She looks at me, and through the many chains wrapped thickly around her face, I see dark eyes. They are old, dreadfully old, and have witnessed far worse battles than this one. She is a figure out of the histories the librarian told me of, an instigator of events that have changed the fates of dozens of realms and countless hundreds of thousands of dwarves. She is as Ulrike is, and Uthrarzak also. She is not merely powerful, but a power.

Around the hilltop, my dwarves are motionless. Shock has rippled out from that last killing blow, stilling the blood in the veins of all who witnessed it. To see such solid armor, the envy of runeknights and Runethanes alike, broken so completely and its wearer slaughtered like a butcher's pig—rarely are such terrible deeds witnessed.

Duthur's dwarves break the silence, crying out in despair at the loss of their leader. One clad in ruby as red as my own charges from behind. He is a second degree, yet a single sudden cut all but beheads him. Others stab and slash ineffectually, and the Runequeen strikes them in turn. Those who take glancing blows are thrown, those who take direct blows fall broken.

I clench my hand around Graveknife's cold hilt. I know what I must do. I cannot stand by as weaker dwarves are slain! I must attack, must obey the orders of my Runeking. Do I not owe him for saving my life, for rescuing me from Vanerak's corruption? What is more, he trusts me. I must trust in his judgment in turn—and yet he also trusted Duthur.

Her back is to me. Now is my chance and I leap forward to take it, Graveknife held with point angled down.

She turns faster than any dwarf should be able to. Her chains weigh nothing to her, or less that nothing. Her eyes meet mine and her axe is coming for my neck. I block and am thrown to the ground. Graveknife shudders, then some of its power fades—I see that it is bent.

Already she is striking again, downward. I block with my forearms and my War Armor cracks there. Her axe goes up, down again. This time I am forced to roll, but she predicts the movement and the crystal blade strikes my back. The plate bends and my skin is broken under it; warm blood flows from the stinging cut. I am thrown, roll again, manage to get up and turn to face her. My limbs feel heavy. My War Armor's power is lessened.

Duthur took a great deal of this punishment before his armor failed. I will not be able to stand nearly so much.

She comes again! Swing, swing, left and right and down, always with great force. I block and dodge, completely on the defensive. My War Armor wails with each strike I take. I know I must attack, but try as I might, I cannot close the gap between us. Her offensive power is more brutal than anything I have ever faced. It rivals that of the black dragon, and is more focused.

"For the Runeforger!" Ithis cries.

"For the Runeforger!" my dwarves repeat.

"No!" I shout. "Stay back!"

The Runequeen spins her axe as fast as a threshing flail. Any armor less than second-degree quality is naught but fabric to it. Blood fountains, and limbs and heads fall. My Runic League are being devastated before my eyes, dwarves I've drunk and fought with a hundred times dying like helpless troglodytes. The few juniors who try, madly, to join the fray fall before they are even struck, cut apart by runic force.

Graveknife is trembling. It does not care for its wound, not in the face of such a spectacle of violent death. I grip it harder, as if trying to strangle it. These are my dwarves, I shout in my mind. My dwarves, not the foes! There is no joy here, only despair. My Runic League is dying.

Let their sacrifice not be for nothing, then, a voice says to me. My own voice, I think. My voice of reason: one good hit is what Graveknife needs. Just one strike into the soft flesh under her chains, a twist, and it will kill, or at the very least weaken to a devastating degree. While she is embroiled in carnage, that chance will come.

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She is so fast, though! I already tried that trick, all of minutes ago, and it was useless. She is too quick and too aware, too experienced.

Yet I have no choice but to try again, and I am not the only one to have realized this. Ithis stand at the opposite side of the hilltop alongside Brognir. His eyes meet mine. All he has to do is buy me time.

Ordinarily, I would not agree to this plan. We would argue it over, and in the end I would reject it. Today I say nothing, and that silence is the only sign he needs.

"Die!" he screams, and he leaps at her.

