I stumble back, blocking desperately. My crushed left toes are in an agony which even the ruby's power cannot fully numb. Brezakh pursues in a fury. He has gone berserk; his eyes are filled with rage and his hammer carries that rage on it like a doubled runic enchantment—his swings are absurdly fast and the air shakes with power behind each movement, swirls and roars like the wake of a diving dragon.

And all I have to defend myself is a damaged shield and a handle. I dodge back, stumble to one knee. I cry out in pain as harsh gravel digs into my wounded, exposed foot. The hammer comes down, air screaming behind it. I raise my shield and the gong rings discordantly and painfully. The force throws me down—I roll back and up, take a glancing hit and am knocked stumbling back several more paces.

Life-Ripper! My surviving weapon is my only chance at victory—my only chance at survival. It's some distance away, a faint line on the gravel. Between it and me is Brezakh.

I have to side-step, but it hurts for me to put weight on my left foot, so I must move to the right, and this is obvious to a fighter as experienced as Brezakh is. He blocks my path, sends a crushing blow toward my damaged thigh-plate, aiming to smash both it and my leg beneath. I block, and the force tips me onto my back.

He's already swinging down at me. I roll and the hammer hits the gravel. The shock of the impact so near me knocks some of my breath out. I force weight onto my left foot to stand—scream in pain as I do so.

But I've angled myself correctly. Life-Ripper is now behind me. All I need to do is get to it.

Brezakh is advancing too quickly—I have no choice but to turn and run. He thunders behind me, screaming incoherently. I glance back. His armor is heavier than mine, and ordinarily he would be a little slower, but with my foot injured, we are about the same speed.

From the stands, just audible through Brezakh's cries of rage, I can hear the spectators jeering at me, calling for my blood.

I'm in range—I throw down my shield, dive for it, crash and roll. My hands catch around the shaft. I have it—my only chance at survival. My roll continues, and I try to push myself up into standing position and turn at the same time, but a spike of agony through my left foot sends me back to the dust.

"Got you!" Brezakh screams.

I stab Life-Ripper's twin points up to catch the weapon. They do so just beneath the hammerhead. Red and white sparks burst out, and there is a screeching sound as the thorns wound the weapon's densely written runes.

Yelling, I push up using the strength of my right leg, and manage to force Brezakh away. He looks nervous suddenly—like he feels the true strength in my weapon, more than he ever felt from my mace. It may have less true metal in it, yes, but that true metal is focused fully in concert with my runes, and concentrated at the tips too. In those needle points, the true metal is pure.

I tear Life-Ripper back, send it forward. Brezakh takes a few of the screeching blows on his armor, then starts to block, battering Life-Ripper away to stop it injuring his metal any further.

His armor is battered. Most of the runes are scratched and dented, and some of the solidity emanating from him has gone. My mace did some damage, at least, and Life-Ripper is going to do more.

Yet my blows are slowing. My breathing is ragged. Every muscle feels like it's rusted lead.

Brezakh roars, smashes Life-Ripper away with a violent clang. I bring it back, but he's shoulder-charging me. The impact is like that of a hammer itself, and I'm flung away. I crash down on my back yet again. My breath is knocked out my lungs. He follows, raising his hammer up. I aim to catch it like I did before, but Brezakh's fighting instincts tell him that it's only a fool who would attack the same place twice in a row. Instead, he aims for my right shin.

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The pain is like a wave of magma. It erupts from my cloven bone, rushes up and fills my entire body with white-burning agony. I scream out.

"Stop!" I hear a faint shout. "Stop now, Brezakh! The duel is over!"

But Brezakh is raising his hammer once more. He cannot hear his Runethane—he is going to hit again.

He is going to kill me.

There seems to be no way out.

Is this how it ends? Is this how the Second Runeforger dies?

Then, I see it. Where the lower part of his helmet meets his breastplate, there is a tiny gap, opened by the smallest dent under his helm. Screaming all the while, I spin Life-Ripper—I have done this movement a hundred times in the heat of combat.

He launches forward. I stab. Life-Ripper catches just under the helm, finds the gap.

