We rush forward. Halmak strides out in front, Sunhammer held back. He swings at the monster's front legs. He hits and there is a deep thud, but no crack. Our power has been lessened greatly. The sorcerer uses its orb like a club and swings it at Halmak's head. He ducks.

Nthazes swings at the monster's other leg at the same time that I stab out at its neck. It staggers back out of fear and instinct. It bellows in rage—I think my breaking of the chain has driven it mad with grief. Good! I stab and Nightcutter slices open its thigh. Blood splashes loudly.

It staggers back further, into the doorway. Now back a little further—is it trying to run? Is there some further tunnel?

No. It has fighting instinct still—within the doorway is a short, narrow corridor. In such a confined space, it can guess where we are without vision, yet we have no choice but to enter. It swings with its orb again, misses by an inch. I scramble back and nearly trip over myself. I do not want to be hit with that thing. Whatever magic remains contained within the glass, remains deadly.

So many killed—in a single instant! Its power is starting to terrify me. Anything that ignores armor is terrifying to a runeknight. We back away to regroup—apart from Halmak. He rushes deep into the corridor, screaming wildly, slamming Sunhammer one way then another. It hits a wall. Stone chips and sparks shower.

"Nachroktey!" he screams. "Nachroktey!"

Does he call for his own death, or for the sorcerer's? I cannot tell. He gets in one good hit with with Sunhammer, right on the thing's knee. There is a crack and the monster roars in pain. But now it knows exactly where he is. It drives the orb at him in an underarm strike and hits directly in the center of his breastplate.

He is tossed back like a lump of stone and crashes down in front of me and Nthazes. The center of his breastplate is dust and splinters, the true metal dead and the runes dead also. Within I see-hear his amulet of unaging. It is cracked apart.

"I am sorry," he croaks.

He takes a rattling breath, as if gathering the strength to get just one more word out, but none come, and that breath is his last.

"Nachroktey!" yell his Red Anvil elders, and they pile in, bludgeoning with all the might and speed their degraded armor still allows them. "Nachroktey!"

The sorcerer screams under their blows, and it shakes as if about to fall, then manages to hold its orb up high again. Has its power returned? I throw myself at Nthazes and shove both of us out the doorway. A moment after, the roiling wind rushes out. The stones around the doorway crack apart. Dust blooms from them. The vines above turn black with decay; the flowers wilt. Dry petals flutter down around us.

A second later, the remaining runeknights of the Red Anvil stagger back out the corridor, their armor destroyed. Their bronze plates are run through with holes, as if each has been showered with a hundred arrows. Most collapse within a few seconds, their amulets and bodies within ravaged.

"We need to get in now!" I shout. "Before it gathers its power again. Runic League, charge!"

I rush around and back into the doorway. The sorcerer has retreated further. I shine Nightcutter into its eyes, and it howls.

"Beast!" I yell. "Die!"

"Runeforger!" it screams. "I recognize your voice, traitor! Let us end this!"

I stab at its fingers. It rushes forward in the same moment, driving the orb toward me. Nightcutter hits it dead-on, and the metal screams and trembles. The whole weapon shakes, convulsing like a burned snake, and it falls from my hands. The monster stumbles, its broken knee betraying it, then it lashes out with the orb again.

It guesses where I am exactly. The orb, roaring with the sound of death and life together, is heading straight for the center of my breastplate. My ruby amulet burns with fear.

There is no escape. I am dead.

Nthazes leaps over me, swinging Sight-Bringer at the sorcerer's midsection. It hits. There is a clang—the sound of something hitting metal. The sorcerer staggers back, choking and gagging. Liquid falls from its mouth, blood or vomit or both.

Nthazes collapses against the wall and slides down it. Sight-Bringer falls from his grasp. He lies still.

The sound of metal being struck was the sound of the orb striking his armor.

"No!" I scream. "No!"

The sorcerer retreats further back. I reach out and grab Nightcutter, still shivering, and stand up to pursue. My blood is boiling with rage. I will destroy this thing. How dare it strike my friend? How dare it kill Alae, and so many of my guild? Young Lekudr was with us, that dwarf who showed such savant-like promise. He too is dead now, his whole future killed in a moment.

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How dare it slay so many of the Guardians, those most selfless dwarves? The most selfless that ever lived.

How dare it sustain the darkness? How dare it try to wipe us out?

How dare it kill my friends? My brothers!

How dare it kill Nthazes?

"Nachroktey!" I scream. "Die, beast! Die!"

It retreats as fast as its injured legs allow it to, retching all the way. I open my eyes to see its wounds in Nightcutter's fading light. There are many, both deep and shallow, and blood and vomit and sputum cover the beast's gray-scaled heaving chest.

"Careful, Zathar!" Hayhek shouts. "Calm down. Attack with purpose, slowly! Fight like a dwarf! You know how to. We must fight like dwarves—we must remain calm!"

I hear the words, but they seem distant. Blood is rushing in my ears, roaring. My amulet is like a drop of molten steel. My chest and belly are filled with fire. I charge, though can barely match the wounded beast's speed, so heavy and stiff is my armor.

