We rush out the guildhall back into the tunnels. My guild, captured! Or arrested might be a better way of putting it. But working with the darkness? What proof of those claims does Brezakh have? Only the senior members of the Runic League have access to my dark runes. Has there been a theft, or have I been betrayed somehow?

Betrayer, betrayed? How ironic that sounds. It would almost be funny if it didn't enrage me so. My ruby is hot against my skin like a teardrop of molten steel. My entire chest feels warm, like it's been scalded by steam.

Along with the anger there is regret and doubt. Should I have gone up when Hayhek asked? But what could I have done against such thick bronze with only Life-Ripper, without my shield of devastating sound? I will just have to hope that my guildmembers have not yet been slaughtered.

"Zathar!" Hayhek pants. "We need a plan. We can't just charge in!"

"No?"

"Appearances! You seemed to understand, back in the fort!"

"Yes, yes." I slow down. We're in the city now, one turn away from the forging district. "Of course. Appearances. We need to look like the force for good in this situation. Of course. I forgot myself."

"We should approach slowly. When we talk, we must talk politely."

"Of course."

We round the corner to the forging district and sight Runethane Halmak's carven castle at its end. The bronze gates loom over the road. In front of them more guards have come to stand—there are about twenty in a double-rank before it. In their center is one of the elders, though not Brezakh himself. Perhaps he is busy with the trial.

"Halt!" the elder orders.

I slow my pace but do not stop.

"Halt!" he yells again.

"Guildmaster!" hisses Hayhek. "Please!"

I slow down a touch but continue to advance, feeling the inevitable power of slow-running magma in my sabatons and leg-plates. The bronze-clad first-degree takes a single step forward and places his right hand on the hilt of his sword. I stop just in front of him.

"Good hour," I say, in as measured a tone as I can manage.

"You should know that your guild, the Runic League, has been ordered into the castle to await the Runethane's judgment. You are accused of—"

"I know. Working with the evil below, despite how it is we who reinforce the Guardians Against Darkness."

"You are accused of infiltrating them."

"How absurd. Your proof?"

"Certain runes have been uncovered. The evidence will be presented at your trial."

"Naturally."

"Now, surrender your weapons and we will lead you through the gates."

I laugh. "Surrender what?"

"Your weapons."

The scraping of bronze fills the air as the guards draw curved swords, heavy hammers, and gleaming axes. The elder adjusts his hold on his sword's hilt. Soft red light glows from the line cut into its scabbard.

I spin my mace in my palm. "You wish us to walk into a castle filled with runeknights who wish us dead with no weapons?" I ask.

"We do not wish to see you dead. We wish for the truth to be revealed through the proceedings of a fair trial."

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"Fair, eh?" I laugh, then look back at Hayhek. "Do you think we'll get a fair trial, Hayhek?"

He thinks carefully before answering. "Although I trust the Runethane's judgment," he says, slowly, "I fear that those who despise us with no reason may seek to sway him through dishonest means."

"No one despises you," says the elder.

"They do," I say. "A conspiracy against us has been uncovered, to deny us honest work and coin."

"Your lieutenant has claimed so, yes. Those accusations will be examined also."

"And all we have to do to get a fair trial is to lay down our weapons, yes?"

"Yes."

"Zathar!" Hayhek whispers. "We should do as they say. Runethane Halmak is not Vanerak."

"How do I know you haven't slaughtered everyone already?" I ask loudly.

"We would never do such a thing. As your lieutenant says, Runethane Halmak is not like certain other Runethanes."

"Even though his most trusted has stolen from us?"

"We have done nothing of the sort. The accusations against Elder Brezakh are unfounded."

"He denied us work and coin."

"That is unproven. Lay down your weapon, Zathar! You will have a better chance of persuading the Runethane if you do so."

I think hard. It may well be the case that acting like a good subject, and laying down my weapons will help persuade the Runethane. Yet all the same, to give up my metal seems irresponsible. I am here to defend my guild. How can I do that weaponless? Would a weaponless Wharoth have stood a better chance against Vanerak?

