The prisoner continues to stare at me. Her gaze seems to say, is this really him? And can he really do as rumored? Is this truly the Runeforger?

For my part, I examine her coolly. We are enemies. My guild, my friends, fought against an army she was partly in command of. Some of them died—and maybe to her personally. Broderick's Golden Guard were a feared force back then.

"Get on with it, prisoner," orders the Runeking. "Tell Zathar who you are and where you come from."

"I know who she is now you've said her name," I say. "She was one of Broderick's elites. You wielded axes, yes? I remember how they flashed in the battle. I lost a good friend there, to a similar axe."

Her eyes narrow. "And I lost many friends when the black dragon burst free from wherever that key allowed it access."

I scowl. "I will not apologize for that. I've done so enough times. In the end, I repented for my wrongs, and helped slay the beast. I hear your father took the credit for its killing, though."

"You were the one on its back, I presume. Not the one in ice."

"You witnessed the battle? Where were you hiding? We thought you'd all been wiped out."

"Most were. But we were not hiding. We planned to pull the ceiling down onto the beast and crush it."

"A bold plan. I don't think it would have worked."

"We did not get to find out."

"Indeed not." I turn to the Runeking. "I would like to get this over with, my Runeking. I would have her speak of Uthrarzak now."

"She will. But she will tell of some other things that you ought to know, first. You are right to worry about the masons, Zathar. They will be a dagger in our ribs if we let the war drag on too long."

This surprises me. "You are worried about them too, then." I frown. "You seemed unconcerned."

"I am very concerned. I just do not wish others to know this yet, though."

"I believe they are hiding in the caves of night. Their powers, if—"

"They are here already?" says Braedle.

"Do not interrupt," the Runeking says coldly. "Remember your position, traitor's daughter." He glances at the white-dotted black walls and his Eyes seem to focus past the stone. "Yes, Zathar. The caves of night are indeed a likely location for some to be hiding. Keep that information to yourself, though. Keep all information to yourself. I do not want to cause a panic. Nor do I want masons loyal to us to be suspected, and turned against us."

"I am glad you seem to at last be considering my tale," says Braedle. "Thank you, Runeking."

"The evidence has grown too strong to ignore. Prisoner—tell Zathar what you told me. Of Hardrick and of your father. It will be of interest to him; he needs to know our foes. Then you will tell him all of what you know of Uthrarzak's new equipment. He must know that, also."

"I will, Runeking. But why just him? All your Runethanes should hear—"

"Not all of them can be trusted. Many are fools, despite their rank. Arrogant and idiotic. Only a select few will be told; you will repeat what you say to some others later. For now, though, get on with it."

"Very well, Runeking. You're right that it'll interest him. I know he had some kind of rivalry with Hardrick. I thought those rumors were baseless, but by the look on his face—"

"Tell your tale," I spit. My own anger surprises me. Hardrick was the beginning of it all—that thief! "Hurry up!"

She tells her tale, now, beginning from the dragon hunt. While Runethane Broderick was watching our battle, she was chasing Hardrick through the tunnels. He had fled, had seemingly lost his mind. But when she found him, she found him changed. His face was different, somehow. And his voice was not Hardrick's, and his skill at arms was greater also. She only just escaped with her life.

After the death of the dragon, Broderick's forces returned to the Gray Caverns, the center of Uthrarzak's lands. He demanded a report, and Broderick told lie after lie about how he had killed it personally. The Runeking seemed to believe him. Hardrick was given only a passing mention. In private, Broderick was worried, yet was not about to send good dwarves hunting after him blindly.

They returned to their own caverns. Though barren and miserable, here Broderick's dwarves were free to live as they liked, unconstrained by the strict discipline Uthrarzak enforces in other realms. Our foe is savvy, knowing that sometimes it is good to have more unpredictable troops around. And since Broderick originally hails from Allabrast, as had his once-commander Thanerzak, Uthrarzak thought it particularly important that some of his dwarves understood the enemy's thinking.

They prospered, now. Several expeditions to the ruined mountain and the caverns below were mounted, and great riches were brought back. Gems by the bucket-load, hundreds of tons of precious metals, and rare and dangerous reagents, too. Runethane Broderick, as the slayer of the dragon, was allowed a larger share than most. He grew rich. His palace was made far more magnificent than his hall in Hazhakmar cavern had been. He took many wives, to his daughter's distaste.

"I heard that you were half-human," the Runeking interrupts. "Is that rumor true?"

"Yes. Most of my brothers and sisters were half-dwarf. Most left to be with less mad folk."

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"Half-dwarf, but not all half-human?"

"Two were half-elven."

"How curious."

Braedle returns to the main thread of her tale. All was going well, until one hour, maybe a decade ago by surface reckoning, a guard alerted her of a disturbance. He had heard strange grinding sounds and strange voices near to Broderick's forge. That part of the palace was meant to be secure; only a few first and second degrees were allowed access.

"I doubted the guard's words," she says solemnly. "And as I drew nearer my father's forge, I began to doubt them still further. There was silence."

My skin prickles, and I find myself leaning in.

"I came to the final corridor, and that was when I saw there was something wrong. The stone had been altered, warped somehow into a forest of thin stalagmites. They were textured to absorb sound. I realized this when I crashed through them and heard the sound of weapon on armor."

"Who was there?" I ask, recalling the old master mason.

