For the first time in many, many long-hours, I descend the steps to the fort. This time, I am not alone—I can hear the heavy tread of six guild members following behind, each carrying many heavy ingots of titanium, or else boxes of reagents or gems. After I speak to Alae, I will craft my new armor and weapon in preparation for the coming battle.

We pass into the winding tunnels, which I find my way through by the light of my dwarves' maces. We come to the great doors to the Runethane's hall, grafted with runes so fine that I first thought there one none at all. I pull them open. Inside, the hall is as cold and quiet as ever. I move quickly to get to the forge, then order my dwarves to start unpacking the materials.

As I oversee their work, I notice something odd. A space, a feeling of emptiness. It unnerves me for a moment, but the shadows seem no darker than usual. No, I simply get the sense that there is something missing from the front shelf. I scratch at my beard, trying to guess at what has gone, if anything.

It hits me: the Runethane's chest, that's what's missing. The small one, with the bars of true titanium in it. Nthazes must have taken them for his work. Will he be able to manage? There was enough true titanium in there to make a weapon of about half-purity, if it's indeed a weapon that he's making.

How difficult would such a material be to forge with? What terrible tricks would it try to play? It might even prove dangerous—might actively try to harm the dwarf trying to forge it, especially when combined with almergris.

I scowl at myself, feeling ashamed. Nthazes has been working titanium for far longer than I have—hundreds of years. I'm sure he'll be able to craft with it brilliantly, no matter how true it is. I ought to place more faith in him.

"Thank you, everyone," I say once my materials are organized. "Now, I believe I promised a reward."

They watch eagerly as I open up one of the boxes and pull out six spheres of hytrigite. Each is quite small, but still nothing that would be easy for any runeknight below fourth degree to afford, and these dwarves are all below fifth.

"Raw hytrigite like this must be refined, as I'm sure you know," I tell them. "There are books in the guildhall that say how, and you should study them carefully, but I'll also give you my own advice: strike with force! Hytrigite demands respect. Try to be too careful and it'll reject you. But conversely, be too violent and it'll lose respect for you also."

They thank me profusely and promise to try their best.

"If you succeed, you will have the honor of witnessing me runeforge."

"Then we will succeed!" one of them says, the youngest. "Or at least I, Lekudr will, for the honor of witnessing you again."

I grin. "It will not be so easy. But we'll see. Dismissed!"

They bow and march out. I feel rather pleased with myself. Once, hytrigite was immeasurably precious to me—now I can give it away. I could never have done that in Vanerak's realm, either, with no freedom. Now I have gold and freedom both—though, of course, gold is one kind of freedom, is it not?

I reach for a titanium ingot, stop my hand halfway. I've forgotten why I came down here. The human witch is waiting for me. She'll probably be in her quarters, Jaemes' old quarters—I know the way well.

I exit into the Runethane's hall and my heart jumps. At the far end, only just visible in the gloom, is a tall, gaunt figure. Pale hair hangs over her shoulders.

"Alae?" I call out cautiously.

"Who else?" the witch replies.

"How did you know?"

She raises her wand, and light glows brightly from it, turning the whole hall the golden hue of sunlight. My skin prickles with the heat, and I wince. Her hair becomes golden too, looks almost like that of a youth.

"Well?" I ask.

"I waited for what I estimated to be the right amount of time, then came down here."

"You estimated well."

"I usually do."

"No magic about it at all?"

"None."

I walk down to her. She looks as strange and skeletal as ever—perhaps more so than before, actually. Her cheekbones stand out palely through her brown skin. She looks as if she's been barely eating at all.

"You seem ill," I say. "You ought to have some ale and meat first."

"I am fine, thank you. Though I would also ask after your health. They wouldn't let me see you when you lay injured. Perhaps they were worried I'd work some spell on you."

"Would you have?"

"Contrary to what the peasants believe, there are no spells to mend broken bones and torn flesh—though warm sunlight and fresh water can help a little to prevent further sickness."

"Sunlight and water would just have made me worse, I fear."

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"Indeed. But you seem to have healed just fine with your dwarven magic."

"Yes, though it took a little while."

"And I'm glad to hear you were allowed back up to the city. I feared that the Runethane might punish you for slaying his closest friend."

"It was a fair duel, and the Runethane is more fair than most."

"Very fair indeed. You dwarves are still able to surprise me, even after all this time."

"I suppose justice up on the surface is done differently."

"Usually there is a trial, and one that does not involve any combat—nor any forging of weapons."

"So how is guilt decided then? Talking?"

"More or less."

I laugh. "Most trials in Allabrast are conducted the same way, I believe. My one was meant to be also, but in the end, there was a fairer method found."

"Perhaps you could tell me the tale one day."

"Yes, one hour. But anyway—let's get to the point. Why have you called me down? Have you made some discovery about the darkness?"

She shakes her head. Her white hair sways. "No. It remains as much a mystery as ever."

"You don't even have any speculation?"

"Not even that. I have been hard at work on something else."

"I see. May I ask what?"

"Of course. I'm eager to reveal it to you—I have created something of great power."

My fingers tighten around Life-Ripper. Create? A human, create something? A weapon? This is bound to be bad news.

"Of great power?" I ask nervously.

"Of very great power. It will be key to our battle against the darkness below."

