Feeling somewhat ashamed by my sudden fantasies of power, I turn around and look into the splashing fountain. I watch the light rippling in the water and will it to fill my mind. I must come to understand it. This hour, my power shall be light, and I shall use it for good. For good!

I repeat this thought over and over again. Every time some fantasy of gold and power comes by, I let it slowly fade, and eventually the glittering dreams cease.

How long do I stare into the water like this, watching the mosaic below ripple in time with the shimmering of its transparent cloak? Like happens in the forge, all time seems to vanish. There is only me and my striving to understand the inner meaning of the patterns I see.

Bodily needs, however, start to impinge on my meditation. Water I can drink from the fountain, but my belly started to rumble some time ago, and now my hunger has become almost painful.

I get up stiffly and head back into the blackness of the fort. No one is in the eating hall, and so I eat in silence. Then I go to the forge. I probably ought to start annotating my poems, using simpler runes to describe each's property in coarse prose.

When I get there, I see a new piece of paper on top the anvil. I pick it up and read:

We saw you at the fountain, but didn't wish to disturb your meditations. There is good news: the formation of the Runic League, classified as a script-searchers' guild, has been approved. There was a bit of wrangling, but Ithis managed it deftly. We have also scouted out a location for a guildhall. It is a natural cave a little bit out of the city, but once we have the gold we can touch it up nicely enough. I have illustrated the path there below. Please come as soon as you are ready. We've been told that you must sign the final declaration of founding yourself in blood drawn from your own weapon.

Warm regards,

Hayhek

I grin. So we are ready, then! As I suspected, my signature is required. In blood drawn from Life-Ripper as well—that will be painful. But I can stand any pain, for before long, the gold will begin to flood. I can hardly wait. I look over at my runic ears, so sparse in appearance without the vital gems.

"Nearly," I whisper to them. "It's just a matter of a few long-hours now."

Talking to your own crafts is sometimes called a sign of madness, but only junior runeknights say this. Once complete, these two creations will be equal in worth to any dwarf. Why shouldn't I talk to them like a lady might talk to her unborn child in her womb?

I exit the room and then the fortress, humming to myself.

But when I reach the guild-cave, I cannot help but feel disappointed. Just getting here took a fair bit longer than I expected—it's a full hour's walk from the forging district, through a winding passage overgrown with foul-scented fungi. There is no door either—just a grimy opening large enough to fit two dwarves through at a time, if they were to side-step through like crabs.

I enter. My boot crunches on something. The moist air smells of dead vermin. A lantern has been set in the center of the floor, illuminating dark streaks of some kind of dung that reach to the walls. From the dark recesses, I can hear scraping sounds.

"I'm here!" I call out, while also readying Life-Ripper, in case the sounds are not from a dwarf.

Fortunately, they are. "Zathar!" Hayhek emerges from the blackness, smiling. He's holding a stained cloth.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Cleaning up."

"This place needs it. Was there nowhere better?"

"Not that we could afford, no."

"Afford? I thought we were going to get a loan for the place?"

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"That was the plan, yes." He grimaces. "But we were refused for it."

"Why?"

"Perhaps not everyone in Runethane Halmak's council of elders is so keen to see our guild succeed. That's what Ithis thinks. But I think it more likely that they just didn't want to take the risk in gold."

"The elders? What do they have to do with loans?"

"Runethane Halmak set up a fund for those seeking to establish new businesses—both runeknight guilds and other kinds of craftsdwarves. But—"

"Of course, he can't approve everything himself," I interrupt. "Well, I suppose it can't be helped. At least we have a guild—maybe we can move later."

"You need to sign, first." He sounds vaguely annoyed.

"Have you been waiting a while?"

"Several long-hours."

I give a start. Did I really spend that much time staring into the fountain? I must have looked mad—or a statue of someone mad.

"Oh."

He shakes his head. "There's no problem."

"Where's Ithis and Ugyok? I imagine they have the papers."

"They're purchasing supplies for the feast—I should warn you that there's been more interest than we expected. A great deal more."

"How much?"

"It looks like our founding members are going to number nearly a hundred."

"A hundred?" I can't keep the shock out of my voice. The Association only had about two hundred members, and it was over a century old. "That many?"

