"Oh," I whisper. "Oh."

That's about all I can say. Now I know why being in these remains feels so oddly familiar. Those who built them were the same people—monsters—who carved out the city below. The monsters who created the darkness and even now continue to unleash it against us.

Fear seizes me. Could the darkness be here? I stand up suddenly, point Life-Ripper up and around—not that it would do much good. Yet maybe darkness wasn't the only magic these beasts had. Probably they had ordinary soldiers too. Are they stationed around here, preserved by the same craft that preserved their sorcerer, waiting to spring?

"On your guard, everyone!" I order, trying to keep the fear from my voice.

"What is it?" Ithis asks.

"These dwellings are the same kind as in the city below."

"What?"

"Look." I pick up one of the larger pieces of the slab and walk out to show it to my shocked dwarves. "See here? These creatures are the same kind as the sorcerer."

"No..." someone whispers.

"My guildmaster, perhaps we should turn back."

Should we? No, no! Turn back? After this monumental discovery? I curse myself for my earlier fear. If the monsters remained, we'd have seen or heard some sign of them. No, we will not turn back.

"The darkness is not here," I say. "Even if it were, half of us hold weapons of light. And our other weapons are surely strong enough to defend against anything else."

"Yes, guildmaster. Sorry."

"We will keep on advancing. Now we know there's valuable knowledge down here, it's our job to seek it out. For the Runethane, and for the Guardians too. And for our own selves—we might learn something that'll become of use in the battle. Or at the very least, something we'll be paid for."

"Yes, guildmaster!" Ithis says sharply, and the others copy him.

"But we'll advance cautiously. These beasts might have left traps. Or if they left magic behind, it could remain dangerous—especially against us dwarves. It's certainly possible that it was our ancestors who cast down these houses. Let us march."

I lead them onward, my fear fading and being replaced by growing excitement. There could indeed be many things of value down here. Dwarves hungry for knowledge might pay far more than three thousand golden wheels for access to this place.

Down here is deep history. Deep in time as well as in a physical sense. This is the history Alae showed me: a remnant of the great wars between humans, elves, trolls and dwarves, as well as other beings whose forms are lost to time.

Beings lost to time—could it be that the underworld was not always ruled by dwarves? Could there have been something before us?

Is so, why does no one know anything about them? But then again, perhaps some dwarves do know. At the very least, surely this is not the only part of the underworld where these creatures dwelt.

Have no such ruins ever been discovered? Probably, but they'd have been assumed to be dwarf-make. No one apart from the deep dwarves have seen that monster below to make the connections.

Over the next hour, we find several dozen of the broken houses. A few of these have intact carvings, showing more of the creatures who I assumed built them. Some of them depict the creatures wielding weapons and dressed in armor. One has half an image of a dwarf on it, not wearing any armor, oddly enough, though he still seems to be wielding some kind of sword.

"This place was built during a time before runeknights," I say. "This image proves it. I haven't told all of you about what I saw in Vanerak's realm, have I? Maybe you've heard from the others who were there, about the city in the magma. There were images of dwarves who wore no armor, wielded no weapons. They were singing. What about, I don't know."

"This one does have a weapon though, guildmaster."

"Of course. These monsters depict us as enemies. But it seems we defeated them."

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I am surer than ever that it was us dwarves who smashed this place. It might explain why the sorcerer below bears such a grudge against us. We continue along—and run into the cave wall. It slopes up steeply, quickly turns vertical. I feel a little dizzy looking at it.

"Show me the map, Dunthid."

"Here, guildmaster."

I look over the lines he's traced. We've only walked through a small section, of course. If we backtrack along a slightly different path, then head down to the cave wall again, we'll surely find more ruins. But what would that gain? They are all more or less the same. I think the best thing to do is hurry back and report our findings to the Red Anvil guild—or maybe I should go directly to the Runethane. Surely this news will drag him out of the forge.

"We're heading back," I say. "We're going to report this to the Runethane directly. Let's march—we should try and be the first to tell him. Hopefully the other guilds have found nothing similar. Though even if they have, they won't know its significance. We'll travel back a slightly different route, however, to see if we can find any more interesting carvings."

I lead them fifty feet or so along the cave wall, then freeze. I can hear shuffling ahead of us.

"Weapons ready!" I hiss.

