Chương 152: Chapter 147 — Runes

The cold had not yet become winter, but everyone outside was either wearing a cloak or glaring at cloaked people. Alric noticed it as he stepped out of headquarters with his own cloak pulled close and four guards falling into place with him. The morning was early, the sky overcast, and the city had the damp grey look. Smoke rose slowly from chimneys. The stone underfoot held a chill that came through boot leather. One of the guards adjusted his gloves. Alric glanced at him.

"Cold?"

"Fresh, Mister Alric." The guard responded with a one sided grin.

"That is a good word for it." Alric agreed, nodding and taking a deep breath of the chilled air. The guard's mouth twitched, but he had the discipline not to smile too openly. Alric had recently been informed that guarding was not the same as walking near him with weapons. Their training regime had stepped up recently, Alric could tell by the shouting in the afternoons and polite language creeping in when he was around.

The distillery stood next the river, the new well was being dug, near the old one which raised many brows and a few loud complaints. Inside, Maggie stood broad and quiet in the grey light. The guards remained near the entrance while Alric went to the trough. They were collecting distilled water properly now. Stromni had made a rough filter from a large pot with a hole worked into the side near the bottom, packed with cloth, charcoal, and limestone.

The limestone had been boiled and rinsed until the water came through clean, but not empty, with a faint mineral roundness that belonged in a cup rather than a ditch. Alric lifted the first barrel into place with the item box because there were many useful forms of labour and proving he could injure his back was low on his todo list. Water ran down the trough and into Maggie with the same hollow sound that deepened as the level rose.

Stromni arrived while Alric was emptying the sixth barrel, entering through the side door with his beard tied back, sleeves rolled despite the weather.

"Aye," he said, looking at Maggie first and smiling.

"Morning, lass."

"Good morning to you too," Alric said, putting both arms out. Stromni grunted at him, which seemed to cover the greeting. He crossed to the still, set one hand briefly against the lower copper, and pulled it away.

"Cold enough ta be sulking."

"She or the weather?" Alric asked, frowning slightly.

"Both." Stromni said moving around inspecting the seams. They filled Maggie in companionable quiet after that. Once she had enough water for the third test, they sealed the hatch and began setting the stones. Alric charged them all, another day of running her at full blast. Alric had just charged the last stone, when he approached Stromni, who was inspecting the stone emplacements for the boilers, "What do you know about dwarven runes?" Stromni did not look up immediately, but he did pause.

That was usually a sign that he had heard the question properly.

"Why?" he asked, suspicion heavy in his tone.

"That is harder to explain than I'd like." Alric began, he stood more upright, he put both hands behind his neck and stretched his back.

"Aye, those are always my favourite and ya have a few of late." Stromni responded, his attention turned back to Maggie, rubbing the copper near the emplacements before rubbing his hands together.

"It might be easier if you had a rune on hand." Alric began, he held the pose and tried to look innocently at Stromni. Stromni glanced at him, eyebrows lowered.

"A rune on hand? Of course lad, always carry a few runes in me pocket for an odd days questioning." Stromni straightened, taking the time to drop the full weight of sceptism on Alric who was trying not to laugh.

"Lad, most folk who ask 'bout runes are either trying ta buy something they can't afford or break something they don't understand. Ya live in the latter." He said with his brow's furrowed, crossing his arms.

"I am trying to understand something I may already have broken by existing." Alric took his hands off his neck and held them upward with a shrug. Stromni stared at him for a moment, then sighed and looked around.

"I don't have one loose in me pocket."

"I did wonder." Alric said, still trying to keep his expression innocent.

"Don't start." Stromni picked up a bit of charcoal, tore a scrap from the rough wrapping around one of the tool bundles, and flattened it on a barrel.

"Here then." He drew quickly. The mark was not a letter, a set of angles and returns that looked less like writing and more like a decision about force. Yet the moment it finished Alric looked at it properly, the meaning shifted in his head. Strengthen. Alric took a slow breath.

"That says Strengthen." The charcoal remained in Stromni's hand. Behind them, the still clicked softly as heat began finding the seams. Stromni looked at Alric for a long moment. His expression settled into the heavy caution of a craftsman watching someone put weight on a beam no one had tested.

