I open my eyes to a nightmare. Above me is my own reflection, warped and darkened. Faint runes overlay it, though I know not what they mean. Beside Vanerak, surrounding me, are Nazak, Helzar, and Halax. The first two wear expressions of hate—though perhaps also a touch of fear—Halax is inscrutable.

“You have awoken,” Vanerak says. “This is good. I must make a decision, and I would hear what you have to say for yourself before I make it.”

“A decision?” I croak, weakly.

“Yes. An important one.”

“I stayed,” I croak. “The others have run. I could have left, yet I stayed.” I want to laugh: I was saved, yet now I am returned to hell, voluntarily. “I stayed!”

“Why?” Nazak demands. “What are you plotting, traitor?”

“Plotting? Nothing, honored runeknight. Nothing like that. I just wanted to finish my weapon. That is all. I am a runeknight and I wanted to forge.”

“You might have completed it another time.”

“It would not have been as good. This was the moment to enrune.”

“I did not realize your power worked on such strict timings.”

“Silence, Nazak,” says Vanerak. “Though I was also not aware that you had to enrune at specific timings, Zathar Runeforger. Is this something you kept from me?”

“Not at all, my Ruthane,” I say. “Not at all! It's not to do with my power.”

Slowly I push myself up from the floor. Every square inch of my skin feels raw, like it's been blanched in boiling water. Yet my ruby is emanating waves of coolness, driving the pain away. I am recovering quickly.

“Then explain,” Vanerak demands.

I speak fast. “My guards—who have fled—told me you were in the sunken city,” I say. “And I immediately felt a great sense of fear for my fellow runeknights.”

“Really?” says Nazak, sneering.

“Yes! My Runethane, honored runeknights, it seemed shameful that I was not there. You were all—including some of my dear friends—locked in deadly battle, and yet I was locked in here doing nothing. Wasting away. What is the point in creating runes if no one is alive to use them? Thus I wished to finish this weapon and through its power persuade my guards that I could be of use in battle immediately.”

“Is that so?” says Vanerak. “You should have known that they would not permit you to leave. You are not so foolish.”

“They were only eighth degrees. Weak-minded—as their fleeing surely demonstrates.”

“I do not believe him,” Nazak says to Vanerak. “He has never been this sentimental before.”

“Not to you, honored runeknight," I say. "I try not to show such weakness to you. But I do have room for care in my heart for a few friends, just as you do for your own loyal dwarves.”

“I see,” Vanerak says coldly. “However, did those who came here not tell you that the battle was lost?”

“They said they didn't know whether it was lost or won, only that you, or else an army of demons, was chasing them, and that we had to leave quickly.”

“Quickly to where?” rasps Helzar.

“To Allabrast. They seek to persuade Runeking Ulrike that you mistreated them.”

To tell some over-complex lie would draw suspicion I cannot afford. I hope dearly that Hayhek has taken my advice.

“You betray them a second time,” she rasps, and an ugly sneer comes across her thin face. “The betrayers betrayed—how poetic. They will be punished most brutally.”

“In time,” says Vanerak. “Zathar Runeforger is our concern for now.”

I get the feeling he does not quite believe my given reason for staying. His ear for lies is too acute—I will feed him a half-truth too. I grasp the anvil and pull myself upright.

“My Runethane, there is another reason also.”

“Then tell it quickly.”

“It is this: I also wish to know more of the nature of my powers. They are truly, I understand now, the future of all dwarfkind. I must know more of them. The knowledge held in the sunken city surely relates to them—what else could explain the Runeking's sudden interest in this forsaken place, so soon after he learned of me?”

“A most astute observation,” says Halax. “Some of the images we saw there do indeed hint at the origins of our noble caste of runeknights.”

“That is excellent news to me! I hope dearly to see them.”

“I do not trust his weapon,” Nazak says. “My Runethane, it is designed for use against dwarves, not demons. It is a weapon-catcher. Demons have no weapons.”

“The possessed do!” I say. “It is designed also to defeated them. Hence the thornless rear-spike.”

“Perfect for piercing armor, though the heat of the possessed degrades their armor quickly anyway."

“I would read the poem before passing judgment,” says Halax.

“Gladly do!”

I reach for my bident. Nazak lays the blade of his axe across my arm and I feel its sharpness hunger to bite.

“My Runethane?” he says.

“Allow him,” says Vanerak. “With no armor he is no threat to us. Certainly he is not to me.”

“Thank you greatly, my Runethane!” I say. “Please read and know that I mean no harm to any dwarf. It speaks only of the slaying of demons.”

“Hold it above your head,” says Halax. His emerald eyes are wide and bright. “Turn it slowly so we may read it from base to points.”

