Elder Brezakh looks over the runeknights before him. There are around twenty, half from the Red Anvil guild and half from various others. All wear expressions of righteous anger, but anger is not the only reason they're here. Their eyes glint with greed, too. Elder Brezakh has promised them all a great deal of gold in exchange for their help and secrecy.

"We all know what's been going on," he begins, words echoing around the empty cavern. "We all know of the cancer growing within the heart of our city. The mass delusion that has been going from strength to strength."

The dwarves nod.

"Many of you have seen loyal guild brothers and sisters lured away by his promises of new runes. Despite your pleas, they were blinded by his lies."

More nodding. Looks of anger and sorrow flash from the dwarves of other guilds.

"He must be stopped, this traitor and deceiver. He must be stopped!"

"Strike his head off!" one of the runeknights spits—heavily-armored Guildmaster Rothok. "I don't believe for a second that Oludek died to a whipper beast. Something nasty happened down there."

"Yet there is no proof of that," says Brezakh. "No proof that anything he's done is illegal. We cannot prove that his runes are not new, that he has been lying, and nor can we prove any more serious crimes. And because of this, the Runethane refuses to heed my advice. He's blind to the disaster approaching. He can't see that this false Runeforger is going to try and bring down everything we've done here."

He sweeps his stern gaze across the gathering.

"Do not doubt that he will, runeknights. Why else would he tell such lies? Why else would he be trying to gain such power?"

"You believe that he wishes to usurp the Runethane, then?" someone asks. It's Huirah, another of the three guildmasters who went up to investigate the disturbance in the caverns. "You think that's what he has in mind?"

"I've no doubt about it. He claims to have fought a Runethane and survived, and he may well have. He is strong—that is no lie. This strength has led to arrogance. He thinks that with just a little more power, he'll be able to defeat Runethane Halmak."

"He'll grow his guild until its bigger than your own, and then he'll strike. Is that what you predict?"

"Yes. That's the most likely scenario."

"But you have no proof of this."

"I need none. I know his sort—ambitious. Unwilling to follow the orders of those older and wiser. He thinks he knows everything. He's too young. His talent is unearned, immature!" Spittle flies from Brezakh's lips. "He does not understand loyalty. He does not understand that dwarves must work together to succeed. He'll trample on anyone if it gains him power."

The gathered dwarves, their loyalty to this pact verified in blood signatures, nod along.

"We must stop him. The question is, how? Assassination would raise suspicion, and perhaps the ire of our Runethane. No—we must think of a better way."

"Strike at his runes," suggests a young dwarf with a curly blonde beard. Brezakh looks in surprise. "He says his runes are powerful—if we could prove, somehow, that this isn't the case, the appeal of his guild would diminish drastically. Am I wrong, uncle?"

"It's a thought," Brezakh says, somewhat taken aback.

The young dwarf's name is Benkal. The son of one of Brezakh's younger brothers, he's been rising quickly in the ranks of the guild—not yet four thousand long-hours of age, he's already a sixth-degree.

"I've seen what's written on their tungsten armor," Benkal continues. "It's poor in comparison to bezethast script. If we can convince the realm of this, his popularity will fall dead."

"How, though?" demands Guildmaster Rothok.

"I'm not sure. It's just an idea."

"Short-beards should keep silent!"

"I apologize," says Benkal, but Rothok has already loudly begun to give his own opinion.

"There's only one way that I can see, honored elder. To strangle the life from his guild—metaphorically, of course."

"Explain," Brezakh orders.

"What is there to explain? We cut off his gold. If his gold vanishes, there'll be no more crafts. He can't make runes without reagents and metal."

"I thought you agreed that his runeforging was a trick," says Huirah, folding his arms. His silver chainmail glints elegantly.

"I do! But he needs to keep of the appearance of making new ones, and he displays them on his armor—armor that must be second-degree quality. If he can't afford the materials, he can't keep up the pretense."

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"That's a very well-made point," says another dwarf. "But how exactly do we cut off his gold? Easily said—not so easily done."

"Not easily, no," says Brezakh. "But maybe it can be done."

He thinks carefully for a while. The others wait patiently.

"Stop them getting work," he says. "That's how we'll do it. They find their jobs in the quest halls. But what if the quests appeared somewhere else?"

"They'd sniff it out," says Huirah. "And they'd complain to the Runethane. Those halls are legally designated."

"We don't change the place. No—we keep everything to ourselves."

"What do you mean?" asks Guildmaster Rothok.

"Jobs set by the Runethane won't go to the questing halls anymore."

"Then where?"

"To your guilds directly."

Rothok and Huirah look at each other. They smile.

"I see," says Huirah. "Straight to us, and this on top of the gold you've promised."

"Yes," says Brezakh. "Straight to you. All the richest rivers of gold—straight to you."

"Is that legal?" asks Benkal, scratching his perfumed curls.

"Completely so," says Brezakh. "There are laws saying that job requests must be displayed in public, for any runeknight to be able to take, but there is no law that says a dwarf cannot request his friends to take on a personal task for him. And neither are there laws saying he cannot award said friends for undertaking said task."