"You've developed a taste for dangerous things lately, not sure what ta make o' this one lad." Stromni said after a long pause, he gave Alric a long sideways glance.

"I know how this sounds. I can't help this one." Alric said in a very exaggerated shrug.

"I doubt that." Stromni said still eyeing him sideways. Alric leaned against the barrel and tried to find the beginning.

"When I came here, writing changed for me, or… not sure if changed is the right word. I can read the local script, but it doesn't look like your letters should look, I think. My head turns it into something close to letters from my old world." Stromni folded his arms, charcoal still between his fingers.

"Different books are worse than others," Alric continued, he looked at Stromni as he spoke but pointed to the paper.

"In my world, writing could be printed in different styles. Same letter, different shapes. We called them fonts. Here, every page feels like my head is translating into different fonts while pretending it is normal." Stromni nodded slowly.

"So writing gets dressed in clothes from home?" The dwarf asked slowly as if testing the words. Alric nodded and pointed at him in agreement.

"That is better than how I put it."

"Aye." Stromni said tilting his head and studying Alric.

"And apparently dwarven runes may be doing the same thing," Alric said, gesturing to the paper.

"At least sometimes." Stromni looked down at the charcoal mark then back to Alric before scribbling something below the rune, when he was done, he pointed at it.

"It says, 'this human is a nosey bastard with worrying eyes'." Alric turned to him with a raised brow. He noticed a distinctly bold gothic fornt. Stromni took a deep breath.

"Ya can read dwarven lad. Keep an eye on Maggie, I'll be back in a minute."

"Why?" Alric asked, his neck shifted his head back slightly.

"Need ta fetch sumin, wanna know this meself." Stromni said already heading to the door. He left before Alric could decide whether to object. The room settled into the small sounds of warming copper and moving water. Alric looked at the rune again. Strengthen. Alric let out a long sigh and tried to avoid thinking about if the goddess was supremely competent or just didn't like him. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Stromni returned carrying a small hammer in one hand and a pickaxe in the other. The pickaxe was familiar enough. A dwarf carrying a pickaxe did not require deep interpretation. The hammer, however, was comical. It was small, much smaller than Stromni's usual tools, and it had the strange dignity of something made beautifully because it was meant to be used by exact hands. The handle was dark with age and use, and the head was polished where generations of fingers had cared for it. Stromni held it gently.

Alric noticed that more than the hammer itself. Stromni was careful with tools, but this was different.

"My great-grandfather's," Stromni said before Alric could ask, he rubbed the handle gently.

"Jeweller's hammer."

"He was a jeweller?" Alric asked, his gaze drifted between Stromni and the small hammer.

"Aye. Fine work. Redbeards pass tools down where we can, explained that before if ya remember. Not always useful to the one getting it, but useful ain't the only reason for keeping a thing." Stromni explained, he moved closer to the barrel, he had a small smile. He set the pickaxe against the barrel and turned the hammer so Alric could see the side. There were marks worked along the head, each one sitting in a bordered space that made it feel deliberate rather than decorative.

Along the side, embossed into the metal, were three lines of meaning. Strengthen. Soft Face. True Strike. Alric read them before he could stop himself. The words arrived with the same quiet certainty as the charcoal mark. He reached out, then stopped before touching it. Stromni noticed and nodded once. Alric took the hammer. It was heavier than it looked.

"Strengthen," Alric said, his brows furrowed, he turned the hammer so the letters caught the light.

"Soft Face. True Strike." Stromni's mouth moved beneath his beard.

"Aye, never hear of soft face, that's a new one."

"What do they do?" Alric asked, he studied the hammer head and sides.

"Strengthen makes the tool last. Not forever, mind, nothing lasts forever just because someone carved a wish into it. But longer." Stromni tapped one finger near the second rune.

"Soft Face, is a new one, we never knew what it was. Guessing something ta do with dents, scratches, delicate pieces. I'm no jeweller." Stromni said, his eyes looked at the rune with interest.

"And True Strike?" Alric asked, lowering the tool to where they could both look at the runes.

"That one is what it sounds like. Doesn't make a fool into a master, but if the hand knows what it wants, the hammer goes where the hand wants it." Stromni explained, he leaned back slightly, his hands went to his hips. Alric looked at it for a while.

