The hall of the Shaft, though huge, is still too small to safely fit just under a thousand runeknights—more guilds answered the call than expected. So, as the force which is to descend last, the Runic League waits patiently in the corridor a few hundred meters distant.

Things proceeded very quickly after our meeting with Elanak—or rather, after our meeting with the Runeking. Nthazes vanished quickly without saying a word to me, and in turn I hurried away from Runethane Halmak, who was still boiling with fury.

I hope he will not boil over in the heart of the battle.

Down to the guild I went, to tell them the good news. I stood upon the dais and announced that although we may not have been chosen to strike the last blow, we will strike the most important one. We'll disrupt the magic of the enemy so that Nthazes' force can defeat the sorcerer utterly. It's a position of great honor. And when I told the guild that this honor had been bestowed upon us by none other than Runeking Ulrike himself, the cheering was so loud I thought the walls would crack and fall in.

Whether we'll succeed at our given task, of course, remains an open question. Everything hinges on if the sorcerer's magic works the way Runeking Ulrike assumes it to, and Alae is not so sure that it does. She has told me this many times over, while I was escorting her from her quarters, and she continues to argue even now:

"He seems to believe that setting a wizard's staff on fire would render her unable to conjure rain."

"I am not going to merely light the gem up, witch. I am going to strike through it. Both he and I have faith that Nightcutter has the requisite power."

"And if it does not?"

"Perhaps we will all die. Or perhaps Nthazes and the Runethane will save us." I shrug. "This is a battle. You shouldn't walk into battle worrying about defeat. Think only of the path to victory, and how best to charge along it."

"There may be more than one path. You should try to find alternatives."

I am beginning to feel a touch irritated. Like her father before her, she seems to believe she knows better than anyone. But Jaemes' predictions did not all turn out to be true, did they? She should at least know better than to doubt the Runeking. I, for one, do not, and nor do I question his orders.

He looked upon Nightcutter, and judged that it will be key to victory!

My crafting has never been given such praise. I cannot imagine better. Thus, despite my sadness about Nthazes and worry about what he now thinks of me, despite my uneasiness about the Runethane's anger—I am certain that he is regretting his leniency toward me now—despite everything, despite the fact we may well be marching straight to our doom, I am in quite a good mood.

"Have more faith in us, witch. You use your magic, and I'll use mine. Just try to keep up with the march."

"Very well, Zathar. My father placed his trust in you and so I'll try to do the same. But I can't help but suspect that things could go wrong down there."

"Battles usually go wrong in some way," says Hayhek. "Yet that's no reason to be afraid of them." He turns around and raises his voice. "Keep this in mind, dwarves of the Runic League. Even when defeat seems certain, victory might only be minutes away. Fight hard, and do not flee."

My seventy runeknights cheer their affirmation.

A few minutes after this exchange, I hear a familiar grinding sound. It takes me a moment to remember exactly what it is—gears made many ages ago, starting to rotate. Chains clank, and I sense the shape of something vast swinging gently. The platform is being lowered. Soon, the first group of two-hundred and fifty runeknights, led by Nthazes, will descend.

There is a clank and the grinding of the gears stops. There is a clink as the short bridge attached to the platform links steel and stone. The sound of metal boots marching over metal echoes. It quietens. Nthazes and his Guardians, plus the gathered elites of the best guilds that are also to join the vanguard, are now arrayed and ready.

Then he speaks:

"Runeknights of my own guild, and those of others also," he says, distant voice clear in my runic ears. "We are bound by one task this hour. Below us is a great enemy. It is greater than any dragon, greater than hated Uthrarzak. If we fail, everything ends. The darkness will scour all life and light from the underworld. Who knows? It may even extinguish the light of the surface. It may blot out the very sun. The limits of its power are unknown."

Until now, there's been a kind of continuous murmuring through the corridors, half voice and half metal, of dwarves whispering to each other and adjusting their armor and weapons. That's gone now. There's total silence. No one speaks. No one moves.

"But its strength does have a limit, so long as there are dwarves wielding weapons of light to face it. It was guarded. Then it was damaged. Now, we will finish what Runethane Yurok attempted. It will be destroyed. We will illuminate it, banish it, and slay its wielder!"

A cheer goes up. I join in, clashing Nightcutter against my armor.

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"Death to the darkness!" Nthazes screams. "And death to the sorcerer below!"

"Oloh-nachroktey! Yul-salizyz-nachroktey!"

We chant:

"Oloh-nachroktey! Yul-salizyz-nachroktey!"

"Oloh-nachroktey! Yul-salizyz-nachroktey!"

"Oloh-nachroktey!"

"Oloh-nachroktey!"

"Death to the darkness!"

The gears grind, the chains shiver as the platform descends. Still, we continue to chant for many more minutes.

And then, our voices die. Silence returns. With this, the battle has begun. The darkness will sense our incursion and attack immediately. Probably it's already attacking, facing the might of Nthazes for the first time, beating hard against him from below.

It's begun! The realization runs through the army like a shiver along the back of a hunted blindboar. The murmuring starts up again. Weapons are inspected, fears and worries and boasts told. I hear talking from our own back ranks too, and turn angrily.

"Silence, Runic League. Be aware of what we are—the elite force of the expedition. We're the stabbing blade that's going to strike into our foe's gauntlet and disarm him. We must be deadly accurate, and our metal flawless. Show discipline."

