The eighth degrees hurry to form a defensive line between me and the door.

“It might be the Runethane!”

“Why hasn't he got the key then?”

“It's the demons!”

“Shut up!”

They angle their weapons. The tungsten door shakes a few more times, then the shaking stops. Have our assailents given up? Somehow I doubt it.

The door shivers again, more forcefully. A second later it shivers again. One second later, again.

“It's the demons!” one of the runeknights shouts.

“Silence!”

The door shakes a few more times. I can do nothing—I have no armor, no weapon. I am clasping my forging hammer only for comfort; it will be of little use in a battle. The door shakes again.

And I hear something faint: voices too muffled by the tungsten to make out.

“We need to rush them,” says one eighth degree. “Open it up and shock them.”

Some agree, others argue. Their babbling cuts off the voices behind the door.

“Quiet!” I snap. “They're saying something out there. Quiet so I can hear!”

“Silence, prisoner!” an eighth degree snaps.

“You shut up!” the one next to him says. “He's a second degree, prisoner or not!”

“I heard he was fourth!”

“Quiet, all of you!” shouts yet another. “Let him get his ears on and listen. Maybe they are trying to talk.”

“Demon's lies.”

“Just shut it!” I yell, and finally silence falls, but for the clanging on the door. “Good. Now stay quiet.”

I take up my runic ears and equip them. Darkness expands from the edges of my vision and eye-scars, and sound blooms. Mostly it is metallic scratching; the eighth degrees are fidgeting, their badly-forged plates scraping against one other. I warn them to still their movements, then walk toward the door and focus.

Each clang annihilates all other sound, but between them I hear shouts made into whispers by the thickness of the tungsten. I quiet my own breathing and listen close.

“You'll never get through. We need to pick the lock.”

“It was made by the Runethane himself. We'll never pick it.”

“So was the door! We'll never knock it down either.”

“Ay, maybe you're right." There is the clink of something heavy being laid down. "But we can get through the rock around it if we're clever enough. Find a mason—we'll figure out where it's weakest. And round up some miners too.”

“We don't have time to find a mason—they don't come down here.”

“Zathar wants out too, and there's just eighth degrees in there. Maybe he can hear us. We can persuade him.”

“We might not be able to persuade his guards, though.”

Who are they? They talk of persuading me, but not the guards—implying they are on my side, and against Vanerak. They aren't masons either. Friendly runeknights, then. Maybe Hayhek?

What happened in the magma? Did they flee from Vanerak, abandon him to the demons? It seems a likely scenario. Could these perhaps be demons, then? A shiver runs through me. Yet, no, I don't think so. Demons would not think to trick us by talking in such a manner. They would simply melt through the metal and charge in.

“It's dwarves out there,” I say quietly. “Not demons. They're here to help us, I think.”

“They're probably possessed!”

“We have no proof of that,” says another eighth degree.

“I'm going to open the door,” I announce.

“Stop!” says one of the eighth degrees, reaching for me.

I am too quick for him. I turn the lock-lever then yank the door inward. Outside I hear the shapes of runeknights, the strongest ones fifth degree by the smoothness of their armor. They ready their weapons; behind I hear my guards raise their own.

“Weapons down!” yells a guard.

“You put yours down!” Hayhek yells back—I recognize clearly the hoarseness of his voice. “We're stronger than you are! We don't want to kill you, but we will if we have to!”

“We have the runeforger!” the guard declares. "Stay away!"

I hear the shape of him reaching for me and dash forward. His weapon whines as it cuts at my leg, then Hayhek barrels past, slashing down with his axe. There's a crunch of metal and bone and a scream, then the clatter of the eighth degree's weapon falling down.

“Idiot!” Hayhek snaps. “Drop your weapons, all of you. Every one of you!”

I hear more clatters.

“Right,” says Hayhek. “There's no time to explain, Zathar, I'm sorry. We need to get out of here.”

The chaos of clanking armor and weaponry has made everything a blur, so I remove my runic ears. Vision returns. I see a dozen runeknights with beads of redly-glowing rock still clinging to their armor. Those with their visors up look haggard and exhausted, and all are breathing heavily, as if they have been running or swimming for a long time, and as fast as they were able to.

