I back away to make room for those flooding in. They seem almost like a herd of beasts rushing to trample me in their excitement. I end up with my back nearly to the cave wall. The floor is raised up a little here, like it's a miniature surface hill, and I can look over the whole mass of runeknights that have come to join my guild. Many hold lanterns, and the bright light reflecting off various shades of armor creates a glittering chaos.

The final few runeknights enter. For a few moments, I remain overwhelmed, then I compose myself and nod to Ithis.

"This is quite the guild already," I say. "You've been working hard."

"Not at all. They have come here because of you, Zathar Runeforger."

He steps up. Ugyok follows. I notice that he is holding a thick roll of paper. I gesture to it.

"Am I to sign there?"

"You are indeed," says Ugyok. He is in full titanium, visor down, and his words echo metallically. "With blood drawn from your own weapon."

"Then that I shall do!" I declare, and I lift up my own visor. "Bring it here, Ugyok, honored member of the Runic League!"

He advances. He seems almost to be trembling. He kneels and passes me the scroll. I unroll it. It is written densely in runes of my own magma script and bezethast script. At the bottom, there is a blank space where it's clear I'm to write my name.

Blood—it is to be written in blood! My ruby shivers. Inspiration takes hold of me. I bring down Life-Ripper's single point hard into the stone floor. It penetrates an inch and begins to vibrate like a musician's tuning fork. The sound is a discordant wail, and the runeknights shudder and step back from its power. I smile. The noise slowly dies, and then the cave is silent.

"Maybe you're expecting me to write in my script of magma," I begin. "Or perhaps you've also heard of my script of ice. But you have joined this guild not simply because you wish me to teach you how to use these scripts, but because you wish to witness my power of making scripts. Well, this hour, I will show it to you."

There are gasps. I look across the gathered runeknights, and spot the one who talked to me at the fountain, Lekudr. My eyes meet his and I see that he is transfixed.

"I will sign my name in a new script—the script that we need most down here, the script of light. My script of light."

A sudden roar goes up. My ruby shivers. I grip Life-Ripper in both hands, up near to the twin-points.

"As you know, it is usually considered bad luck to write your name in runes. It has been said to lead to disaster. Yet on certain occasions, such as this one, a runeknight must write his or her name. I must write mine—Zathar. Now, watch closely! Witness my runeforging!"

I close my eyes. I become tenfold aware of the sounds around me, the breathing of the runeknights, the breeze down the passage outside, the buzzing of a few insects. I feel Life-Ripper's weight in my palms. It is to be a hammer today, my bone is to be the anvil, and my skin and flesh the metal.

Blazing heat envelops me from all sides. That heavy presence makes itself felt: the sphere. I am within the depths of the world's blood once more. Power wells up under me. The sphere takes it, directs it into my heart.

I catch it, control it. It's trying to tear me apart, but I wrangle it. The runes—I must think of the runes!

Dwarven names can take multiple runes. Those parents who choose just a few for their children, a single set, are the rarity. A name has its own meaning. It means that who is called by it, not what the objects runes of the same sound might describe.

Rendered into runes, mine has a few possible meanings. A kind of mad courage, or with a slight change in syllable-emphasis it can mean a certain alloy of aluminum, or it can mean the near complete darkness of a new formed cave. Which to sign my name in?

Or—none of these. I am the Second Runeforger. I create runes. Why not create my own? A single rune for Zathar, which means myself. Yes, this is what I shall do. And I shall imbue it with a characteristic of light.

What am I? The answers come to me; they are multiple.

I am a dwarf first and foremost. That is my essence. But there is more to me: I am a miner who turned his back on mining, then found out that the greatest runeknights are miners also. More contradictions follow: I have been a traitor and a savior, a fighter and a coward, a seeker of truth and a thieving deceiver. I have slain trolls and fought a dragon, slain dwarves and allied with trolls. I have helped friends and hurt them. I have created and destroyed.

Who am I?

I am the Second Runeforger! I am he who will light up this broken underworld from within by the power that has been gifted to me!

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I am Zathar!

Into my soul I take the strength of the world's blood and twist it. The form I create from instinct is fantastically complex, of circles within circles with a multitude of twisting lines stabbing through them. It is jagged, almost fractal. It seems like at any moment it could burst apart in a savage blast of splintered power. This rune is truly me—conflicted, complex, poised to rampage.

The sphere trembles a little. That is strange. It has never done that before.

The power of the world's blood continues to blast through me. The urge to create has not gone away. I will not shut it off, not yet. I am not merely Zathar, after all.

Zathar Nachrok-El-Drazakh Runseh-Jalfroh-Datah.

Zathar Dragonslayer, the Second Runeforger.

A dragon as light, a great beast casting fire-shadows that deceives and destroys. Death as light, the ultimate truth of mortality, shining darkly for all, that only the Runegods have surpassed. Runes as light, visual impressions of meaning. Forging as light, the light of sparks and furnace, the potential of metal shown clearly. And finally, two flashes of hopeful light from the far end of a black cavern.

These are the runes I create for my name. Now, finished, with great effort I push away the blazing heat. It does not want to leave. I yell out soundlessly, reaching for the coolness of my ruby. I grasp it. The magma and sphere fall away.

