I lick my lips, grin. Ithis has been cleverer than I thought. I was right to put him in charge: he's thought through every loophole and chain-gap there is. Benkal frowns deeply and goes slightly pale. Not so confident now, is he, the little bastard! Never though he actually have to fight with that weapon, did he? But I can't relax just yet—the decision is up to Runethane Halmak.

He folds his thick arms and sighs, shakes his head. "I see."

"My Runethane," says Benkal, swallowing, "I would be happy to fight a fair duel for the guild. I wish to bring us much honor."

"This is ridiculous," says Brezakh. "I've heard of no laws that allow such a thing."

"A contract is a free agreement between those who sign it," says Halmak. "As long as the duel is stipulated to be a fair one, with no difference greater than one between degrees, there is unlikely to be anything illegal about it."

"Unlikely to be, yes. But should not the contract be examined thoroughly nonetheless?"

"There's no need to worry about me, uncle," says Benkal. "I'll fight this duel for you, and win it. My craft can strike far above my degree."

"Your wielding of this weapon of darkness will bring shame on us. I forbid it."

"Uncle, to the contrary! I will make an example of how cruel Zathar's runes are to a member of his own guild. Could there be any greater way to prove of our right? Instead of his runes harming others—they will harm himself!"

"Even so, it will be forever known that we were the ones to use these ill runes first!"

"To use them once, so they may never be used again—is that so wrong? Runethane Halmak, what do you think?"

"I think that if such a contract was indeed signed, and you used these runes without permission, it's not a question of if the duel should be fought, but under what conditions."

"My Runethane!" Brezakh protests. "To force a member of our guild to dirty himself by agreeing to a duel... I cannot accept it!"

I frown. Why is he so concerned all of a sudden? I'd have thought he'd have relished the opportunity to humiliate my guild with my own runes. But instead, he's pulling back. What's he after? Is he really ashamed by his junior—his nephew—using my runes? Or is there something else? Fear, perhaps? Is he afraid that this Benkal will lose?

It seems Halmak is thinking along the same lines. "Why not?" he asks.

"Is the sword not all the proof needed? Is its very appearance not irrefutable proof of what Zathar is in league with?"

"No, elder, it is not. I cannot judge a craft simply on looks."

"So you will risk the life of one of your own?"

"Yes—if he is a runeknight, then his job is to fight. You should not spoil him so simply because he is your blood relative."

"But there is the question of what he fights with—runes of darkness!"

"Why shouldn't he fight with them? Indeed, I believe he should. There is a logic to this duel, is there not? It will serve as proof, I think, of the nature of Zathar's runes."

"What? How?"

"If the runes of dark that Zathar found prevail over those of light, then you are correct that they are a threat. However, if the light, accentuated, to use Zathar's wording, by sharp shadows should prevail, then I will judge that Zathar is correct in his convictions."

A stony expression comes over Brezakh's face. Runethane Halmak's logic is very sound.

"What do you say, old friend? I do not think this will bring any shame to our guild, to our realm, and nor to your family."

Brezakh thinks for a long while. "Very well," he finally says, then he turns to his nephew. "Benkal, you may fight this duel on our behalf. Prove that Zathar's runes are a force for ill—convince your Runethane that he and his guild must be wiped out, or at the very least expelled from our realm."

Benkal grins nervously. "Thank you, uncle," he says. "I am most honored. I will face anyone who wishes to fight on Zathar's behalf. Indeed, I am even willing to duel the so-called Runeforger himself!"

"You will fight someone of sixth degree," Brezakh says sternly. "Or else of seventh or fifth. Do not get carried away. It is not your skill at combat that is to be judged here, but the strength of the runes of light and dark."

"Ah, yes, uncle. I apologize for my over-enthusiasm."

"Well, Zathar?" Brezakh bellows furiously downward. "Who will duel my nephew on your behalf?"

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I turn to my guild, heart pounding. They look at me with equal measures of fear and excitement. Who will I give the honor? Who will I send into danger, to possible death?

"Before you choose, Zathar, I want to make one thing clear," says Runethane Halmak. I turn to look back at him and see deadly seriousness in his eyes. "This duel is not to be to the death. I don't want this feud in my realm to escalate any further than necessary. The combatants will fight until surrender, or until I judge that one can no longer defend himself. Am I clear?"

"Yes," I reply.

"Good. Benkal?"

"You make yourself very clear, my Runethane. I understand completely."

"Good. Now, Zathar: choose who will champion your guild."

I turn back to the gathered members of the Runic League. At the second sight of their faces, fear takes hold in me. It is one thing to stride into battle oneself and to risk one's own life. But to risk another's, even the life of one who is willing to die for you—the pressure of command weighs heavily on me. When the war against Uthrarzak comes—should I be alive to fight it—I will have to make this decision many times. Perhaps it will become easier with time. Yet, probably not. I do not think Wharoth ever found it easy.

"Choose me, guildmaster!" says Ithis. "I'll hold nothing back to prove to all the right of your runes."

"Choose me, Zathar," says Hayhek. "I'll fight hard to protect our guild."

