“We’re not done,” Vidar said, hunching over near Lytir. “I’ve got more questions.”

  Lytir opened the book and started to read.

  “Hey!” he shouted, waving his hand in front of the vagrant’s face.

  “Vidar!”

  Vidar stood and turned. “Alvarn! What are you doing here?”

  “What are you doing?” Alvarn asked.

  Vidar turned back to Lytir, who was gone. “Dammit!”

  Alvarn looked worried. “You don’t look so well, Vidar.” Then he spotted something, and the color drained from his face. “Come with me.”

  Dragging him by the arm, Alvarn entered an alehouse. In the early morning, it was almost empty. He gestured with two fingers to the barkeep, then hurried over to a circular wooden table near the wall to their left.

  Vidar followed, glancing back at the door to the street. “What’s got you spooked, Alvarn?”

  “Sit down,” Alvarn whispered. His face was red now, flushed and sweaty.

  The beers arrived and Alvarn emptied half his glass, followed by a contented sigh.

  “Now, will you tell me?” Vidar asked. “What are you doing here? I was just coming to find you.”

  “I’m looking for you. To warn you.”

  “What?”

  “A man came to the guild to make inquiries. They heard about someone making a nuisance of themselves and talking with me outside the chapter house, so I was ordered to the head scribe’s office. It was a soldier who wanted to interrogate me!”

  “Did he say why?”

  “Yes, of course,” Alvarn said, eyeing Vidar’s still-full glass. “Are you going to drink that?”

  Vidar pushed the glass across the table and Alvarn grabbed it and gulped almost half of its contents before continuing, “He was looking for you. I’m not sure how, but they’ve been talking with almost every scribe in town. Regular scribes, I mean, and Vidar, they found your family.”

  “I don’t have anything to do with them anymore.”

  Alvarn gave him a strange look but did not let the comment discourage him from continuing. “The soldier seemed to have come to the same conclusion, which led him to the rune scribes, where it didn’t take them long to figure out who you’d been talking to. Like I said, the others don’t like me much, and seeing me talking with someone who also threatened them made an impression.”

  The words were flowing out of Alvarn like water down a waterfall and Vidar found himself having some trouble keeping up. “Wait. So they know we’re friends?”

  Alvarn’s face reddened a little, and he looked down into his glass, repeating the word, “friend,” before taking another sip, smaller this time. “They know. That’s why this soldier came to see, no, to interrogate me.”

  “Who is this soldier, and what did you tell him?”

  “He said his name was Jarl.”

  The floor seemed to drop from under Vidar. That confident bastard was looking for him, but why? Surely not because they suspected him in what happened in the jail? Then it dawned on Vidar.

  “He struck me. An algiz rune protected me. That bastard knows about the new rune.”

  Alvarn swallowed hard. “I didn’t tell him anything, but I could tell he didn’t believe me. They searched my room and found the book.”

  “What book?”

  “The one with the old runic language. It is forbidden. Shouldn’t have been in the open library to begin with and now it’s gone. Jarl took it with him.”

  “Did he find any of the new runes? Stakra, algiz, or styrka?”

  Alvarn finished the second glass and held up a hand to order another before answering. “No. They found nothing. It isn’t safe keeping things in our rooms. The doors don’t lock, so mine is often disturbed by other students. It was a mistake leaving the book there, but I didn’t think anyone would see it among the others. No one has ever stolen a book from me.”

  “Thieves don’t care for books,” Vidar said, breathing a sigh of relief.

  “What happened to your hand?”

  “I have a burn mark with the styrka rune under these bandages.”

  That seemed to pique Alvarn’s interest. “What did you do? And where did you find its name?”

  “I didn’t do anything!” Vidar harrumphed. “It’s a long story, and I got the name from the friend who reads a lot.”

  “The same one who named the stakra rune?”

  Vidar nodded absentmindedly. “The very same.”

  “I’d like to meet him someday.”

