I limp from the anvil toward the brazier. With shaking hands, I hold the buckler up and examine its shape under the light. Can it really be as perfect, as flawless as the sound suggested? Can the angles really be this smooth, as they seem to be? The welds around the handle do not look like welds usually do—they curve into the metal like parts of something grown, not two sections melted together.

After so many hours of struggling against the true metal, of beating it in one way then another, after so many attempts to remake it that in the doing seemed to be so futile, my wrestling match seems finally to have come to an end. The light reflects off the shield as if from a mirror.

But my eyes of flesh may be deceiving me. There is one final check I must do. I undertook it many times while forging it, listen-seeing very carefully, yet I now feel that I must do it once more. I limp over to the furnace, switch it off. I remove the gently hissing coals and set them on the anvil. I wait for the sounds of remnant burning to fade away. Then I pick up my helm, place it upon my head, and pull down the visor.

Darkness and silence fall heavily. I wait. Fear rises in my heart, terror at the utter lack of sensation. But for this test to be true I must wait for total nothingness.

Once it comes, once there is truly nothing in the world but for my own thoughts—not even touch or smell--I swing down. My hammer hits the anvil and strange light blooms. The whole forge becomes blue and green, and my buckler a brilliant, clear violet.

The first test is over. The metal is smooth. Now for the second. I raise my hammer above the buckler. Once more, I wait for utter silence to fall. It does, unbearably. I wait for one second more, let my hammer-hand fall.

The blood-strengthened metal rings true and a pure bell-note illuminates the forge in exacting detail. Even the smallest details in texture are laid bare: the fine grains of metal, specks of rust and dust, the lines between the stone tiles. What is more, the shadows in the corners where before sound could not quite reach vanish almost completely, leaving only traces of absence.

The note soon vanishes. I pull up my visor and stare deep into the true metal. It seems, in the end, to have obeyed me fully. Even unruned, it has power, this metal. And once I have enruned it—I will have a shield to throw off any blow and give light while it takes sound from my enemy.

I prepare paper and quill immediately. Concentric circles of runes, light and dark both. That's how I should make this poem. Yet fear stalls my hand after I complete the first line. To use so many dark runes while our guild is under such suspicion seems foolish. Yet what runeknight worthy of the name lets the fears of his lessers determine how he composes his works?

I touch the quill to the paper and begin the first curve of the rune for dark. The moment I do so, I hear the faint sound of footsteps approaching down the corridor. They are hurried. I throw down my writing materials, grab Life-Ripper, angle it at the door. Whoever has come to see me knocks frantically.

"Nthazes?" I shout. "Is that you?"

This scenario seems the most likely, if the dwarf who's come is polite enough to knock. I make to exchange Life-Ripper for my mace—which I cannot quite bring myself to name just yet. If Nthazes is here, it's because of the darkness.

"It's Hayhek!" comes the reply. "Guildmaster, you have to come up! Come up now!"

Come up? Then it's my other foes who have moved. I swallow. Is my opponent to be another Runethane? It sounds like I'm about to find out.

"Open the door and come in," I order.

The door opens and the firelight illuminates Hayhek's lined face. He looks exhausted, and his armor is grimy too, like he's spent the last several long-hours crawling about mucky tunnels.

"It's urgent, guildmaster. Very urgent. The Iron Shields—we think someone's going to tell them. Ithis wanted to go after him, but—"

"The Iron Shields?"

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"That Rothok's guild."

"And tell them what? Calm yourself, Hayhek, and explain from the beginning." I place down my weapon and gesture at the ale barrel. "Have some."

"I would rather stay sober, guildmaster."

"Well, fine. But calm yourself. What has Ithis done?"

"Something drastic..."

He explains. It seems like Ithis decided that the best evidence would be a confession, and he has gone about extracting some to great success, and with only the minimum amount of pain required. His suspicions were correct. There is indeed a conspiracy against us. My ruby burns; my blood boils. When Hayhek finishes, he takes a step back. Perhaps I look as if I'm about to run him through with Life-Ripper—it has somehow returned to my hand.

"So it's this Elder Brezakh who's our foe, is it?" I spit. "Runethane Halmak's most trusted lieutenant?"

