The entrance to the prison looms over me: a pair of great metal doors, whose alloy I cannot tell, set deep into the cavern's side. The poem upon it speaks of strength through justice, and each stroke of every rune is as long as a sword. Three ranks of guards stand before it, all in thick plate and wielding hammers and shields. I approach the one in the center and he does not move aside for me.

"The Runeking himself has ordered me to come here," I say.

"Do you have a letter with his seal?"

"It burned itself up."

"I see. Would you remove your helmet?"

"I am Runethane, and you order me to remove my equipment? What degree are you, guard?"

"That does not matter. I am under the direct command of High Justice Ratharun. He is the only one with the authority to allow anyone entrance here—even the Runeking, you ought to know. We are older than he is."

I scoff. "You are a short-beard next to him."

"We, not I. I speak as the justice of Allabrast."

"I will speak to the High Justice, then. Have him brought here." I raise my visor. "Look: you can see who I am."

"Since you are a Runethane, I will have a message sent to him. However, be aware that he is busy, and you may have to wait, regardless of your rank."

"Very well."

He nods to a guard behind, who slips through the slightly-opened doors. I wait—but am not kept waiting long. A matter of minutes later, a messenger arrives. He whispers urgently to the head guard, who frowns, alarmed.

"Well?" I ask impatiently.

"You are to be let in," says the guard. "The Runeking is indeed waiting for you."

"Thank you," I say, then I hurry through the ranks.

The guards back away; some gawp in awe. I slip through the opened gate and into a circular antechamber, filled with runeknights and various scribes and clerks, rushing in and out of the various exits. Even in wartime, the work of justice continues. Allabrast has more of it than most, which I am glad of. Power is not absolute here.

I look around, confused, expecting someone to attend to me. I've grown used to dwarves rushing to me wherever I go, begging to offer their service, trying to curry favor. I stop a clerk and ask him where the Runeking is. An expression of terrified confusion comes across his face, and I shoe him away. Obviously he won't know.

A second later, a dwarf with an oiled black beard, equipped in armor of glistering silver and vanadium, emerges from one of the corridors. Runic power wreathes him—he is a first-degree, and one nearly as powerful as myself. At his belt hangs a golden hammer thick with runes. A memory comes to me, of the hours before my trial. I recognize this dwarf.

"It has been a while, Runethane Zathar," he says. His voice is deep. "I must say, I did not expect you to survive your trial. I was impressed when you did. It is a shame that the corrupt judges were never brought to justice themselves."

I bow. "Greetings, High Justice Ratharun. I heard they vanished. No doubt Vanerak had a hand in it."

"No doubt. But we do not have time to discuss him. Perhaps another time."

"That would be an honor, High Justice."

"Come now. We should not keep the Runeking waiting."

The High Justice leads me deep into the prison. We pass many cells, most of which are secured with only plain steel bars. Most house multiple prisoners, and look very crowded. Some are loud with shouting and the meaty impacts of fists against flesh.

"You must be busy lately," I say.

"Indeed we are. With such an influx of soldiers, there has been an equal influx of crime. Chaos breeds opportunities for it. Brawling and drunkenness are the main offenses, as well as thievery."

"Whose dwarves are these in here, then?"

"Allabrast's. These cells do not house runeknights; we keep them further down. These are miners and metalworkers, mostly."

"No masons?"

"They have been well-behaved in recent years, and there are less of them."

"You have noticed their vanishings too. It doesn't worry you?"

"It confuses me, but we have bigger things to worry about than labor shortages. Metal is more important than stone in wartime."

I wonder about that, but say nothing further as we descend another flight of stairs to another corridor. We walk past more barred doors, and this time the steel is enruned. The dwarves here are kept in single cells and they stare sullenly at us. There's a variety of backgrounds on display here; most do not have the refined, somewhat haughty look of Allabrastians. There are some that have the paler complexion and white-blonde hair of deep dwarves, like many in my own realm. Some have curly hair, and a sheen of perfume and soap on their skin, a little like Gaflek. There's a lot of those here, which doesn't surprise me much.

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We go further down, and then further. We turn into a long, dark passage. My skin crawls. I recognize the shape of these corridors, and the smell of despair and hatred in them. I believe this is where I was once kept. I ask the High Justice, and he confirms it.

"This is where we keep the worst of the worst, yes. Most will be executed. It's rare for one of these to win their trial."

"They are traitors, I presume. Spies?" I look closely at one. The High Justice has a lamp to illuminate the way, and in its bright light I see that the prisoner's features have a somewhat strange cast to them, and his body seems wider too. "Are these from Uthrarzak's realms?"

"Many are, yes."

I examine them closely as we pass. Most do not look at me.

Then, one leaps to his feet and charges at the barred door. I spin and aim Steelpierce at his heart, but he seems not to care. He slams into the door, grips the bars and begins to yell:

"You're him! You're that one—the one they call Runeforger!"

The High Justice scowls, raises his hammer. I raise Steelpierce's point away and step forward.

"How can you tell?" I demand.

"Rumors travel to us. Some say it was you who slew the dragon, and that Broderick lied. Is this true?"

"Runethane Broderick? He claims to have slain it, does he?"

"For a while he was called Broderick Dragonslayer, until his death."

"His death?"

"Yes, Runeforger. You did not hear? He was slain."

"By whom?" My eyes widen. "Hardrick? The silver legend?"

"He vanished. Dead to the black dragon, some say. It does not matter."