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“What happened?” I ask Hayhek.

“There's no time, Zathar. We have to run. Helzar might be on her way—the Runethane also.”

“Did you lose the battle?”

“We don't have time to explain,” says another fifth degree, whose visor is shaped like salamander's teeth. He is wielding a heavy-looking warhammer. “We're going to grab our loved ones and run. We're heading to Allabrast. We want you to come with us—you've been punished enough. We've all been punished enough by living here—under Vanerak. We're leaving.”

“Leaving now?” I close my eyes, open them again. The runeknights are still there. It appears that I am not dreaming. “Right now?”

“Yes,” says the tooth-visored runeknight. “Now, runeforger!”

I cannot quite believe it; this is all too sudden. Is my time in Vanerak's realm really going to end in this way? Being broken out then running for it?

My ruby burns; it does not want to accept this. I have been promising it violence and blood, and it does not want me to break this promise. It is loathe to abide such cowardice.

“Leave,” I say slowly. “I will think about it.”

“What is there to think about?” Hayhek says, aghast. “It's idiotic to stay! To fight a battle you can't win!”

“Fight, yes. That's what I was going to do: fight Vanerak. Kill him.”

Some of the eighth degrees gasp.

“That's insane!” says the tooth-visored runeknight.

“It's not.”

“He's the Runethane! A Runethane!”

“That is his title, yes.”

“Hayhek, persuade him!”

Hayhek comes a step closer to me. “You can't defeat a Runethane, Zathar,” he says softly. “Not one-on-one, and certainly not with his first degrees beside him. Come on. Come with us. Fleeing is the best option here. You persuaded me out of certain death one time. I'm going to do the same now.”

“It's not certain,” I say. “Death, that is. I have the true metal.”

“True metal? What are you talking about?”

“I can defeat him,” I say, not quite believing that I am saying it. “I have to.”

“You can't!” says the tooth-visored runeknight. “True metal or mundane!”

I ignore him and look Hayhek in the eyes. “It is my duty to fight. I ran away before, Hayhek, yes. Ran away from a lot of things. But when I heard that the black dragon had reappeared, and that Xomhyrk was going to slay it, or die in the attempt, I decided not to run away. That I would never run away. I decided that I had to do what I had to do.” My ruby is burning hot on my chest. “I decided that I had to fight.”

“You can hunt him down another time,” says Hayhek. “You haven't even finished your weapon.”

“I am nearly finished. Once it is complete, I'll have the power I need.”

“He might not even be alive. It might be demons that come after you. Who knows what they might attempt if they possess a Runethane?”

“He's too strong for them.”

“The demons are strong too.”

“I'll be helping you as well,” I say. “Whoever returns, demon or dwarf, they'll come after you. You know this: that's why you're fleeing so fast. They'll come after you and your family.”

“My family has nothing to do with you.”

“No, no. I'm sorry. But all the same, is it not better for me to stay behind here? Delay your pursuers, whoever they may be?”

“Delay them for half a minute or less!” says the tooth-visored runeknight. “Second Runeforger, you cannot throw away your power like this!”

“I'm not throwing anything away. I'm using it to destroy an evil.”

“Zathar, come with us,” Hayhek pleads. “Vanerak is too strong. Far too strong.”

“I won't face him head on,” I say. Red-dyed hallucinations overlay themselves upon my vision, of Vanerak crawling from the magma shore, armor gashed and runes broken. “I won't fight fair.”

“You're insane,” says the tooth-visored runeknight. “Completely insane.”

Am I? My ruby burns. It says no, I'm not insane—that I have a fight to win, an enemy to slaughter. To slaughter!

I take a deep breath, try to calm myself. Who is speaking right now? Me, or the gem? It's the gem, I realize with sudden fear. I need to get it off! I snatch at it with my hand, grip it, pull—but my clenched fist stops mid-air as if dashed against wall. I pull again and meet the same resistance.

“What's wrong?” asks Hayhek. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” I hiss. “My—” I try to say ruby, but my tongue rolls itself up. “It's—” I choke as my tongue tries to curl backwards into my throat. “Nothing!” I say.

