I watch that terrible axe rising and falling for what seems like many moments. The Runequeen seems to be beating hard upon something, almost as if she is working a piece of metal on the anvil. Sparks are flying, though none too many, and there is no blood. Then I glimpse her target: Runethane Duthur, facing her, his armor scratched and cracked.

The clouds close up and the center of the battle is obscured from us. Spell broken, I turn furiously to the golden automaton.

"You expect us to be able to fight that? A dwarf as powerful as our own master? If Duthur can do nothing, what are we meant to do?"

"She was not here before," says the automaton faintly. "I should have had word—ah, they are fallen. The Eyes are broken here." She suddenly shakes and jerks. "Zathar!" comes our Runeking's voice. It is sharp.

"My Runeking?"

"Charge at once to support Duthur and Kalthan!" he orders. "Try to at least kill the warriors around her, to lessen their distractions. If you surround her you may pull her down, as amphidons around a leviathan!"

"But my Runeking, surely only you can slay such a foe?" I find that I am shaking. "She is too great for any of us!"

"Not for Duthur. He can slay her. I am sure of this, if only you can give him the opportunity. He still survives, and that shows his power." A strange sound emits from the automaton, like that of shattering metal. "I cannot talk any longer. Go, Zathar! Prove yourself capable!"

Prove myself capable? Fury takes hold in me. Capable of what? Have I not just brought about the death of two dragons, and led an army through a night of constant battle? Am I not capable already?

Capable of my real task, he means. My impossible quest to kill Uthrarzak. If I can't face this Runequeen, I have no hope. That is his message.

"Runethane!" says Ithis. He sounds tired. "What are your orders?"

"To attack immediately."

"Immediately?" asks Lekudr. "Their flanks are unprotected—might we not surround them?"

"Duthur is getting beaten to a pulp. Kalthan may already be dead. We have to get to the center as quick as we can. We will form a wedge."

"All of us?"

I focus hard. Lines form in my mind, almost as if I am designing the shape of a new weapon in the hours before taking to the furnace and anvil. I recall the many books of strategy I have read; although nearly all discussed doing battle in caves and deep corridors, some aspects may still be applied.

"The strongest in the realm will come with me," I say. "Ithis, Brognir, Guildmaster Huirah—"

"Huirah has been gravely injured," a second-degree tells me.

"Then I'll have someone else take his place. Let me think."

I run through the names of various commanders, then speak them. Several are injured or dead. Others volunteer to take their places. Soon a force of two hundred elites is decided upon. They will be the spear. The rest of my troops will form two blocks and converge like great hammers.

The orders are given. Captains Lekudr and Rtayor will lead the hammers, and they lead them off into the mists to come back around. The spearhead forms behind me, fronted by the remaining captains. It is a risk, concentrating so much power here, yet I will not win against such a powerful foe by being cautious.

"Runethane Zathar?" says the automaton. "Are we going to charge now?"

"Your words speak of eagerness, but your tone does not." I scowl. "You sound scared. Are you not a weapon?"

"What I am is beyond your understanding, Runeforger though you may be."

I laugh. Anger and fire both fill me, and now they will propel me. I turn to my elites:

"We may be tired, and our armor may be battered, and even our weapons are chipped, but we are still more than a match for our foes. Runequeen of the desert or hated foe of the north, it matters not. We have vanquished monsters from the deepest places and are afraid of nothing." I raise Graveknife high and scream. "Kill them all! Charge!"

My runeknights roar and follow close as I splash through the bloody moat of the hill. A dwarf in dark iron chains sees me and his eyes widen. I leap with all the power of my War Armor and slice open his neck. Ragged flesh seeks to close, but its strength dies and the dwarf falls.

Up we go, crying out our fury with every step. Our embroiled allies rejoice and new vigor takes them. Weapons shatter on their diamond armor, and swords of crystal hew chain and flesh alike. Spears stick in the enemy, holding them still for more effective weapons to find their mark. Ithis' hammer crushes many a skull, and Brognir's sword takes limb after limb.

But Graveknife is still the deadliest. It spreads terror: halfway up the hillock, two dozen strong enemies form a line to bar us. One does not quite manage to join in time, and I stab him in the back. He looks into his allies' eyes as the life fades from his own, and their faces go pale with fear. I scream and charge, slashing the air as I go, and the line wavers. Even before I reach it, it breaks into two halves which flee down either side of the hill—into the waiting phalanxes of Lekudr and Rtayor.

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I feel unstoppable. We are winning a great victory. our foes are fleeing before us, unable to resist.

Then upon the ground I see something that near stops my heart.

It is the body of Runethane Kalthan. He lies face up and is almost naked, his flowing suit of mercury splashed and scattered around him. Both his swords are broken at the hilt—no, not broken, but rather sliced through cleanly. His neck is attached by but a scrap of skin, and a deep wound in his left exposes cloven ribs and a and bisected heart.

Nearby lie two automatons, the Eyes of their scepters shattered.

"Hurry!" I hear Duthur shout. "Hurry up, for the love of the Runeking! Zathar, damn you! I can hear your voice! Support me!"

"Come on!" I scream down at my troops, trying to disguise my terror with volume. "Up, up, up!"

