After that raid, our hours at the defenses are increased. Now I must be there morning, afternoon, and the first half of the night.

Thus I do not sleep.

The second half of every night I spend at the forge. My gauntlets are nearly complete now. I put them on and clench my fists. The chainmail on my palms is no impediment and the metal scales running down the backs of my fingers overlap without even a millimeter gap between them, no matter how I flex my hands. Now for the runes. I have twisted them into perfect shape already: all I have to do is graft them with the little incandesite I have remaining.

The forge flashes with brilliant red light each time I tap one into place. The poem I have drafted is a highly structured one: the first half a reflection on the way a hunter cuts into his prey with unerring accuracy in five short stanzas and one long. On the second gauntlet is a poem of one long stanza followed by five short, about the way a fish can swim gently down the river, drifting with the flow of the current, and never make a single wasted motion.

It is dawn when I finish, but I do not feel at all sleepy. The flashes of light from each careful tap of my hammer have kept me awake by invigorating my brain and my heart. I hold the gauntlets up to the early morning rays streaming through the window and their runes—copper, a light and passionate metal perfect for the themes of both poems—gleam like fire.

Hands trembling, not in anxiety but anticipation because I know these are my finest crafts next to Heartseeker, I put on the gauntlets. They’re warm inside. I flex my fingers. Those of my right hand move powerfully, as if my muscles are now steel springs. Those of my left hand barely feel as if they move at all, so naturally do they flow through the air.

When I clasp Heartseeker, both properties combine. The precision and strength of my movements is fivefold what it was before. I move the spear from high guard to low so quickly it blurs, left to right and it whirrs through the air, dark glow leaving a trail of night.

I wrote the runes to improve how I can manipulate the weapon—or rather support it, for Heartseeker moves to the kill of its own accord. It just needs me to get it into position as quickly and efficiently as possible. I also need the strength to pull it back for defense when it gets a bit too eager.

I practice a few stabs and parries. After the initial excitement wears off, I realize that I can’t quite get the feel I was expecting, but that’s no matter. Heartseeker only comes alive when it has a target.

As I walk up through the streets I notice a change in atmosphere. The tension has reached nearly a breaking point. Barely anyone is out and about, unless they are runeknights in heavy armor. I see one walking with a basket of bread and vegetables—he won’t let his wife brave the streets when war could come at any time.

Do they know something I don’t?

“You’re late,” my commander hisses once I’m finally up at sixty-three. “By twenty-five minutes.”

“Sorry. Was just finishing up.” I flex my gauntlets at him. “Have to be prepared, yeah? For when they finally break through.”

“Don’t say that!” snaps one of the others. “Hundreds could die.”

I apologize and make my way to my spot at the top of the wall.

“What’s with the atmosphere today?” I ask Hayhek.

“Not sure,” he laughs. “ I noticed it too, though.”

“You must have heard something.”

“Just a continuation of the usual rumor. The machine on the other side. Some people are saying it’s finished.”

“What?”

“It’ll be nothing.” He waves his hand dismissively. “And even if they manage to knock a hole in the wall, they have to cross the chasm. The Runethane won’t let that happen.”

“You’re very confident.”

“I’m old!” he laughs. He sounds oddly jovial today. “The conflict heats up sometimes. Back when I was an initiate, there were raids and counter-raids almost everyday—and for a good decade too. Never came to anything.”

“Did you fight?”

He laughs; his laughter almost has a hysterical edge to it.

“When I was young, I was quite the hothead. Just like my son.”

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“I see... Any advice?”

“That I can give you? No. I never beat anyone as strong as Kazhek. When the blood started flying, I stayed back. Exactly what I’m doing now.”

I look curiously at him for a bit, wondering what's behind the sudden switch in his mood, then back at the commander. He looks even more nervous than the others, if anything—fingering the axe at his belt. I wonder if he knows something we don’t. But after a few hours it seems that our fears are unfounded. The tension calms.

Something thuds. Just once, a simple sound like damp wood hitting damp wood. Not a terrifying crash or thunderous rumble. Or worse a cracking. Just a distant thud.

The effect on everyone is instant.

“What the fuck was that?” shouts one of the dwarves at the other end of the emplacement.

“Did it come from underneath?”

Another thud.

“It’s from the front!”

