The moment my covered palm makes contact, the gem trembles slightly, as if some great power trapped within suddenly awakens. I feel a curious cold around my hand, as if I've suddenly plunged it into deep waters. The pressure squeezes tight around my flesh and bones. The power within the gem starts to drag at me, attempting to draw me in—or perhaps to use me as a hold to pull itself out. And is it just my imagination, or has the crack along it grown whiter?

I jerk my hand away fearfully. Idiot! What was I thinking? What sort of fool touches something like this?

"The worth of this thing!" Ithis exclaims. "A sapphire of this size and perfection would easily be worth a thousand golden wheels, guildmaster. This thing—ten times the price. Fifty. The Runeking himself might wish to purchase it. He has always had a fascination with gems."

"Provided we can get it back to Brightdeep," I say. "I don't like the look of that white crack either. It felt like something was trying to escape."

"Something?"

"Some kind of power."

"Be that as it may, guildmaster, we can't leave it here for Rostok." He looks nervously up the steps to where the crashing is growing steadily louder. "We can't let him have this find."

I nod. "We'll have to cushion it with something. Put it in a bag, and then cover that bag with several others. And it should be carried by those with weapons of light. The dark sorcerer held something in his hands, I recall. Maybe just power—that's what I thought at the time. But it was hard to see. Perhaps the power came from something physical."

"You, you and you!" Ithis orders. "Empty your bags and give them to us."

They obey. But the gem proves too big to fit. This is odd—from looking at it, it shouldn't be. Yet when I try to pull the opening of one of the bags over it, it suddenly seems larger—despite not obviously growing in size.

"Guildmaster?" Ithis says.

"You try. I can't seem to get it in."

I watch closely as he attempts to pull the bag over it. He's struggling just as I was. Either the bag is shrinking when he brings it close or the sphere is growing—yet, judged by comparison to his hands or the broken stones around it, neither looks like it's getting any larger or smaller. It's paradoxical, and intensely uncomfortable to look at.

All the while, the sounds of rubble-shifting up above are growing louder. Rostok has nearly broken through. We must gamble.

"I'll carry it myself," I say. "In my own arms."

"Guildmaster!" Ithis says, sounding shocked. "Let me do it, or one of the others."

"My armor is strongest."

"What protection is armor against magic? I can feel the power in here too. You shouldn't touch it. You're worth too much."

"Let me take it, Ithis. That's an order."

He steps away reluctantly. "Very well, guildmaster."

I give Life-Ripper to Ithis, then kneel down and wrap my arms around the massive gem. An illusion of cold water presses around my chest and arms, touching my chin, reaching up to my lips too. I strain, lift. I stagger, pulled right then left by the thing's shifting weight—it's as if it contains water, an ocean of it, sloshing side to side.

Can I really manage to get this back to Brightdeep? But I have to. It's worth too much. We need the gold. This find will improve our chances against the darkness significantly. If we lose hold of it, the ultimate result will be the death of more members of the Runic League than necessary. Battles are decided in the forge—and you cannot forge without gold.

"Help me up!" I groan. The strain is immense. "Ithis, Totrok—support me."

They grab my upper arms and help me up the steps. Help is an understatement—they are half lifting me.

We make it halfway up the stairs before the final crash. Broken sections of wall tumble down the steps, smashing the rubble already fallen there further. Chunks of stone fly out, bounce, batter our armor. One pings off the gem. It hums slightly, and I can almost hear a vague rushing sound like that of a river, or of waves breaking—or what I imagine waves to sound like, at least.

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A second later, Rostok is, predictably, yelling at us:

"You there! Runic League! This is our find!"

I turn to look at him, standing on the other side quite far above us. The moment he catches sight of the massive gem held in my arms, his body stiffens.

"This is ours," I grunt. "Leave off."

"Stop there!" he yells. "Halt!"

He begins to storm down the stairs. Ithis tries to pull at me, urge me upward, but I stay still. I won't run. Rostok has no right to what I hold. This gem is mine. And it's not as if we'd be able to outrun them anyway. The weight of the gem makes me too slow.

He gets to the same level I'm on, then begins to walk around toward us. I turn calmly to face him. The illusory water in the gem sloshes again, nearly throwing me off balance down the steps. Ithis steadies me.

"Guildmaster, we must fight," he says, lifting his hammer.