Nazak draws his axe away reluctantly. I thank him, then take hold of the bident and raise it above my head. The eyes of the three first degrees swivel as one to the base. Gradually I spin it lengthways so they may read the lines spiraling up toward the tines. Their eyes inch along, taking in every rune. I cannot tell where Vanerak looks, but am sure that he is reading too, his eyes fixed on the runes, fascinated.

Trapped and interrogated under the threat of death. This situation is distant from my imaginings of Vanerak crawling from the magma with his armor half-broken and mortal flesh within exhausted. Yet, as unbelievable as it is to witness, it seems my dreams were not total delusions.

His foilsuit is scratched in several places. His voice is not quite so cold and sharp as I remember. His movements seem a touch more sluggish—they were always so confident, calculated, like he knew exactly where each step would land, and once they did land—utter stillness. Now I can tell the rhythm of his breathing.

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As for the other three, they have suffered obvious damage. Nazak's armor is dented in several places, and several runes are scarred and part-melted. Some of Helzar's plates are nearly cut through. Halax's harness has suffered the least, yet his face is covered with a sheen of sweat and he is blinking more than usual. He is tired.

It is he who speaks first: “A most impressive poem. The final stanzas especially interest me. Utter chaos—that is their theme, if I am not mistaken. To plunge whatever they enter into true disarray.”

“That is correct, honored runeknight. I believe it will be most potent against the demons.”

“I do not trust it,” Nazak says bluntly. "Helzar?"

“I do not appreciate the shameless copying of my techniques,” she rasps.

“That is not entirely fair,” says Halax. “We use his runes, do we not?”

“Because he is our prisoner.”

“Be silent, all of you,” says Vanerak.

Silence falls.

“I must think,” he says. “Place your weapon back down on the anvil, Zathar.”

I do so. Vanerak steps forward and leans down to stare at the bident. I imagine that from behind his mirror-mask his eyes are raking it back and forth, trying to unravel some suspicion—my old fear returns. It was foolish of me to believe he could be tricked. He knows far more of composition than I do. My most subtle efforts, to him, are crude.

“Turn it over,” he orders, and I do so.

He continues to rake it with his unseen gaze. My blanched skin begins to itch and sting as new sweat beads. He orders me to turn it over again, and again. I obey. He spends a long time between turns. He is scrutinizing every last rune, every line and stanza, unraveling my double-meanings. All is laid bare under his gaze. Everything.

“We will deliberate,” he says. “Stay still beside the anvil, Zathar Runeforger. Do not move a single step or your life is forfeit.”

“Yes, my Runethane!” My voice comes out in a gasp. “Of course!”

He leads his three first degrees out of the forge to the first turning of the corridor. He speaks, yet I cannot make out what he is saying.

----------------------------------------

“I trust you understood precisely his poem,” Vanerak asks.

“Yes,” says Halax. “It contained a most clever double-meaning within its coils. It is a venomous serpent of a craft. He has become more subtle.”

“Then this is all the proof we need!” says Nazak. “He plans to slay us. We must kill him now.”

“Then why did you not point this out?” Vanerak asks Halax, ignoring Nazak.

“I did not wish to cause any kind of commotion that would put the runeforger's life at risk,” Halax says, with a pointed glance at Nazak. “He may have panicked at seeing his intentions so easily unmasked.”

“Then you still think we should leave him be,” Nazak spits. “Halax, you are blinded by him!”

“If you accuse me of this, then you also accuse our Runethane of the same.”

“I do nothing of the sort!”

“What have you to say, Helzar?” Vanerak asks.

“I am not so subtle with rune-work as the others,” she admits. “The terminology was vague yet powerful. I thought it to be a flexible poem. It would play havoc on any weapon caught in its barbs.”

“Disable his opponent's weapon then flip his own around for the killing blow, with that reverse-spike,” says Nazak. “Or else wield it like a stave and stab down to spear the feet, to have the opponent fully at his mercy.”

“It could be used in such ways—or less subtle ones. Those barbs when jabbed into flesh would cause immense agony.”

“It is,” says Vanerak, “a most impressive work of art. The greatest he has yet created, and not only through of his utilization of the true metal. It is a well-made poem upon well-forged metal.”

There is a brief silence. Vanerak does not often give such praise.

“All the more reason to end him here,” says Nazak. “We have spoken of this before, my Runethane, and you indicated agreement.”

“You misremember,” Vanerak says sharply. “I said that once certain things had been confirmed about his runeforging, he would no longer be needed.”

“I apologize, my Runethane. Yet—”

“If he is needed, we cannot leave him here,” says Halax. “We cannot afford to leave him with guards whose loyalty may also be called into question.”

“They will not betray us!” Nazak snaps. “They are my second and third degrees and many have just given their lives! Do not lump them in with those who fled!”

“We will also need them if the demons have recovered quicker than anticipated.”

“So you propose we bring the traitor with us,” Helzar rasps. “In chains, I presume.”

