I find myself hoping that the rest of Runeking Ulrike's war-plans are better organized than the unloading of troops is, because it proves a right mess.

First off, the scheduling was botched even worse than I originally thought. Each Runethane and his or her troops were meant to arrive one at a time to prevent overcrowding of the platforms. Someone got the messaging to the caravaners wrong, however, and so not just two, but three Runethanes end up arriving at the station simultaneously—me, Runethane Lapek, and Runethane Gaflek.

The latter's troops prove rude, rather pushy when it comes to getting through corridors and to latrines, but at least they're cheerful enough toward us. Many have taken to my runes with glee. And I've never seen so much gold and gems gathered in one army, too. They live up to their reputation for excess. Runethane Gaflek himself greets me personally, though I am not as enthusiastic to see him as he is to see me, I don't think. I do not like how he treats his miners as little more than picks themselves.

But we have trouble with Runethane Lapek's dwarves. A fair bit of trouble, in fact. They seem to be divided into two camps: those who use my runes and those who stick to the traditional scripts of their realm. The former are polite to us. The latter, not so much. Several brawls break out. Ithis ends one with his hammer, and it is only the timely intervention of two Allabrast first-degrees that stops a second war breaking out right there in the station.

"Be more careful," I warn him. "We're all on the same side."

"They insulted you, Runethane. You shouldn't forgive them for it so easily."

"I don't. But that doesn't mean we can batter them, even if they are only third and fourth degrees."

After what feels like a long-hour, we manage to get all ten thousand of us out the station, and then the question of where to go arises.

"Talk to one of the golds," a first-degree tells me—one of the Thanic Guard, I think. "They know everything."

"The golds? One of our Runeking's guild?"

"Yes. The gold suits." He seems to shudder. "They know everything he does. I don't know how it works. I don't know if I want to. Anyway, you need to keep everyone moving. You're jamming up the roads."

I scowl. "I'm not going to have my dwarves wandering aimlessly. Don't you have any idea where we're meant to be stationed?"

"If I were to guess, I'd say near to the palace. Which means you ought to be going in the other direction."

"Thank you."

"It's just a guess, though."

I judge it to be an accurate one, for surely the Runeking will want me close by, and so I order my forces to turn around—the rear becomes the van, and the van the rear. I head up to the new front, then lead them out with purpose.

Like a steel and titanium worm, we wind our way up around the glittering pillars of the Fireflea district. From the raised pathways, I look down over the great city and observe the military chaos in detail.

Columns led by rival Runethanes clash. Shoving matches are breaking out at nearly every crossing. Groups of junior runeknights vanish into the pillar establishments. Other groups, from armies that arrived earlier, emerge, staggering drunkenly, looking for the rest of their comrades. And it's not only the interior establishments tempting the soldiers either. Enterprising shopkeepers have set up stalls upon the roads, from which they hark their overpriced wares loudly. Mostly they sell food, though a few seem to be proprietors of various brothels. Squads of Allabrastian runeknights, swords glowing on their hips, are shutting down the stalls, but for every one that gets violently dismantled, another appears on a different road.

What a mess. I'd been expecting something more organized. In hated Uthrarzak's realms, I doubt any of this kind of nonsense is occurring. His troops are probably marching in lockstep, their rations weighed and allocated down to the exact gram.

"Send a message down the line," I order a second-degree. "Anyone caught vanishing into a pub, or buying from one of those stalls, will be whipped bloody and paraded naked and shaved down the main street."

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"Very good, my Runethane," he says, and he rushes back to relay the message.

We wind round a few of the larger pillars and out the Fireflea district. Now we enter one of the poorer districts, heading down a tunnel cut from dark chalk, just above the caves of night where the worst sorts do business. Then we leave up and out through a merchant road I've never been to. The stone walls here have a greenish tint to them.

Shopkeepers shout at us, offering metal and gems, as well as ale and meat and wine, at cheap prices which are still grossly inflated. It seems my warning has been communicated properly, though, for not one of my dwarves steps out of line.

Once we're off that road, we're in another dark one. It's quieter here, and I begin to grow a little concerned. Are we really meant to be heading for the foundry-palace? For all I know, the first-degree I talked to was wrong, and we might be assigned to stay in the opposite end of the city. Where the hell are the Runeking's automatons? Or anyone who knows what's meant to be happening?

