The Red Anvil guild step away, yelling. Runethane Halmak halts his attack and brings Sunhammer around to guard himself. The doors open wider, and the sound of them grinding against the plaza tiles becomes like a rockfall. Birds and animals screech. On the roof of a nearby building, some hairy things with long arms chitter and point.

"Stay firm!" Nthazes orders his guild. "This is the final battle—the true final battle. This is where our duty ends!"

"You too, Runic League!" I order. "Do not shame me!"

The doors open fully. Within is a haze, so that it's hard to clearly make out the thing that's opened them. But I can hear-see that it's nearly three times the height of a dwarf, has four sturdy legs, and is holding something large and spherical in one of its hands. I focus on it—it's an orb, just like the shadow sorcerer wielded. The chain is attached to it, and hangs out from between the monster's fingers.

The orb is singing. I hear cries and death-rattles, the roar of the sea and the quiet hiss of sand. Booming eruptions of magma shake my runic ears, and then comes the skitter of pebbles down a mountainside, a staccato song of erosion.

Within the orb, is time.

It is as I feared. The origin of the power is not something inanimate. It's not some ancient and valuable artifact. The monster who wielded the essence of shadow was being kept alive by a monster who wields the essence of time.

The monster emerges fully. It is the same kind of beast as the shadow sorcerer, yet as different to it as one dwarf can be from another. Its skin is flaky. Its lips droop away from yellow teeth. Its horns are grand, pointing nearly straight up, and yet look somehow fragile, like they've been petrified themselves.

"Dwarves!" booms a voice—it takes me a moment to realize that it is coming from the monster's mouth. "So, you have finally decided to make your last assault. Was your razing of our other homes not enough for you? Do you have to wipe us out fully, from our very root? Though we have been uprooted more than once by you already."

It speaks, in our tongue! How can this be?

Nthazes replies: "What are you?" he demands. "You are the one who kept the darkness alive—the darkness that has taken so many of us. Tell us who you are!"

"You do not know?" It squints—it cannot see for the light. "How can you not know?"

"Tell us!"

Nthazes almost screams. He didn't want to come down here, but now, confronted with the origin of the darkness, with the thing that he and all his brothers have dedicated their lives to fighting, he has decided that he must know the why of everything.

"I demand to know also, killer!" I say. "And why can you speak like we do?"

It ignores the question. "I do not smell blood—what happened to the other defenders?" it says. "Did they surrender?"

"Why can you speak our tongue?" asks the Runethane, gathering his wits. "What in hell are you?"

"What have you done to my people?" the sorcerer roars, and it raises the sphere high. The sounds within grow louder.

"They were dead when we got here!" I shout. "Walk through your city and you'll find only bones. A thousand times a thousand years has passed since you last opened those doors!"

"I do not believe you—Runeforger! I recognize your voice. Traitor! Thief! Liar!"

Runeforger—the word hits me like a spear through the head. It echoes around my skull. It knows who I am. How? How can this creature from a dozen ages past recognize my voice?

"He tells the truth," says Nthazes. "No one knows how long the fort has been defending against your sorcerer of the dark, but it has certainly been many ages. In that time, your magic has lost its potency. The forest around your city has frozen, turned to stone."

Its lips tense—its face is bestial, yet I can understand this emotion, at least. Sorrow.

"He is dead, then. My greatest student—slain by you."

"He killed thousand over the years," Nthazes spits. "And he would have slain a thousand times a thousand, and over again, if we hadn't stood watch to stop him. He would have annihilated all dwarfkind!"

"Yes—those were my orders to him. That once the Runeforger penetrated to our final domain, he was to unleash his full strength, and wipe away everything. Root and seed."

Was it the First Runeforger who had the Shaft dug, then? He must have been driven back, forced on the defensive. Was it he who had the fort built as well?

A thousand questions whirl in my mind. I hear-gaze at the monster, dumbfounded. Here, standing before me, is a thing that the First Runeforger looked upon, fought against. Perhaps they even once conversed.

I want to know the answers! Who was the First Runeforger? How did he create the runes? What happened to him, in the end?

But I will not get them. This is no time and place for conversation. This monster is our enemy. Our grudge against it goes back many ages, and its hatred of us the same.

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"You are evil," Nthazes says. "Slaying you will bring me great joy. Our brothers will be avenged."

"Evil? Who was it that broke the first alliance? Dwarves of stone. Who was it that broke the last? You—Runeforger! Why do you hide behind your soldiers, thief? Traitor—the only evil here is you!"

"Level your accusations at someone else!" Ithis shouts. "This is not the First Runeforger you speak to—it is the Second!"

The sorcerer is silent for a moment. "The Second, is it? A successor? I see. Even after his death—which I hope was bloody—his evil continues."

"I am not him," I say. "I have seen hints of what kind of a dwarf he was. I visited his first city, and saw his statue upon a pedestal of boulders carved to be like skulls. Some of them were in the shape of the skulls of your people."

It sneers. "And you are a different kind of dwarf, are you?"

"I am."

"No." It shakes its horned head. "All dwarves are alike." It adjusts its grip on the time-orb and the chorus within grows louder. "You care only for power and wealth. Even dragons are not so rapacious. We lived in peace, more or less, until you and the other monkeys arose."

