Legend of the Runeforger: A Dwarven Progression Fantasy

The Stadium of the Mind is, as its name suggests, not an arena for physical battles, or even contests of forging. It's for intellectual tussles. In other words, it's a lecture hall where great runeknight scholars of metallurgy, runes, archaeology, zoology, and every other science of dwarven kind dispense their knowledge for hefty prices.

As we approach it—we being nearly a third of the Association of Steel—the streets become an unwieldy phalanx of runeknights. After we round the Human Library, the phalanx compacts into a crush. I've never seen this place so busy before, not even for lectures by the most regarded runeknights of Allabrast.

Step by step, shove by shove, and curse by curse, we close in on the stadium. Its enclosing dome rears over us, a granite mountain of a hundred different colors arranged in geometric patterns. No two tiles are the same shape, and the striking effect is made more so by great crystalline lamps set around its base, facing upward.

“I hope we can get in,” I say nervously.

“Me too,” says Faltast. “We'll just have to wait and see.”

Half an hour later we finally make it to the entrance. It gapes like a maw, yet the metal gate in it is opened only a fraction. Two rough-looking runeknights in tungsten armor confront Voltost, the most senior member of the Association here.

“How many?” they demand.

“Ninety-five.”

“That'll be one thousand forty five silvers.”

Voltost hands over the sack of coins. The runeknights count them slowly and carefully. They look to be about fifth degree, with poems well-composed. They're to resist fire. Strapped to their arms are shields with whorls of runes of abyssal salamander skin, and though I can't read the runes' script, they're probably to resist fire also.

I wonder if their leader, the first degree from a far-off realm we've all come here to listen to, is equipped in similar fashion.

Xomhyrk Dragonslayer.

This was the news that Faltast broke to me after he finished his story about the redboar. A famous dragonslayer, Xomhyrk, with a dozen kills to his name, hailing from a kingdom to the far south, has arrived in Allabrast.

“Entry allowed,” says one of the runeknights.

“Thank you,” says Voltost, and he pushes through the gate, his thick armor causing him a little trouble.

We follow him in. The benches aren't as crowded as I expected them to be from the crush outside—it seems the gates are the bottleneck. Voltost leads us down as close to the front as we can get and we sit down on fossil-wood benches only a dozen rows away from the stage.

But there's no sign of Xomhyrk yet. We wait tensely for his arrival.

I feel both nervous and hopeful. If he's as strong as he says he is, and really does plan to lead an expedition to slay the black dragon, allying with him is my best chance of being able to fulfill my oath. Yet he could be—as more than a few in the guild are saying—a fraud. Or he might judge me unworthy of going on the expedition. And then even if everything goes as I hope, and I join him on his quest to slay the monster, what if he kills it before I have a chance to strike? If that happens I can hardly claim to have fulfilled my oath, can I?

More runeknights march into the stadium. It fills with excited chatter and more than a few arguments. I wonder how many here actually believe that this Xomhyrk is a dragonslayer, and how many are sure he's nothing other than a fraud.

The crystal lamps embedded in the ceiling start to dim. A quiet falls over the audience. A silvery chime sounds out from the stage as the curtains, thin chains of precious metal, swing closed.

“This is it!” whispers Jerat from the seat behind me. “He'll be here soon!”

“I'm not getting my hopes up,” Voltost says loudly. “But all the same we'll be respectful. Understand that, guildsdwarves? No jeering, as some are bound to do.”

I sensed some real hostility back in the guildhall when Faltast told me about this Xomhyrk. Many seem offended that someone hailing from so far away from Thanerzak's realm should get a chance at slaying the black dragon. And though I can partially understand this, I still think we need to hear him out. Our guild alone won't stand a chance against it.

A few minutes later and the chain curtains begin to draw back with a silvery rattle. The audience holds its breath. Crystal lamps above the stage brighten. A tallish figure becomes apparent. Mist is rising from the dark metal he's encased in; it dissipates into the air. In his right hand he holds a long spear of the same dark metal as his armor. Towards its tip the metal becomes dark blue. It radiates a chill I can feel even from my seat. Apparently it's called Icemite, and it's pierced the heart of many a dragon.

Xomhyrk Dragonslayer is here.

He lifts his angular visor to reveal a handsome face and well-kept gray beard.

“Good morning to you all!” he announces. “For up on the surface where our foe lies, it is indeed morning.”

His greeting is met with silence no less icy than his spear.

“I have heard that many of you are somewhat skeptical that I am who I say I am.”

“We don't even know who you are!” someone shouts.

He fixes them with an icy glare. The tip of his spear seems to brighten slightly, or perhaps become more transclucent. Then, his expression softens.

