I've been to libraries in Allabrast before, of course. Back when I was working on Gutspiercer, I researched many scripts and kinds of metallurgy. The human library was one I frequented, I seem to recall, for my research into Volot script. But not all libraries are created equal. Some are available to all, some to only a select few, and some to very few indeed.

The Grand Library is all three kinds at once. Anyone can gain access to the top layers, even those who aren't runeknights. As we walk through, I see common merchants, masons, metalworkers and even a young miner sitting and reading—or at least squinting at diagrams—on the stone benches. The miner meets my eyes for a second, and his own go wide with awe.

"Trying to become a runeknight?" I ask quietly.

"I apologize," he stutters out. I shake my head.

"No need to. I was once a miner myself." I reach into my purse, strung to my armor by a leather belt, and withdraw a handful of small gold coins. "Here."

He is speechless.

"Forge yourself something," I order. "I recommend steel with copper and incandesite, but of course it's up to you. A runeknight must forge his own way."

He continues to gape in shock for a few more seconds, then dashes away, book on metallurgy still in his hand.

"Come on now," I tell my guards. "Or everyone will start begging me for money."

The Grand Library has been dug deep into the stone. Each floor is constructed in a spiral pattern, pillars and shelves making up the whorls. Stone benches and tables are located at regular intervals, each set lit by a dim lantern.

There are stairs, but they don't go all the way to the lower levels. The only way to get to them is via a steel elevator, not unlike the one that carried us down the Shaft to the darkness. I lead my guards to it, and we step on. The steel-grate floor rocks slightly, but makes no sound. It is very well oiled. At the center is a mechanism with levers, operated by a runeknight in ornate armor of dark metal. Some other dwarves make as if to get on too, but they see who I am, and back away.

The operating runeknight looks at us with some disinterest. I see that the runes on the plates are small and their stanzas dense. They are of a script I do not know, and I can't quite tell the nature of the metal either. He wears a sword, fully concealed in its plain scabbard. He's skilled, a first-degree for sure.

"Floor?" he asks us—and he does not add an 'honored Runethane'.

"I will leave my guards on the eighth," I say. "I myself will descend to the tenth. I am a Runethane, so this is permitted, yes?"

"It is permitted."

"Good."

The runeknight pulls on one of the levers and the elevator begins to descend smoothly. One floor after another goes past, faster and faster, each more dimly lit than the previous. From the fifth floor down, the books are locked behind glass panels. At the seventh, they are behind bars of steel.

The elevator slows and I feel heavy for a second.

"Eighth floor," says the runeknight attendant. "Those below first degree must disembark here."

My guards leave me, looking slightly worried. Before I can reassure them that I won't be too long, the attendant pulls the lever down again and they vanish upward. There's a few seconds of dark stone, then we flash past the ninth layer. More dark stone surrounds us, and we keep going. A minute passes, then two. We begin to slow down, and then we stop—still surrounded by blackness.

I tighten my grip on Steelpierce. The runeknight in dark armor looks at me.

"You are a Runethane, yes?"

"That I am."

"Which one?"

"You do not know?"

"I am asking. Whether I know or not does not matter."

I frown. He's acting with strange disrespect. I have not encountered someone willing to risk disrespecting me for a long time. But he's still a first-degree, I suppose, and so I humor him.

"I am Runethane Zathar the Second Runeforger, Once-Traitor and Dragonslayer."

"May we continue the descent?"

"You must first tell me of the knowledge you seek."

"I did not know there was such a rule."

"Now you do."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"I was to understand that knowledge here was free for any to access, so long as they were of the appropriate rank."

"You may be a Runethane, Zathar Runeforger, yet I am the head librarian here." He lifts his visor, and I see in the dim light that his face is lined and his beard gray. "Three generations of Runekings have passed since I became so, and my predecessor suffered through the two before them."

I blink a few times, my tongue stilled with shock. He has lived through three generations of Runekings? Do dwarves so old exist? He certainly looks old—but that proves nothing. Hayhek has some gray hairs, only because he crafted his amulet of unaging late.

Yet, as strange as it seems, I get the feeling that this dwarf is telling the truth—that his beard is gray for a different reason. He is simply so old that his amulet of unaging is losing its effect.

I look into his eyes. He looks back, patiently. Yes, I realize. He's telling the truth—these are eyes that have met those of a hundred Runethanes, and more powerful dwarves besides. They lack any kind of fear. He knows I cannot harm him.

So, I bow my head in respect.

"I see, honored runeknight," I say. "I won't argue with you further."

He raises an eyebrow. "I am surprised. Most Runethanes argue with me quite a bit." He laughs softly. "I have even had to draw my sword on a number of occasions."

"That seems foolish."

"Yes. If they slew me, they would not have been able to leave here."

"Well, I am certainly not going to attempt to. If your sword is as high quality as your armor, I would find it difficult to defeat you."

