The driver, a runeknight of about sixth degree, does not step down from his perch, but instead stays seated, staring at me with suspicion and just a touch of greed.

  “Hello there!” I say. I attempt a tone of friendly cheer, but it's been so long since I've used my voice that the words come out awkwardly.

  The driver's look of suspicion intensifies. “Good hour, traveler.”

  “I thank you for stopping, friend.”

  “What brings a fellow runeknight to this empty road? And one with such a fine weapon?”

  “Various battles,” I answer.

  “I suppose I should've been able to tell that from the state of your armor.”

  “Yours is also scarred.”

  He grimaces. “That it is.”

  “Trolls?”

  “Trolls, and bir bats, and copper crabs. Your battles?”

  “Demons of the magma sea.”

  Before the driver can make a reply to that, the door of the lead cart opens. A contraption of wooden steps rattles out and a dozen runeknights descend, weapons at the ready. A few more emerge from the other carriages. They are all in steel armor as battered as their driver's, and their leader looks to be only fourth degree at best, yet their weapons glint with sharpness and I do not doubt they could pierce my broken armor. I do not wish to fight them, so I hold Life-Ripper vertically and make no move to back away as they surround me.

  “Who are you?” demands the fourth degree. His armor is of a style I don't recognize, flared at the shoulders, and his helm is crested with red-dyed hair. “Why do you hold us up?”

  “He's not holding us up, Lopak,” says the driver. “I stopped because he looks rich.”

  Lopak looks me up and down. “What degree are you?”

  “Second,” I say, which is more or less correct.

  The caravaners look at each other.

  “And what brings you here, second degree? So far from civilized places, and indeed from anywhere worth going.”

  “I fought a battle. It ended in a draw. I retreated into the wilderness to recover my strength.”

  “What battle? Against whom?”

  “Demons of the magma, he told me,” says the driver.

  “Is that so?” Lopak sounds incredulous. Behind his helm I imagine that one eyebrow is raised.

  “It is so,” I say. “Do you know of Runethane Vanerak's realm?”

  “I have heard of Runethane Vanerak but know little about his realm. And I know less about demons.”

  “They're just stories,” one of the other runeknights says. “He's lying. He looks like an outlaw. Some criminal.”

  “I'm no criminal. I have friends in Allabrast and other places too. Indeed, the Runeking himself knows my name.”

  “Does he now?” says Lopak, obviously not believing me. “And what might that name be?”

  In my desperation to ingratiate myself with them, I realize I've made rather a bold claim. A foolish one, even—it really has been too long since I used my voice. Or maybe I've just let my guard down because these dwarves are of lower degree than me.

  They stare at me, waiting for my answer. I feel that I have no choice to double-down on my claim, and tell the truth.

  “I am Zathar.”

  The effect is immediate. As one the runeknights step back and level their spears at me.

  “Remove your helm!” Lopak demands.

  I do so. The cold damp of the air stings my cheek-scar.

  “Is that him, Volka? You are from Allabrast. Did you attend the trial?”

  “I did and it is him,” says a lady runeknight of about fifth degree. “It's him for sure. Though he wasn't so badly scarred then.”

  “The traitor!” spits someone else.

  “I will remind you,” I say calmly, “that I was found innocent, and my false conviction, recognized as a result of bribery, was overturned by order of Runeking Ulrike himself.”

  “They do say that,” says Volka.

  “If it was untrue, I would have been executed.”

  “That is, I suppose, also true,” says Lopak. “But you were not a second degree then.”

  “No. I have improved my forging by much since my trial.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “In the realm of Runethane Vanerak?”

  “That's right.”

  “Which you have fled from, after some great battle with demons.”

  “That is more or less the case, yes.”

  “So you are a deserter,” says the runeknight who called me traitor.

  “We were routed. Most fled—they lost faith in the Runethane. He pushed them too far.”

  “And what happened to the Runethane?” asks Lopak.

  “He is alive, I think. Though I do not know if he can be called a Runethane—everyone abandoned him.” I cannot keep the venom from my voice. “Every last member of his guild who was not slain by the demons.”

  “Yet you claimed this battle was a draw.”

  “We slew the demons and their champion too. So, I suppose maybe that part was a victory. But I can't bring myself to judge the loss of so many dwarves, and the crisis of loyalty of an entire realm, as a victory.”

  Lopak nods slowly. “If what you say is true, you are right. There is no point in winning the battle if your cargo is lost, or your wheels broken.”

  “That is not quite how I would have put it, but yes.”

  “I might be willing to take you on, if you are not seeking to go too far out of the way.”

  Behind his visor, his eyes are bright with something. I can't quite tell what. Some of the runeknights look at each other in alarm, as if they can't quite believe their leader's recklessness, but they say nothing yet.

  “I am looking to go to Runethane Halmak's realm. Do you know of it?”

  Lopak frowns. “The fort against the darkness?”

  “Yes.”

  “I'm afraid we're headed in the opposite direction.”

  “Oh.”

  “Though, many caravans do get contracted for exports from that realm—mostly rare reagents and beasts for the arenas. So if you stick with us to our next stop, you may find a train headed there.”

  I nod sharply. “I am in no hurry. Time has little meaning in that place.”

  Lopak looks a little confused at this remark, but only for a moment. “Then the terms are settled,” he says. “We will take you to the realm of Runethane Ytith to where our cargo is bound. The city of Jade and Copper is a rich hub and you'll find a caravan headed down to the darkness without much difficulty. Now, we need to decide the payment. The journey will take twenty and a half long-hours. How much would you say is a fair price for that?”