The force of my arm, with nearly all my strength drained by pain and fatigue, is not nearly enough to push it past the enruned bronze's resistance. But Brezakh's rage-filled blow and the great heaviness of the hammer adds plenty.

Life-Ripper's single point enters and pierces right through. Brezakh spasms mid-blow and the hammer flies from his hand, impacts an inch from my helmet. The shock shudders through my head, and everything goes dark and silent for a moment.

Yet the pain is still there. For a moment, I have no sense but pain. I am drowning in a magma sea of it. Far away, I'm still screaming through hoarse throat and exhaustion-bruised lungs.

Sight and sound return. Brezakh's limp form is hanging over me like a bronze shadow, suspended by Life-Ripper from the head. Then Life-Ripper bends slightly, and he falls to the left, hitting the gravel with a crash to lie on the other side of his hammer.

My ruby is flaring with heat again and again, like the beating of a heart, and it manages to reduce the pain a touch. Different sensations intrude—the sickly razor touch of metal within flesh, the texture of splintered bone. My scream turns to a roar of fury.

"Cheat!" I yell out. "Damn cheat! That's what you get! That's what you get!"

Around the pit, the crowd is roaring, directing the same words back at me.

"Cheat! Cheat!"

"You struck after the Runethane had ended it!" comes one voice, strangely clear amidst the rumbling anger pouring down on me.

"Silence!" yells Runethane Halmak. "Silence, all of you! Silence!"

The roaring begins to quiet. But this is not because of the Runethane's orders—black expands from the scars in my eyes, and all starts to go numb as the world vanishes.

I awaken to darkness. A thin, soft, leather sheet is draped over me. Cold thin chains wrap my leg, still agony, and are trussed around my other wounds too. At least their pain is nearly gone. I let out a long breath.

The cold and smell is familiar. I am back in the fort, I realize. Something must have happened, some calamity—the rockfall, I remember. The disaster with the white jelly. Or was that further back? Has something gone wrong on another hunt? I can't quite recall. Maybe my broken bones were caused by a dithyok. I hope my armor hasn't been too badly damaged. It'll take me a long time to gain the honor I need to purchase—though they refuse to say that, down here—to acquire enough titanium to remake it.

Something is burning on my chest, like a single candle-flame is lit there. It shouldn't be there. It feels wrong, invasive, angry. Like dragonflame.

Oh, now I remember—the dragonhunt—no, Vanerak—no—

The door creaks open. A figure in brightly reflective titanium enters, holding the dimmest of lamps.

"Zathar?" Nthazes says. "Are you awake?"

"Yes," I whisper. "Yes—where is everyone?" Panic rushes in me. "The guild?" I ask. "Where's my guild? Hayhek, Ithis, Yezakh, Pellas—where are they?"

"Calm yourself," he says quietly. "I'll call them for you, if you like."

"Yes. Yes, I would like that. And some water, or chilled ale. I'm too hot. This leather sheet over me, it's starting to become hot. Like it was just torn from the beast."

"Some water would be best then, I think. I'll get some."

He leaves the dim lantern beside me, but its light already seems to be fading. When I awaken again, he is still gone, and the lantern all but burned out. I feel a little cooler though. The sudden heat from the ruby has disappeared, and with it, a lot of the pain. The ache in my broken shin is faint.

I lie there for a while, waiting for my ruby to pulse with fury again, but it does not. Either it is spent, or has decided that my body needs no further encouragement to heal.

"Nthazes?" I call out. "Where are you?"

There is no answer; it seems he is busy. Or perhaps his visit was just a dream. I sit up, worried once more.

"Ithis? Hayhek? Ugyok? Where are you all? Are you here?"

I hear muffled voices, some raised, though can't quite make out the words. Then heavy footsteps are coming down the corridor. My bed shivers a little. I look around for my armor and Life-Ripper, but they're not here.

The door opens and in steps the Runethane, holding a blazing lantern. I shade my eyes at the brightness. My eyes sting, and my vision blurs, but I can see two things clearly: the runes on his armor are burning like golden fire, but his eyes are like ice.

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