I wake up to comforting cool and the scent of old stone—my quarters in the fort. The dimmest of candles has been set beside me on my desk, and looking at it only brings slight pain to my head. I notice a glass of water beside it, and sit up, wincing. I drink and wash the taste of vomit out my mouth.

How long have I been sleeping for, I wonder? My hangover isn't the worst I've had, even though during last night's—or rather long-hour's—drinking, I probably consumed several barrels' worth of alcohol. I must have been out for quite a while, then, to have recovered this much.

I notice that my helmet has been set on its stand. Someone took it off me, maybe to clean the sick out. I grimace. I can recall the final part of the feast much better than I can all the rest, and I remember well how Ithis warned me that armor sometimes proves little defense. It certainly provides none against alcohol poisoning. In that state, in the alley with my armor around my ankles, any runeknight might have had a chance to kill me. He was right to follow me.

I sink back into the mattress, which groans from the weight, shut my eyes and sleep again. When I wake, I am ravenous.

Down to the eating hall I go, and am happily surprised to see Nthazes—Guildmaster Nthazes. I sit down opposite him.

"I hear that you enjoyed the celebrations," he says.

I wince. "More or less. The after-effects, not so much. It's a shame you couldn't come."

"Indeed. But you know I cannot step away from here."

"Is the darkness moving?"

"Not particularly so. Still, our vigil must be kept."

Today's plates are piled high with butter-fried slices of gelthob. The rubbery meat has been made palatable with copious amounts of spices, and it burns to eat. Breathing out between bites is like forcing hot fumes out both nostrils, and the effect is to clear my head entirely. The icy water helps too.

"How much has the Runethane promised you?" he asks. "Enough for your gems?"

"Three hundred gold pieces. A fortune, but still not nearly enough."

"Well, it's a start, at least."

I nod, and munch down a side-helping of mushrooms, take another sip of water.

"You know, guildmaster, Hayhek and the others want me to make my own guild, you know. Can you imagine?"

He frowns. "A guild?"

"Yes. They think we can make a lot of money that way."

"I see."

"You sound a little skeptical."

"It would be strange to have another guild take up residence down here."

"They'd stay up above. I'll stay here, though."

"Won't that be difficult?"

"I don't think so. And besides, I need to stay down here—here's where I forge, now."

"Still, you'll have to spend a fair bit of time with them."

"Maybe. But maybe not—my old guildmaster spent most of his time in his forge, away from us. So does Runethane Halmak, I think. Besides, nothing's decided yet. Though they want me to start a guild, I don't know if I want to."

He nods. "It's a lot of responsibility."

"Exactly." I take another sip of water. "Too much responsibility. You know better than I do."

He's silent for a while, as if deep in thought, or shifting through the mists of timeless memories. I eat some more gelthob, feeling slightly uncomfortable.

"I don't know about that," he finally says.

"What do you mean? You're guildmaster."

"Yes. But the darkness hasn't come back up since I took the title. I've never led anyone into battle yet."

"I'd count yourself lucky about that. I've tried—usually it goes badly."

He tilts his head a little. "Really? But you led our investigations."

"No, no. That was mostly Jaemes."

"I don't think so. He had the ideas, and I the knowledge of the fort—but it was you who pulled us along. Especially at the end, you were the only one brave enough to confront Fjalar directly."

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Is that really true? It's been so long I can hardly remember exactly what happened. But yes, I suppose it might be. It was indeed me who dragged Nthazes along in my investigations. And after Jaemes was imprisoned, he couldn't do much, could he? It was up to me—and I pulled Nthazes away from the doomed battle also.

Well! It seems I managed to do a decent job of being leader once, at least.

"You might make a good guildmaster, you know. Now that I think about it."

That strange glint comes into his eyes again, though I can't quite fathom why. We are not discussing runes.

I shake my head. "No. I've had too many failures."

"So does everyone. Behind every master-craft are masses of scraps."

"Metal and lives are not the same."

"But both are equally precious, are they not? Without metal us dwarves would have no lives. We'd have no runes with which to ward off the darkness."

"Yes, but—I really don't know about this."

"Besides, most guildmasters don't lead their dwarves into battle, as I understand it. Not unless they're called up to war. You're right—you might not have to spend so much time in Brightdeep after all."

"War is on its way."

"Runeking Uthrarzak? But the darkness is a more pressing concern, I think. More of Brightdeep really should visit the Shaft. Then they might take things a little more seriously."

"And forge more weapons of light."

"Exactly—you know, Zathar, if you do end up starting a guild, the members are going to want to learn your scripts."