"I see. Yes, I am the Runeforger, to answer your question, spy."

He begins to laugh. "Very good. Then you are marked for death, enemy. Marked for death!"

"Silence!" orders the High Justice. "Get to the back of your cell, or your torture will be the worst of all."

The prisoner, still laughing, backs away. We move on.

"Apologies, Runethane," says the High Justice. "They are not meant to speak."

"I chose to speak too, High Justice. You needn't apologize."

I try to keep my voice calm, but inside I am shaken. Marked for death? So Runeking Uthrarzak must have heard of me too, then—and seemingly he believes in my powers. Might he send an assassin after me? One of his most powerful Runethane-captains? Or might he even come after me himself?

Or maybe this prisoner is wrong, and I am not marked for death, but instead for capture. Does our foe seek to imprison me, torture me, and use me as Vanerak did?

I will not let that happen.

At the end of the corridor, the High Justice stops. He pushes lightly on a few of the stone blocks, in a seemingly random order, then gears grind and the wall opens up. I hesitate to walk through. Beyond is black chalk, dotted with white stars.

"The caves of night?" I ask.

"Part of them were converted, a long time ago, into an extension of the prison. Come on through."

Into the darkness we walk, the doors grinding closed behind us. Black chalk-dust clouds the light of the lantern, making it difficult to see. Yet again I regret not wearing my runic ears. I need to practice fighting with them, too. Some battle-caverns are illuminated by mutual agreement, but some are not, and dwarves duel and die in the darkness there.

"Follow closely," says the High Justice. "This is a labyrinth."

The path twists and wends like a snake. False exits loom. I cough on the dust—I know it's meant to be toxic. I wonder if being sent to this part of the prison is just a long kind of death-sentence.

"It is not thick enough to be deadly in this part of the caverns," says the High Justice, as if guessing my concern. "But it is weakening. Dwarves kept here are not necessarily those accused of the worst crimes, though this is often the case. No—the deciding factor is their strength."

"Surely they're stripped of their armor, though?"

"Yes, but not their amulets. Some can give strength, especially those dwarves from other lands wear. And a dwarf who has spent many centuries in the forge sometimes has the drive to scratch away at the walls, endlessly, until something gives. It has happened before. But it does not happen here."

A pair of eyes glints at the end of a passage to the left. I cannot help but shiver. Is that a Runethane down there? A first degree?

"Not all are dwarven here, either."

"What?"

I recall learning of how Runethane Thanerzak kept dragons imprisoned beneath his realm, and start to worry. What were those eyes? Surely the Runeking is sensible enough not to keep monsters of that kind of power below his city?

"No dragons, though," the High Justice says, as if reading my mind once more. "And who you are to be introduced to, if I guess correctly, is a dwarf."

"Yes. A lady."

"I am correct, then. She will not recognize you, but you may recognize her."

"Who is she, then?"

"You will soon see."

As the labyrinth continues, time seems to fade away, as it often does in the darkness. My legs start to burn; they're fatiguing more easily than they ought to. This must be an effect of the dust burning my throat. If it's not so intense here as in other parts of the caves of night, I dread to think how anyone might survive deeper in.

A thought comes to me—might the masons be immune to it? They have an affinity for stone. Or maybe they can alter the walls in their stronghold so that the dust sticks to it. Yes, if the masons have a stronghold, it is surely in the caves of night. I must tell the Runeking this.

"Here," says the High Justice.

We stop before a circular titanium door. The High Justice places his golden hammer gently against the center. The door opens, yet not outward or inward. Instead, it rolls sideways into a slot the thick wall while making a strange keening sound, as if something within is vibrating.

Beyond is a small chamber with a single cell set into its wall. A lantern hanging from the ceiling illuminates a figure in ornate gold armor sitting before it. An aura of power surrounds him, and the Eyes on his crown seem to drill right through me.

I fall to one knee. "I've come as you bid me, my Runeking."

"Stand beside me, Runeforger," he replies, without turning to face me.

I obey.

"Ready the prisoner, High Justice. Have her brought just outside the doors. I will open them when it is time to speak with her. Until then, Zathar and I will talk in private."

"Yes, my Runeking," says the High Justice. He exits, and the door slides closed behind him.

A heavy silence seems to weigh down on me. I cough to clear my throat of the chalk dust, but the feeling of silence remains. I peer past the bars of the cell, and see a chair with straps, and metal implements arrayed on a rack behind it. I swallow; Pellas' face flashes before me for an instant. I thought torture was forbidden in Allabrast, but apparently there are exceptions.

"This is an interrogation chamber, as you might guess," says the Runeking. "But we will have no need for the tools within. Unlike most, she is willing to tell all she knows. In fact, she is desperate to."

"I see."

"Before we talk with her, however, I must tell you something first. There is a task I wish you to do for me, Zathar. One you are in a unique position to carry out. Indeed, I believe you to be the only one capable of it." He hesitates briefly. "I am unable to. I have tried many times, yet never been able to carry things through to the end."

This is it, then. The moment I have been dreading ever since I received his letter. I steel myself.

"I will do whatever you command, my Runeking," I say.

The Runeking stands up and turns to face me. His armor's power seems to make the air shake, and for a moment I cannot feel the presence of my own armor. Its runes are overwhelmed. Steelpierce feels light in my hand, weak and impotent.

"Your task is this," says the Runeking. "You will slay Uthrarzak for me. That is your task in this war. You are to kill our hated foe. Only with your runes can it be done."

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