  “I’m sure you would,” Vidar said.

  They sat in silence for a while until Alvarn received and finished most of a third glass. By then, he looked a lot more relaxed, a pleasant grin on his face, and his eyes looked glassy and out of focus.

  “Why were you looking for me, anyway?”

  “To tell you about the styrka rune. I’ve found its purpose. The rune takes essence from others and stores it so you can tap into it later. Really useful. Also, I wanted to show you this.”

  Vidar handed over one of the gold coins he’d found by the dragon, after checking their surroundings to make sure no one was watching. The glimmer of gold could make a thief of the most honest of men.

  “Drain essence from others?” Alvarn asked, the focus returning to his eyes as he reached out to grab the coin without really seeing it. “What would be the purpose of such a rune by the seawater intake?”

  “I don’t know. Are you in trouble, Alvarn?”

  “Trouble?” Alvarn asked. “What trouble?”

  “The soldier, Jarl. Did they throw you out of the guild or something?”

  “No, no, nothing like that. The guild mistress has forbidden me from being associated with you, but that’s all. As far as the Crown knows, I’ve done nothing illegal. Come to think of it, the only action I’ve taken that goes counter to the word of law is breaking into the water intake, as far as I’m aware.”

  He finally gave the coin a good look then and his mouth fell open. Alvarn adjusted his glasses and held the coin closer for inspection. “I’ve only seen a gold coin once before, and nothing like this.”

  “It’s old, isn’t it?” Alvarn asked.

  “Beyond old. I’ve seen currency from before Sveland was formed and the counting of years began anew with the first king, and this is not it.” He looked up at Vidar as he returned the coin. “Vidar, this must be before even that. History before history.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means the coin isn’t just very old, it’s ancient. How did you come by it?”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Vidar glanced around again, but the one drunk at the other end of the room didn’t pay them any mind. “Found a small chest of them underground right by a dragon skeleton surrounded by styrka runes.”

  “And I thought I had big news because I found a way into another seawater intake,” Alvarn grumbled. “What is with you and unearthing lost secrets?”

  “You found two of the new runes with me, don’t forget.”

  He waved that away. “And a dragon? Underground?”

  Vidar nodded enthusiastically. “Also, lines connected the styrka runes to each other. It looked like they were working together!”

  “You have to show me,” Alvarn breathed. “Runes joined together? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “I’m not sure how it works, but I can’t take you. The entrances are too small.”

  “Not the ones by the intakes,” Alvarn protested. “We have to go there anyway to fix the water cleaning. Winter won’t be here much longer and once the snow is gone, Halmstadt’s wells won’t be able to sustain the population.”

  “There is no time,” Vidar said.

  “What do you mean?” Alvarn asked, gesturing for another beer.

  Vidar looked at the glasses arrayed before him but didn’t comment. “The dragon is returning the day after tomorrow. I have to find a smith and have him craft an arrow today. Otherwise, I’ll never get it into position in time.”

  “You’re actually serious about killing that dragon? And how do you know it’s coming back?”

  “Of course I’m serious!” Vidar stood and shouted, unable to keep his temper. He breathed in deep and sat back down. “Of course I’m serious. There won’t be anyone left to drink water if everything is burned to the ground.”

  “How do you know it’s coming?”

  “Lytir told me.”

  “The mad vagrant told you to expect a visit from the dragon.”

  Vidar nodded, fully aware of how insane it sounded. Lytir’s bottle of ink was half-full at best, but there was something undeniably sage-like about him. He’d been right in his predictions before.

  “Can you lend me the key, then?”

  “Key?”

  “To the underground.”

  Vidar swallowed hard and closed his right hand around the heavy metal key. It was like a buoy in heavy storms, a way of always finding safety where no one could reach him.

  He trusted his new friend. He really did, but with this?

  “I’ll need it to sneak the arrow to those big crossbows by the keep.”

  “I’ll unlock the door. It’s well hidden, like the last one, then return the key to you later today. You have my word.”

