"I have no idea what you are talking about," I tell Bolin. "What other one? You saw a blood rune yesterday?"

"Yes, at Jeamo's studio."  He nods to himself. "That's right, you weren't there. While you and Lynae were chasing down Jeamo, Enturi noticed a rune just like this. On the ritual table, under the fresher blood stains."

Maybe that's why the rune looks familiar. I must have glanced at the ritual table yesterday.

"And you found this one at Calmorien's apartment?" Bolin asks.

"Yeah. We have to destroy it or the humans are going to know there was an active elven sorcerer here in Elftown and there will be blood to pay."

"I thought the humans were behind the ritual spying?"

"That doesn't mean they knew Calmorien was learning the rituals and making his own runes. If they knew about him at all, it was as a procurer of subjects, not an active partner and student. They don't want us to have or use magic. Ever. This is the only thing left that could reveal Calmorien's power. We must destroy it."

Bolin nods, thoughtfully.

"Very well," he says. "I'll do it." But he doesn't look happy about it.

He starts to grab the rune, thinks better of it and casts around nervously. Finally, he puts on a full helmet, staring out at me through the narrow slits, and retrieves two sets of matching tongs from the wall next to the forge. He nods to himself, and then turns to me.

"Pick it up," he commands.

I do so, holding it by the sides again, as Lynae had when she handed it to me. While I hold the rune steady, the dwarf grasps the linen-covered wood first on one side, then the other, with a set of tongs, carefully placing the grasping end of the tongs so that they do not touch any of the blood-written lines of the rune. He nods and I let go. 

Bolin turns and gingerly carries Calmorien's painting toward the forge fire. I back up a few paces. He thrusts the painting into the flames and releases it, pulling the tongs out. With surprising quickness, he moves to the side of the forge chimney, away from the flames.

The blood rune starts to sizzle. Then it begins to crackle loudly. Sparks fly out of the forge, like miniscule efreet released from the painting's magic. The crackling builds in a staccato series of explosions and the flames above the painting burn whiter and emit a high keening whistle. 

This can't be good. It occurs to me that even though I am a few paces back, I am still standing directly in front of the furnace fire.

I dive to the side. Not fast enough, though. There is a thunderous boom and a blast of hot force throws me back against Bolin's worktable. I slam into it like an ogre-tossed loser in a tavern brawl. When the fog of pain clears, I am lying face down on the floor of the workroom with a piercing headache and a sharp pain in my back. The rest of my body doesn't feel so great either. 

From somewhere to my left I hear a hoarse, raspy wheezing, like a donkey bleeding out from having it's throat cut.

It's Bolin. Laughing. As if the pain in my back wasn't bad enough. Dwarven laughter is creepy as hell.

I hear a door slam and an elven voice cries out.

"Bolin, are you all right? What happened?"

The beard catches his breath with a gutteral grunt and looks over me, over the table, towards the door. I glance down toward my feet. It looks like I fell entirely behind the work table. Good.

"Stay back!" he barks at the elf at the door, then shakes his head. "It's nothing serious; had a bit of impurity in some ore which exploded. Danger's past, but there's still some bits of smoldering metal on the floor back here. Nothing to worry about, I'll have it cleaned up soon, but don't want anyone getting burned. You can get back to work."

Smart dwarf. It's not that I shouldn't be here. It's just that I would like to avoid the questions that might occur to others if they saw me lying here on the floor after an explosion. Looks like Bolin would prefer to avoid that sort of complication as well.

"Yes, boss," replies the elf. A moment later I hear the door shut. 

Bolin looks at me, grinning again, and lifts his finger to his lips. After he is satisfied that the elf has gone and no one else is coming, he nods to me. I lift myself up on my elbows with a groan. Goddess, my back hurts. Looks like I won't be breaking into the olive oil warehouse tonight after all. I'll be lucky if I can walk back to my place.