"Do use runes in your other tools? I've never seen any before."

"Don't bother with it lad, there's barely enough mana in me ta wake the runes proper. Mostly I keep it because it were his." Stromni explained, he lifted one hand off his belt and held it palm upward. Alric nodded. There were no clever words for that, and trying to find some would only be disrespectful. He held the hammer out to Stromni who took it gently. Stromni wrapped the hammer with care, then lifted the pickaxe.

"Now this one I made." The pickaxe had a stamped mark near the base of the head, rougher than the hammer's runes and pressed in rather than shaped with patient hands. Alric leaned closer. Nothing happened. He saw the mark, understood that it was meant to be a rune, and waited for meaning. His mind gave up and left him with lines.

"I can't read it." He said his gaze went to Stromni. Stromni's grin came out broad and sudden.

"Good."

"That is not usually the response we want." Alric said using both hands to gesture to the pickaxe.

"It should say Sharp," Stromni said nodding and pointing to the tip.

"Doesn't."

"You made it wrong?" Alric asked, he tilted his head at Stromni.

"I set it wrong," Stromni corrected, holding up one finger.

"Years ago. Young enough ta think a tool listened better if ye hit it harder. The turned a little when I struck it. Looking at it now, it's plain." Alric looked at the mark again, still nothing. A stubborn little scribble in the metal. Stromni took the charcoal and drew on the scrap below the first rune. This mark was sharper, cleaner, with a small angle near the lower edge that made the whole thing seem to lean forward before it changed. Sharp. Alric exhaled and pointed to it.

"That one says Sharp."

"Aye." Stromni said nodding at Alric and watching his eyes.

"But the pickaxe does not?" Alric asked pointing between the two but watching Stromni.

"Because the pickaxe is wrong." Stromni said tiling his head sideways and downward at Alric.

"I can see that the pickaxe one is wrong, sort of, but I can't compare them." Alric said, keeping a palm upward and gesturing between the paper and the pickaxe. Stromni frowned and crossed his arms.

"What d'ya mean?" Alric looked between the paper and the metal. The mark on the pickaxe stayed a mark. The one on the paper kept turning into meaning. His eyes slid over the drawn shape and gave him the word instead of letting him study it.

"This one says Sharp in words from my world," Alric said, tapping the paper.

"That one does not say anything, but I can't hold both in my head. The correct one becomes a word. The wrong one stays a symbol." Stromni went very still again. Then he said, with great sincerity, "That's damn weird."

"I think so too." Alric said throwing up both his hands.

"No, lad. That's damn weird in a way that would make old runesmiths break furniture." Stromni explained but he had a big grin, he lifted the pickaxe to study the mark closer. Alric looked at the two marks.

"Is that bad?"

"It ain't good or bad I reckon. It's mostly annoyin." Stromni set the pickaxe down.

"You're not reading like a dwarf reads. Dwarven runes aren't letters in a row. They're more like commands, but not quite, and old ones carry work inside them. Shape matters and place matters. What it's stamped on matters." Stromni explained, he used the pickaxe and pointed to different points on the handle. Alric absorbed that and spoke slowly.

"Margaret said something similar about the circle. Context changes meaning I think."

"Aye, because context is meaning with runes." Stromni said nodding enthusiastically, he kept a finger pointed upward as he spoke. Maggie gave a small tick from the lower body. Both of them looked toward the still at once. Stromni listened for a moment, then nodded as if the sound had passed inspection.

"So if I can read the meaning," Alric said slowly, he gazed at the the wall as he spoke, "I may not be reading the rune."

"That's what worries me." Stromni said with a small frown.

"Because the correct rune says what it does. An incorrect rune says nothing." Alric asked, he looked over at Stromni who was staring at Maggie.

"Or worse, says something wrong confidently." Stromni explained, lifting a palm upward on one side. Alric grimaced.

"I hate that."

"Good. Keep hating it. Ya might keep ya fingers." Stromni said grinning and turning back to him. Alric looked back at Maggie, then at the copper plates. The thought came so naturally that he did not stop it before it reached his mouth.