My eyes widen; I focus on the walls. The sheer gray shivers slightly, and a few seconds later the next thud reaches us. I grip Heartseeker in both hands and aim it through the crenellations. Hayhek chuckles.

“No need to worry so much. And if they do break through, it’ll be a long while until they reach us, which they won’t.”

Feeling a little silly, I pull Heartseeker back.

“Dwarves!” shouts our commander. “If you’ll come down here for a bit.”

Nervously everyone climbs down off the walls and forms a semicircle in front of the commander. He smiles grimly. We look at each other, wondering what’s going on, if the battle has started.

“No doubt many of you have heard the rumors going around recently, about some machine Broderick’s forces have constructed at the other side of the chasm. Well, they’re true—”

Fearful muttering breaks out.

“Silence! Discipline, dwarves. There’s no need to worry. Defense Minister Ganzesh and Runethane Thanerzak have developed a plan to foil our enemies. As we speak a raid is traveling through a secret tunnel to emerge right under the machine. The wall will not be broken. We have nothing to fear.”

Many of the dwarves breath out sighs of relief. I don’t, and neither does Hayhek—but only because he’s chuckling again.

“See?” he tells me once we’re back on the walls. “Nothing to worry about. It’ll all blow over.”

I scowl. “When you first came up, you were the one telling me not to be so sure about everything blowing over. What’s changed?”

“Well...” He scratches his head. “I just had a bit of a think, is all.”

I stare into his eyes, and think I see through the facade. I look at his hands, and see they’re trembling.

“Really?” I say quietly. “You don’t think this is going to blow over at all, do you?”

“It will,” he snaps gruffly. “Just wait and see.”

I turn back to the front and continue to stare at the walls. The next thud comes, and the next. The quality of the sound doesn’t change—nothing’s snapping or breaking. Yet the rhythm remains constant.

Several hours pass, and the thuds are still continuing. The counterattack hasn’t reached the machine yet.

Will it?

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

Hardrick’s soldiers are roaring at him in the darkness of the tunnel.

“Get him!”

“Cut him up!”

“What are you waiting for?”

He stands opposite a terrified runeknight who clutches a short spear and a large square shield which shimmers like water under moonlight. Dark red torchlight shines on their faces, matching the scent of blood that fills the air. The rest of Thanerzak’s attack force lie in pieces some way back. Not all of them were killed by Hardrick personally, but most of them were.

Sweat runs down the runeknight’s forehead. His helmet has been removed so everyone can see his fear. Hardrick licks his lips. There’s no escape for the runeknight; Hardrick’s dwarves block him in both front and back.

“What degree are you?” Hardrick asks.

“Why should you care!”

Hardrick barks a harsh laugh. “Why should you care why I care?”

“I won’t tell you anything!”

Hardrick’s dwarves roar with laughter. “He thinks he has a choice!”

“Put it this way,” Hardrick says, leering. “If you tell me, I might let you live.”

“Might?”

“Will, then. I’ll let you live if you tell me what degree you are.”

“I’m second, then.”

Hardrick smiles widely and advances. “Only third here.”

“You said you’d let me live!”

Hardrick laughs and swings down. Ordinarily a longsword is most unsuited for use in a tight tunnel, but Silverslash makes no distinction between rock and air. To the runeknight’s credit as a smith his shield stops the blow, just. The razor edge cuts deep into the metal and stops. The runeknight attempts a counter-attack, stabbing at Hardrick’s face, but in less than a blink of an eye Hardrick is three steps out of range. So fast was his movement that a whip-snap echoes.

His dwarves cheer. Hardrick grins at the long cut he’s made in the runeknight’s shield. Its moonlight shimmering has vanished—it won’t stop any more blows.

The runeknight knows this too and throws it down. He screams and charges at Hardrick, driving his spear forward in front of him with both hands. With another whip-crack Hardrick is beside him and his longsword sweeping low at the runeknight’s ankles.

Silverslash slows for the briefest moment then the runeknight is lying on his front screaming, blood gouting from his red stumps.

“You lied!” he blubbers. “You said you wouldn’t kill me!”

“You’re still alive,” Hardrick grunts. “Fugthath, finish him off, will you?”

A leaden hammer blow to the nape silences the runeknight’s crying.