Hayhek nods. "That many. Rumors have been spreading like fire in a coalmine. Helped, I suspect, by your wandering around the city and staring into the fountain. It attracted a good deal of attention. Both good and bad—but the good is coming here."

A hundred runeknights under me!

"Is there an initial fee?" I ask, my thoughts turning to gold again.

"For entrance? Not for now, to boost recruitment. Another of Ithis' ideas. Everyone will chip in a little to help pay for the booze and food, though. Otherwise we wouldn't be feeding anyone."

I grin. "It's going to be quite the celebration, I hope."

"Yes—just so long as I can get this floor cleaned up. This wasn't an unoccupied cavern, you know."

I frown down at the dark streaks, kneel. I run a tungsten-wrapped finger along one. It's not dung, but some kind of gore. I sniff, and remember the biting beetles from the Mushroom Basket.

"They were of quite a large breed," says Hayhek. "But they couldn't get through our armor, thankfully."

But it seems that they made a good attempt. I can see a lot of scratches. I can't help but feel a little guilty.

"Do you have another cloth? I'll help clean this up."

Hayhek's eyes widen a little. "Are you sure? You are guildmaster now, Zathar."

I shrug. "Not until I sign the papers. And I don't want to give our new members a bad impression. And..."

I find myself staring into the lamp, and how it plays across the alternating streaks of stone and gore. Light illuminating blood—that could be interesting to study.

"And what?"

"Inspiration can be found in many things, don't you agree?" I shake my head. "Never mind. Let's just get started."

He gives me a cloth and I begin scraping away the dried gore. Strangely, this work feels far more satisfying than copying down my runes was. It is menial, yes, but it is also one form of creation. The creation of a guildhall, where all important business of the guild—my guild!—will be conducted.

Although this wiping is only the preliminary stage, it is important, akin to the first heating of the metal. I feel no shame in doing it, like I know most other senior runeknights would, even as my back begins to ache and my armor begins to accumulate black grime and grit. This is the base upon which all will follow. Before we can have gleaming murals depicting our heroic deeds, tapestries of golden thread, brilliant crystal lanterns, and shelves of the rarest runic texts—though maybe those will not be so precious as they are to other guilds—before we can have any of this, the stone must be prepared.

It takes a long time, more than two short-hours, but eventually the color of the floor is fully revealed—a mottled gray-brown. It's not the most glamorous of colors, but it does give a certain impression of humble strength. Stubby stalagmites stick out at points, and stalactites droop down like poised spears, but these can be smoothed away. Yes, this place won't be so bad, once we get in some furniture.

It is a little small. A hundred runeknights in armor is going to be quite the cram. We might have to employ some miners.

Our work done, Hayhek and I sit beside the brazier. I ask him about what kinds of degrees are going to be joining up. More higher degrees than most new guilds get, apparently—most of those from Vanerak's realm are planning to join, as well as about half the Salamander Coats. That'll be an interesting combination—dwarves from the worst oppression, mixed in with those from shining Allabrast.

We discuss other things, too, but after a while, our conversation dies down, and I end up staring into the brazier. I hold up my gauntlets up to it and observe how the fiery light is absorbed by the black gore. Light absorbed, light reflected—and colored light to change the character of that it sees. False light. The color of the stone is not yet truly shown, I realize. Light can deceive as well as reveal.

"He's taking a while," says Hayhek. "I hope nothing's happened."

"Should we go look for him?"

"I'll stay here. You search. He'll be in the main thoroughfare—"

I hear a commotion from outside. Talking in low voices, and the tread of metal boots. Through the entrance hole, two dwarves step. I rise as they approach—but it is just Ithis and Ugyok. I laugh.

"Gave me a fright there."

Ithis raises his visor and grins. Despite the many hours of work he's been putting in to the guild, he does not look tired at all. He turns around.

"Everyone! He's here: the Runeforger! Enter, and let us found this guild that will change the path of dwarfkind itself—the Runic League!"

Everyone? Everyone's here already? I make to reply, but then a runeknight steps in, then another, then another. My voice is stopped. I watch, transfixed, joyous and nervous all at once, as the members of my guild march into my guildhall.

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