"Flattery won't get you anywhere, Runethane. Tell me what it is you wish to know. If the knowledge is below, I will tell it to you."

I frown. "You will tell it to me? I wish to read it for myself."

"We do not allow outsiders onto the tenth floor. The information within is far to precious to risk."

"Outsiders? With respect, I am a Runethane of one of honored Ulrike's realms. In what way am I an outsider?"

"You are not of the library, which was founded five generations of Runekings ago, and will be here after Ulrike is long gone, too—whether he is slain or ascends to Godhood."

"And what if he is slain by Uthrarzak? What will become of the library then?"

"It will stay as it always has."

"And if Uthrarzak pays a visit to you?"

"Then I will treat him in the same manner than I treat you."

"You are loyal to no one, then."

"I am loyal to knowledge."

"You have not sworn fealty to our Runeking, and yet you are permitted to reside in his city?"

"Well, it is the truth—though not a well-known truth."

"Indeed. Five generations of Runekings, you say? I am surprised none have tried to slay you, or your predecessor, to take hold of the knowledge for themselves. Hated Uthrarzak will, should he win."

The librarian laughs darkly. "If I am slain, then whoever rides with me is trapped—as I have already told you."

I look around, and notice that the chain leading from the central mechanism, the structural rods of the elevator and even the grating, are all enruned thickly. The runes are so thin, so faint, and emit so little power that I didn't notice them until now.

"If you are slain, they will activate. Is that what you're hinting at? I've only once encountered similar poems."

"They are uncommon for good reason. What dwarf would write of his own death? Yet you are meant to be asking the questions here, Zathar, not I. So, ask away. What is it that you seek to know?"

Can I trust this strange runeknight? I look down. How can I be sure that the tenth floor even exists, if I'm not allowed to read the texts there for myself? I'm not even going to be allowed to see their titles. Instead, I'm just going to have to take his words as fact.

I take a step closer to him. He does not flinch. I rake my eyes up and down his armor. The runes are unfamiliar to me, in a script I have never seen, yet I can tell that the runic flow beneath the surface is complex. What is more, each rune has been formed perfectly. His skill is immense. If he had the mind to, he could easily make himself a Runethane.

Does that mean I can trust him? But it seems I have no choice to. At the very least, I should hear what he has to say. Then I can decide whether to believe him or not.

"Perhaps the Runeking has already inquired about this," I begin, "so forgive me if there is nothing more you can tell me."

"He rarely visits any more. But go ahead."

I nod. " Very well. I'm sure you've heard of the fort far below, and the deep darkness it was built to stave off. And no doubt you've heard the news that, five thousand or so long-hours ago, Nthazes and I destroyed it."

"I have heard this news, yes."

"Its wielder was a beast with four legs and horns. It held an orb, from which the shadow flowed. Below, in another city, preserved magically, was its elder. A creature of the same sort, but whose orb held the essence of time. It's knowledge of them I seek. Any facts you have, however few they might be—or even rumors will suffice."

The librarian focuses his gaze. For a single moment, I sense runic power glow around his helmet, then it vanishes.

"I know a little," he says, and the tone of his voice has changed slightly. It's deeper and more hoarse—he now sounds the age he claims to be.

"However little it is, I would like to know. Please. The elder one spoke to us in our own tongue. And it recognized my voice."

"I hear desperation, Zathar. You wish to know more than just about these, monsters, no?"

"Afterward—"

"You wish to know of the Runeforger, and the deepest secrets of time, I think."

"Yes!" I hiss.

My breath dries in my throat, and my heart begins to beat wildly. The dwarf is telling the truth. The power I felt glow from his helm proves it—I've only once felt its like, from the crown of a runeking that Dwatrall wore.

"I will not deny it, librarian. The deepest secrets of time and history—that is what I must know."

The librarian smiles, and begins to laugh. "Very good, Runethane! Very good!"

I wait, eyes fixed on him.

"For your curiosity, I shall tell. Most of those who descend wish only to know how better to work metal, or to gain access to scripts they think we have buried here. Yet it seems to me that you want this knowledge not to improve control of your own power, but to further understand your very nature. This beast recognized your voice—that is interesting to me, too."

"How could it have done so?" I ask. "I don't understand. I have spent the past five thousand long-hours ruling my realm, and have only had a little time for research, yet still in that time I've learned a great deal—yet nothing of the ancient past. Nothing! It has all been lost."

"A lot has, but not all. You should have come here sooner. But what does time matter, to dwarves like us? Yet to gain my knowledge, I must have some of yours."

"You wish to know about my runeforging."

"Indeed. And I wish for a dictionary of your scripts. I have not yet received one."

"Will you give that knowledge to others?"

"Only those I judge worthy of it. Not those like Vanerak." His brows draw together in sudden anger. "He is a thief."

"Then I agree," I say. "My knowledge for yours, as it always is."

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