I emerge into the lantern light and breath in deep the smell of smoke. The forging district is as busy as it was when I left it—it never rests, is always breathing out the fumes and heat of runeknights' work. I look around, ignoring the strange looks I get from other runeknights going about their business, and head down the street. The castle guards watch me suspiciously, and I ignore them too.

Between the doors to forges-for-rent are doors to supply shops of every kind. There are metal stores, tool stores, stores for anvils, fuel stores, reagent stores. Unlike the shops of Allabrast or Thanerzak's realm, where wares were displayed openly through large glass windows, only the tightly packed shop doors are visible here. Thick runic script, often bezethast, describes what's for sale enticingly overhead, and hint at great deals on the rarest of the rare.

Nearish to the Runethane's castle is what I'm looking for: a gem store. Above it the geometric forms of facets are outlined, colored by pastes mixed with crushed semi-precious stones. According to the sign, it sells emeralds, rubies, sapphires and diamonds. The door handle is plated with gold, then when I grasp it, I can tell by its weight that it's solid gold. This is a high-class store. Nothing in here will be cheap. I will not buy cheap; the crafts of a second degree demand the best materials.

I turn the golden handle and go in through. A corridor greets me, carpeted with the fur of some long and shaggy monster. Along the walls, images of gems have been carved in a similar style to those above the entrance, but on a much larger scale. Each pictorial is about the size of my torso.

A dozen yards down the corridor and up a steep, narrow flight of stairs, I find the real entrance to the store. Two guards of about fourth degree flank it. They are equipped in bronze, their runes are written densely in bezethast script, and they are armed with short maces.

"Good hour," I say. "May I enter?"

"Of course, honored runeknight," says the one on the left.

I walk through, feeling their eyes follow me. Within is a small natural cavern, its floors and walls expertly smoothed and polished. Glass cases are dotted around carefully, gems within glinting in the tastefully dim light of a spherical daycrystal set high in the ceiling. A young lady dwarf, dressed quite finely, approaches me.

"Greetings, honored runeknight. Welcome to Yujharat Family Gemstones. What brings you to our humble premises?"

"I'm looking for a set of sapphires. Two sets, specifically. Or diamonds would work too."

"Sets, honored runeknight?"

"That's right. Two of ten."

"I see. Such large sets will have to be made to order, of course. And that may take some time."

"Time is no matter to me."

"Well, if you would come this way, I'll show you what you might want have duplicated—although no two gemstones will ever be exactly alike, of course."

"Of course. I know well."

She leads me to a long case concealing bright sapphires. Each is cleanly cut, rather better than I think I could manage. To cut twenty and two gems with my own hand, as exactly symmetrical as they must be for runic ears—it's an imposing thought. Indeed, I still might decide to cut my own, depending on the price of these ones, and on how eager or not Runethane Halmak is to fight the darkness.

The Runethane will want to meet me at some point—or at least the elders of the Red Anvil Guild will. I'm sure of this.

"Which cut have you decided will suit your craft best, honored runeknight? Or will, if I may presume to say so, the exact runic wording depend upon the cut?"

"I would like a long octagon cut. Like these ones, here." I point. "Though I notice they are not priced."

"We do not display our prices here," the shop assistant says, a little coolly.

Of course. Any runeknight who enters a gemstone store with a doorhandle of solid gold is assumed to not be wanting for money. Of course our customers can afford our wares, is the message. It would be an insult to do something so cheap as to show the price.

Stolen story; please report.

"Naturally," I say hurriedly. "What I meant to say, is how much might a set of twenty cost? I understand it would take a while to complete such an order. I am not cheap—I'm not expecting some kind of bulk discount, you understand."

"I would need to discuss with my grandmother. But I think such an order would come to no less than five thousand golden wheels."

Five thousand! My heart skips two beats. I've never even seen such an amount of money. How many gold discs did Runethane Ytith give me? Perhaps fifty? I imagine a hundred such purses, and grow a little dizzy.

"We can assure you that they will be flawless, cut from only the highest quality material."

They better be, for two hundred and fifty apiece. It looks like I really will be cutting my own. Yet how much will that cost me, I wonder? Even if it's only a fraction of the price, say fifty a gem, that's still more gold than I've ever held. And then there is the cost of gem-cutting equipment, of which I've seen none of in the fort. I know that high quality chisels and grinding wheels don't come cheap.