Yes, it is true that Halmak is not Vanerak. It is true that he has treated me fairly thus far. Thus far, though! He will trust Elder Brezakh's words more than whatever I have to say. If Elder Brezakh recommends we should be slaughtered, Halmak may well give the order. I will not allow that to happen. I will kill before I die willingly.

"I will not lay down my weapons," I declare.

"Then we will take them, and you, by force."

I slam down my visor. Darkness takes me—I'm being thrown over. I've miscalculated—I needed to pull the cloth off before pulling down the visor. I hit the ground with a great weight over me. A moment later, my buckler slams the stones too.

Color fills the world. Along with the shield's clear note, there are others, distorted waves that must be screams. The elder on top of me is stunned by the noise, and I manage to exert enough strength and leverage to throw him off. I stand up, tear away the covering of my mace, clash it against my buckler. The guards fall back, covering their eyes and ears. Some are equipped with runic ears, but these are useless in the face of my deafening onslaught. I clash mace to shield again, and sparks fly from those dwarves' helmets.

The elder manages to pick himself up. I step away, raise my weapon. Out of fighting instinct he guesses where I am and slashes for me. His sword is hard to see, appearing like it's wrapped in some shimmering, oddly textured fabric. Heat brushes me—the sword is a flaming one.

I swipe at his helm with the mace. It collides, and a less vivid wave of sound rolls out. The hard impact shivers up my arm. Yet the elder's armor holds, and he manages to slash again. The blade hits my upper arm but does not bite. What can flame do against molten stone? I smash him over the head again with my mace, and this time the impact is enough to stun him.

"Through!" I yell to Hayhek. "Through!"

Of course, I cannot hear my own words. Perhaps he doesn't hear them either, for his own runic ears seem to be emitting some kind of fumes. But he follows me nonetheless as I charge into the recovering guards.

They've managed to organize themselves into a wall. Even if they can't see or hear, they still know where I am heading. Against a weaker runeknight, maybe this would be an effective strategy. But I am—at least—a second-degree. These runeknights do not have true metal. I lay into their arms, weapons, heads. The sound of metal screeching is rendered in color, shimmers of rough red. Their formation falls apart and I shoulder-charge the door.

It throws me back. I yell out and charge again. The metal bends. I strike at the lock and the runes. The metal weakens further. I charge once more. The power of a magma-flow hot with rage is behind my momentum.

The gates break open and I'm through into the corridor beyond, rushing down the narrow path to Halmak's throne room. The carvings of the Red Anvil guild's great deeds are made spectacular in my sound-vision; the clashing movement of my armor makes they blur and shiver so that the figures within appear alive. Dwarves in bronze clash with tin-trolls, great salamanders, and the forces of Uthrarzak.

I glance back, see that Hayhek is following, along with some recovered guards a bit further behind. When I look back to the front, I see more guards readying themselves, a wall of bronze just before where, if I remember rightly, the corridor branches around a coarse-sanded arena pit.

They raise shields and weapons. I continue my charge. They part suddenly, and a dwarf shorter than most emerges, yet he has an aura of strength and power that very few could ever hope to equal.

It is Runethane Halmak. He readies his hammer. I slow, stop. I put my mace behind my back to prevent it blinding me and pull up my visor. There is a moment of confusing darkness, then I see the hall in its true colors. The Runethane's armor is dense with lines of golden fire, and when he steps forward, they flare brighter.

"Good hour, Runethane Halmak," I say. "I heard we were being unfairly accused and have come to right the injustice as quickly as I could."

From behind the Runethane steps a first-degree runeknight. From the chains adorning his beard, and the sourness of his face, I recognize him as Elder Brezakh.

"There is no unfairness in our accusations, Zathar. Now lay down your weapons as you have been ordered and proceed into the pit to join the rest of your traitors!"

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