"It would seem so," Hayhek says. His voice has a note of fear in it. "Him and half the guilds in Brightdeep."

"But not the Runethane?"

"Well, we can rule out nothing, or so says Ithis."

"You sounded as if you disapprove of his actions."

"He's gone too far, guildmaster. Torture—there was no reason to beat that runeknight so badly."

"He was trying to harm us, was he not?"

"We should think of the consequences of such acts. Of all our acts. We are viewed with terrible suspicion, guildmaster. We must take care to appear to the Runethane to be model subjects."

"Yet if not for Ithis' act, we would still be in the dark about who our true foe is. Elder Brezakh—I remember him from Allabrast. He was most reluctant to help us."

"Guildmaster, now that we know the foe—what do you intend to do about him? Ithis recommends we march on the Runethane's castle to confront him. However..."

"You believe this to be a foolish idea, do you?"

"I believe it to be a reckless one. We have to be more cautious than this! We can't make it look as if we're the aggressors here. We must let them come to us, as I believe they will."

"You think they will march on our guildhall?"

"I hadn't quite finished my tale. On our return to Brightdeep, we passed several dwarves who looked as if they might be from the Iron Shields, or who else knew the captives in some capacity. Rumors that we have committed some kind of crime will spread—"

"Crime? It is they who have committed the crime. Conspiracy!" I take a deep breath, try to calm my rage. "But yes, you are correct that it is we who'll be suspected."

"Yes." Hayhek looks shaken. "The rumors will soon make it back to Rothok himself. From there, Elder Brezakh and the Runethane will hear too."

"I see."

"Once this happens, they are sure to march."

"I concur."

"So, will you return with me?"

I glance over at my shield, still unruned.

"Guildmaster, surely this is more important than your craft."

"Nothing is more important than the forge!" I snap.

Hayhek steps back. I shake my head vigorously, grasp at my ruby.

"I apologize," I breathe. "I ought to stay calm."

"Please, guildmaster, you must come up with me now."

"But Elder Brezakh is strong."

"There is no reason any of this should come to direct combat. We are all subjects of the same Runethane, and above him, the same Runeking."

"True. But that never stopped most dwarves. Did Broderick not betray Runethane Thanerzak? And did Kazhek of the Troglodyte Slayers not try to kill me?"

"After you slew his friend, yes. Who attacked you, I know. I suppose your point stands. Yet even so—you must be with your guild, guildmaster."

"I know. I know."

"Then come."

"But Runethane Halmak's first-degrees are stronger than I am, Hayhek. I'm not so full of myself that I don't recognize that. Especially their armor—I don't think Life-Ripper will be able to get through easily. The runes are many layers deep. I suspect they use the technique Barahtan used against me in the trial—layering poems on top of each other. I'm sure Brezakh has mastered the technique fully."

"And this shield will give you some vital advantage? How?"

"It will. They will fight sightless and soundless. Who could win a battle like that?"

"I see. I am sure it will be a fearsome craft. But guildmaster, we simply don't have time."

"We do. They want to quarrel with me, not Ithis. They'll wait for my arrival."

"Perhaps they will. Or perhaps Elder Brezakh will charge in sooner."

"And make battle?"

"Perhaps! Zathar, I don't know him. Probably such a direct attack isn't his style—but there is also Guildmaster Rothok to contend with. Ithis has harmed his dwarves directly."

"We have weapons of light. They can't fight blind. And you forget Runethane Halmak—he will not abide open violence, not right away. Elder Brezakh knows this well. He will hold everyone back—until I arrive."

"So you're committed to staying down here, then?"

"Yes."

Hayhek nods. "Very well. Then I shall return alone."

"No—I need someone to watch over me while I runeforge." I look at my shield. "I can't afford to fail here. I need to dive right down."

"Down where? Into the darkness?"

"I suppose you could say that, yes."

"If they manage to read those runes, that will be further evidence against us."

"But what runeknight allows the opinions of his lessers to determine what he creates?"

"I suppose that is one way of looking at things. I just worry about the Runethane's opinion, that is all."

"You worry too much, Hayhek. Have faith that we'll win this fight. Now, ready some water and chains. It's time to enrune. And then, after that, it's time to crush our enemies—be it with words or weapons."

Probably weapons, I cannot help but suspect.

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