"If I had been willing to lay down my weapons, thief," I spit at Brezakh, "I would have done so at the gate. But I had no intention of walking into a den of thieves unarmed."

"Thieves? You dare insult a Runethane in his own castle!"

"I am not insulting the Runethane, I am telling everyone what you are, Brezakh Gold-Robber!"

"Calm yourselves," warns Runethane Halmak.

Elder Brezakh turns to him. "Zathar must explain himself—starting with why has felt it necessary to assault our guards!"

He points past me. I hear a clattering from behind grow louder, turn and see four runeknights in battered bronze stumbling toward us, weapons drawn. Hayhek raises his mace high, faces them. They cringe back from the light.

"Where is Elder Forthot?" Brezakh shouts at them. "Has he been slain?"

"Injured, I think," says one of the guards, covering his eyes and wincing. "Zathar attacked us!"

"You attacked me!" I snap. "And I did not aim to cause any fatal wounds," I say. "I swung only lightly. If any of your dwarves have suffered serious injury, Brezakh, they have only their own poor forging to blame."

"Your attack is equivalent to an assault on the Runethane himself, traitor!"

"Traitor?" I step forward. "How dare you call me that, thief?"

"Silence!" shouts the Runethane. "Zathar! Calm yourself and give an account of your actions!"

"Which actions? Of breaking into your castle?"

"Yes: start with that."

"Very well. Answer me this: what kind of runeknight lays down his weapons when his guild's lives are at stake? Even Vanerak rarely had my weapons taken from me."

"I cannot allow a senior runeknight who may be an enemy to walk around freely armed. That would be irresponsible of me as Runethane and guildmaster."

"Why? Is your entire guild not powerful enough to take on a single second-degree? What do you think, Brezakh? Are you so afraid of me that you'll take your hammer to me while I have nothing to defend myself with?"

He scowls. "We know that within these runes you claim to have forged lie evil powers."

"Do you, now?"

"Behind your runes of light lie runes of darkness. This has recently been proven to me, and your guild's recent violent actions have only served to confirm your ill nature."

"My script has a dual nature, yes." I hold out my buckler. "This is plain for all to see, if they so much as try to read."

"Then why were the dark runes never published in your dictionaries?"

"Because I was afraid that, like anything powerful, they might be used wrongly. Enough of this, though!" I look Runethane Halmak in the eyes. "Where is my guild? If they have been harmed, I will forgive none of you, and fight you until my last breath, no matter whose subjects we are."

"They have not been harmed," says the Runethane. "They await you below."

"Then I will go to them."

"Unarmed!" Brezakh demands.

"No. Again, why are you so afraid of a single dwarf? You have half a dozen first-degrees, and more seconds!"

Hayhek taps me on the shoulder. "Guildmaster," he says quietly. "If that's the case, it really doesn't matter if you are armed or not. Let's just make a show of being sensible and honest. Please."

I grit my teeth. My ruby is still burning. It wishes to see blood, for me to swing my mace left and right and crush skull and armor and bone. Yet is Hayhek not correct? What can one dwarf do against a dozen first and second degree runeknights, and a Runethane to boot?

"Very well," I say. "Out of respect for you, my Runethane, I will lay down my weapons on the condition that my lieutenant here is allowed to carry them. I trust that you trust he will not attempt to use them."

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"Good," Runethane Halmak says quickly, before Brezakh can interject. "I'll accept that condition."

"I suppose it's better than nothing," snarls Brezakh.

"Before we go, however, I have one question: what form is this trial to take? Is it to be one by forging? One by combat? Or do you have some other method in mind?"

"It will be one of words," says Runethane Halmak. "I will hear all the arguments and pass judgment personally."

"Forgive me, my Runethane," says Hayhek, "but is there to be no jury?"

"I am the authority in my realm. There is no need for anything so complicated as a jury."

"Very well. I trust that you will judge fairly."

"And I do too," I add.

I wrap my mace and pass it to Hayhek. No one says anything about my buckler, though. I suppose they think it's simply armor—though frantic whispering from behind suggests that the guards still able to walk are warning about this. I glance at them and am slightly worried to see that no more seem to be limping up the corridor. Maybe I struck a bit too hard after all.

I should have stayed calm. As usual, my ruby drove me to violence without me even realizing its influence. Not for the first time, I wonder if within it lies some trace of what's resident inside the sphere.

We are marched to a small opening in the wall and led down steep steps by several third and fourth degrees. A gate slides open upward and past the guards I sight my guild—nearly all two hundred fifty of them.

