"Halt!" yells a guard as I approach.

I halt.

"What's your business?"

"I've heard of the threat from above, and wish to pledge my services to its eradication. I would like to speak to one of the elders of your guild about this."

"They are in council now. You cannot intrude."

I nod. "Very well. When will they be finished?"

"We are not privy to that information."

"Will it be very long?"

"As I said, we do not know."

"I would like to speak to one of them, after they are done."

The guard frowns. "In such a crisis, they have many matters to attend to. If runeknights are called for war, you will hear of it. Then you may have an opportunity to pledge your services."

"The Runethane himself welcomed me to this city."

"Just as he has welcomed many senior runeknights."

I'm not special. That's what he's trying to say. I'm just another second degree—high ranking, yes, but far from unique. Runethane Halmak is not Vanerak. He does not believe I need special treatment. Probably, I should feel more thankful for this.

"Of course," I say curtly. "But would you at least be kind enough to relay a message to the elders, once they are finished? Surely I warrant that much attention, at least."

The guard exchanges glances with one of his fellows. "Perhaps," he says. "Depending on the message."

"Thank you. Tell them this: that Zathar wishes to join the battle above. I have fought in those caverns before and slain many a dithyok. I have no weapon of light, and thus there is no point in having me kept down here to help the defense against the darkness. My Life-Ripper, however, will have little trouble at rending the beasts above apart. Add that I would be deeply honored to fight for Brightdeep, too."

The guard nods. "Very well, honored runeknight. I'll relay your message. But it's the Runethane who'll make the final decision about who is deployed where."

"Of course."

"A white jelly," I tell Nthazes. "I'm sure that's what's stirred everything there up. Don't you agree?"

"It could be. Or it could be this Runeking Uthrarzak's forces. Could be anything."

"You don't sound so concerned."

He shakes his head. "What goes on above isn't our concern. Only the threat from below."

"The possibility of more almergris, though—surely that interests you?"

"We still have plenty. It's dwarves we need, not reagents and metals."

"Well, in any case, I've got no choice but to try and help out there. I'm desperate for gold."

"To buy your gems? We have plenty of gems down here, Zathar."

"But I won't take them. You need them more than I do."

He shakes his head. "You are one of us, or near enough to."

"Even so, I refuse."

"Even if your life is on the line? Even knowing you could make your equipment better, using what we offer?" His tone becomes a warning one. "Allabrast runeknights were all about their pride. I hope you haven't learned too much from their example."

"It's not just pride, Nthazes. It's—something else, too. It's about breaking free from Vanerak. I need to craft new armor as well, and my weapon of light. Those crafts have to be my own. Forged from my own freedom."

He nods. "All right. I understand, somewhat."

"All runeknights must make their own crafts. Find their own path, and not just in the forge."

"Not those from that Heldfast Hill you talked of."

"They can only barely be considered true runeknights," I spit.

"Of course," he says quickly. "I don't mean to offend you. I just wish you'd let us help you more. That's all."

"I'll do fine up there, friend. Don't worry yourself. And if it does end up being a white jelly, half the almergris I carve out will go to you."

"Then I will force you to trade it for some of our gems."

"Very well. I'll take them in that case. As long as it's a fair trade for both of us."

I head away from the Shaft's disconcerting darkness and quiet, and return to the forge. Upon the anvil lies one of the ears I'm forging, its various curves looking like waves of flame under the brazier-light, like the waves of the magma sea. I pull on some leather gloves and a leather apron, grab a hammer, and get to work.

First, the furnace. I insert one of the remaining blocks of crimson jammy, and turn it on with a click. It takes a while to heat up, but once it's hot, it's very hot, with a clean-seeming heat and almost invisible fumes that smell of spices, and that make my fingers tingle with the urge to move, to create.

Into the heat goes the ear. Before long, it's glowing orange. I pull it out with tongs and begin to hammer along the curves to make them deeper and smoother.

After so long with tungsten, I still haven't quite regained my skill at working titanium. Tungsten needed to be battered hard or it would give me no respect, and shatter at the worst moments, but titanium needs a more subtle touch. Overall, it's easier, but my muscles aren't quite in tune with the movements I need to make. I keep altering the curves too heavily and having to spend many strokes getting them back into place.

The tungsten was angry at me. Titanium, in its worst moments, seems to mock me. All metaphor, of course—or is it? Ordinary metal has the potential for the true buried deep within. I should not dismiss these feelings.

