When I first and last met the Runeking, after my trial, so long ago now, he wore only forging leathers and a small crown, and held but a simple hammer. I could tell his strength from his forging: the way it made golden mist that took the shapes of weapons, and reshaped the very ground he stood on also.

But I never saw the armor or weapon was he was making. He hid that. Now, for the first time, I bear witness to what a Runeking is truly capable of creating.

His armor is ornate, a mass of twisted gold and platinum encasing his body, yet for all its complexity, it is elegant in its design. Each spike, whorl, plate and blade is positioned where it needs to be. I cannot tell what kinds of poems adorn it, but they are many layered and worked into the depths of the metal pieces. The whole thing trembles with potential.

At his side is a scabbard, longer than most. He has many weapons, I know, and many swords, yet I get the sense that this is a new one, one that has never been unsheathed. A yellow-green Eye is worked into the pommel.

He quickens his pace a little, and the air around him shakes with power. The whole chamber thrums. He stops, looks over us. Every Runethane stands from their chair and bows low. I do also, yet can't make my eyes look down. They are drawn upward, past his comparatively plain helmet to his Crown of Eyes.

It is larger than I remember, a tower of spikes and golden framework. Has he extended it? Or maybe the one I saw in his forge specifically for forging, and not one for battle, just as some deep dwarves made different pairs of runic ears.

Whatever the case, it is frighteningly impressive. Just below each of its ten points is a yellow and black Eye, slitted, staring outward. They are not the only ones in this crown, though. A series of smaller Eyes adorn the bottom, arranged in a ring. And at the center of the ring is an emerald-green Eye, larger than the rest, and piercing. It seems to be looking through everything in the hall at once.

This was the heart of the craft that felled his predecessor. A creation of such brilliance that the once-leader of Allabrast saw no honorable choice but to fall on his sword when he looked upon it.

I drop my eyes to the floor. Fear shudders through me. I am as far from the Runeking's level as an initiate is from mine. I'd forgotten what it felt like to look upon a dwarf whose skill outstripped my own by such an unfathomable amount.

This is a Runeking.

And we are to go to war against another one, of equal strength.

"Rise, all of you," he commands.

His voice is deep and carries easily through the hall. He does not sound like he did in the forge when I first met him. No longer is he distracted by his crafting.

We straighten and look up. He walks forward to stand beside his seat, only two places away from me. He is looking down the length of the table—but that is not where he's really looking, I don't think. His Eyes see through all of us.

"Sit down," he commands, and we obey. Still standing, he nods. "Excellent. Most of you have answered the call. Those who did not will be punished after we win victory. They will be considered traitors. And there will be no redemption for them."

I get the feeling he focuses on me, for a second. I shrink under his gaze. Before him, and surrounded by such powerful dwarves, I feel like a foolish initiate again. It's ridiculous for me, a warrior nearly a century old and a commander of ten thousand, to feel like this, yet I cannot help it.

"Now," the Runeking says, "let us begin this meeting. You know the agenda: we must decide on a strategy to defeat Uthrarzak. On the battlefield, you will of course be given plenty of leeway when it comes to the command of your own troops, however, the bounds of your command will overall stay within those set today."

I sense vague irritation run through the air. No Runethane wants to be told what to do—including me. I do not want to waste my dwarves' lives fighting to a plan I disagree with, no matter who decides it.

"I have my own ideas about what we should do, of course. Yet I value the ideas of my Runethanes. I am not Uthrarzak, who treats his dwarves as tools to be used." He sits down at his place and steeples his hands. Runic power flares from the fingers, then dissipates. "So, let us hear your plans. Speak, my warriors."

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Runethane Duthur raises a diamond-clad hand.

"I will speak," he says. "If it pleases you, my Runeking," he adds.

"Go ahead," Runeking Ulrike tells him, and it seems strange to hear such a casual turn of phrase come from beneath that crown.

"Very well." Duthur stands up. "I favor an aggressive approach. We know where our foe is gathering forces. We can predict on which roads he'll march, to move such a great mass of dwarves and metal together—"

"Wait," says Ytith. "He will likely split up his forces and attack from many angles. Would that not be a more effective strategy for him to take?"

"He is unsubtle," Lapek interjects. "He prefers the mass-attack."