"Some kind of weapon, I assume? But I didn't know you could forge."

She laughs. "It could be called a weapon, yes, but not one made from metal."

"Made from magic, then."

"It is a spell, yes."

"Ah, of course." I feel something of a fool—what other kind of weapon would a witch make?

"If I may be allowed to show you it, I shall do so now."

"All right. Go ahead."

She raises her wand, then looks at me with bright eyes. "Are you not going to step back? Usually, when a wizard says she is to display a new spell, the wisest thing to do is back away."

"I am a runeknight," I say. I rap my fist against my tungsten breastplate. "I trust in the strength of my armor."

"Very well."

She raises her wand higher, and I resist the urge to step back. Armor, as I well know, is not always very good protection against human magicks. Perhaps I should have taken her offer, but it's too late now. I won't embarrass myself in front of a surface-dweller.

The light shining from the wand's tip dims quickly, until I can see only the vaguest outlines of the walls, as well as the firelight still shining from below the door to the forge. Then the light still on the wand starts to flicker rapidly. Alae's expression becomes strained. She clasps her wrist with her left hand, as if to support it. She is shaking slightly.

Something catches my eyes above, pressed against the ceiling. I look up and see a fog forming there. It's dark, similar to that made by the smoke-coals, yet this material is not made by fire, but its opposite.

I remember standing atop a hill while the sky roiled. I remember the color of the wizard's cloak: the color of clouds. I back away quickly. Is lightning about to fall? Is this the witch's idea to strike the darkness? The light of lightning? The clouds expand and swirl in a spiral. The air is whipped up and whistles past my armor.

Alae cries out and extends her arms as far as they can reach, her wand pointing directly up above her head. It flashes golden along its whole length. I duck down and raise Life-Ripper instinctively—not that it could do anything against lightning but conduct it.

The clouds above turn golden, glowing from within. Any moment now.

"Stop!" I shout. "What are you doing?"

"Behold!" she screams. "Behold the paradox of sun and rain!"

The clouds grow so bright I can hardly look at them, and then the rain starts to fall, waves of thousands of suns thrown down to splash upon my armor and the floor. I screw up my eyes against the light. Each time one splashes apart, its glow doubles. The light reflects from the flood now covering the floor, blinding me from below as well as above.

"That's enough!" I yell over the sound of the storm. "You've made your point well, witch!"

She lets out one final scream of effort, and lowers her wand. The rain ceases, and the clouds sink down around us, before fading away into wisps of nothing. All becomes silent but for the sound of water trickling out the door.

"Well?" she pants. Her robes have become dark and heavy with the water, and they seem to be weighing her down. Her back is bent and her knees are also. "What is your opinion, Runeforger? Of my paradox of sun and rain?"

I stand up straight and shake my head. "You ought to be more careful. If it had been lightning that fell, I might have slain you on the spot."

"I would not be so stupid as to design a spell of lightning to assist dwarves clad in metal."

"Even so, you ought to be more careful."

"Nothing came to harm, did it?"

"Not this time, no."

"So, then, what do you think of my spell?"

"A paradox of sun and rain? What's that meant to mean?"

"Rain usually blots out the sun. In this spell, rain begets it."

"I see."

"It is your runes that inspired me to make it, Zathar."

"What do you mean?"

"You put lightness and darkness together to create further strength. So, I have tried to do something similar." She grins, showing crooked yellow teeth. "I think it is just as strong as your crafts."

"We will see about that. Certainly, it was very bright. Whether or not that means it will have an effect against the darkness, I cannot say. Light needs to be wielded with intent against the monster's magic."

"It has intent to it. The rain rushed down with vigor, did it not? When I cast this spell, I cast it with violence on my mind."

"Even so, it has no sharp metal behind it, but mere water."

"Water can be as devastating a weapon as any other. More than a few dwarven fortresses have been flooded and drowned in the wars past. Rainstorms have even brought down dragons."

"I take your point. When it comes time to justify your participation in the Runethane's expedition, however, I would leave out the part about drowning dwarven fortresses."

"Very well. I shall be careful not to."

She is still bent like a half-broken spear. "You can't hold this spell for very long though, can you?" I say.

"No. Perhaps a younger mage could, but my strength is fading now. The sooner the expedition begins, the better."

"It won't begin any time soon. Us runeknights think in longer terms than you humans."

"Yes—we're mayflies to you, aren't we? I look so old, but to most of you, I am youthful."

"What's a mayfly?"

"A kind of riverine insect. It lives for but a day."

"In that case, yes, you are."

"If only we had your amulets. It's a shame they have to be so tailored to each individual dwarf."

"If you humans could stop your aging, the surface would very soon have no room at all for you."

"That is very true. It barely has room as it is."

"Quite."

She sniffs, wipes her nose. "I will return to my quarters, now. I must dry off and change."

"Yes—I think you ought to. And after that, I'll have one of my dwarves bring you food and ale. You really are far too thin, even for a human."

"Thank you."

"Recover well, Alae. I've decided that I do like your spell after all. It might not be as powerful as our weapons of light, but it should prove a useful distraction against the sorcerer."

She smiles wryly. "Personally, I think it'll prove to be much more powerful than just a distraction. But, as in all things, we shall see when the time comes."

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