Slowly, the shape is coming together. But a malaise has taken me. I'm working slower than I need to, more reluctantly. Once this metal is shaped, after all, I have to wait to have enough money to buy the gems to place in it. To buy the gem-cutting equipment, too. As expected, quality tools are just as expensive as quality materials are.

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A knock on the door interrupts my forging. I lay down my hammer and open it. Polkud is there.

"You're wanted up at the castle," he says.

I grin wide. It seems my message has indeed been relayed.

Runethane Halmak has ordered a council of war held in his throne room. I am standing in the left half of the first row, where the first and second degrees who are not of the Red Anvil guild have been placed. Behind me are two rows of third and fourth degrees. To our right, on the other side of the golden-marble path that leads to the throne, is a block of Red Anvil runeknights in solid bronze. Most are elders.

No one below fourth degree has been invited, and despite the power of my crafts, I cannot help but feel somewhat out of place—no one here but me can be younger than a hundred years.

"Let us begin," Runethane Halmak declares from atop his throne. "Elder Brezakh, describe the situation for us."

Elder Brezakh stands up from the front row and steps out, then turns to face us. His armor seems to lock into place and a sense of immovability emanates from it. He clears his throat, speaks:

"Three long-hours ago, some map makers in the upper caverns were set upon by dithyoks. All were slain but one, who managed, despite terrible injuries, to make his way down to one of the farming caves. He reported that a horde of beasts was making its way upward, as if attracted by something—by the scent of easy spoils, perhaps. Easy prey."

"So there is no direct threat to the city?" interrupts a first degree in ornate, platinum edged, palladium runed steel.

"Not as of yet. But should the dithyoks, whippers, and various other beasts come upon a feast, it could set them into a breeding frenzy. This would hamper the growth of our realm considerably."

"However, we must not make assumptions," says Runethane Halmak. "We do not yet know the reason the beasts have made their way upward. It may not be for a feast. It may be due to some magic we do not understand, or even some army of Runeking Uthrarzak's—though I think this last unlikely." His eyes meet mine for a second. "Or it could be some other force of dwarves."

My heart leaps. Of course. Here is a possibility I hadn't yet considered: could Hayhek and the rest of the refugees have made it, not to the fort directly, but into the caverns above? Could their arrival be what's stirred the monsters into such a frenzy?

"But I do believe some prey-item is the strongest possibility," the Runethane continues. "Such a phenomenon has been observed before, by the deep dwarves of the fort. The arrival of a white jelly." His eyes meet mine again. "Zathar, you fought in that battle, didn't you?"

"Yes, my Runethane."

"Perhaps you might tell us about it."

"Me, my Runethane? Wouldn't Guildmaster Nthazes—"

"They are to remain below. If the darkness roils up now, we could be under attack on two fronts. That cannot happen. Stand, Zathar."

I obey, then walk out to stand near to Elder Brezakh. His sidelong glare is heavy with malice and, this close, the weight of his armor seems to crush down on me.

"The Runethane is correct. We observed a similar phenomenon to what your mapmaker reported. The caverns of the Mushroom Farm emptied of beasts, especially dithyoks. They were chasing after a white jelly. When we reached the top, they were assaulting it en masse, even devouring parts of it while it was still alive."

The gaze of the gathered senior runeknights is intense, yet none of them are looking at my face. Instead, I can feel their eyes roving over my equipment, examining my runes. I don't think any of them are listening to what I have to say, either. I see lips moving, mouthing the sounds they think my runes might represent.

"It was a fierce battle," I continue, trying to ignore the audience and their gazes which crawl over me like mites. "The white jelly collapsed a portion of the uppermost cavern, and several of us were lost in the rockfall. Even so, we were able to slay it and retrieve our prize—almergris, which I'm sure you're all familiar with."

"Thank you," says the Runethane. "Thought I would like some more detail: how exactly did you slay it, in the end?"

I tell him how the attacks of the frenzied beasts, coupled with our own assaults, led the jelly to slam the very cavern apart. That was what eventually killed it, I explain: its own defense. Just our small force of runeknights alone could never have defeated it, and the collapse inflicted heavy losses too.

Runethane Halmak nods thoughtfully after I finished.

"Any questions about Zathar's tale? Critiques of the deep dwarves' strategy? I know some of you have hunted similar beasts before."

But there seem to be none. I don't think anyone listened to a word of it: their thoughts are of runes and those alone.

"Very well. Back to your place then, Zathar."

I obey. Behind me, a third degree is muttering under his breath. I glance back sharply to silence him.

"Now, what should we do about all this?" asks the Runethane. "That's the question here. Any answers to it?"

There is silence.

