But peace cannot last forever. For once, it isn't war that intrudes, simply poverty—I run out of metal. I place down my hammer and half-finished crafts with a sigh, put on my tungsten armor, pull Life-Ripper from its home at the corner of the forge, and head back up to the guild.

Upon my entrance, I am greeted with the usual great cheers, but I can't help noticing an undertone of disappointment. The cheering is not quite as loud as I remember—I suppose they were expecting me to stride in wearing white plates of titanium, holding a mace as bright as the surface sun.

I take my place in the center of the guildhall—where once was a set of chairs and desks piled high with papers of finance, is now a dais and well-carved wooden chair. The back wall has receded quite a distance too.

"Dwarves of the Runic League!" I laugh. "Calm yourselves. You needn't cheer loudly if you don't wish to. Yes, I come to you in the same armor as before, despite all the time I've spent down in the forge—though how much time, I can't quite remember."

"More than thirty long-hours, my guildmaster."

That's three months, by how I'd have reckoned it in Thanerzak's realm, all to make a pair of ears and five unruned sections of thin metal. I feel almost irritated at myself. Have I gone too fast?

"It will take a lot longer than thirty more until my armor is complete. Those of you of higher degrees might be able to understand. Juniors and initiates—try to, or you'll never get very far. Well, do you all understand? Patience—that's what you need in the forge. Patience!"

They roar in approval. A group of initiates dares to get close to me, promising to spend twice as long on their weapons than they were planning to. I laugh.

"Spend four times as long!"

"Yes, Runeforger!"

As the cheers die down, I make my way from the dais to a small door in the wall. It's guarded by two fourth-degree runeknights. They open it and I make my way into the senior meeting chamber.

This is one of the newer additions to the guildhall. It's a small, circular room, dominated by a plain stone table at the center. The walls remain undecorated, though I have plans for geometric designs to be etched in, reminiscent of armor and weapons. Nothing too distracting, though. This is a place for concentration and planning.

A single lamp burns on the table, illuminating a familiar figure. His red beard is like flames burning downward, pointed toward his papers.

"Good hour, Ithis," I say.

He looks up, grinning. "Indeed it is. Good to see you back. Though I notice that you are in the same armor as ever."

"I'm out of metal."

"Well, in that case, you've come at a good time."

"Have I, now? Is the gold flowing well?"

He shakes his head. "It's slowed. But you needn't be worried. It signifies a build-up of pressure, not a drought."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm informed that the Runethane intends to have the forest explored more deeply."

"The forest? And informed by whom?"

"My sources, guildmaster."

Sources? So, Ithis still has his network of spies going strong, then. Is such a thing still necessary? While it's true that the threat of jealousy from other guilds has not totally died away, I can't help but worry about what the Runethane's reaction would be if he found out. Then again, I'm sure the other large guilds have similar systems in place—including the Red Anvil guild.

"I see," I say. "And what forest?"

"The one our guild uncovered. The stone one. Do you not recall?"

"Ah, yes. I remember. With the stone birds."

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"Exactly."

"It was a curious cavern, I suppose, but not particularly dangerous. Why does it need to be cleared now?"

"Not cleared. Just explored. Curiosities sell too, you know. In Allabrast, there are quite a few guilds dedicated to the discovery of history, both natural and dwarven. It's a source of income—some of the mines are running dry, and there's a nasty infestation near one of the new cavern-farms."

I frown. "You know a lot."

"I see it as my job to keep you informed, guildmaster. It wouldn't do for you to have to find out all this yourself. You have your runes to focus on."

While this is all true, I can't help but feel I've come to rely a little too much on Ithis. He is probably the toughest, most ruthless and intelligent dwarf in the guild, yet even so, I don't think it's a good idea for a guildmaster to depend so much on a single dwarf. Yet if not Ithis, who else can I rely on? Hayhek, for all his dependability, could not do as good a job, though he is an excellent teacher for the initiates and juniors.

I nod. "Thank you, then. I take it that you recommend we take on the task?"

"I do. But getting a place could prove difficult."