They are sitting on the coarse black sand, hunched, their faces turned down. None are armed, though most are armored. A few wear forging leathers. Despite the many braziers' light, they appear shadowed, as if a dark premonition of doom and defeat has fallen over them. Although they have suffered no physical injury, their morale has been broken. If any have noticed my arrival, or heard my shouting, they do not dare to look at me and draw attention to themselves.

No—one stands up: Ithis, his gruesome maw-visor raised, his eyes sharp. I raise an armored fist in greeting.

"Ithis! It seems you've finally found out who's got it in for us!"

"I have indeed, guildmaster."

"But it's led to some trouble."

"It has indeed."

"But when has the Runic League been afraid of trouble, ay? Well?"

"It never has, guildmaster."

I gesture widely. "Then why are you all still sitting down, staring at the sand?" I shout. "Are you going to try and dig through it to escape? Well?"

A few of the guildmembers look up at that.

"Face me!" I command.

Most turn at this and look up. Their faces are pale and bodies gaunt, like they have been given very little to eat. How long have they been here? Surely not that long—Runethane Halmak wouldn't keep his realm under lockdown for such a significant amount of time, if that's indeed why there's no one about. It's the shock that's rendered them so gaunt.

"Stand!" I yell.

The rest of the seniors stand up, and they and Ithis pull the others near them harshly to their feet. They repeat my command loudly, again and again and, eventually, every member of the Runic League is back on their feet.

Most seem unfamiliar. I really have spent too much time in the forge away from them. Wharoth knew each member of the Association by name. Yes, he may have spent a great deal of time standing over the anvil, but he also made time to get to know everyone in his guild. I've been neglecting to do the same—taking their loyalty for granted.

Loyalty is not a thing so easily won. Most are here for runes, not for the guild. Probably quite a few are having second thoughts about joining, now. How can I persuade them that this is the right side to be on? How can I convince them to follow me out of this disaster? First of all, how can I convince them to stand and regain their courage?

Hayhek and Ithis probably have some ideas about what I ought to say. But I can't ask my subordinates at a time like this. I can't show uncertainty, can't risk undermining my own authority.

Neither can I afford to hesitate. I begin to speak:

"Members of the Runic League, listen close. We find ourselves accused unfairly of the worst crimes a dwarf can commit. Of being traitors! Well, don't be downcast. I've been accused of the same before and still stand strong. You will, at the end of this battle, be standing strong also. This I promise! I am Zathar Runeforger and Dragonslayer. I have faced down Runethanes and dragons both and emerged stronger each time."

There is no cheer yet nor chanting—it seems I haven't said quite enough.

"Does metal strengthen without the flame?" I yell. "Does it become a weapon without the hammer? A runeknight's duty is not only to forge his own equipment, but to forge himself into a weapon! You all understand this, don't you?"

"We do!" shouts Ithis. "Don't we?"

"Yes!" Hayhek bellows, and about half the guild follows his example.

"Yes!"

"Yes!"

"So," I continue, "no matter who our enemies be, no matter what cruel weapons they aim against us, it is our duty to weather their blows and emerge stronger. I myself, when I create runes, burn as I do so! Power comes from pain. Blood and sweat make the coal of the furnaces of our lives. You must burn with me. Fight with me! Fight!"

"Fight!" Ithis yells. "Fight!"

"Fight!" my runeknights chant. Fists rise into the air, both bare and armored. "Fight! Fight!"

I stride forward through my guild, gazing up at the central overhanging stand. Runethane Halmak has made his way to it and is looking down on me. At his right is Brezakh, and at his left a junior runeknight I have not met before, who is holding a long, brightly glowing box. It seems to be my runes that are written upon it. What could be inside?

"Well, Runethane?" I shout up. "We are ready to begin the trial. Will you hear what we have to say for ourselves?"

"Aye," he says. "Let's get this unpleasantness over with."

"Excellent!"

Brezakh jabs a finger at me. "Then we will start with this, Zathar Once-Traitor! Your runes of darkness. Benkal, open the box! Present us the evidence!"

The young dwarf begins to undo the clasps of his box. A gap in the brightness appears, a thick line of purest black that seems to suck in the light of the many braziers ringing the arena. He opens the box further, reaches in with one glowing gauntlet.

He pulls out a thin black sword and holds it aloft triumphantly. Its color is the same as the dark scars in my eyes.

"Zathar the Traitor!" he yells. "Here's the proof of your lies and evil! Behold, all! Behold the runes of darkness!"

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