"Hah! I thought so. Just going to wait for my orders, eh? You're not in my guild, you know. You don't have to obey me without question."

A first degree nearby me, armored in overlapping, razor-edged scales of gold, raises his hand.

"Yes?"

"We should go up, of course. There's no question about that. Only, how many must go up? We cannot leave the city undefended, not with the darkness below, and the possibility of Uthrarzak's armies on the loose."

"I doubt they are on the loose, so to speak. No, if Uthrarzak has already sent forces out, they will be small ones. But that is not his style, anyway." The Runethane shakes his head. "The darkness is the more pressing concern. We cannot send too many of those who have forged weapons of light out and upwards."

The runeknight smiles. "A very wise judgment, my Runethane. I should tell you that my guild is newly emigrated to here, and we have no weapons of light. We will go up and find out what this threat is."

"Oludek, of the Salamander Coats, was it?"

"That's correct, my Runethane. I'm honored you remember my guild."

"How many do you number?"

"We are yet a small guild, of only about fifty members. Most of us, however, are of at least fifth degree. And we are well used to hunting down beasts."

"Fifty isn't quite enough. Three times that would be a good amount. We don't know exactly where the beasties are all heading—three groups of fifty sounds like a plan. That's what Elder Brezakh suggested as well." He strokes his beard. "Yes, it's decided, then. Three groups of fifty, made from those who have not forged weapons of light."

Like a sudden, freak wave, nearly the whole of my row steps forward at once. They shout, clamor and declare that they and their guilds are best suited for the job. Some draw their weapons and lay them down before them as they bow. Others raise their weapons high and cry out their guilds' achievements in the field of battle. Runethane Halmak watches this performance for a few minutes, then stands, wields his great hammer.

"Silence!" he cries. "Step back!"

The runeknights cease their clamoring and obey.

"Guildmasters Rothok and Huirah, your respective guilds will form two of the expeditions also. The rest of you will be on high alert around the city exit-tunnels."

"Yes, my Runethane!" says Rothok, a wide and heavy runeknight in bronze.

"We are honored," says Huirah, a slimmer one in shimmering silver maille.

Shock jolts me. Is that it? Have things already been decided? I'd expected more arguments, more discussion, some kind of a detailed plan. Runethane Halmak doesn't believe in such things, it appears. He's decisive. And it seems I've been left out of the decision—unless I act as fast as he just has. I step forward.

"My Runethane!" I say. "I have fought a white jelly before. I would like to join one of these groups, as an advisor."

"You would, would you?"

"Yes. And there is another reason, too. I told you before that refugees, fleeing Runethane Vanerak's realm, might be headed this way. Might they have become lost in the caverns above? I think you have also considered this possibility. If it does prove to be refugees from Vanerak's catastrophe that have stirred the caverns up so, I should be there to greet them."

The three guildmasters, in gold, bronze and silver, are staring at me closely. Or rather, they are staring at my runes.

"He can join us," says the one in golden scales. "We will be glad to have some more strength, in the case we come across something particularly formidable."

"Very generous of you, Oludek," says the guildmaster in bronze. "But mightn't he not fit better into my force? We err on the defensive side, while he clearly favors the offense. He would complement our slight shortcoming."

"Join us, Zathar," says the one in silver. "You'll find that we're a generous guild. It does not matter if you are a member or not—those who fight best will gain a greater portion of the rewards."

I look from one to another. Although they try to keep their eyes fixed on my own, they keep glancing at Life-Ripper.

What's with the sudden enthusiasm to take me on? I thought most had lost interest in me—but clearly that wasn't the case. They've been biding their time, that's all, waiting for an opportunity, just like I've been.

Honestly, I don't like the look of any of the three guildmasters. There's greed in their eyes, great greed. What are they planning? Surely nothing as extreme as capture. Maybe they want to get me in their debt?

Well, whatever they want with me, I have to choose one. This is an opportunity for me too, after all.

"Oludek, I will go with your guild," I say. "You were the first to ask, after all. I would be honored to join your Salamander Scales for the duration of the quest."

"Excellent!" Oludek says. "You will not regret your decision, Zathar. I give you my personal guarantee of that."

The other two exchange dark glances.

"Well then!" says Runethane Halmak. "It's decided, then. Get your guilds together and move up as soon as you can." He frowns at each of the three guildmasters in turn. "But don't get yourselves killed. If it is a white jelly up there, hold back and send a runner for reinforcements. A hundred and fifty is far too small a number to take such a beast on."

"Yes, my Runethane!" the three chorus.

I detect the tiniest hint of insincerity in their voices, however.

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