She hears his cry and turns, axe blade sweeping forth. I charge now. Ithis does not even slow, and lets his armor take the full force of her axe. Runes glow and explode whitely from the tungsten. He shouts in pain and falls sideways. Brognir takes his place, charging in the wake of her swing. He stabs with his bronze sword.

I am nearly at her! Graveknife is poised to fall, and bent though it might be, it is still filled with killing power.

Her axe returns, a horizontal pendulum counting tenths of a second. It cleaves Brognir's helmet right through, removing the top of his head. Blood and white matter splash upward. Ithis, still lying injured on the ground, shouts out in dismay.

Brognir's sacrifice will not be in vain. I am in range; I stab deep into her back. Graveknife scrapes past the sliding chains. Sparks fly, shaped like wriggling snakes and twisted bones. My weapon is nearly ripped from my hand, but I do not let go. The black-runed steel goes past the last bands of resistance and into soft flesh. It shakes hungrily, almost as Heartseeker used to.

It drinks deep of life. The Runequeen cries out, the first sound I've heard from her.

"Die!" I yell. "Revenge!"

Then she laughs and violently spins. Graveknife is ripped from the wound. Her axe hits my breastplate in an upward blow, with such strength I'm lifted bodily. I land a dozen feet away. A thud reverberates through me.

Have I failed? But I got in, and Graveknife worked its power. Surely she must be at least injured—did she really laugh, or was it another cry?

I stand, slipping and nearly falling in a pool of blood. She is still laughing, throwing her head back. Her mane of hair drips red. How can this be? I am sure my strike reached her heart. I felt it do so!

"A mighty blow indeed!" she screeches, her voice like tearing metal. "You are the first to make me feel pain in an age, Zathar Runeforger, and the first fellow dwarf to do so since I rose to this station."

I have no reply.

"Your craft of runes is fascinating indeed," she continues. "Maybe I should bind you in chains as I did my dragon, and see if I can turn you to my advantage. But then again, why risk the danger? The treasures of Allabrast will be plenty for my purposes."

What can I do? How can I defeat this monster? She seems invulnerable.

"Come here, Zathar Runeforger! Are you frightened of me? Does death scare you? But if it did, you would not have attacked me in the first place. Come on! Ready yourself to join your old Runethane, Thanerzak, whose secret deeds gave us our inspiration!"

There is no answer. There is no way to defeat her; she is a foe too strong for any of us. Runeking Ulrike was wrong and I was right. The only way to kill her is to lead her to him, and yet where he is, I do not know. I do not know if he is even alive.

"Come on!" she screams. "End your legend with courage, Zathar—for today it ends regardless!"

"Retreat!" I yell. "Everyone, retreat! Scatter! Find the Runeking!"

My army needs little encouragement. They vanish from the hilltop as if blown down by the wind. Their cries to retreat echo from every angle.

"You will face me alone, I see," says the Runequeen. She spins her axe and steps forward. "Some would have their dwarves die so that they might escape. Perhaps that was the better option for you here."

"Why have you come here?" I demand. "These are our lands."

She laughs. "Do you seek to delay me with words? I am no fool. My brother is locked in combat with your king, and I must find him as soon as I can. Begone from this world!"

Her chains twist and glimmer with power as she bends her legs to leap once more. I raise Graveknife as if to block, though in my mind is a different plan. A shameful plan, one that will stain my name forever, yet who will be able to blame me for doing this?

She comes, her axe sweeping down. I step back. Runic force glitters out, and I block it with crossed forearms in the same moment that I jump with all of my strength.

Blazing sparks burst from my armor in a thousand different colors. The power catches, cuts into the metal, but not all the way through and I am lifted up once more, yet higher and further. The power fades, and then I am spinning. The battle and sky flash in turn. I glimpse tens of thousands in the fog over the ground, all fighting and dying, and just before I start to plummet in earnest, I see a bright spark of gold not too far away.

The Runeking. I must get to him.

Everything starts to blur. Wind whistles past my armor. I impact the ground and crumple, crying out in pain.

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