"Could we stamp the still?" Alric asked, his gaze turned back to Stromni with both brows up. Stromni turned his head very slowly. Alric raised both hands and turned away.

"I am asking as a theoretical, strengthen would help..."

"Not on your life." Stromni interrupted with a frown but also a grin.

"That was quick." Alric said trying not to chuckle.

"Because I like you alive, but more I like Maggie not ruined." Stromni pointed at the still with the charcoal.

"Copper doesn't conduct mana right for dwarven rune work. It carries heat beautifully like ya taught me but mana poorly. A rune needs material that takes the working and holds the intention. Magic iron, good steel, adamantite we know ain't happening. Mithril for sure, but mithril doesn't hold heat the way this lass needs. Put the wrong rune in the wrong material and ye may as well write a prayer on soup." Stromni used the charcoal to gesture to various parts of the still.

Alric considered that image and nodded as he spoke.

"Soup prayers are probably a temple matter."

"Don't make me regret explaining." Stromni said dropping one shoulder and facing Alric properly.

"I am listening." Alric said raising both arms again.

"Aye well... You don't stamp old runes onto everything like marks on barrels. The rune, the material, the tool, the maker, and the mana all talk to each other. Sometimes politely. Copper though? Like drunk miners after they get paid." Stromni said with a smile and turning back to the still. Alric glanced at the hammer wrap.

"And some of these are ancient?" Stromni's face shifted at that. His expression turned solemn, "Aye. Older than some kingdoms, we know many because they're used. Strengthen, Sharp, Bind, Hold, True, Open, Shut, all the common family of marks. But others?" He shook his head.

"Some old marks still work, and no rune master can tell ya why. That soft face? never 'eard of it." Alric looked at the wrong mark on the pickaxe again. It sat there, harmless because it had failed. That seemed comforting until he considered all the ways failure might choose not to be harmless.

"So what can I do with this?" Alric asked, his gaze moving from the pickaxe, to the paper to the dwarf.

"Nothing yet I think lad, but life is full of dangerous possibilities as o' late." Stromni said gesturing to the space around them and wearing a smug expression.

"I can't even argue with that." Alric said with a sigh.

"It's the one ye get, I do reckon this one is useful ta know lad, just don't tell another dwarf." Stromni reached for the scrap of paper around the two charcoal runes, then paused. Alric looked toward the still. The air had warmed enough that his cloak was becoming too much, so he loosened it at the throat. Heat, copper, water, seams, pressure. Dangerous, yes, but dangerous in ways that could be watched and listened to. Runes felt different. They were old meaning trapped in shape.

Stromni seemed to follow the direction of his thoughts, because his voice softened.

"Lad, I don't think this is nothing. Do reckon it's a gift, not a gift ta wave around though."

"I know that too." Alric said with a solemn nod of his own, his lips pulled to the side and his brows furrowed.

"Do ye?" Stromni asked with his brows raised. Alric studied Stromni for a moment. Stromni held his gaze.

"You read Strengthen off a mark I drew like a ledger. You read my great-grandfather's hammer. You can't read a bad stamp. That means something in you is finding the working, not just the shape. You an' me will figure this out, don't mention this ta another dwarf though, aye?"

"Pity, there are a few outside I was planning on chatting to about it." Alric glanced at the entrance.

"Aye well, I know ya being more careful o late." Stromni said with a scoff. Maggie gave another tick. This one was followed by a low sound like the still taking a breath through copper. Stromni turned toward her fully. The conversation, apparently, had reached the point where the machine deserved attention again. He moved closer and checked the lower seams, then the access plate, then the stone cradles. No leaks, no hiss.

The morning test continued as if ancient dwarven mysteries had politely agreed to wait their turn behind hot water. For several minutes, neither spoke. Alric found himself staring at the pickaxe. Stromni did not look away from the still when he spoke.

"Whatever this is, lad, we go slow. That ya can read dwarven is weird too, reckon ya can read other languages?" Stromni asked, still looking at the still. Alric shrugged.

"Don't really think it matters, it's also why no one can read my writing you know." Stromni just nodded.

"Aye, wouldn't worry about it too much then lad, might be useful one day." The thumper made a loud sound, both turned to toward it, and nodded in satisfaction.