  Vidar handed the key over with a sigh. “Today. Make a copy if you like, but only one.”

  “My purse is light after buying supplies for experimenting with stakra runes and not being able to sell much lately.”

  “I believe it,” Vidar said, placing a few silver coins on the table. “Take these.”

  He winced when he stood, the weakness making itself known again. “Why don’t you come work with me instead, Alvarn? Resign from the guild. It would make finding you a whole lot easier.”

  Alvarn downed the last of his beer and scooped up the coins with a grateful nod. “I’ve considered the very thing, but I have neither the stomach nor the nerve for illegal rune craft. In another year’s time, I won’t be a student. Then I’ll be free to come and go as I please.”

  “A year is a long time.”

  “Indeed,” Alvarn agreed. “Until then, where are you staying?”

  Vidar gave him the street and the name of the inn.

  “Very well. I’ll return the key to you there. If you need to get ahold of me, have someone you trust deliver a letter to the guild. Best not show your face there anymore. They are obliged by rule and law to deliver it directly to me without reading its contents.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Vidar said.

  They parted ways and Vidar’s pocket mourned the loss, if temporary, of the key to his underground kingdom. Alvarn disappeared down the street with a slight wobble to his step and Vidar turned to walk the other way. Now that he didn’t have to make it all the way to the guild chapter house, he figured it was best to start his search in Andersburg. Drawing in some more of the styrka rune’s essence to give himself a small boost, he headed toward the merchant district.

  In Rat Town, the merchant district wasn’t so much a district. It was more of a shabby street with vendors and craftsmen. He hadn’t ever visited before but knew roughly where to find it. Since it was the middle of the day and the sun was still up, the place was bustling when he got there.

  Cursing to himself, he pressed his back against a wall to peek around a corner. Two guardsmen, rough-looking fellows, stood at the end of the street, watching the crowd impassively. Two more would stand at the other end. Vidar was certain of it. But that wasn’t all. Another two walked around in the crowd, holding up a piece of paper. At that distance, seeing the face on that paper was impossible, but Vidar knew without looking.

  He briefly considered finding some sort of disguise, like the rune scribe student robe he’d kept from his visit to their library, but discarded the idea. Such clothing would only serve to distinguish him from the rest of the crowd and draw the attention of the guards.

  Unsure how to proceed, he stopped a man walking past with a heavy bag of potatoes.

  “Do you know of any weaponsmiths?”

  “Piss off!” the man shouted, shouldering past.

  “Rude,” Vidar muttered. He looked up and felt the color drain from his face. One of the guards was looking his way, probably having heard the potato bastard’s shout. They locked eyes just before Vidar turned about.

  “Shit,” Vidar said, turning around and walking away. “Shit shit shit!”

  He ducked back around the corner and walked back to the previous street to make sure he wasn’t being followed. No guardsman approached his previous hiding spot, so he figured he was still safe.

  All he needed was to make his way inside a smithy without being seen. If guardsmen patrolled both ends of the street, they probably didn’t check the tight passages. Going by that conclusion, Vidar walked behind the buildings in the merchant’s corner. None of them looked like the back of a blacksmith’s or weaponsmith’s shop, so he took a long way around to the other side of the street. And there he found it. A smithy.

  Vidar needed to rest for a moment, his breathing rapid and shallow. Then, he tried the handle to the back door, and to his amazement, it was unlocked. Slipping inside, he found living quarters. It made sense. A blacksmith would live in his shop in Rat Town. Thankfully, it was empty. A short passageway brought him to the front of the house and the smithy proper.

  There was no forge running to create warmth, and no rhythmic ringing of a hammer or the hissing of water from hot metal being cooled. An old man sat half-asleep in a chair near the middle of the room. A pair of double doors stood open on the other side, leading out onto the street. Aside from the old man and himself, the smithy was empty.