My dwarves raise their weapons nervously. I quickly take off my helmet and put on my runic ears to better hear what's up ahead. I imagine terrible beasts, degenerate descendants of the dead inhabitants of this forest, wielding old magic in their scaled hands.

But it's just dwarvish voices and the metallic rustle of armor. They're close, and although their voices are cut up by the many trunks between us, I think I can guess at who the main speaker is.

"Rostok," I spit, taking the runic ears from my head. "Talking with his captains about something."

My dwarves look at me expectantly.

"Let's get closer," I say. "Close enough that I can listen in on them. Maybe they've found something interesting."

We edge along the cave wall, stepping over the thick roots that jut out into it. A set of thick, solid bushes blocks our path, and I curse. We could break our way through it easily enough, but not without raising a racket.

I doubt Rostok would attack us, but then again—he might.

We turn, walk around it. Dunthid's pen scratches out our path on his map. Once we're back to the cave wall, however, things seem quieter. The echoes have faded. I decide to keep the runic ears on for a while, try and hear where they've wandered off to while we walk.

I can hear footsteps receding into the distance. They seem to be moving to the right—into the cave wall or around a bend—though it's hard to tell. I shut my eyes and continue on. The trunks around me are easy to hear, as are the roots at my feet—easier than they were to see. With no shifting shadows to deceive me, I barely trip.

A few dozen yards ahead, I sense an opening. It is not a natural tunnel either, but a rectangular doorway, adorned with carvings whose shape I can nearly make out. No wind comes from it; I can sense it by the way our echoes vanish down it. I put my helmet back on and ready Life-Ripper to stab, just in case. My dwarves ready their own weapons. Their breathing quickens.

"Be ready," I whisper. "I doubt there's anything here—but be on your guard all the same."

Maybe I don't need to tell them this. They are all experienced fighters. Yet all the same, I feel that I ought to say something.

Around the opening are the remains of two smaller dwellings. Guardhouses? It seems likely. I stop before them and peer into the darkness. To my surprise, the tunnel does not angle down, but upward.

"If this was made by the same things that made the city," Dunlid says nervously, "Might it not connect to it?"

"Then the darkness would have escaped a long time ago," says Ithis. "A seventh degree shouldn't sound so fearful."

"Yes," I say. "Heat your courage to its white-point, Dunlid. If there's anything nasty lurking through there, it'll get Rostok first."

"Yes, guildmaster."

"Double-file, everyone," I order. "We're going up. Rostok might not be happy when he notices he's being followed, but we've got every right to be here too. This path might lead to a city—a city with riches. At the very least, riches in knowledge. And if this place was conquered by dwarves, as I'm growing certain it was, there's a chance there'll be runes. We're technically a script-searching guild ourselves—they might turn us a tidy profit. The main reason we're here."

Their breathing is starting to quicken. Their gauntlets creak as they tighten their grips around their weapons.

"Yes, this is a risk," I admit. "We don't know what might be up there. Terrible magics. Ancient monsters with their life still preserved. But we are runeknights. It is our job to walk into danger for the pursuit of gold and reputation. Come on. Do not shame yourselves by showing fear!"

"Yes, guildmaster!" they say, though none too loudly.

"Form up."

They do so. Ithis, without being asked, takes the lead besides me.

"You know," he whispers, "there could be an opportunity here. If there is something lurking upward."

"You mean if Rostok gets into trouble?"

"Yes."

My ruby flares. "It's tempting, I suppose. But not worth the risk. If we come out with blood on our armor, there'll be too many questions."

"That all depends on the circumstances."

"No. It's too risky."

"I understand, my guildmaster. I'm sorry for mentioning it."

"Don't be. I hate them too. But, as vexing as it might be, they are on our side."

"Yes. In some ways. In others, not so much."

"True enough—but I don't think the Runethane sees it like that. We are all his subjects."

I turn to address all of the dwarves together. I only have one word:

"Forward!"

Up we march, the corridor walls closing around us like the jaws of a vise. I lick my lips. My ruby remains warm against my chest. I cannot help but wonder if there is some kind of danger lurking up there. I cannot help hoping that there is—I truly do hate Rostok and his guild. They tried to kill us in the stands, when I was fallen and unable to protect my own dwarves. I bear a grudge against them.

Perhaps Ithis is correct, and we ought to satisfy it.

It all depends, as he says, on the exact circumstances.

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