“He will find it rather hard to swim while chained.”

“There will be no need to chain him,” says Vanerak. “He knows he cannot run from us.”

“So he will fight,” says Nazak. “He will stab us in the back while the demons distract.”

“We will not allow him to. You will not allow him to, Nazak. Keep watch on him. Signal me if he turns—I will make the call on how badly you may wound him.”

"You really mean to go through with this, my Runethane?"

"You know better than to ask me such questions."

Nazak grits his teeth. A tortured expression comes across his face—frustration knots his features tight. His soldiers' betrayal has cut him to the heart, and now his Runethane will not punish this traitor, the original and most foul of them! But he masters his heart. He relaxes the muscles of his face and a smooth coldness comes over his visage.

"I apologize." Nazak bows deep. “If it be your decision, I of course obey."

"You will."

"And you are most generous in giving me the duty of watching over him, my Runethane. I am honored by your trust. And you can be sure I will not harm him apart from by your direct command.”

“It is a most wise decision, my Runethane,” says Halax. "Though, I would request to hear your reasoning in full. The second and third degrees should be given no reason to doubt you."

“Tell them that this is my reasoning: there is a possibility that we will need Zathar to decipher the knowledge within the city. If that is the case, he must be kept alive and we cannot leave him undefended in his forge. We need maximum strength for this final rebound of ours. And his strength too will prove an asset. He will fight to prove his loyalty, and his bident is powerful. His armor too is adequate for his own protection, as has been proven in the past. We are, for now, to treat him as one of our own.”

"I will relay these words," says Nazak.

"Good." Vanerak now stares at each in turn, turning his head so they know exactly when they are the object of his gaze. “I will hear any suggestions, opinions or objections now before we gather the force and leave in haste,” he says.

The three are silent.

“You have nothing more you wish to say, Commander Nazak?”

“Nothing, my Runethane.”

“That is well. His protection is your responsibility. You have done an admirable job in keeping him alive thus far, despite your hatred for him. The ability to reign in one's emotions is of paramount importance for a runeknight.”

“I will continue to keep my inner desires, inner, my Runethane. You have my word. I have never broken it.”

“That you have not. Helzar, you and your dwarves will be responsible for slaying any possessed. Halax, as always you shall be my eyes.”

“Yes, my Runethane,” the two chorus.

“As for those who fled—we will deal with them after our victory. The leaders of the rout and any they hold dear will be made examples of.”

Vanerak issues a few further orders to the first degrees, then dismisses them. They leave up the corridor. He turns back to Zathar.

A traitor to the last, it seems, not that it will matter. The young dwarf's confidence in his weapon is sorely misplaced. A first degree he may be, in forging skill if not yet in title, but he knows nothing of the further degrees and how pitifully low he sits at the bottom of them. He is a fraction degree and no more.

He will not rise any higher, never rise to half or even quarter. Vanerak will end that rise, for he is confident that within the city will be the final confirmation of his theories. The hooks and cages below, the seeming infinitude of the so-called demons, the amulet of Fjalar, the sphere, the way Zathar pulls his power through himself, the source in the magma sea—compiled, these secret knowledges and hints add up to a conclusion of truly great power.

Zathar will be rendered obsolete. A new age will dawn on dwarfkind, of new runes that are not mere copies of the old—of Vanerak's runes. Runes that will challenge even the Runegods.

These runes, the traitor will not live to see.

----------------------------------------

Vanerak dismisses his first degrees and turns back toward me. He advances slowly—yet not so slowly. His movements are uncharacteristically hurried. Is this a good sign, or does it signal my imminent death? I tense. My heart is beating too fast, making me feel faint.

I can see my reflection now, expanding in the center of his mirror-mask. He passes through the door and now my reflection occupies the whole of his mask. His gaze is fixed on me. It pins me like a spear through the heart.

“My Runethane,” I say. “I await your most wise decision.”

“I have made it,” he says. “You are to equip yourself and join us on one final expedition. The demons are greatly weakened. We will break through them and gain the knowledge we both desire.”

“Equip myself?”

“You will not be in chains—you will fight with us. Your weapon elevates you to the status of first degree, the title which I will grant you formally after our victory. You will be an asset in the fight against the demons.”

I can hardly believe it. I will fight with him? In my armor, and with this weapon? I stare in shock. Has he really not seen through my runes?

No. He has, I'm sure. But he simply cannot afford to leave me here. He wants to keep me in his sight at all times.

And that suits me just fine. My ruby burns. I fall to one knee, and say:

“I am most deeply honored, my Runethane. I am overjoyed that I will be allowed to fight alongside you. Maybe I have betrayed your trust in the past, but I will never do so again. You have my word—you will not regret this decision.”

“No,” he says, his voice cold as the surface snow under which Wharoth's bloodied body surely lies. “I will not.”