"You speak of peace, yet tried to wipe us out," says Nthazes. "The First Runeforger is long gone. Your sorcerer could have talked to us, perhaps come to some kind of an agreement. There are fewer dwarves than there used to be. We could have allied—"

"You have not been listening," the sorcerer says angrily. "All agreements with you dwarves have, inevitably, ended in betrayal. Elves were trustworthy—but you killed all of them, too. The world will be better off without you." It raises the orb high, and holds it with both hands. "You said you'd take revenge—but I shall, not you!"

We raise our weapons to block as one. The orb trembles. How can weapons and armor defend against magic, though? Darkness cared not for them—neither will time.

Alae steps forth and raises her wand towards the sorcerer.

"Only a wizard can stand against another! Let me handle this, dwarves!"

Heat blasts from her wand—sunlight, though I can't see it. It strikes the monster's left wrist. The skin burns and bursts apart. Fat and blood hisses out. Steam roils around exposed bone.

The sorcerer screams. The fingers of its left hand convulse—but does not drop the orb. It yells, and a wave of chaos, a shivering in the air like a thousand windstorms compressed into a single moment, expands outward. We are enveloped.

My armor screams. Runes wail—thousands of them at once. Alae seems to suddenly vanish. I try to move forward, and find myself flat on my face, head spinning. What is happening?

My amulet is burning, then it becomes like ice. My flesh is freeze-scorched. I cry out, and hear only silence.

It ends. The rushing sensation disappears. I can hear things again—foremost being the heavy breathing of the sorcerer. I struggle to rise. My armor is stiff; the chainmail links grind against each other. Around me, the others are rising too, and their armor is making the same noise.

Not all are rising. Fear clenches in my throat. Most are not.

About three quarters of the runeknights lie completely still. A few more are struggling weakly. Their armor seems degraded, flaked away. So does everyone's, in fact. I can no longer see the light of our weapons through my eyelids.

I look, and my fears are realized. Our armor and weapons have rusted. Bronze has become deep green marred with patches of brown, steel has become red, titanium white and crinkled. As for Alae—nothing but a crumbling skeleton and a tarnished silver necklace remains.

I stab forward, directing Nightcutter's weakened but still blinding beam into the sorcerer's eyes. It grunts, stumbles back. It's breathing heavily, and its burned arm hangs limp at its side. The spell took a lot of power to cast, it seems. Yet it remains a threat. This is not over. Once it gets its breath back, it will strike again.

So many dead, in a single instant! An instant that lasted a hundred years. That was the spell—time was condensed then blasted out. All those without amulets of unaging perished in a moment. Those whose amulets were not so strong are alive, but too weak to stand.

Poor Alae. She gave her life for us, just as her father was prepared to do. He survived, but she did not.

Runethane Halmak crawls to his feet. I grit my teeth. Nightcutter shakes in my hands. I am resisting the urge to run it through his rusted armor, but only just.

How many have died for his foolishness? This is little different to Runethane Yurok's expedition. So many dead, for nothing. But Halmak is worse than Runethane Yurok. In the end, despite his madness and stubbornness, Runethane Yurok was fighting to destroy the darkness. Runethane Halmak has only ever cared about wealth.

He groans.

"I've been a fool, haven't I?" he says, voice heavy with regret. "I've shamed myself. Runethane—I'm not worthy of the title."

I blink a few times, but say nothing.

"All I wanted is my own place to build. Something to create and make beautiful. A shining realm. The greatest in the kingdom. I told myself my ambition was in service of dwarfkind. But when things grew hot, I was no better than the other Runethanes."

Nthazes and the surviving Guardians—just three of them—draw together.

"I'm sorry, Nthazes," says Halmak. "You were right, and I was wrong. Brezakh was wrong, too. His loyalty went too far. I see that now, more clearly than before. Ah, Zathar. Why was I so jealous? Everything's been burned, now."

"It has," I spit. "All thanks to you."

"It was so miserable, back in Allabrast. No matter how strong you grew, you were never the strongest. You could never change anything, never show the dwarves around you what you could do."

"I don't care for your excuses! You've led us to death!" I sweep my hand out, gesturing to the bodies of the fallen. Within their armor will be nothing but dust and bones. "Your greed has killed us all!"

"I'm sorry. Truly. I should have controlled myself."

"Ready yourselves," Nthazes commands. "We must strike at once."

"Yes," says Halmak. "We must. Red Anvil! Pick yourselves up, those who can. Stand with Nthazes. When all this is over, guildmaster, you will be Runethane. I shall give you the title. You deserve it far more than I."

Does he really think that will make things better? Alae is dead—dozens in my guild are dead! His regret has come too late.

I have more to say to him. But this is not the time for conversation. This is a battle. I give him one last, disgusted look, then turn back to what's left of my guild.

"Runic League, to Nthazes," I order. "We will charge together and overwhelm it. Our light is still bright enough that it won't be able to see our strikes. It cannot defend against them."

The fourteen still standing follow me over to Nthazes. I position myself at his right. Halmak goes to his left.

"Give the order," says Halmak. "When you're ready. I'll be first into battle. I'll atone for my error. I said I'd lead, did I not? And I'll lead to the end."

"Zathar?" Nthazes says.

I nod. And I notice something.

The thin chain is trailing right beside me. Rage flashes through my heart—so many killed! Cruel beast. I raise my foot, and stomp down hard. The chain crunches into dust. A cool wind rushes from behind, then is gone.

The monster roars in despair.

"Your dying realm will die alongside you!" I yell. "Nothing will be left! Not even dust! We will bury this place and magma will claim it!"

The monster roars louder.

"Now!" Nthazes yells. "Charge!"

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