell and back!”

  A few pigeons took to the air, startled by his outburst. After taking a few deep breaths to overcome his impotent anger, Vidar grabbed a handful of snow and used it to clean the blood out of his hair. The wound on the back of his head was minor and no longer produced much new blood. His head still didn’t feel all there, and his thoughts were sluggish. It could just be that he used far too much essence to beat back his attackers. He hoped that was the case and that he’d recover soon. As he was now, there was no way he’d attempt to create another rune. Vidar needed rest and food. Unfortunately, neither was readily available to him. Too much to do, too many people to see. And without coin, there was little food to be had.

  First things first, the locksmith. It didn’t take too long to find one of the wide main streets cutting through this part of the city, Wrangel Street. Following that, Vidar eventually made his way back.

  The locksmith was hard at work at this point.

  “Why does your brother speak so differently from you?” he asked the man after exchanging greetings. He’d decided they were brothers after all, having talked to the blacksmith up close.

  “Bastard spent some of his youth with the Dennerish. Makes him speak all funny,” the locksmith grunted. “Also gave him religion. Can’t even share an ale with him, even if I wanted to.”

  “They don’t drink?”

  The locksmith shook his head and rummaged through items on his table, coming up with a set of keys.

  Vidar accepted them and examined both. The sheen of the metal and its sturdy construction made it obvious which was the copy and which was the original.

  “You sure this is going to work?” Vidar asked, holding up the copy.

  “That question is an insult to any locksmith, lad.”

  “Apologies,” Vidar said, shoving both keys into his pocket. He looked around and spotted at least two inactive kenaz runes. “I take it the rune scribe students don’t make it this far from the guild? Throw me some coins and I’ll rejuvenate those for you.”

  The rough-cut wooden chair behind the table groaned as the locksmith relaxed his considerable bulk into it with a contented sigh. “They serve all of Halmstadt, but the rate goes up with every block and street. With us here south of the river, the price is steep indeed. Keeping my forge going”—he gestured to the small forge—“eats most of my profits.”

  Just like that, Vidar had found his market.

  “Then pay me to do it.”

  The locksmith pursed his lips and stretched out his legs as far as they would go among his cluttered shop. “You do know it is considered a crime? I don’t know much, but I do know you’re no rune scribe, lad.”

  Vidar gestured to the contraption with the cube hovering on a metal arm over his desk. “You let me rejuvenate that one.”

  “And my brother spent the better part of an hour moanin’ to me ’bout it. We’ve been gettin’ closer since business dropped off and I had to stop payin’ the scribes for my runes. He thought it was a choice on my part, stupid bastard.”

  “I don’t follow.”

  The locksmith pointed to the narrow door leading into the blacksmith’s part of the workshop. “The dimwit does no’ like runes. The priests don’t take kindly to the use. Have you heard of such a thin’? Backwards, pale bastards.”

  “So you don’t want me to rejuvenate some?”

  “Lad, if you wanna tussle with the guild, that’s your slit throat. What’s the charge?”

  Vidar’s mind was still a little foggy, but he clearly remembered how much the metal-cube kenaz rune should’ve fetched him. “Fifteen silver per light rune.”

  The locksmith burst out laughing. When he settled down and wiped a tear from his eye, he made his counter. “Tha’s more than the guild charges for a simple light rune, boy. I’ll give you fifteen copper per rune.”

  “For that much, I’ll just let you sit in the dark,” Vidar said. “Ten silver and I might even consider rejuvenating that cube of yours when it runs out.”

  The locksmith glanced at his workbench. That light was important to him, Vidar knew. Working by the light produced by a regular flame must be difficult for someone in a profession handling small parts and intricate details.

  “One silver.”

  Frustration got to Vidar despite his best efforts to keep his calm, and he pointed at the cube, half yelling. “That stupid thing would’ve cost you more than ten times that!”

  “But you’re no’ a rune scribe, lad. Not sanctioned, no writ allowin’ you to even touch a rune. If you’re caught, and ye will get caught, they’ll get the names of your customers from you. It’s a risk on my part, you see?”

  Vidar bit his lip and once again glanced at the metal cube that’d taken so much essence to fill. “Is it illegal for you to have runes created by me?”

  They wouldn’t catch him. He wouldn’t allow it, but he could see the locksmith’s point.

  “Nah,” the big man said, shaking his head. “But they’ll grab them right out of my hands.”

  The locksmith would lose the cube. The rules of those above him in station once again showed how they were designed to push him back down into the shit. Anger simmered in his chest at the thought of faceless men deciding over his life by instituting laws and rules. Vidar would not allow himself to be snared by those fools.

  “Three silver, and that’s per rune,” Vidar said. “Final offer.”