My first instinct is to run toward my friend, grab him by the shoulder and turn him around. I need to see his face—his time in the forge, fighting the true titanium—pure true titanium—and defeating it, just as a third degree—such a battle will have changed him. Maybe even injured him.

I take a step forward, then the weight of the great wooden chest slows and stops my movement. The black glow of Nightcutter is chilling the corridor around us, stealing a fraction of the light of the braziers on the walls. Nthazes will be horrified when he sees this weapon. Our friendship may be irreparably scarred.

I cannot bring myself to talk to him just yet.

"Guildmaster Zathar?" says one of the guards.

"I apologize. Let's proceed."

I keep in step with the guards as we make our familiar way along past the tapestries of great deeds and around the great arena. We go past the door that leads down to the Runethane's forge. We are heading straight for the throne room.

Nthazes disappears into it. A clang heralds the gates shutting behind him. As it sounds, the bright white vanishes to be replaced by Nightcutter's dark. A few minutes later, I arrive before the gates also. More than twenty guards stand in my path, their ranks shut, weapons crossed, a barrier of bronze even more impregnable than that set into the walls behind them.

"You go in alone," says the most senior. "The Runethane is waiting."

The runeknights raise their weapons to make a path. The doors are swung open. Brilliant light forces me to shut my eyes, so when I enter, I must listen to tell the shape of the room.

Before the steps leading up to Runethane Halmak's throne, a table and chairs have been set. Upon the table lie jagged shards. These must be the fragments of the orb from the second city. He really did have them retrieved.

Sitting around the table are four figures. The first, at the head of the table, is Runethane Halmak. His armor has changed—there are no fiery runes on this piece, just platinum—I can tell by the slight difference in texture. The plates radiate stability and strength. His diamond-spiked hammer has gone as well, and in its place beside him is a weapon whose form is totally concealed by thick drapes of gray fabric.

At his right is an elder I do not recognize—Brezakh's replacement, no doubt. Beside him is Nthazes, his face obscured by his visor.

But despite the presence of the Runethane and the terrible glow of Nthazes' weapon, it is the final figure who dominates the table. He, or maybe she—their face is completely covered—is nearly as tall as a human and far wider at the shoulders. Their armor is thick, complex, covered in so many whorls and spikes that it's hard to tell the shape of the plates beneath. They seem to carry no weapon but a scepter, except the scepter has no spiked head but is instead a sphere of near-perfect smoothness.

It can be nothing other than one of the Eyes of Runeking Ulrike. I feel it focus on me. A moment later, its wielder turns to look at me also.

"Come," she says—the voice is high, unmistakably a lady's, almost musical yet with a hint of discord in the vowels. "Sit down, Zathar Runeforger. We have much to discuss together."

"Yes, honored runeknight."

I approach the table. Runethane Halmak says nothing—even though he is the ruler here in his own realm, it's the direct servant of the Runeking that gives the commands. The elder beside him looks at me with suspicion, but Nthazes still does not acknowledge me. Has he heard of what my weapon is already?

I lay down the chest behind me, then pull out the remaining chair and sit down opposite the Runethane. He gives me a cold look—the shape of his face shows his displeasure very clearly.

"All are here who need to be," says the Runeking's emissary. "Shall we begin, Runethane Halmak?"

"We shall," he grunts. He sounds a little nervous. He won't meet her eyes, nor the Eye.

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"Good. First, I shall introduce myself: Guildmasters Zathar and Nthazes, you have not met me yet. My name is Elanak. You may regard me as a daughter of the Runeking, and my words are as his own. Sometimes he will even speak through me directly, though you will not know when this is. In any case, I am pleased to finally meet you. Especially you, Zathar Runeforger. Our interest in you and your deeds has only grown over the past thousands of long-hours since we last met."

I bow my head nearly to the table. "I am honored to meet you, Elanak. I was not aware the Runeking had a family to call his own."

"We keep to ourselves. We do not want to upset the balance of things. But with hated Uthrarzak mustering and his forces forging, it seems inevitable that we must come out into the open."

"I am also honored to meet you," says Nthazes. "We are so far from Allabrast down here. My Guardians are deeply honored too. Rarely does anyone from Allabrast grace us with their presence, least of all someone so close to great Runeking Ulrike himself."

