"To stay away from Runekings," I say slowly. "That is sound advice you give."

"Were you planning on taking one's head?" asks the librarian. "I'd heard you'd grown past your old recklessness."

"I have. But our own Runeking has—" I cut myself off. "I cannot say."

The librarian looks at me with incredulity, and more than a little offense. "You cannot? After I have told you so much?"

"That was a promise for runic knowledge we made."

"Somehow I feel that what you do not say and your runes relate." He looks at my scabbard once again. His unseen eyes are piercing. "In any case, it is your turn to uphold half the bargain."

I nod, grimacing. I lean Steelpierce against a metal strut, then slowly draw Graveknife from its scabbard. It glints coldly. The smell of the grave fills the chamber, and the draft from below cannot diminish it. I'd expected the Grand Librarian to draw forward in fascination at the sight of its black runes—yet he flinches away in shock.

"I have never seen runes such as those before," he whispers. "What are they?"

"Runes of death."

"Of death. Each individual rune, then, is imbued with death? Connotations of death?"

"Indeed."

"I see."

He says no more for a while. Then steps forward one pace. I turn the flat of the knife toward him so he can read the runes better. He takes another step forward. Curiosity has won out over fear.

"I have never seen their like," he whispers. "How did you make these?"

"In the same way I make the others. I have described the process to you before: I draw the power of the world's blood through me, put it into a word and my understanding of that word, and the rune is shaped."

"But you do not control it entirely."

"No. And neither do I understand how it works."

"So was it you who made these runes? Or the thing within you? The sphere?"

"It was me," I say. I tighten my grip and the blade shivers. "I lost control toward the end of the poem, yet regained it before the end. These words and symbols are ones that I chose."

"Until now, you have created runes of metal, ice and magma. Physical things. And now—death."

"You speak as if you disapprove. Well, I should tell you that I disapprove myself. I did not want to make them. In fact, they nearly killed me. Gray fire blazed from the forge and would have burned me but for luck. Maybe it would have been better that way, I sometimes think, if it meant these dead things would not have had to be born."

"Yet still you forge ahead."

"I must."

"Because of the war?"

His hand goes to his sword. It is an unconscious, guarding movement, containing little threat, but all the same I step back, tilting Graveknife so that its blade is edge-on.

"Yes," I say.

He takes a sharp breath, removes his hand from his sword-hilt. "I see. But there is something more to it. I can tell."

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"You may be able to tell," I say. Graveknife's edge is still angled toward him. "But I cannot say."

"You do not need to. I have guessed. You are to slay someone powerful. Is that right?"

Under my breath, I curse. He is too clever. He's guessed easily from what I let slip earlier.

"I will neither confirm nor deny," I say stubbornly.

"You may lower your knife, Runethane. I am not going to harm you."

Is this true? He disapproves of how I've used my power, and his hand flew to his sword but seconds ago. Might I lower it just to allow his own blade easy access to my neck?

"Runeforger?"

No! He knows I am fast and my armor strong, and that such a cheap trick would never work. Moreover, he values knowledge over all else. Even if his seeming goodwill toward me is fakery, he values me too much as a source of knowledge to slay me. No one else knows runes as I do.

I try to lower my weapon—but it is like Graveknife has frozen in the air, become stuck fast on some solid nothing. I strain but cannot pull it down. I grunt.

"Runeforger?" says the librarian, a little louder. "What is wrong?"

My ruby begins to burn, and the stench around me intensifies. It becomes like damp bones. I clench my teeth and veins on my temples harden. I try to pull again, harder.

I gasp as Graveknife comes suddenly loose. It slashes down and an edge of power flies through the air. I cry out in horror. In the next instant, the librarian draws forth his sword, which glows like silver under the surface moon. Graveknife's line of power shatters on it and vanishes with a mournful whimper.

I plunge the weapon into its scabbard and stagger back, gasping for air.

"Forgive me, Grand Librarian!" I cry. "I did not try to strike."

He shakes his head. He is already sheathing his sword. "I know," he says. "Your blade did, of its own accord. It wished for my death."

"I am sorry. Sorry for making it!"

My body is trembling and my throat is dry. My heart is like a fire in the center of my chest and beating like rapid drums. Nausea is in my belly. The librarian approaches, his hand extended in fatherly fashion, but I quickly step back.

"Do not approach!" I warn him. "This weapon wants you dead."

He stops and lowers his hand. "It could not see me dead, I do not think. My own blade is more powerful, and has a longer reach."

"Still, I would not risk it."

"No. I suppose not. Yes—it would be a risk."

For a few minutes, we stand there, looking upon one another in silence. Eventually the beating of my heart calms, my ruby cools, and I speak:

"Is the bargain upheld, Grand Librarian? Have you learned enough?"

"Indeed it has brought me more than I bargained for."

"Ask yourself—would you not do the same in my position?"

His gray brows draw together. "I do not know. Certainly, I have taken risks in my time, and for lesser quests. But I have always tried to avoid the most dangerous things of the world. I have books on them aplenty, yet as a rule, I try not to face the worst foes, and I fear to tread the most dangerous places of the underworld myself."

"Then how does this weapon compare to the worst you've read of?"

"It is bad. But if you think it necessary for the quest you've been set, I cannot judge. I do not wield the power that burdens and blesses you." He shakes his head. "I never judge, as a rule. I have no right to, for my duty is only to record and read. I cannot imagine what it is like to be a commander or a king. That is not my fate. I am not a maker of events. Just a historian."

I give him a curt nod. "I thank you, then. For if this weapon leads me to do terrible things, I think you will not judge me then, either."

"No. I will simply observe and record, as I have always done, and as my guildmaster before me did, and as his predecessor did also."

"Thank you. And I hope that this craft will do something praiseworthy for history to record also. Cruel things can sometimes be worked for good purposes. Is that not correct?"

"It is, though rarely. Cruel weapons have a tendency to beget cruel deeds. Bloody weapons call for blood."

I laugh softly. "You do not need to tell me that, librarian."

"No. I do not." He looks upward. "Shall we return, now? I have a feeling that a great event is about to unfold. Under the surface sun, something red and stinking is going to bloom."

"Yes. Let us go."

I retrieve Steelpierce; the weapon's familiar weight comforts me. The librarian works the controls and the elevator ascends quickly. Eight floors rush past, and then I'm stumbling as the platform slows abruptly.

Past the stone arches, I see shelves of books and dim lanterns, but no dwarves other than my guards. And through the room, the sound of distant bells is echoing. My guards hurry to me.

"My Runethane!" says a second-degree in steel and runes of gold.

"What is it?" I ask. "Is the enemy here?"

"Soon, I assume. The muster is being called and the commoners cleared off the roads. Upon them, thousands are marching. We should return to the mine."

"That we shall." I step off the platform then turn back to the dark-armored librarian. "Thank you," I tell him.

"Fight well, Runethane Zathar," he replies. "Your foes have little respect for tradition and old knowledge. They must not be allowed a victory."

"They won't get one—only death." A rush of heat comes over me and I raise Steelpierce. "We will slay them all!"

"Nachroktey!" shout my guards, and I shout out with them:

"Nachroktey!"

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.