Runeking Ulrike's plan is not complicated, on the face of it. We are to conduct a flexible defense. Wherever our foe's forces cross the border, an army will be sent to face them. The border realms are to be reinforced, but not by too much; enemy armies are to be drawn in and encircled. Civilians will be evacuated from the front-lines whenever possible. Treasure stolen from any occupied realms will be repaid after the war finishes, and from the Runeking's own personal stores, if not enough can be retaken from Uthrarzak.

The Runethanes seem to regard this as satisfactory—or at least, none of them make any open complaint. I expect there will quite a bit of private grumbling once they return to their billings. Maybe some of the grumbling will not be so private—I imagine that some will have a hard time persuading their senior runeknights that the strategy is a sound one, especially if they don't really believe that themselves.

Runeking Ulrike, once it's clear no one is going to ask any questions, stands from his seat and leaves. The doors click shut behind him, and I feel a heavy pressure lift.

One by one, the Runethanes and Thanic Guardsdwarves file out of the exit. No one exactly rushes, though—apart from Gaflek, who says something about a banquet his guild has planned. But most seem to want to remain and talk. Murmuring conversations spring up all around the long table. The grumbling has begun already.

"What do you think, Zathar?" Runethane Ytith asks quietly. She sips some water. "Well?"

"I am sure we will win."

She smiles strangely.

"I do," I say, trying to believe my own words. "We will win."

"Of course. I am at least glad we'll be able to fight the battles our own way. In my father's time, our Runeking sometimes liked to command us like game-pieces. His Eyes gave him full vision of the board, so to speak."

"We won many of those battles," says Runethane Duthur. "He is skilled at war. More skilled than Uthrarzak, and more subtle, too."

"Have you seen our foe for yourself, honored Runethane?" I ask. "I've read about the wars, of course—but what was your own impression?"

Runethane Duthur scares me. He is more powerful than me by far, and has a clear dislike of me also. But we are on the same side. I have to at least try to make some friends here. For the good of my dwarves, if nothing else. There will come times in battle when we will need each others' support.

He looks at me oddly. He frowns. He seems to be appraising me, like a jeweler would a rough diamond who is not happy with what he's been given to carve. I shrink back a little. Perhaps it was a mistake to speak to him so directly.

"Have I offended you in some way?" I ask. "I apologize, if so."

"No," he says. "No. I was just reflecting that you are not the way I imagined, Runeforger."

I frown. "But you have met me before, honored Runethane."

"Have I?"

"Yes. In Runethane Ytith's realm, at our discussions with Runeking Bolotorok."

He stares at me quietly several seconds. "Ah, yes," he says. "You were in different armor, then. And your spear was not so good. You've made a new one, I see. That's right—the spear is your favored weapon, is it not?"

"Yes."

"A good choice. Though, it loses to the pike most often. I will wield a sword in the coming battles."

"I see you've forgotten it today, though," says Ytith.

He looks at her much like an instructor might at a particularly irritating initiate. "Why should I have brought a weapon here? My gauntlets alone could deal with most of you, if any were to be fool enough to make a disagreement physical." He looks at the Runethane called Teldrok, the one in armor of titanium blades. "I am glad no one was that foolish."

Teldrok scowls. "You are raring for a fight, I see. Calm your bloodlust. You can sate it later."

"I do not seek bloodlust, only a test of my skills."

Ytith shakes her head. "Let us go, Zathar. These dwarves craft only for power. A weapon left unused is just as beautiful as one covered in blood—its power is proven by how nothing comes against it. My father understood this; others do not."

She beckons me away and we walk down the hall together. I catch hints of conversation from the groups we pass:

"...really think we can defend like this?"

"...won't stand for it. There'll be rioting..."

"Runethane Lapek is a fool if he..."

"...there's a chance, if we can encircle his..."

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"...no chance that Uthrarzak will be so foolish as to..."

They are more critical than I expected. Even those who originally favored the defensive strategy now seem doubtful. And it shocks me that they are so open about it. Are they not afraid that their words will get back to the Runeking? I get the sense that some of his Eyes also function as ears.

They are Runethanes, though, not common runeknights. As long as they do not mutiny, they will not be punished for mere words. That would turn everyone against the Runeking, and he cannot afford that, especially since three Runethanes have already turned from the cause. Four, if one counts Vanerak.

Just before we reach the end of the hall, I turn to marvel at the gold and rubies that make up the walls. I may never come back here, and I want to drink it in. For a few moments, at least, I wish to forget the floods of crimson rushing toward us.

"You seem most taken with this hall," says Ytith.

"It is most impressive."

She narrows her eyes at me. "You don't find it crude?"

"Not at all," I say, surprised. "You do?"

"It is gaudy, and the metalwork poor. If I were Runequeen, I would have it rebuilt. I'd rebuild it myself, and somewhere everyone can actually see it, too."

"You have a better eye for metalwork than I do. I don't see any flaws."

"It's crudely beaten. The uneven texturing should be obvious to you." She shakes her head. "You are a Runethane, and yet you cannot see this?"