The sun breaks from the clouds once more to illuminate the duel. The mist makes gray shadows of everything, yet the situation is clear enough: Duthur is pitted against the Runequeen and half a dozen elites, some likely Runethanes. He is defending with all his speed and might, whirling his diamond-spear like a shaft of reflected rainbow. Yet he cannot block everything. The Runequeen's axe finds his armor time and again, and chips fly out.

One final rush of foes comes to block us. I meet it head on, ruby turning pain to fuel. I burn from the inside, yet my hand is untouched, for it is made colder than ice by Graveknife; it is numb with the chill of death.

Axes and hammers smash me. My War Armor resists but I am pushed back. Ithis and Brognir overtake, swinging with their own weapons. I watch as a foe's arm is crushed but then snaps back into shape immediately. His axe scars Ithis' visor deep, sending him rolling down. Another of the Runic League takes the captain's place, but is stabbed through his damaged gut-plate a second later. He folds double and falls.

"Damn you all!" I shout as I charge once more.

I slash the throat of one elite, too lightly, then swing him back behind me into our lines. I hear cries and the sound of metal through flesh. Now one of Duthur's most elite attackers shouts and throws himself at me. I stab his left arm, and his green-tinged sword cleaves into my thigh. The plate screeches and flashes.

I push him away. He recovers quickly and strikes at my face. I let him hit, and my War Armor shakes in pain. Strange green blinds me for a second. With only battle-instinct to reveal things, I nevertheless manage to grab his wrist with my left hand and cut the veins with Graveknife. Blood flows out, keeps on flowing. Ithis hammers his elbow and it snaps. The desert dwarf shouts in pain.

Past him, Duthur finally gets in a solid blow—his spear pierces through one of his attacker's eye-sockets and she falls down dead. But the Runequeen's revenge-cut comes quickly and brutally, half-moon axe unleashing a line of glittering force colored in hues I have never seen. Duthur holds up his forearm to block it, and the diamond plate shatters violently. He cries out in dismay as the damp wind blows on his bare skin.

"Come on!" I yell to my troops. "Onward! Onward!"

My maimed opponent punches me hard enough to make my skull ring, then I stab him under the ribs through to his heart and he falls limp. I step over his body. Now I'm behind Duthur.

A second later, Rtayor appears on the left flank, drenched totally in blood. The elites there turn and charge—three of Runethane rank onto one first-degree.

He is about to die, I think with sudden dismay, and my order for him to pull back is on my tongue, when he grabs one's weapon and leans back, pulling them into his lines. The other two follow and are surrounded, and in turn pulled deeper and out of sight.

At the other side, some of Duthur and Kalthan's remnant forces organize a sickle-charge, engaging the elites on there. Thus a reprieve is won and now Duthur faces the Runequeen alone.

She looks around, surely seeing that she is totally surrounded, yet shows no sign of concern. Duthur adjusts his stance, stabs. She lets his spear sink into her breast then cleaves down. He dodges and force parts the fog beside me. There is a tearing sound, and a clang from behind as if one of my dwarves is hit and broken.

Duthur rips out his spear and no blood comes. If it does not land in a vital area, it is worse than useless, but where those vital areas may be is impossible to see. No part of the Runequeen's flesh is visible, just chains upon chains upon chains, layered many times over and webbed with chaotic precision. The great thickness of this metal skin makes her bigger than us, and she seems to loom. Her mane of hair is like golden fire streaming in the wind.

"Distract her!" I say. "Stab at her eyes, and I'll go around the back!"

I half expect some kind of retort from him, for I know how little he thinks of me, but to my surprise he takes my suggestion to heart. He launches a flurry of stabs at her face, his glittering point darting in and out with accuracy and unpredictability I would find impossible to match with Steelpierce.

Where is that weapon, anyway? Did something happen to it? I cannot remember. Graveknife occupies my hand now and is the superior weapon.

True to my word, I run in an arc, trying to get around the Runequeen's back. But she steps cleverly, always angling herself so that Duthur and I are never out of her sight.

Suddenly she turns to me, slashing her axe horizontally. I shout in shock. Runic force leaps out at me, glittering like crystal fire. Gritting my teeth, I hold Graveknife to block. When the force hits, it bends, chill lessening for a moment. Then the force shatters and I am thrown back a few steps. My breath is knocked from me.

My heart beats wildly. Her axe can hurt me even if blocked, even if she is not in range. How can I win this? How can there be any hope? Duthur cannot seem to get through. Even when his spear-thrusts hit and sink into her skull, they never draw blood. He shouts in frustration.

Then, amazingly, comes triumph. His spear pierces her forehead at an upward angle. She shivers, twitches.

"Got you!" Duthur yells.

But as soon as he speaks, the chains around her mouth shift as if she grins monstrously below them. She has deceived us. Her left hand grabs his spear, and she raises her half-moon axe up high. Duthur lets go of his weapon, knowing that to leap backward is his only chance of survival, yet he is too slow. Perhaps he feels reluctance at leaving such a great work in the hands of his enemy, or maybe the delay is born from disbelief that he could ever be in such a dire situation.

The Runequeen's axe falls and hits, cleaving his breastplate from shoulder to hip. The diamond shatters like dropped glass. He trips and falls onto his back, bare flesh exposed, and then the axe comes down again. It sinks through flesh and bone with no resistance, splitting his chest nearly in two. Blood spurts from the wound and his mouth both.

He goes still. The second most powerful dwarf in the kingdom is dead, and his slayer now turns to look at me, her bloody axe rising once more.

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