"Be firm," Hayhek says. "As firm as you can be. I know the quality of your metal. It won't bend, will it?"

"No!" they chorus.

I nod once, then turn back around to continue the wait.

Over the mumbling and clanking of less-disciplined guilds, I can just hear the sound of the chains whirring. Eventually, they begin to slow. Nthazes must be disembarking now—about the right length of time has passed, I think.

More waiting follows. Then, the gears grind to a halt once more. There's a metallic echo followed by a clink—the platform has returned. Another two hundred and fifty dwarves march on. This is the second part of the force, led by the Runethane. He speaks:

"Runeknights of the Red Anvil guild! Runeknights of other guilds! Runeknights of Brightdeep! Today we fight to preserve our city and do Runeking Ulrike a great service. Perform it well, and you will gain great honor. Do your duty this hour as runeknights. Prove your crafts to be strong. Fight as hard as you can, and then harder still!"

Another cheer goes up, and though it's certainly loud, its volume does not quite match the level Nthazes' speech received. One more scar on the Runethane's pride.

The mechanism starts up once again; the platform descends once more. The guilds in front of us marches forward, and we march in turn to fill the gap. Now that we're nearly into the hall, I can hear the voices from the other guilds better, and what I hear worries me:

"I'm sure the Guardians' weapons glow twice as bright as ours do."

"And even they couldn't beat the thing down there."

"They say Nthazes' weapon is the brightest there ever was, though."

"Nonsense! The fort has been around for aeon-hours! There have been brighter weapons yet—all have failed."

"We're all going to die, aren't we?"

"I don't feel safe with that Zathar behind us..."

"His weapon eats light, you know."

Doubt and fear riddles the army. They have no sense of purpose. They don't seem to understand the disaster that'll ensue if the darkness wins. And why won't their guildmasters shut them up? Are they unable to, or just unwilling? Or perhaps some of the voices I hear are from guildmasters themselves.

More waiting, then the platform returns. The third quarter of the main army marches on, then they to vanish into the tunnel of black stone. The guilds ahead move, and we finally enter the hall.

I open my eyes for a moment, and notice that the weapons on the far side are glowing brighter than those here. It doesn't matter what kind of cloth a weapon of light is wrapped in—Nightcutter draws in the light anyway. Shading their eyes, runeknights look at me with fear and suspicion. I imagine that they're hoping I'll be far away from them when the fighting begins.

The platform returns once more. Its emptiness is ominous. What's become of the dwarves who were upon it? Did they disembark safely, or are they now lying just a few yards down the final corridor, lifeless? I have faith that it's the former, but many here probably suspect the latter.

All still do their duty, though. Another two hundred march on, and then down they go.

Like a slow, clockwork whirlpool, the rest of the force marches down closer to the Shaft. I bite my lip. The gears above seem to be straining somewhat, and I am starting to worry if they'll hold. I'm sure Runethane Halmak and Nthazes had them checked, but even so, I doubt there's any dwarf who can be sure of what all the runes on those ancient mechanisms mean.

As we march inward, I reflect on what Alae said. What if the Runeking's idea doesn't work? What if Nightcutter cannot break, or even disrupt, the sorcerer's weapon? I suppose we'll have to charge down the steps, then, slashing at the darkness with the rest, and then slashing at the sorcerer. In such a wide-open space as the pit, though, it'll be easy for ropes of darkness to snake around and outflank us. Nightcutter's effect will become a great disadvantage.

I ponder the problem for a long time, but find no solution. My thoughts scatter and wander, to Nthazes, and to the Runethane, and then back to the darkness. I try to recall the path we took in the labyrinth, but can remember nothing. I hope we don't get lost in it.

"Have you thought of what you're going to say before we descend?" Ithis asks quietly. "The guild needs something to get our blood pumping. A burst of air for the furnace-bellows."

With a start, I realize that the platform is back, and the penultimate troop is already embarking. Once they've gone down, apart from Dolmak's hundred-strong defense force positioned opposite, we, the shunned elites, will be the only ones here.

"Of course I have," I tell him. "Something to make our blood run hot as fire, yet keep our nerves cold as ice."

"I apologize, guildmaster," he says seriously. "I shouldn't have doubted your preparation."

I laugh quietly. "Don't worry about it."

Then, after a length of time that feels all too short, the platform arrives. It shivers. I open my eyes and look across the familiar grid-lines. At the far side, there is a reddish tint. Is that the blood of Fjalar? This marks the spot of my victory, then.

I decide to take it as a good omen, and when we march over the bridge onto the platform, I stand upon the stain. My runeknights arrange themselves facing me.

"Well," I say, "here we are. Ithis has asked me to give you a speech, but I don't think you need one. You all know what we're here to do." I hold up Nightcutter. "Now, uncover your weapons. Let's see what the darkness will have to face."

There is a single moment's hesitation, then they tear the gauzes from their hammers and maces. Nightcutter shivers as the light flows into its haft. The metal blackens and cools, and in turn the lance of light shining out from the blade thickens and brightens. It becomes blinding. I shut my eyes and can still see it, a single beam of brilliance, a white counterpart to the scars in my pupils—it overwhelms even them.

"Down!" I order. "Pull the lever, Ugyok! It's time to face our foe! Death to the darkness!"

"Oloh-nachroktey!"

"Oloh-nachroktey!"

"Death to the darkness!"

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