Preparations for battle begin immediately. Those not yet satisfied with their weapons and armor shut themselves in the forges. Accordingly, the price of metal shoots up, and across the city there are burglaries of storehouses and foundries by desperate runeknights, as well as by a few idiot commoners who think they can forge a hero's weapons in the space of a few long-hours. More food is stolen, too.

The gaols fill up, and gallows hang heavy at many of the main crossroads.

Those who have finished their forging train every hour, practicing to fight dwarves who wield not pikes and shields but axes and hammers, and with reckless offense. No one has any experience against them at all. Most assume that doing battle with them will be like fighting trolls or other wild beasts, though with somewhat more compacted strength.

For my own army's training, I finally come round to Lekudr's suggestion that the contests are getting too violent, and take measures to reduce the levels of brutality. More rules are introduced, and they are enforced more rigorously. In addition, I have all guilds mix together and practice moving in formation. Some of these drills I oversee personally, and I am strict with everyone—captains and guildmasters included.

My army itself is one of my weapons, and I must be able to control it firmly.

Time passes quickly. It seems to be rushing like a rockfall toward me. My ruby makes me sweat, and Graveknife feels cold against my hip, even through sheathe and armor both. The ranks of those I'm drilling swell as more and more runeknights emerge from their forges in fresh armor and wielding sharp blades eager to taste their first blood.

Discipline improves. I start to feel nervously confident. We can win this, I tell myself. The enemy will be tired from marching so long, and no matter what kind of enruned chains they have around themselves, the sun will be taking its toll.

Still, with every hour that passes, the unknown nature of who we'll be facing bothers me more and more. I must find out, if I'm to lead my dwarves in battle against them effectively. So, when I sense that things are reaching a head, when rumors that they will be on us any hour now start to have a feeling of truth about them, I organize a troop of guards and hurry to the library.

"I can guess what you are here for," says the Grand Librarian as I step onto the dark elevator. "You wish to know about your foe, yes?"

"The new foe, yes. That's right."

"You have been slow," he says, a little critically. "Most have been borrowed and not yet returned."

"You do not allow anyone to borrow the truly valuable books, though. I had hoped—"

He shakes his head. "The oldest histories are kept secured, yes, but you won't find much relevant in them. They have changed rapidly, have the dwarves of the deserts."

"You have nothing here for me, then?"

"There was little in the first place." His eyes rove down to Graveknife's scabbard. "But perhaps I could tell you a few things that I know in exchange for some of what you know. As it always is."

I grimace. "Very well. I do not want to show you—but I will accept the offer, if it might help my army."

He works the mechanism at the elevator's center and we begin to descend. The floors flash past, each with its works more secured than the last, and then we are past the ninth floor with its cabinets of enruned steel. For a while longer the descent continues, until we are very deep in the dark stone indeed.

The elevator slows and stops. In the dim lantern-light, the Grand Librarian's dark armor has a fearsome appearance, one made more so by its obvious runic power. The lines of his ancient face look deeper too, and his eyes are cold.

"Shall I speak first, or you?" he asks.

"I will. It is only polite."

He laughs. "Since you are so humble for a Runethane, I think I shall speak. There is a lot to tell, and it will be easier to digest if there is a break in the middle, I think."

I nod. "Thank you, then."

"You do have a little knowledge of those you will soon face, I presume?"

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"I do. Xomhyrk told me most of what I know, and in the past I have done a little reading as well. Their land is a harsh one, yes?"

"Indeed. Very little rain filters down and the sandstone caves are barren. Towards the north-eastern edge it is a little more hospitable, but the east and south are all but uninhabitable. Farms are not profitable, and so most hunt and forage for their food."

I nod politely, although I know all this.

"It wasn't always quite so grim, though. There used to be a few lakes bordered all around with green, and sparse forests like large islands in the seas of sand. But the lakes turned to vapor and dust, and even the hardiest trees withered."

"I see."

He gives me a humorless smile. "How long ago do you reckon all this to have happened?"

"I assume not so long ago. You told me things changed rapidly there. So, within the last aeon-hour."

He nods. "Yes. What I am about to tell you happened within living memory of the very eldest dwarves—although I doubt Duthur and even the Runeking have bothered much with that side of the world. Greed was those southern dwarves' downfall, just as it was with those in the north before Uthrarzak took power. Do you know how dragons are born?"