"We need to work out the details," says another guildmaster. "Who gets what, and how they're told. If any letters get out—things could turn violent."

"Then let us work them out now," says Brezakh. "And then we will start immediately." He raises his fist. "Zathar's delusions will ensnare no more of us. He will gain no more undeserved power. The Runic League's lies end here!"

Cheering echoes around the cavern.

When I return to the guildhall, I am surprised to see that a number of refurbishments have been made. No longer is it a cave of plain, bare stone, but has started to resemble a proper guildhall. Long tables have been purchased and laid out, and alongside them stand cushioned benches. Kegs of ale are lined up along the lefthand wall. Braziers have been set at regular intervals along the center, and their flames both warm the guildhall and give it a cheery orange glow.

"Guildmaster!" shouts a dwarf—one I don't recognize at all. "Everyone, Zathar's back!"

Runeknights stand from their chairs, raise their mugs high. They cheer:

"Zathar! Zathar! Zathar!"

For a few seconds, I feeI crushed by the pressure of their voices, but then I relax my shoulders and let myself bask in the sound. It begins to elevate me—I seem to become lighter than air, as if floating on their praise. It's an enjoyable feeling, and I let the cheers continue for at least a minute before I hold up my hand for silence.

"Thank you, everyone!" I say, projecting my voice to fill the whole hall. "It seems that you've been busy in my absence. I returned here for materials a few times—but things have really moved along, haven't they?"

"It's been only a long-hour since you were last here," says Hayhek, from a bench toward the back. "Once the purchases were finalized, we brought in everything at once."

"It looks excellent. Who decided on the layout?"

"Ithis did."

"I must congratulate him on his taste."

"It's not quite finished—we'll be getting some miners down in a little while, to hollow out another room. And we need some masons to polish up the walls. They seem to be in short supply at the moment."

"I see, I see. Well, all in good time. Where is Ithis, anyway? I need to show you and him something." I hold up a rough sack. The guildmembers gaze at it. "My new craft!"

More chanting erupts:

"Show us! Show us! Show us!"

I hold up a hand for silence again. "You will get a chance to marvel later. And more importantly, you will get a chance to use the runes written upon it. Runes of light to drive back the dark!"

"Runes! Runes! Runes!"

I motion for silence once again. "In time, my guildmembers! In time. First, a dictionary must be made. Then you'll have the power you're all here for."

A roar goes up. Foamy beer sloshes from mugs. I grab a drink from the nearest table and hold it high.

"To the light of new runes!" I yell.

"To the light of new runes!" comes the reply.

My guildmembers stand up from their benches, begin dance and shout and sing and drink. Just a few words has sent them into a frenzy. I down my beer in one gulp and laugh.

"Enjoy yourselves while you can, my runeknights! You have a lot of hard work ahead of you!"

Still laughing, I make my way through the cheering crowd to Hayhek, wearing a somewhat more sober expression than most.

"I'd be careful if I were you, Zathar. Love can turn to hatred very quickly."

"I suppose. But everyone needs a celebration now and again, don't they?"

"Yes. A little more often than you give them, perhaps—you really ought to spend more time up here. Some of the newer members haven't even seen you yet. We have more than two hundred now, you know."

"Two hundred?" My eyebrows rise high. "That many already?"

"Yes."

"Impressive. You've been doing good work."

"It's all down to you. New runes—though any script would beat miserable Bezethast."

"I've never tried to work with it."

"I wouldn't bother. Anyway, this new craft of yours—it has all the runes we need?"

"I think it has enough flexibility now for most purposes. Though, there is something unexpected about it." I lower my voice. "It's best we keep our discussion quiet, Hayhek. Is there nowhere private here?"

"Over this way."

He beckons me to the corner of the guildhall, where a curtain rail has been set. I enter and he draws it around us. A few seconds later, Ugyok and Rtayor follow us in.

"Where's Ithis?"

"Finalizing a deal with the miners," say Ugyok.

"Oh. A shame."

Fiery lines on Ugyok and Rtayor's helms catch my eye. They're runes of my magma script.

"New helmets?"

"Yes," answers Ugyok. "Of course. If we're representing the Runic League, we ought to be wearing the guild's runes."

I nod. "You should be. But maybe you crafted too soon—I have some new ones for you."

"We're looking forward to them."

I reach into my bag, then hesitate for a moment. Will they notice right away? But I need to tell them in any case. I grit my teeth, pull my new helmet out and lay it on the table.

Its beauty is immediately apparent; it almost takes my own breath away. For a second, my nervousness vanishes. Our reflections are staring back clearly at us from its metal. The pale runes are elegantly formed.

"Impressive," breathes Rtayor.

"It has real power," says Hayhek. "Real power. You truly are a second-degree."

"It has power," I agree. "In the very metal itself, too. But never mind the metalwork. Look at the runes."

"They're similar to what you signed the papers of foundation in, aren't they?" says Ugyok. "I recognize the shapes."

"Yes. They're runes of light. But look at these ones too."

They lean in to look closely at where I point.

"I have made their opposites, too. Runes of darkness."

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