"You are welcome."

"However, I would ask one question—do you have a weapon of light of your own?"

Runethane Halmak looks alarmed by his directness, but does not say anything. I am alarmed too: Nthazes' voice has changed—it has a harsh rasp to it that I've never heard before. It's deeper too. He sounds older, stronger.

"I have no weapon of light," Elanak answers. "I am here to observe only."

"So you will be relying upon us for your protection? Emissary of the Runeking or not, I'm loathe to sacrifice my guildsmembers for one who cannot strike against the darkness by herself."

"Guildmaster!" Runethane Halmak snaps. "You overstep yourself."

"I do not mind the questioning," says Elanak. "I expected to hear this concern. I will respond: you need not worry about defending me, Guildmaster Nthazes. My own armor is protection enough."

"Very well. But I should warn you that the darkness disregards armor."

"I am well aware. But my armor is not like yours. I mean no disrespect to your crafting, guildmaster, but we have techniques that you do not."

"Very well. Yet if your armor should fail, honored runeknight, do not say I didn't warn you."

"It will not fail. Even if the attack should be utterly defeated, and I left alone, I am confident I will be able to retreat without suffering too much harm."

"The attack won't be defeated," Runethane Halmak says forcefully. "My Runeking, you have my word on this. We will not be defeated. The sorcerer will be overwhelmed—I have more than five hundred runeknights ready for battle, and our weapons are strong."

"Well, we will see. And before that, I will see these weapons. You four are the most powerful in the realm; victory will be decided depending on your strength more than the strength of those you lead. That is how things always are."

By her use of the plural, does that mean the Runeking is watching now? Is he about to judge our runes personally? I begin to feel a little sick. I've spent so long worrying about what the Runethane is going to think of Nightcutter—I should have been worrying about what the Runeking is going to think.

The Eye on Elanak's scepter seems to be staring right at me.

"I will show mine first," I say, standing up quickly. "Maybe Runethane Halmak has told you something about it, honored runeknight. It caused something of a stir in the city. So I'd like to put any rumors about its nature to rest."

For several seconds she is silent. Runethane Halmak opens his mouth—then she cuts him off, in a metallic tone.

"Proceed, Zathar Runeforger."

I flinch. She sounds like Runeking. I recognize the cadence. He's speaking through her, as she warned, I'm sure of it. How, I cannot fathom, and don't dare to ask.

I promptly kneel down beside the chest and undo the mechanism keeping it shut. There's a click and the lid springs open. Darkness floods out, or rather, light flows in. Nthazes gives a start. I lift out Nightcutter, and feel the fire in the braziers above tremble.

Nthazes leaps to his feet and lifts up his great mace. He tears away the cloth over it, and all of a sudden I can see again, my eyelids rendered uselessly transparent, just thin films of reddish pink. I flinch back. Nthazes advances toward me, his movements fast and instinctive. My own combat instinct takes over, and before I know it, Nightcutter is aimed at his throat. My ruby rages beneath my breastplate.

"Halt!" cries Runethane Halmak. "Both of you, halt!"

With terrible strain, I raise Nightcutter's point away. Nthazes lowers his mace a second later.

"What is this, Zathar?" asks the Runethane. "What have you made?"

"This is Nightcutter," I answer, breathlessly. My mouth tastes like blood. Was I really about to strike my friend? Was he about to strike me?

"And what manner of runes are those on its haft?"

"Runes of darkness, my Runethane."

"The runes that caused us such trouble but a few long-hours ago."

"Many long-hours, now. And they have caused no trouble. Their purpose is to make my runes of light blaze brighter, my Runethane. Nthazes, too—believe me!"

He says nothing.

"Look upon the beam my weapon casts. It'll cut through the sorcerer's dark like a razor through paper."

Nthazes still says nothing. He has become as still as ice.

"Look, Nthazes, I beg you! This is a weapon for good, no matter what runes it uses!"

"Look?" he laughs bitterly. "I can tell its darkness only through instinct, Zathar. What beam?"

"Nthazes?"

He lifts his visor, and I hear myself gasp.

His pale eyes are gone. They have been burned out; only scars remain.

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