  Gold. I spent so long in Vanerak's realm, being given free reign to use all the materials I wanted, in however great amounts my crafts required, that I forgot coin's vast importance to all aspects of a runeknight's life.

  “I am afraid,” I say somewhat hesitantly, “That my pockets are empty.”

  “I see,” Lopak says, tone suddenly cold. “That is a shame. For all of us.”

  The other runeknights are already glancing back toward the caravan doors. The driver is readying his reins.

  “But I can work!” I say. “Your armor is battered. These roads are not safe, are they? Or maybe this one is—yet you'll be going to more wild places. Runethane Ytith's realm is quite far up, isn't it?”

  “We have many guards already,” says Lopak. “There are more inside. And we calculated tightly how much supplies to take.”

  “But how many guards wield a weapon like mine?”

  That gives him pause. I pressure in:

  “I slew a lava troll with this weapon. Its name is Life-Ripper. The troll's wounds did not heal after I inflicted them, and it screamed from pain. Lava trolls do not scream from pain, not unless they touch water, yet my runes broke this rule. Look upon them, Lopak.” I extend my arm and hold Life-Ripper out closer to him. “Maybe you cannot read my script, but surely you can feel the power.”

  The metal draws him in, then he pulls back. I catch a glimpse of his eyes through his slitted steel visor and they are wide.

  “It is a powerful weapon,” he admits. “Your armor, though—”

  “It has been broken, yes, and a great deal of its power I put in for resistance against heat. But it still affords me some protection. As much as your junior guards' armor does them, certainly.”

  He nods again. The other runeknights glance at each other, and the driver's reins have gone limp in his hands.

  “Very well,” Lopak says after a few more seconds' pause. “It would be foolish to turn down the help of a second degree. You will ride with us, but you will earn your keep. The next time we face battle, I expect you, as the most senior of us, to lead the defense. If you run or hang back, we will abandon you.”

  “I accept those terms,” I say solemnly.

  “Lopak, is this really a good idea?” says the lady runeknight, Volka. Her spear is shorter than the others', and she has one hand on the hilt of a sword—the sheath of which is slit in the Allabrast fashion.

  “It would be foolish to turn down such strength.”

  “He is still the traitor. He might turn on us—he just turned his back on his Runethane.”

  Some of the other runeknights nod.

  “Runethane Vanerak,” I say slowly, “upset with the slow progress of a tunnel, beheaded a miner.” A few of the runeknights rock back slightly. “He then ordered their overseer to strip off his armor and take up the slain dwarf's pick.”

  At this, some eyes widen, though other runeknights drop their spearpoints to aim at my chest. Not everyone is accepting my tale.

  “I could tell you of more atrocities. He had many hundreds of miners worked until they bled sweat and collapsed dead. His senior runeknights beat the juniors with impunity, stole from them even, and he turned a blind eye. These were not a few incidents. They were commonplace. So commonplace that one of his second degrees found himself abducted, tortured, and forced to confess to several more crimes.”

  “Rebellion?” Lopak says.

  “Yes. Maybe you think this act was foul. But Vanerak's crimes were fouler. You may have heard that he had a hand in slaying the black dragon, at the mountain of Runeking Halajatbast. This is a lie—he let the true slayers die while he held chains of healing. I witnessed this myself. Worse even than that, he massacred a rival guild on his way there.”

  “Why should we believe you?” says one of the runeknights with his spear aimed at my heart. “You admit you are a traitor and a deserter. Why not a liar too?”

  “Just as I have no gold on me, I have no proof either,” I say bitterly. “Yet if you doubt my tale, go to his realm for yourself sometime and see that it is abandoned. Or head down to the fort against the darkness with me, and ask the rest of the dwarves who deserted him. They had very good reason to. Rather, to stay with him would have been a crime of treachery. No dwarf as cruel as him should hold any power.”

  “Your real battle was against Runethane Vanerak, wasn't it?” Lopak says quietly. “It was he who broke your armor and cleaved your face nearly in two.”

  “I will not deny it,” I say with steel in my voice. “I have no regrets. He made himself my enemy. He had my guildmate tortured and murdered in front of me while I was held helpless. Though, I took my revenge on her torturer, and on one of those who held me. Both first degrees. As for him, he walked away with scars just as deep as this one here.”

  I tap my cloven cheek. Volka draws her sword and steps back, levels her spear at my throat. “We should run, Lopak.”

  Lopak seems frozen.

  “You are headed into danger,” I say. “Your trip hasn't gone quite as planned, has it? There aren't any more guards in your carriages.”

  “No,” he admits.

  “You can't turn down my help. To do so could condemn you all.”

  “He's the traitor,” someone says. “The traitor!”

  “He was found innocent!” Lopak snaps. “Do you go against the word of our Runeking? And I've heard unsavory rumors about Runethane Vanerak in several drinking halls. His tale has a ring of truth about it.”

  “When you face your next battle,” I say, “if you face it without me, you will feel nothing but regret. But if you face it with me as your guard, I will win it for you—or else sacrifice myself so that you may run to live another day.”

  Lopak nods. “I will hold you to those words, Zathar,” he says quietly. “I do not appreciate cowards.”

  “You will soon understand that I am not one of those.”

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