  Vidar wanted to sneak around the smith, to make it look like he had come from the front. As he moved, he knocked something over, and metal clanged against stone as it skidded across the floor. The old man woke with a start. “Who are you? What are you doing back there?”

  Vidar held up both hands. “I’m not here to harm you.”

  “Harm me, boy? I’ll show you—” The old man was about to shout something more, but in the split second before all was lost, Vidar barreled through.

  “I have coin.”

  The old man’s shoulders relaxed a little, and he narrowed his eyes. “What does coin have to do with you breaking into my home?”

  “I’m a customer.” Vidar held up some silver to show in the dim light coming from outside. None of the kenaz runes in the shop were active.

  “A customer that comes through the back?” the smith scoffed. “A customer who will pay extra?”

  The smith sat back down into his chair with a thud. “It does not matter. Even this coin won’t be enough to make this place run again. The guild is out helping the ones who got their homes torched. They care little for my forge, my livelihood. I can’t even pay them to come here. Bastards.”

  Vidar breathed deeply and nodded. “Bastards, indeed.”

  He looked at the open doors leading to the forge and decided to take a risk. “What if I rejuvenate your forge?”

  The smith got a strange, faraway expression on his face, but then his eyes focused on Vidar, now filled with suspicion. “You, rejuvenate a rune, boy? What kind of scam is this? Get the hell out of my shop.”

  Vidar casually reached up and touched a light rune on the wall. He rejuvenated it just enough to last half a day or so. The bright light seemed to blind the smith, who shut his eyes tight and shuddered.

  “You’re with the rune scribes, boy?” the old man asked, disbelief and fear mingling in his voice.

  “I am. My robe was dirty, so I had to go without it today. I’m on my day of leisure.”

  “A day of leisure, hmm? Sounds nice. And now you want old Hamlin to make you something, and you’ll fix my forge. Is that it? Why not go somewhere else, not that there are many forges running in the city outside the keep these days?”

  Hamlin glanced at the door, then returned his gaze to Vidar. “So, what is it you’re looking for? I’ll gladly craft you something if you make my forge come alive again.”

  “I need a weapon,” Vidar said without hesitation. “Or more like an arrow. A large one. Like a spear, almost.”

  The smith, Hamlin, gave him an incredulous look. “A weapon? An arrow, you say? I make tools, barrels, wagons, and scythes, the occasional knife, but an arrow?” He paused. “You want me to make an arrowhead?”

  Vidar thought back to the spear he had found inside the dead dragon. There had been bits of metal on it, bands around the handle, but the handle itself was made of wood, and the head… out of bone. Unsure how to proceed, he pulled out one of the spikes, making the man shy back as if threatened.

  “No, no,” Vidar said quickly. “I’m just showing you. This needs to be the head of the arrow. You know how to craft an arrow, don’t you?”

  The smith’s gaze shifted to the door again, but he replied, “I think I can manage something. Normally, you’d want a fletcher to create an arrow, but I don’t think they make them this large. Not with a head like that, anyway.

  “Why don’t you get my forge all nice and warm,” the smith suggested, “and I’ll go out back and grab some tools.”

  “What about the price?” Vidar asked.

  “Having my forge running again,” the smith said with a weary smile, “is the only price I could ask for.”

  The smith walked out back, and Vidar approached the forge. A slot at the bottom let him touch the sowilo rune without having to reach all the way down from the top. It was indeed empty, and Vidar poured essence into it, simultaneously drawing from the styrka rune in the palm of his hand.

  When the warmth rune was about halfway full, only a little remained in his reservoir, so he let that be enough. It would give the smith plenty of time to work on other things once he was done with Vidar’s arrow. When he straightened his back again, the room darkened somewhat as someone filled the open doorway at the front of the smithy.

  He looked and froze. A city guard.

  “You! Stop right there!”

  Vidar spun and was about to run out the back, but a guard appeared there as well. Of the smith, there was no sign.

  “Bastard,” Vidar cursed through gritted teeth.