I look from one to the other. Who has the greatest chance of victory? Ithis, I think. Yet he will be brutal about it. He will force a surrender through maiming—or he might even seek to end the fight fast by swiftly crushing Benkal's skull. Accidents happen, he can claim. No, Ithis is the wrong choice here.

But can Hayhek really win? He's certainly a tough fighter—he proved that in the tunnels of the lava trolls, and under the magma seas too. Yet mightn't he hold back too much? Might he see something of Yezakh in Benkal, this too-ambitious shortbeard?

He still has a degree on his opponent. He can win. I trust him to.

"Hayhek," I say, "prove the goodness of the Runic League to all in the realm."

"Yes, guildmaster," he says, and bows low.

"Very well," says Ithis, sounding somewhat disappointed. He also bows low.

"Clear the arena!" orders Runethane Halmak. "Bring the Runic League up to the stands, but for their champion! Benkal—ready yourself!"

We are marched back up and out of the arena, then shown to the main stand. Half of it is cleared for us. Runethane Halmak orders me to stand next to him. I do so. Up close, his expression looks very troubled.

"I did not want anything like this to happen, my Runethane," I say. "I'm sorry that it's had to turn out this way."

He grunts and shrugs. "That's just how life is."

"If I might make a humble request, my Runethane, I would like my guild to be given food and drink. They looked starved."

"Fine. It was about time for their next meal anyhow."

"I thank you most greatly, my Runethane."

"Don't mention it."

He barks some orders to the dwarves behind, and soon servants bring my guild bread and meat and weak ale. They sup it down greedily and their mood improves somewhat. Chatter starts up, discussions of how exactly Hayhek is going to lay his opponent low:

"Strike for the head and end it quickly, that's what I'd do," says one.

"That's not Hayhek's style. He'll take out the arms first."

"No—he'll go straight for the weapon," a third predicts. "Shatter the runes, and the Runethane will end the duel then and there."

I look nervously down at the arena and Hayhek standing in the middle of it. I feel that my dwarves are underestimating our opponent. Benkal is clearly young—with actual youth, not artificial, and a runeknight does not accelerate to sixth degree so fast without serious skill both in the forge and in the battle-cavern.

What's more, his dark sword is a perfect counter to Hayhek's mace of light. In dwarf-on-dwarf combat, a mace of light's main strength is its ability to render the enemy blind. With that power all but stripped away, it is just a lump of metal with only a little extra power and speed.

"What's he doing, the idiot?" Elder Brezakh grumbles to himself. "How long does it take to get ready?"

He's clenching and opening his fists rapidly. He's nervous, very nervous. I don't think he expected it to come down to this. He probably thought his arguments were watertight, and that the Runethane would accept them without question. The thought that his beloved nephew might actually have to risk his life probably never entered into his head.

"Elder Brezakh," I say. "Let's stop this foolishness. Give up on your accusations and we'll give up on ours. War with hated Uthrarzak is coming. This is no time to fight each other."

"Still your lying tongue," he snaps. "It is precisely because war is coming that we must eliminate this danger to our realm."

"Danger to the realm? How have we ever brought danger here? My dwarves are helping to defend this realm even as we speak."

"Your infiltrators, you mean? They will be rounded up later."

"Infiltrators! You are being ridiculous."

"Why? You've betrayed one realm already. Why not ours too?"

"You continue to deny the Runeking's decision, do you?"

"I don't question the Runeking. All I do is make judgments based on what I see."

I shake my head. I cannot fathom why he hates us so. Does he really believe his own convictions?

Ithis taps my shoulder. "It's no use talking to him. You won't persuade him of anything."

"Clearly not, but I want to know why he despises us."

Ithis lowers his voice. "Is it not obvious? The answer is jealousy. He is powerful, the second most in the realm by a long way, and then you arrive. A runeknight who's stood toecap to toecap against a Runethane. You threaten him, guildmaster, and especially your runes threaten him. He can tell the truth behind them—even if he won't admit it."

"I heard that," Brezakh spits. "Jealousy! Absurd! Only a dwarf most greedy for power would come to that conclusion. Your accusation reveals your own ambitions."

"You are so blinded by false righteousness," Ithis says, "that you aren't even aware of what drives you."

"Silence," growls Runethane Halmak. "No more talk."

We shut up. The waiting becomes interminable. How long is this Benkal going to take?

Finally, though, he emerges onto the arena gravel. His sword is already drawn, and in his left hand he also holds a shield. He walks forward quickly, as if ready to break into a charge at any moment.

Runethane Halmak takes a step forward to the railing. "I've already said the rules!" he shouts. "I won't say them again—I've had enough of words for this long-hour! Fight!"

Benkal raises his black sword and breaks into a run. Hayhek tears the cloth from his mace and brilliance shines out. My eyes sting and water. I slam down my visor. Darkness surrounds me, then after a second comes sound-vision made hazy by the many overlapping cheers.

Benkal leaps, slashes. Hayhek blocks, counters. Benkal ripostes, slashing Hayhek's armor, though the strike appears to cause little damage.

The fight for the fate of the Runic League has begun.

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