Beyond the short corridor is a circular chamber. At the center is a stone pedestal, and at its center is a depression—the monster's weight over aeons has deformed it

It begins to stagger backwards up the shallow stairs.

"Surround it!" Hayhek orders. "Runic League, surround it! We will attack from all sides, all angles!"

"Move!" Ithis roars. "Move faster! Move!"

My dwarves rush into the chamber after me and spread out. The surviving Guardians follow. The light from their weapons turns the room marble-white and I shut my eyes. The beast doesn't react; Nightcutter has blinded it permanently. Its burned arm still hangs limp—Alae's final spell was not in vain.

It makes it to the center of the pedestal then turns around. It raises the orb. A twisted smile forms on its twisted face.

"This is the end, Runeforger," it rasps. "The final act of my people shall be to end you."

"Now!" Hayhek yells. "Charge!"

Up the steps they run—too slowly. The beast starts to squeeze the orb, as if trying to wring the very last drops of power from it. The orb responds, quivering.

I will not let it kill any more of my friends. I will not let it kill any more of my guild. I lunge and lash. Nightcutter leaps out, and I let it slide through my grasp right to the end.

Time has dulled its edge. Yet its edge is of true metal, and has kept its form well enough to slice easily through unprotected flesh.

The double-blade cuts deep into the sorcerer's neck. Blood gushes. The pressure pushes Nightcutter out, and the weapon falls from of my grasp, clanging onto the stone floor. The monster's jaw falls open slackly. More blood bubbles out its mouth. Its uninjured arm sinks, and Ithis hammers it violently.

The orb falls from its grasp and lands with a dull thud. It rolls down the steps, turning stone to dust behind it.

Then, its preserving magic gone, the sorcerer crumples. It curls up, forehead to the ground. Its skin wrinkles and its muscles wither and shrink. Its whole body seems to contract, and then its flesh turns to dust which flows over its bones like sand. Even they decay—they crack and come apart from each other, clattering onto the cold stone.

Its spilled blood dries and vanishes into chalk-like powder. Our battle is over.

But there can be no celebration.

"Nthazes!" I cry. "Nthazes!"

I turn from the skeleton and run back. I hurry through the corridor, stumbling as my armor groans and threatens to crack.

Nthazes lies where he fell, unmoving. I throw myself down beside him. Sight-Bringer's light has faded, is not so blinding through my eyelids, and so I open my eyes, desperate to see any sign of life in his still body.

"Nthazes!" I shout. "Nthazes! Wake up, my friend! Wake up!"

My fingers are shaking terribly as I push up his visor. Burned eyes stare back at me, unseeing.

"Nthazes!"

One corner of his gray and wrinkled lips twitches.

"Nthazes!"

Is he alive? I dare to hope. I shake him.

"Nthazes!"

He stirs, burned eyes attempting to open. Pain seems to shoot through his face.

"Nthazes! Are you alive? Answer me! Answer me!"

"Zathar?" he whispers, voice only a little louder than a breath. "What has happened? Have we won?"

"Yes!" I scream. Tears are pouring down my face. "It's dead! It's dead! It's all over! We've won—won!"

"Good. That is good."

"Can you stand, my friend?" I swallow the hard lump in my throat. "We should leave this place before it falls in on us. We need to drag the dead back, too. They deserve burial in a better place than this."

"My Guardians would not mind having the site of their final victory be their tomb, I think." His quiet voice grows quieter. "Certainly, I do not mind."

"Stand up, my friend." I take his hand and grip it tight, but he does not grip back. "We have to go."

"I'm sorry, Zathar. I don't think I can. I have no strength left."

"It's just your armor. It's falling apart, weighing you down." I look up to Hayhek and Ithis, standing over me. "Help me undo it, you two. Now!"

They obey. The fasteners have melded shut, and so we tear them apart. But Nthazes' breathing is starting to slow.

"Come on," I say, forcefully. "It's time to leave. Come on, stand up. Come with me."

I pull at his hand, but his arm is limp. The muscles have withered inside his skin, which has itself wrinkled and become bloodless.

"Look," says Hayhek. "His amulet—it's cracked. The blow was too heavy."

"You have to come with us," I urge. "Come on, Nthazes. Don't die. Don't die! Please!" My tears run out the base of my helmet and drip onto the floor. "Please!"

"But it's all over," he whispers. "We've won. The darkness has gone. And the monster that kept it alive for so long is gone, too. Everything's finished. We've won. There's nothing more for us to do."

"War is coming. Uthrarzak is on the march. You should fight with us. You have to."

"No." He shakes his head weakly. "No. I do not want to fight other dwarves. We are defenders against the darkness. That was our purpose. But now it's over. Our long battle has ended, and ended better than I ever hoped it would."

"There are more battles. There will always be more battles."

"But they are not ours to fight." He groans, and forces strength into his voice: "Guardians Against Darkness, hear me. Our fight has ended. Henceforth, we are disbanded. Go free to where you will. You are released from our eternal service."

No one speaks. I try to, but cannot. Grief seals my lips. Nthazes' breathing slows and weakens further.

And then:

"No," someone says. "No. I refuse. We refuse."

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