The sudden change of topic startles me. "Dragons?"

"Yes. I know you have a great deal of experience with them, but how much do you really know?"

Flustered, I think rapidly. "I've read on the subject. Quite a lot." I go through what I know and find that my memory contains less than I expecteded. "Most books dealt only with how to slay them, where they are found, and what kind of armor one should craft to guard against their flames. Things like that. Xomhyrk never told me much about them either—not their origin. Just tales about those he slew."

"That is not much of a surprise. For you see, no one knows much about how they are born."

"I'd heard from eggs."

"They have been found. Black things, perfectly circular, floating in the magma like strange stones. As for how those eggs are laid, however—some say they are not laid at all."

I frown, confused. "How could that be?"

"There is an idea put forth by some, and which has been put forth repeatedly over the ages, by scholars disconnected—an idea that the eggs are not laid, but rather form as crystals."

"Like from minerals?" My frown deepens. "It seems absurd. Dragons are living flame, not stones."

"Flame and what, though, Zathar?"

For a moment I see the black dragon's green eyes blazing. "Greed," I say.

"Exactly."

"Are you saying dragons are crystallizations of greed?"

"It is not me who says it. I am simply telling you what some scholars put forth."

"But greed is a desire for objects," I say, not sure what he is getting at. "It is not an object in and of itself. It's not physical."

"Neither is the life that pervades metal, yet we wear objects of it all the same."

"True metal is not life. It's metal with life concentrated in it, to my mind."

"Are you so sure about that?"

I think for a few seconds. "No."

"All theories are mere thought, and most impossible to prove. I don't know if dragons are made from greed itself, and wouldn't try to make a guess either. But to get back to the history of the sandstone lands, that place's story does lend credence to the idea."

He launches into the tale proper, now. Only three thousand years ago by surface reckoning—which is what those dwarves who hunt both above and below ground like to use—a time of greed came upon the desert dwarves. The rock-worms, whose teeth are gems, had been protected for untold ages by certain guilds. Hunting permissions were strictly enforced. While anyone could kill the younger ones, and in doing so gain degrees and honor, in most realms the elder rock-worms were to be killed only once a decade, and the very eldest but once a century.

One realm, though, from which the current Runeking and Runequeen hail, decided in the midst of a feud to spit on those rules. The eldest creatures hunted down and slain in great and terrible battles in the dark. Tens of thousands of runeknights were killed, but in the end the sacrifice proved worth it. The plundered tooth-gems gave the hunters great power to wield against their rivals, for although even ordinary diamonds are strong and pure beyond measure, diamonds that have been slicing and grinding prey for timeless ages have bloodier power imbued into them.

"And it was after this that the dragons started appearing, was it?" I ask.

"Indeed. They were young and fierce. Not so huge as those that inhabited Hazhakmar—they were born in long ages past, and had grown lazy upon their towering riches by the time Thanerzak embarked upon his conquest. The dragons of the sandstone lands were fast and wicked, had scales that were shades of gold, and their breath was white."

My ruby aches and throbs. It remembers the battle against the black dragon well.

"Many realms were devastated, and not always directly. Dragons kill for pleasure as well as gain, and they took joy in murdering the sparse life in the caves and on the desert's surface. Food became scarce. Thousands starved."

"They must have recovered, though. Else Xomhyrk would have stayed, I'm sure."

"When Xomhyrk got there most victories had already being won. Besides, he left because there was another dragon he had to deal with—I heard a story of one with scales sharp as diamond in a realm of crystal."

"The dwarves there didn't want his help, he said."

"Ah, he was more humble than the historians of his realm, then. But we are getting off the path: what I am getting to is that although the dragons were eventually defeated—though never in totality—the realms were devastated. What is more, the dwarves there had changed. They had become desperate during the wars. The current pair of rulers gained their position by being the most willing to make concessions against the old taboos. Indeed, they were the first to totally eschew armor and wrap themselves entirely in chains. Until then mail was popular, and a few light plates also."

"They're strong then." I grow fearful. "They've killed dragons—I did not know this."

"And now you do. Be careful up there, Zathar. Runekings are not easy to kill. Leave them to Ulrike himself, and his very strongest Runethanes."

I grimace. I begin to say something, but stop. The librarian frowns.

"What is it, Runeforger?"

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

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.