"Hardrick!" she spits. "Or, not Hardrick, on a second or third glance. His face had changed. It is hard to describe. It was as if another's face had been etched onto a clear mask, and pressed onto his own. Or like a shadow was cast over it. Yes, there was darkness there. Only his golden teeth remained unchanged."

A shadow cast over a face. That reminds me of something, and though I can't quite remember what, a chill runs through me all the same.

"The intruder was in armor," Braedle continues. "Fine armor, though not as fine as my father's golden skin. He wielded a sword against my father's axes, and despite the shortness of his weapon, and his inferior speed, he had the better of him still."

"Tell him of the magic," the Runeking orders.

"Magic?" I ask. "Of stone?"

"The intruder sang as he fought. The words were long, and slow, and they were not any that I understood. The stone obeyed them. It turned to liquid wherever my father stepped. Not magma—like cold magma, still gray."

She clenches her fists.

"When I tried to join the fight, the intruder sang a few deep notes. This cost him a broken breastplate, but the spell kept me out. The floor turned to thrusting spears. They broke against my armor, and yet shattered the metal also."

"Shattered it?" I ask. "Stone did? But you are a first-degree, no?"

"I am a first-degree. A nine-tenths degree. Yet all the same, stone broke my metal."

I frown. This is odd to me, very odd. The master mason said metal always beat stone. Maybe that isn't true in all cases, though. Maybe a few powerful masons were able to hold their own against runeknights.

But if this intruder, this thing that took control of Hardrick's body was a mason, that does not explain the skill he gained at forging. Surely, it was this possessing spirit or demon that gave him those skills and made him into the feared and famous Silver Legend—I see this now. Yet how could the spirit of a mason also know how to forge?

"My soldiers pulled me away from the fight," Braedle says, "Some of them tried to interfere too, and were slain. After that, everyone retreated." She swallows. "When we returned, we found my father's body. He had been stabbed through the heart, and the intruder had vanished through a perfectly circular, perfectly smooth tunnel. He had taken most of my father's stores with him; I imagine he had subordinates lurking below, waiting for the fight to end. All the true metal was gone, as were all the gems and most of the boxes of reagents."

"Did you not chase after him down the tunnel?" I ask.

"It had been closed off. When we had some miners break through, there were stalagmites like spears waiting in a trap below. Some scouts were sent forward, but the tunnel led to a cavern like a maze, and Hardrick was long-gone."

After that, she had an urgent report sent to Runeking Uthrarzak. No reply came. Then her border guards told her of legions being mustered close by. She smelled a trap, a plot, and fled undercover with her closest guards.

She was forced to swap her armor for common clothes, and make her way through the adjacent realms and cities without drawing attention. They hid in the poorest quarters, and in the public houses there, where they went to gather information, they heard a strange rumor.

"Runeking Uthrarzak apparently had a new advisor," she tells us. "But not a runeknight. A mason. One so skilled, they said, that the stone obeyed his very voice with no need of a chisel. Most did not seem to believe it. Yet as we traveled, the rumor spread and strengthened. Soon, no one had any doubt of its truth."

"What did the rumor say he looked like?" I ask. "I knew a master mason who claimed to have strange knowledge once, yet he was nothing like Hardrick."

"No one apart from the Runeking and his close advisors have seen him clearly, I don't think. He wears robes of stoneleaf. But I'm sure it's whatever Hardrick became. That demon, or spirit, or whatever it is."

"A mason who is also a runeknight," I say. "Hardrick could forge. Masons cannot. And the rebel masons hate runeknights. At least, the master mason did." I frown at the Runeking. "Something isn't making sense here."

"Many things aren't," he replies. "Yet I am confident she is telling the truth. She does not sound like a liar."

I look into her blue eyes, and see desperation in them. She is scared, her facade of confidence beginning to crack. Scared for her life—and maybe greater things beyond that. Scared for dwarfkind, maybe.

"Why do you think Uthrarzak had your father slain?" I ask.

"I presume the truth came out about the dragon, somehow. Or maybe he just doubted my father's loyalty. He had already betrayed one leader. Why not betray again in the war, should it start to go the wrong way?"

"I see. What is the official reason behind your father's death, then? Surely those in your realm will put two and two together, no? Their Runethane was killed by masons, and then a mason appears beside Uthrarzak's side. Did they not rebel?"

She shakes her head. "I kept the tale about the intruder's power to myself. I didn't want my runeknights panicking any more than they already were, and besides, I did not think anyone would believe me. I barely believed it myself. So, only those who fled with me knew, and they are dead now. As for the official reason, none was given. Rumors were allowed to spread." An ugly look comes across her narrow features. "One popular one is that I was responsible, and planned to deliver our realm to the human barbarians above."

"It seemed the most likely to me," says the Runeking, "until I heard of more incidents with masons and their magic of stone."

"We must hunt them down," I say. "They are saboteurs for Uthrarzak. That's clear now. It should be a priority."

"Things will be done on that front. Do not worry. You have a different priority, Zathar."

I bow. "Of course."

"Make no more mention of the masons and their powers to your guild, either. Not unless absolutely necessary. The citizenry must not have their faith in us—the runeknights—shaken. And certainly not at such a delicate time. Rumors must not spread."

"Yes, my Runeking. I understand completely."

"Now, tell him of Uthrarzak, prisoner. His new armor, specifically. In as much detail as possible—and you don't need to know why you must tell him this. His mission does not concern you."

She obeys, telling of all she knows of his crafts and how he made them, and I come to fully understand the impossibility of the task that faces me.

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