I cry out. In my cheek where Vanerak cut, there is a new pain. Something is sticking from it—Life-Ripper. Blood is running down its spikes, around its thorns, pouring over my hands. I yell and tear the weapon out. A thorn catches on the inside of my mouth, and the subsequent wave of pain sends me to my knees.

The runes. I must write the runes. The scroll has fallen next to me. I drop Life-Ripper, unroll it, leaving bloody gauntlet prints. I see the space my runes are to go, and it seems to call out to me.

I grimace and stick my finger into my newly opened wound. Blood envelops it. I press it to the paper, and write:

Zathar Nachrok-El-Drazakh Runseh-Jalfroh-Datah.

Zathar Dragonslayer, the Second Runeforger.

When it touches the page, the color of my blood changes, lightens from dark crimson to a vivid scarlet. My ruby shakes. I grin madly. This is proof of the power in these new runes. Even the tiny amount of metal that is in blood reacts to them, even without reagent—though of course, blood can have power in its own right.

With my less-bloody left hand I grasp the top of the scroll. I stand up and hold it out for the gathered runeknights to see.

"I am Zathar Dragonslayer, the Second Runeforger!" I cry out. "We are the Runic League! You are the Runic League! Together, let us change the underworld forever!"

A great cheer bursts forth. At first it is wordless, but then, like shapeless metal forming into a deadly weapon, it becomes a focused chant:

"Zathar Nachrok-El-Drazakh!"

"Zathar Nachrok-El-Drazakh!"

"Runseh-Jalfroh-Datah!"

"Runseh-Jalfroh-Datah!"

"Zathar Nachrok-El-Drazakh! Runseh-Jalfroh-Datah!"

"Zathar Dragonslayer! The Second Runeforger!"

What few doubts that remained are gone totally from my guild. They know I am the Second Runeforger now, for they have seen it with their own eyes. A power lost for a thousand centuries, a length of time unimaginable to all but the Runegods, has been reborn. They are some of the first witnesses to its rebirth.

Within each, I imagine, is a hope that they can imitate it. That will prove impossible, I fear. But at the very least, by being here, by being near to me and my abilities, they have put themselves a one tall step above their rival runeknights.

The chant shows no sign of fading, but I decide that I have more to say and hold up a hand for silence.

They take it as a signal to kneel. A hundred metal-clad knees hit the stone at the same time and the cave shakes. For a moment I remember the carvings along the walls in the magma sea, of the first runeknights kneeling before the First Runeforger. This thought disturbs me for a second, but a surge of warmth from the ruby eliminates the worry.

"Thank you, members of the Runic League!" I say. "Thank you! Thank you for coming to this small and grimy cave. My first Runethane that I served, Runethane Thanerzak, had for his forge an even smaller cave, not unlike in color to this one. I committed some mistakes in this realm, but never shall I commit those again. From this hour forth, everything I do is for you, and by extension from this, for all the dwarves of Runeking Ulrike's realms.

"Our first order of business is to grow strong and wealthy. Ithis has plans for that. Your role in this will be to quest and work on the most dangerous tasks you feel you're ready for, and to do it while wearing my runes. That way, all will understand the promise of them.

"The runes of magma which so many of you are wearing are not so suited to this place, perhaps. That is why I'm creating the new script, the beginning of which I have just shown you. My script of light. It will be suited to armor that can turns blows like a mirror turns a beam, and weapons to blind and confuse one's foes. To make them as powerful as can be may require the use of almergris—so you might have to spend some time below. Indeed, I have promised Guildmaster Nthazes, whose Guardians Against Darkness are our first allies, that some of you shall do this. Perhaps you will find it unpleasant—

"We will do whatever you ask of us, Runeforger!" someone screams.

For a moment I am taken aback by the passion in his voice. "That is good," I say, somewhat lamely, unable to think of anything more appropriate. "However anyone feels about it, it is necessary. Before we face Uthrarzak, we have the darkness below to contend with. Before that, though, the wealth and growth of the guild."

I glance at Hayhek. That one dwarf's scream has thrown me. The gaze of my guildsdwarves has suddenly started to feel like two hundred swords pointed toward my throat. I'm trapped, cannot move from this destiny I've fallen into.

I'm the Second Runeforger. No longer can I hide it, even a little. The enormity of this is starting to hit me.

"Thank you, guildmaster!" says Hayhek. "So, there you have it. We are now a guild. Before we get to work, to fighting and forging, it's time to celebrate that fact. It seems that we've left the barrels outside in our excitement, though. Let's bring them in."

"Bring them in!" roars Ithis. "Beer is all we have, but it's enough!"

The dwarves cheer once more, stand. They are hugging each other, clapping, clashing their weapons together. Then, once the barrels have been rolled in, the celebration proper begins. I step down into the midst of my guild, terrified.

The party is long, and wild, and when I wake up, I do not remember much of it. I drowned my terror very well, it seems. But the stinging in my cheek reminds me that my memories from before the black-out wildness were no dream.

I am a guildmaster now, with all the power and responsibility that entails.

I am the Second Runeforger, with the weight of destiny upon me.

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