She is mocking me. I try not to let her needling get under my armor, and answer humbly.

"It can't be helped. I'm still young—it'll take me a long time until I am able to judge metal as quickly and cleanly as you can, honored Runethane."

"Not so long, if you pay attention. A century at most."

"I don't think this war is going to last that long."

She gives me another odd look. "You speak as if you don't expect to survive."

I hesitate to answer. She beckons me onward. "Come now, Runeforger. Our guilds are waiting."

She leads me out the main hall into the antechamber, then she turns at a right-angle and we move to one of the half-pillars at the side, a dozen paces away from tunnel entrance and hall entrance.

"What is it you wish to ask?" I say. "You've brought me out for a reason, no?"

"Of course," she says.

"Then go on, Runethane. As you say, our guilds are waiting for us."

She nods once. "Very well. You were honest with me in my realm, Zathar, on your first rude entrance to it. So, I wish you to be honest with me now. Tell me: what do you think of the Runeking's strategy?"

I glance around the antechamber. There are no Eyes that I can see.

"It is as good as any," I say. "Safer than the more aggressive proposals for sure."

"So you believe it will bring us victory?"

"I do not know. Nothing can be foretold in war, don't you agree? What do you think about it?"

She shrugs. "We will fight our hardest. So will Uthrarzak. The outcome, then, is left up to fate."

"I see. And whose side do you think fate is on?"

"Fate does not take sides." She tilts her head. "What side do you believe it to be on? Answer me honestly, Zathar. You are not revealing all—I can tell."

I think carefully before answering. I open my mouth; a pair of Thanic Guardsdwarves enter the antechamber. They look at us oddly, but leave without saying a word. Ytith is still looking at me, right in the eyes—cold and ancient eyes, despite their beauty. She will know if I hide my true thoughts.

Why should I hide things from her, anyway? Is she not my ally? I worked her gift into the weapon that got me my realm and saved my friend. She deserves to know my real thoughts.

"I worry that fate leans to the other side," I whisper. "And I worry especially about our leadership? Runethane Gaflek told me our Runeking cares only for himself. And discipline is atrocious."

"I see." She thinks for a few seconds. "But discipline will improve once the blood begins to flow. Everyone will be committed to the cause, then. And you shouldn't believe everything Galfek says. He's the one who cares only for himself, despite his pretty speeches. He assumes Ulrike cares only for himself because that's all Galfek cares for—himself, and his gold."

"I see. Still..."

"Do not believe the war lost before it's even begun, Zathar. I see it in your eyes and hear it in your voice—you have no faith."

"I've read the histories, Ytith. The past wars were won by only the narrowest of edges. And now our foe has twice the resources available to him. We ought to have attacked him, and fifty years ago at that."

"We could not have. Not with the troubles within our own borders, which have been subdued for now."

"Subdued? Troll raids still plague us. And I am growing very worried about the masons."

"If they are on anyone's side, they'll be on their own."

"You seem very sure."

"What cause do they have for hating us more than Uthrarzak? And it's not as if our foe is allied with the trolls, either. I know they cause him just as much pain as they do us."

She clamps a hand on my shoulder. My every muscle tenses—I feel the power in her gauntlets. Is she angry with me? My eyes move to the thin sword at her belt.

Then she smiles, and warmly this time.

"Have faith, Zathar. We've won all our other wars against Uthrarzak. We will win this one too. In the end, he will retreat to his Gray Caverns. Some caves will change hands, some of the border realms on either side will be devastated, sadly—yet overall, little will change. That's how it's always happened, and that's what will happen this time."

"I hope you are correct," I say.

"I am. Have faith, Zathar! The war is not lost, and all we have to do to survive is fight hard. This is how it's always been."

I nod. "All right, Runethane. I'll trust you on this."

"You will see once the fighting starts. This will be like all the other times. There is not so much to worry about."

We leave together, then, discussing metal and runes and strategies of war. But I find I cannot focus on the conversation. All the while we walk, I am deep in my own thoughts.

I wish her words would convince me. I try to believe them; I tell myself that she understands better than me. She fought in some of the old wars—the tail-end skirmishes, and her father fought in the great battles of times long past. What she says is probably right. I should believe her.

Yet I can't shake the feeling that this war is going to be different. Things are changing: the masons, the runes—Vanerak, and his forbidden knowledge of the first hours of the runeknights.

The older dwarves are set in their ways. They cannot see the changes, or else refuse to. They don't want to accept that the underworld could change, and change forever. They don't see what I see, in the depths of the magma. And they have never witnessed the oldest times as I have, either. I saw them below the fort and in the sunken city, saw how different they were.

History does not remain static. It is like the very caverns themselves. When you are in one, it seems still and dead like a corpse, yet really it is warping through pressure and heat and the work of water. Stone transforms just like hot metal does, only slower. And then, sometimes, the change all comes in a burst: a quake shatters and remakes everything.

But I won't get anyone to understand this through words. Not an ancient Runethane. Maybe my runes will show them.

Maybe.

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