We're part of a great army, are we not? So where are the bloody orders? We better find out soon. I don't want to have to inform my dwarves that we've been marching the wrong way. Not only will it be embarrassing for me, but for Runeking Ulrike, too. Faith will be lost—morale damaged.

From the dark tunnel, we emerge onto a road overlooking Allabrast's great diamond mine. I halt the army for a rest. The junior runeknights, as well as the seniors who are lugging the massive supply chests between them, are exhausted. In the meantime, I send out a few runeknights to ask where the bloody leaders of the city are.

"Ridiculous," I mutter under my breath. "Just ridiculous."

Below us, miners are hard at work in the pit. I remember passing this place on my way to the Runeking's palace, all those thousands of long-hours ago. The stone here is so hard, apparently, that it takes a year to chip out even one diamond from its bed. These diamonds, though, are flawless, the most sought-after in the underworld. Their quality makes them well worth the cost of excavation.

I used a few of them in a pair of runic ears, about a thousand long-hours ago. Even for a Runethane's purse, they were expensive.

The movements of the miners, as they push around carts and slowly chip apart the stone, is mesmerizing. I lose myself in the glittering of part-exposed gems, and am only awoken from my observation by a strong tap on my shoulder from Captain Brognir.

"Aranak, one of the gold ones, was supervising some construction or other. She said we're to be accommodated right here."

"Right here? In the mine?"

"Apparently. Thanic Guardsdwarf Odrick was meant to be in charge, but he's got caught up with some trolls down in the bottom."

I stand up and clap my hands together. My body feels lighter all of a sudden. "Trolls, is it?"

"Armored in diamond, apparently."

I grin. "Excellent."

"If even a Thanic Guard is having trouble, I don't think we should take it lightly."

"Oh, I'm not. I'll be careful. I was just thinking that this will be rather good for morale, no? The head of diamond troll, mounted in front of our new guildhall—don't you think that will raise everyone's spirits a little? Especially after such a long, dull journey."

"I suppose it might," he admits, grudgingly.

"Find the mine overseers. They'll know where everyone's meant to be stationed. You and Lekudr will be in charge. Ithis and I will go down to this Odrick and help him out. You said he was at the bottom of the pit?"

"That's what I was told. But my Runethane, are you sure this is worth the risk?"

"We're all allies here, aren't we? And this Odrick has decided to welcome us as guests. We have a duty to help him."

My ruby glows warm. Finally, after so long sitting in that damnable wooden carriage, we have a fight to win.

So, while Lekudr, Brognir, and the other captains sort out the accommodation, Ithis and I, along with thirty second and first-degrees, spiral down to the very bottom of the mine. It's a long, rocky path, and only a thin section is free of rails, so we must walk carefully in single-file. Minecarts slow when their drivers see us, and their drivers—sometimes miners, sometimes whip-wielding overseers—bow as they go by.

Glass lanterns keep our way lit, yet the thickening dust is gradually reducing visibility. It's a like a dark fog closes in around us, growing thicker step by step. It reminds me, a little, of the darkness, all those thousands of long-hours ago.

"If only we'd brought weapons of light," says Ithis. "I shouldn't have left my old hammer back in the guildhall."

"It wouldn't have been so effective against a troll. You know they mostly use smell and hearing."

"True. In any case, they won't stand up against you for long."

"Against us—I won't hog all the glory for myself. Everyone needs to get warmed up. A bloody bath, to loosen up the muscles and grease the armor joints—that's what the troops need."

The thirty elites cheer loudly. They are in good spirits. Trolls are no easy foe, especially not the rare kinds, but just like me, they're glad to have any kind of opponent after spending so long cramped in the stuffy, stinking carriages.

We make it to the base of the pit, a circle about twenty meters from end to end. I look around and see no trolls. But cut into the circle, below the spiraling ramp we walked down, are several dark tunnel entrances. From them, I can hear nothing. No sounds of battle echo out.

"We should call down one," Ithis suggests. "Troll or dwarf—whatever comes out is fine by me."

I shake my head. "Let's at least be a little cautious. Follow me, my dwarves. Ithis, you take the rearguard, and keep an ear out behind. I do not like this. Ready your weapons, all of you."

Blades drawn, maces ready, and spears angled forward, we advance cautiously into the nearest tunnel, ready to draw our first blood of the war against an unknown foe.

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