"Wait. They must strike the first blow."

"What does that matter? Whoever survives—that is who will get to tell the Runethane what happened down here."

He is probably right. Maybe I should lay down this gem and stab Rostok through. But I can't quite bring myself to. Runethane Halmak treated us fairly by his laws. I should obey them. I don't want to prove Brezakh right, prove that we're a force for ill here.

Rostok reaches me. "Hand that over!" he demands.

"Why?"

"Because we found this place, not you."

"You found the city. We found the gem."

"I don't care about the details. Hand it over—this is your last warning."

"You'll really attack us, then?" I snarl. "Traitor. Slaying your own allies!"

"Attack us? You died in the collapse—that's what we'll say. We cause enough commotion and the roof will fall; I have no doubt about this."

"You are a traitor."

"My dwarves' died by this one's hand!" he spits, pointing to Ithis.

"And now mine will die by yours?"

"They do not need to. Not if you hand me over that gem—my gem!"

His boar-like eyes, just visible through his visor-slit, are bright with greed. He can tell the value of this gem as well. To him, it is the promise of untold riches, vast quantities of raw material with which to create true metal. If only he had the gold this thing in my hands is worth, he could become a Runethane. That is what is going through his mind right now.

I look around. His Iron Shields are spreading out on the steps above us, blocking any escape and giving themselves the favorable terrain to fight on. They're not as elite as our force, but that's not to say they don't have quite a few third and fourth degrees with them. We can't win this fight.

We can't win it! My ruby flares. My cheeks burn red with anger and shame. Must I really do this? Must I really hand over this gem, this potential for power to defeat the darkness, to this foul and greedy rival?

"Hand it over!" Rostok demands. He touches his hand to the hilt of his sword "I won't ask again."

The gem is still humming. The crack seems slightly whiter than it was before; the contrast with the deep blue has become more intense. I wonder why those ancient dwarves, who seem to have looted everything else in their conquest, left it behind. Fear—that's the only explanation I can think of. Fear of what's within. Fear of the power—that through this crack might now be released.

I've been blinded by greed just as Rostok has, I realize. Blinded by thoughts of gold. This gem should stay here. To bring this shivering object into the heart of Brightdeep would result in nothing but woe. We never should have disturbed it.

So maybe it's for the best that Rostok is so desperate to have it.

I make my decision. I grit my teeth, lift the gem up high over my head. It takes all the strength of both body and runes to do this.

"Fine!" I gasp. "You greedy, self-serving, arrogant excuse for a guildmaster. Have it!"

I swing it at him, curving the blow from the right. He shouts out in shock and reaches for it. I let him take it, let go. The momentum of my swing throws us both from our feet. I fall down one stair. Propelled by the water-wrought momentum of the gem, he tumbles down a dozen, yelling in rage as he goes.

He crashes into a pile of masonry on the second step from the bottom. For several moments, all is silent bar the echoes of his fall—none draw breath. Silently, Ithis hands Life-Ripper down to me and I grip it tightly. I hear the Iron Shields' start to adjust and aim their own weapons.

Cursing and groaning, Rostok stands, the gem still in his arms. Even in the near-black gloom down there, I can see that the white crack has lengthened, and that further cracks have burst from it. Yet, that's all. It has not burst apart in a rage of magic. It is intact.

Rostok looks up at me. "Hah! That was a nice trick, so-called Runeforger. But in the end, it's ours. And I'll keep my promise. Let them go, dwarves. They've helped us out. They're entitled to their lives.

My ruby boils—but I can do nothing. We have lost. My gamble—a foolish one I see now, driven by desperate hope and nothing else—has failed utterly. And in front of my best runeknights too.

I begin to turn away. Then I hear something odd. The rushing of water, like I heard from the gem before. But despite the distance, it's loud.

Rostok shivers suddenly and drops the gem to the floor. He edges around his step away from it. The gem is shivering. The white cracks are growing.

"Run!" I yell. "Runic League, run!"

The gem bursts apart and the blue held within suddenly expands. One meter, three, ten. It's a rising flood. Rostok is swept down to the base of the pit, crushed against the bottom—I can only just see this, then all impression of him is lost.

No one thinks to fight. All thoughts of battle forgotten, we flee, water rising from below and dust cascading from above.

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