He's speaking fast; the skepticism and slight solemnity from before is gone from his tone.

"That's the only reason they'll join, yes."

"And you are going to create this new script of light, yes?"

"I am. I promised you, didn't I?"

"And if they learn it, they will make weapons of light with it. Maybe these crafts won't be designed with solely the deep darkness in mind, but they'd still have some effect on it."

Now I see where he is going with this, and the reason for the glint in his eyes.

"I don't know how they'd feel about me telling them to come down here."

"Even if we paid them, and fed them for free?"

"I'm not sure, friend. And as for a script of light, they'd need almergris."

"Of which we have plenty left. Not enough that we could give it away freely, but in exchange for work, we could come to an arrangement. And maybe you can even find a way to make your runes work without it."

"To be honest, I don't know that much about reagents. I've only really focused on the runes themselves."

"There is a library in Brightdeep, and Runethane Yurok's books are in his forge as well. He read and wrote a fair amount about almergris."

"I suppose I could give it a try, then."

He nods, ignoring my reluctance. "If you could manage to make script of light that didn't need it, or needed less of it, it would be an incredible boon. A truly incredible boon."

"Well, indeed."

"As long as you don't leave here for too long at a time—and you know, maybe there is room for another guild. I can't promise much pay for your members, but it could be steady work. And if they want to make weapons of light, we will provide help, of course. Instruction. We can show them how to make runic ears too."

"You'd really be all right with more outsiders down here?"

"Yes. We don't care who comes, so long as they can equip themselves properly. We don't have the luxury to choose—never have in any case."

"A lot will prefer to work up above, I think."

"They can. Others can work below. We'll be generous, as generous as we can afford, and we can afford a good deal. The Runethane gives us a great deal, more than perhaps you know, and he'll be happy to hear it if our ranks swell."

The quicker the number of runeknights in the fort swells, the more quickly he can proceed with his plans for an attack into the city below, I think to myself. Then I really would have to lead everyone into battle, and into a battle I don't really believe in. But I don't say this to Nthazes. He's in a good mood, and I don't have the energy to argue much more.

"I'll think about it," I say. "And I'll suggest your ideas to the others. See what they think."

"You do that," Nthazes says enthusiastically.

Straight after my meal, I make my way back up to Brightdeep. I glance at the castle gates, and wonder what Runethane Halmak will think of a new guild popping up in his realm. If it was any other guild, he'd be happy to hear it. But a guild of dwarves obsessed with the idea that I am the Second Runeforger? What will he think about that?

Nothing's decided, I remind myself as I walk through the streets, heading toward the station. I'm not cut out to be guildmaster. Probably I'm going to back out of this. Becoming a guildmaster—trying to step into Wharoth's boots—it's mad.

Until new housing can be mined out, the refugees are being housed in an empty cavern a little way out from Brightdeep. I'm not entirely sure how to get there, but this turns out not to matter—halfway down the tunnel to the station, I spot two familiar figures walking up from the opposite direction. Both have their helmets off: one has a wild, reddish beard run through with streaks of dark, the other a neat brown-gray one. One's eyes are fierce, burning in the pupils. The other's are calmer, like still water over green marble.

"Zathar?" says Hayhek. "We were just coming up to look for you."

"Finally woken up, I see," says Ithis. "Hangover not too bad?"

A third figure emerges from behind them: Ugyok, with his burn-darkened face.

"Good to see you again, Zathar."

I bow slightly. "And to see all of you too. My hangover is gone, thanks for asking."

"Glad to hear it," says Hayhek.

"I was on my way to meet you, actually. Maybe you guessed. I want to talk, about what we talked about last hour."

"And as you can probably guess," says Ithis, "we wish to talk about the same."

"I'm still not sure about it."

"You don't have to decide just yet," says Hayhek. "We'll talk it out over some good food, unless you've already breakfasted."

"I have, sorry to tell you. And I'm not much in the mood for drinking either."

"Of course. Such decisions as this one should be made sober. But some light snacks and water would go down well. Us three haven't eaten for at least a few short-hours."

"I know a tavern," says Ugyok. "As long as we order enough food, they won't mind too much about us only drinking water."

"All right," I say. Time to get all this sorted out. "Take us there."

And so, within the hour, we are sitting around at stone table in one of Brightdeep's best taverns. Ithis lays out some complicated-looking documents, fancy quills and ink, then cracks his knuckles.

"The establishment of a guild," he begins, "requires some complex legal work. The running of it, complex financial work. But lucky for us, my father taught me well about both."

"Let's begin," says Hayhek. His eyes meet mine. "So, Zathar—first you must decide a name."

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