And then there are the two larger gems for the induction ridges. They will be a further degree more expensive too. Maybe as much as half the rest combined.

"Naturally," I say, mouth a little dry. "I would like to see the diamonds you have available too."

She leads me to them, and tells me the price—more than twice that of the sapphires. I've severely underestimated the sheer cost of crafting for ordinary dwarves, I realize. My time in Vanerak's realm has warped my sense of one of the most important factors in a runeknight's path to success—money.

"Thank you for showing me your pieces," I say.

"Would you like to place an order?"

"Not yet. I'll get my funds together first, and of course I must examine your competitors."

"No shop in Brightdeep can match the quality of the gems of us Yujharats," she says proudly. "We have been cutting gems for fifteen generations. A branch of the family also operates in great Allabrast's diamond district."

"Even so, as a customer—"

"Of course you have the prerogative to shop where you will. But I assure you that you will find nowhere better."

I bow. "Thank you for your time."

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, I hurry to the exit. The guards part to let me pass, yet as I make my way along the short corridor, I can hear their footsteps behind. They're escorting me out. Did I offend their employers that badly?

Out I step—and immediately fall into fighting guard, Life-Ripper's twin points held out to the runeknights surrounding me. There's a dozen of them, all third or second degree. And their leader, in thick bronze plate radiating solidity from its runes, is undoubtedly of first degree. He holds a gleaming short-sword loosely in one hand. In the other he holds a buckler. He's ready to fight.

I draw Life-Ripper back. I cannot contend with so many runeknights of this caliber. Maybe Nazak would have equaled their leader, had his armor been undamaged and his flesh unexhausted. To deal with all of them here would take the strength of a Runethane.

"Good hour," I say.

"Good hour to you too," the first degree says. His tone suggests that it is not. "We know who you are."

"I am afraid that I cannot say the same."

He lifts his visor. I see a grayish beard with chains threaded through it, below a face that looks like it was carved by a mason with deep anger in his blood.

"My name is Elder Brezakh of the Red Anvil Guild, chief commander of Runethane Halmak's standing army."

"Ah. We have met before."

"We have indeed."

"I must commend you on your thriving city, Elder Brezakh. Your Runethane and guild have done great work here."

"We thank you for the compliment."

"It seems to me that news of my innocence has not reached you yet down here. I do not quite understand why I am to be arrested. Have I broken some law I was not aware of?"

"You mistake us. This is no arrest, Zathar Forgiven-Traitor. We are your honor guard. The Runethane himself is most keen for a meeting. An immediate meeting."

"An honor guard. Of course. I apologize for the misunderstanding—drawn weapons sometimes give the wrong impression."

"We accept your apology."

The bronze gates swing open and I am marched through into the castle. The stone corridor is a high, narrow arch in shape, engraved with images of the many great deeds the Red Anvil guild has accomplished. I remember hearing about some of them from the guildmembers during mine and Nthazes' brief stay in their guildhall: the slaying of the great ten-legged salamander, the massacre of the tin-trolls, and the defeat of Runethane-Captain Ukrarat, a grandson of hated Uthrarzak himself.

Fifty yards down and the corridor branches into two around a large pit. Its floor is coated in coarse dark sand.

"This is where hopefuls for the next degree are examined," says Elder Brezakh. "And also where duels and trials of various kinds take place. Our Runethane himself likes to preside over most of them. He is just and fair in his decisions."

"I would expect no less," I say. "He struck me as most worthy of respect."

"Of course he did, second degree. He is your Runethane."

"My Runethane? I am a newcomer to this place."

"While you reside here, he is your Runethane. You will obey his commands."

"Naturally. I meant no offense. Some Runethanes have different opinions on who is theirs, and who is not."

After the arena, the two branches of the corridor converge again, before opening up again around another, smaller pit. At its center is a crimson glow—I see the guild's eponymous Red Anvil.

"You are honored to witness it," says Elder Brezakh.

"The immensity of the privilege is not lost on me, honored runeknight."

"That is good."

The corridors converge into one again. At their termination I see another pair of bronze doors. When we reach them, Elder Brezakh knocks hard twice. They swing open, and we enter Runethane Halmak's throne room.

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