“Of course,” he says. “I apologize.” His voice is smooth. “In the realms of Runeking Bolotorok I am well known, but perhaps not so much here, despite the peace between our underlands."

“My name is Xomhyrk, also known as the Dragonslayer, though of course I think everyone here knows at least that much. I am a first degree runeknight, as you might have guessed, but I have no desire for the moment to ascend to the rank of Runethane. I do not wish to settle down. I wish to continue my quest to rid both over and underworld of the foul dragons and all their ilk.

No desire to ascend to Runethane? That implies that he believes he's capable of doing so. Which means he's either incredibly powerful, or an incredibly bold liar.

“It has, so far, been a long quest. I am over seven centuries old. I know that down here you don't measure time in years, so in your numbers I could say nearly ninety thousand long-hours.”

Some suspicious muttering arises. While that's not an unbelievable age for a first degree runeknight, most who reach it do so because they spend more time at the forge than out in the caves.

“I hear that some of you disbelieve me. How is it that someone with such a dangerous quest should live so long? Well, dragons are rare. Most of my time is spent chasing them, not fighting them. And also, my armor is some of the best. I know it's rude to boast of one's armor, of course—“

Hah! I've never met a runeknight who doesn't.

“—however, mine really is powerful. I don't feel embarrassed to say this. Well, it's mostly effective against fire, mind you. I don't think I'd last long in the extreme north, or atop one of the Western Mountains. But it's all but impervious to dragonfire.”

“Liar!” someone shouts.

“Yes!” cries another. “The black dragon's fire melted two cities! Turned them to glowing slag!”

“So I've heard," says Xomhyrk. "Yet what if I told you this armor allows me to wade through molten stone?”

“Any first degree worth his rank could pull that off!”

“Is that true?” I whisper to Braztak.

“Yes. But most couldn't wade for long.”

“Well,” says Xomhyrk. “Maybe many could pull that off. Molten stone is not so hot. But what if I told you I could wade through molten tungsten in it?”

There's silence. It's common knowledge that tungsten's melting point is higher than any other metal's.

“Not only that,” Xomhyrk continues, “But this armor allows me to swim in the stuff. Well, it's an odd kind of swimming, since my body, tough as it may be, is still a fair bit less dense than tungsten...”

“Rubbish!” someone yells.

“He's a fraud,” Jerat snorts. “Even if his armor didn't melt, he'd be roasted like a pig in an oven.”

“Maybe not,” I counter. “I saw a ship of metal on the magma sea once.”

“Hah! And how much beer did you have beforehand?”

“None!”

“...not completely impervious, but close enough,” Xomhyrk is saying. “I would prove it to you, though unfortunately I neglected to bring a cauldron of molten tungsten with me on my journey here.”

“How convenient!” someone far at the back shouts sarcastically.

“Well, then, how about this? For those who agree to come on my expedition, I'll organize a little demonstration. I'll dive into a cauldron of molten tungsten and swim right back up. How about it?”

“Go ahead!” someone laughs. “I'll jump in after you if you do come up, and that's a promise!”

His guild howls with laughter. Xomhyrk shrugs, then gives the heckler a nasty smile.

“I'll hold you to your word on that. Anyway, moving on, I'd like to give my reasons for coming here.

“I know many of you now resident in Allabrast suffered at the claws of the black dragon—though I've since learned many of those have departed with Runethane Vanerak. I also heard that Allabrast was a more welcoming city than Runeking Uthrarzak's Gray Caverns, and it's also closer to my own home. Mostly, though, I simply don't like Runeking Uthrarzak.”

This attempt to woo us meets with stony silence. We can see through his appeal to enmity.

“Well, anyway, my reasons for coming here don't matter so much. What matters is that I am here, and that I am offering you a chance to join my expedition. If you do so, together we will win honor, glory, fame, and great riches. The empty kingdom of Halajatbast will be ours, with all its metal and runic knowledge.”

“If the dragon doesn't kill us all!” someone shouts.

“It will not. We will kill it.”

I scowl. He speaks as if slaying a dragon is no harder than slaying a stone troll, or a common salamander.

I remember how helpless I felt caught in its claws. The fear and horror I felt as its fire tore through our guildhall. My rage grows. My hands start to shake. I recall my anger when it went back on its promise, refusing to tell me of my brother. I feel that anger anew. My face flushes red. Likely it just killed him!

The black dragon is a force of unstoppable evil. The Xomhyrk talks too easily of slaying it. He disrespects its victims. He disrespects our guild.

I stand up.

“How?” I demand. “How? I faced the black dragon before. More than once! And it's grown in power since then. A hundredfold. So how exactly do you plan to kill it? Answer us this!”