"How so? We can't just grab the papers and sign?"

"No. The Runethane has decided on a bidding system. And the bids are high—so high that I was going to travel down soon to ask your permission to place some."

"Bids? We have to pay to take on this job?"

"More or less. Else every single guild would end up down somewhere that could be very dangerous for those poorly equipped and organized."

"I see. Though I can't help but wonder if it's not mostly an extra way for the Red Anvil to gain coin—though I don't quite see why they don't just go down themselves."

"They will go in first. But second, third and fourth will be decided by the bids. It wouldn't do for the Runethane to be seen giving his own dwarves too much of an advantage."

"True."

"So, what do you think, guildmaster? Should we take it on? I have your quarter-cut prepared, all the figures inked out, if you want to head right back down to the forge, of course. But I warn you that prices are rising in the forging district. In all honesty, we need this job."

"I'm in favor—but as for the bids, how much gold are we talking about, anyhow?"

He shows me his sheets of figures, talks me through some of the calculations. My eyebrows rise. Never have I seen so much gold being moved around. The cost of several things astounds me—who knew that miners could be so expensive to employ? The ones in Brightdeep are not in direct service-slavery to the Runethane, and instead work for small guilds of overseers. They charge high prices. Most is spent on quality alcohol, Ithis tells me, for miners won't do a good job without it.

Masons are more expensive still. Where have they all gone? They grow fewer in number each long-hour, although the process is slow enough that no great notice has been taken of it. Is the master mason somehow behind it? I think he must be—yet another worry to add to the coming wars.

All in all, we have enough resources to make bids of up to two thousand golden wheels. That should be enough to get us in third or fourth place. I authorize it, signing my name and title on a fancy leathery document.

"I'll head to the castle immediately, then," he says. "Will you join me?"

"I suppose I ought to. And a few others should come as well. I'm sure there's more than a few in there with a personal grudge against you."

To my surprise, however, everything goes smoothly. We are welcomed in, deposit our bid with one of the elders, and are told that we will be notified of our success or failure in time. I can't help but feel slightly suspicious as to whether we will be treated fairly, especially considering that Runethane Halmak remains deep in the forge.

He said he was going to keep a closer eye on his realm. Yet despite this he's retreated, as runeknights are wont to do, into the world of metal. But perhaps he's just forging out of simple necessity. I think he is working on a weapon of light and does not want to be out-shone by me and my guild.

While we wait for a reply from the castle, I observe the work of the junior runeknights and initiates. There are more than a hundred of them, mostly using cheaply hired forges outside the guildhall. The quality of their metalwork appalls me. Were my early attempts this poor too? They beat on the metal aimlessly and thoughtlessly. Some cannot seem to perform even the most basic runic-flow calculations, and they foul the simplest runes even with a dictionary lying open beside them.

"Can they really do no better?" I ask Hayhek over a meal. "I can't see half of them ever becoming skilled enough to work with almergris."

"That's just how it is. Most runeknights never rise above fifth, you know."

"So, when the time comes, in however many long-hours that'll be, how many do you think will be able to come to the fight?"

"About a hundred, if we push some of the sixth and seventh degrees."

"All our best."

"Yes."

I lower my voice. "And many will be lost."

"As long as you are not, the guild will survive."

"I want more. I want a proper army. Can you not push them harder?"

"A runeknight must find his or her own way. You know this as well as I do, Zathar. Probably better than I do."

After I finish this meal, I head to my private room. It's small and sparse. I don't know if I'd ever be able to sleep too well on silken sheets laid over feathers. A runeknight should be used to hardship. Luxury tends to weaken.

I lie down, worrying. The thought of the stone forest has begun to fill me with a kind of dread. I'm sure terrible things lurk down there. If they didn't, such a grand place would be better known.

There can only be one reason no one has ever heard of the wonder: any dwarves who've explored it in the past have not returned to speak of their findings. I roll from side-to-side. I am to be a commander once again—who will compose the force? How much supplies will we need? In what formation should we proceed through the trees?

I do not get much sleep.

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