“Something's wrong,” says Hayhek. “Ithis, grab his arms.”

The tooth-visored runeknight lunges at me. I dash my forging hammer onto his helm. The impact makes a loud clang and he falls back, stunned.

“Stop!” I say. “I've made my decision, Hayhek! I'm not a slave, not anymore! My decisions are mine to make! I will forge and fight, not run!”

“I've heard tales,” he says quietly, “that sometimes it's the weapon that wields the dwarf, and not the other way around. You're still grasping your ruby amulet.”

“It gives me power,” I say. “It's saved my life twice. I will not remove it.”

“You can't remove it,” says Ithis. “You're possessed. Not by a demon—by something else—but possessed all the same.”

“My decisions are mine,” I repeat. “I am going to complete my weapon, and then I am going to kill the Runethane and his first degrees. They slaughtered my guild. I know they did.”

“He never said which guild they slaughtered,” says Ithis. “Could have been anyone.”

“How are you so damn sure?”

“I wrote the damn letter. It was me breaking his fingers one by one to get him to tell. Though by that point,” he spits viciously. “there wasn't much left to break.”

I narrow my eyes. “And you left nothing out of the letter?”

“No.”

“Not a single detail?”

“He said there were a couple hundred of them, and that their guildmaster was only about second degree. That is all.”

Rage flares in me and my ruby both. “Then that was the Association!” I shout. “My decision is final! The Runethane is going to die, today!”

“You're going to die!” says Ithis. “Fool! Who do you think we did this all for? You! We don't need Vanerak to lead us into a new age. If the new age will come from new runes, then the leader we want is you! And now you're going to kill yourself!”

“I don't care about any new age, torturer,” I spit. “All I care about is murdering the dwarf who murdered my guild. Revenge—that's what I'm set on. Red revenge!” I stride up right close to him. “Don't get in my way!”

Ithis makes to say something, but Hayhek grabs his shoulder and pulls him back.

“You can't change his mind,” he says quietly. “No one's ever managed to change Zathar's mind, I don't think. And maybe he's right that he can delay Vanerak.”

“He's possessed,” says Ithis. “It's not him that's speaking. It's that amulet.”

“An amulet that I created,” I say. “It holds me to my promises.”

“You just tried to tear it off of yourself.”

“My resolve weakened for an instant, yes. It's strong again.”

“Let's go, Ithis,” says Hayhek. “We're running out of time. I need to get my family. You need to get yours.”

Ithis shakes his head. “What a waste. What a fucking waste.”

“Goodbye, Zathar,” says Hayhek.

“Goodbye, for now. I will see you again soon.”

He turns away sadly. The guards traipse past me to follow him, one clutching his bleeding wrist—seems they don't much fancy facing an army of demons, if Vanerak has lost. They have their own families, lovers and friends to think about.

“Hayhek! A word of advice,” I say, as some of the red fades from my vision, the ruby having won its battle.

Hayhek stops and turns. “What is it?”

“I might lose, you know. If I do, Vanerak—and Helzar especially—will come after you. They'll catch up if they know the route.”

“Not if we have a head-start.”

“A few always travel faster than many. If I were you, I'd mislead them. Go somewhere they don't expect. Not Allabrast. Not up—down.”

“There's nowhere further down than here.”

“There is one place: the Fort Against the Deep Darkness. He won't search there. No one would search there.”

“I don't know where that is. And from what you've told me of it, it doesn't sound especially welcoming.”

“They'll welcome any friend of mine. Ask a caravaner—they know where everything is, though they might not take you.”

“I'll think about it.”

“Don't just think about it. Go there! I'll meet you there, Hayhek—Ithis too. I'll meet you both there.”

“We'll see. I hope we do meet again, Zathar, just so you know. Genuinely.”

“We will. Or maybe we won't—I won't make any promises I can't keep. Goodbye, Hayhek.”

“Goodbye.”

He turns back and follows the rest of the runeknights down the twisting corridor. I shut the door, lock it, and turn back to the three needles of true metal on the anvil.

Nothing has changed. For me there is only the forge, and then—my ruby burns hot again—to red revenge!