"They did not work in wars past!" a Thanic Guardsdwarf some way away shouts out. "Runethane Ytith is correct. He will come from multiple angles. Are his musters not spread out?"

"They will come together," rebuts another Runethane.

And just like that, the spell of silence is broken and the hall erupts into argument. Runethane Duthur tries to continue his point, loudly, but no one seems to be listening. It's as if a bucket of sparks has been thrown over us, lighting angry debate at every seat.

"...would be idiotic. Don't let your hate blind you!" spits Ytith.

"Dandy! Philanderer! Your realm has never come under..." Lapek replies, but I don't hear the rest, for Duthur is suddenly in heated argument with the Runethane wearing blades of titanium.

"Bypass him?" Duthur says darkly. "Bypass him, and strike at the heart of his realm? You have gone mad, Teldrok."

"You have lost your courage..."

Gaflek claps a golden hand on my shoulder again. I see that he's laughing.

"I knew it would end up like this soon enough. No one has dared to disagree with any one of this lot for a century or more. So now that others are daring to tell them no—well, you see how they react."

The shouting shows no signs of quieting down.

"Why won't the Runeking do anything?" I ask.

"Well, for one, I think he's enjoying the scene just as much as I am."

Indeed, there is a hint of a smirk on Runeking Ulrike's features.

"This is for the life and death of his realm," I say, a little perturbed. "This is a joke to him?"

Gaflek shakes his head. "No, it's not all amusement, young Runeforger. The second reason he's letting everyone carry on, is that it'll be easier to get a civilized discussion going once everyone's blown their bellows out a bit."

I frown, then nod. "I suppose I can see the logic there. But all the same, even if the Runeking does turn this into a proper discussion, I can't see any coherent plan being agreed on. Everyone is opposed to any idea not their own. It's a mess."

Gaflek shrugs. "They'll come round to the Runeking's words eventually. And make no mistake, it's his words we'll be coming round to. No one actually has clout to go against him, not even Duthur—however much he'd deny it. No, no." He shakes his head again. "It's the Runeking's strategy we'll be following."

I look at the Runeking's eyes, both flesh and crystal. His mind is calculating behind them. He is no fool. I think I am coming to understand.

"And this meeting is just to make us feel like we had a hand in its forging, so we'll go along and obey without complaining or disobeying," I say.

"That's right." Gaflek laughs again and adjusts his cloak. "Every Runethane here is clever enough to have worked this out, too—but we'll argue regardless. We need to make a show of things, polish our egos, demonstrate each other we've got military minds and aren't halfway in the forges."

"I can't help but wish I was fully in the forge," I say. "I'm a junior here—I'll do what our Runeking says regardless."

"A junior? You're a senior now, Zathar, no matter the relative quality of your metalwork. With your powers, you could never be anything less. You'll be given an important role to play, mark my words."

I grimace. He's more right than he knows. This isn't the only meeting I'll be attending this long-hour. The thought of the next one, in the prison to meet some mysterious lady runeknight, makes me feel ill with nerves. The Runeking is going to ask me to do something with my runes, something dangerous and difficult—I can feel this.

Runeking Ulrike lets the arguing carry on for a few minutes more, then he straightens the smile from his face and stands up.

"Silence!" he shouts.

Silence falls immediately. He sits back down.

"I am glad to hear that you all have many ideas on how the war effort should be conducted. However, I think it would be best if we heard them one at a time. Runethane Duthur, please begin. No one will interrupt you this time." He looks over us and the Eyes in his crown seem to glare. "Questions may be asked after he finishes, and only then."

Duthur stands up. The light of the daycrystals flashes on his transparent armor. All-but-naked in such transparent armor, he is a striking sight. If the armor was any less well-made, he would look ridiculous, but instead the effect is as if his very skin exudes unadulterated power.

"Thank you, my Runeking," he says, speaking slowly and deliberately. "As I began, before I was interrupted, I favor an aggressive approach. We must leave Allabrast and meet our enemy's forces head on. If we do this now, we may be able to reach his army before it breaches through Runethane Grovik's realm. We cannot wait. We cannot allow the foe to gain control of too much before the main battles commence. Currently, we have more resources than they do for repair and replenishment, and we must leverage this advantage." He folds his arms. "I believe I have made my main points. Now, strike with your questions, and I shall defend."

He seems confident that he'll be able to—and then the questions come thick and fast.

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