Runethane Thanerzak stands at the head of his council of war. It does not take place in the ordinary council chambers, but in a chamber further down, as far below the base of the mountain as the peak is above. Miles of rock separate it from the nearest open cave, and the passage spiraling down to it is thin and steep. Trailing up are copper wires linked to the city alarms, traps, and various other defensive implementations ready to be activated at his word. The left wall is dark glass carved with a map of the city, both of his side and that of Broderick, but now is obscured by a tall sheet of aluminum inlaid with an expansive map of the stalagmite forest at the top, and curling tunnels at the bottom. Red runes denote where the black dragon might be hiding.

Thanerzak listens to his twelve councilmembers while he sweats in his armor, for it is hot down here. The sweat stings his ravaged skin.

“We believe it is biding its time at the top of the cavern,” says Ganzesh. “Above this section, or perhaps here. There are several places it could perch.”

“What does it matter where it perches?” says another one of the councilmembers, the woman Calat. Her hair is long golden braids that flow out the back of her tungsten helmet. “It can fly, you realize. We chase it to one perch, it’ll just fly to another.”

“Dragons do not perch,” Runethane Thanerzak says. “They are not birds. They lurk in the dark places until they emerge to destroy.”

“It only attacked one small guild,” Vanerak points out. He sits at the Runethane’s right hand, tungsten mask covered by gauze as usual. “And it is a small dragon, from all reports. Far smaller than those who used to rule this cavern.”

“It must be probing our defenses,” Ganzesh says. He’s not wearing a helmet today, and looks as young and foolish as he sounds.

“Our defenses are not the small guilds,” Thanerzak says. “No. This guild is the crucial element. Vanerak, you had the survivors and their master interviewed, did you not?”

“I interviewed them personally.”

“They were warned of the attack.”

“I would not say that, Runethane. The warning came only three seconds before the dragonflame.”

“But they were warned of the attack by the same dwarf who was threatened by the dragon in the forest. And the dragon later spared his life. This is most disturbing. I have never known a dragon to spare a life before. Preserve it for torture, yes. But dragons do not let people go.”

Ganzesh scratches his head. “Perhaps this is a different breed of dragon.”

“There is only one breed of dragon.”

“Wasn’t the dwarf it spared that crazy one?” Calat asks.

“Yes,” Vanerak says. “The one who attempted the fifth degree exam with the runes of mimicry.”

“The one you spared also,” Runethane Thanerzak says. “He was a fool. You should have dispatched of him.”

“You wished that candidates willing to face monsters head on be passed,” Vanerak points out. “He is braver and more skilled than most.”

“And he has a connection to this dragon. It disturbs me.”

Vanerak shrugs. “The dragon has a connection to him. It has singled him out for torture, that is all. There are other ways to torture a dwarf apart from placing him in a cage and... hurting him physically.”

Thanerzak’s skin stings. He clenches his fists at the memories. But he’s taken his revenge, is still taking it. There’s no need to relive the trauma.

“Indeed.”

“Apologies, my Runethane,” says Ganzesh. “But I feel the discussion is getting derailed somewhat. What are we going to do about the dragon? As Calat has pointed out, if we give chase it can just fly away.”

“We must close off its angles of escape. Calat, you were in charge of engineering the ballistae, were you not?”

“Yes, my Runethane.”

“I want them mobile. Mount them on wagons. How long will that take you?”

“That depends on how many runeknights I get at my disposal.”

“Hire as many as you need. I want the ballistae mobile by the end of the month. Then we will begin the hunt.”

“Understood.”

“How exactly will this hunt be undertaken?” asks one of the other councilmembers. “Are we to attempt to encircle the dragon?”

“No. We will attempt to funnel it to one of the cavern’s corners.” He turns to the map of the forest and points to a small peninsula in the rock. “Here.”

“Is that wise?” Vanerak asks. “There is a Disc above that section. We would be wise not to disturb his works.”

“The works of him cannot be so easily disturbed by our weapons, nor even by dragonfire. No. This place is where the black dragon meets his doom.”

“To guard all the ballista through the forest will take hundreds of runeknights!” Ganzesh says, aghast. “We cannot leave the city undefended.”

“We will leave enough here.”

“I just think we are overlooking the threat that Runethane Broderick poses! And the Runeking has tasked us with—”

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“The Runeking is far away from here,” Thanerzak says. “And you overestimate Runethane Broderick. He is not so powerful as I.”

“His army is larger. And the rumors I told you of before, they are true. My spies confirmed them. They speak of a most powerful addition to his runeknights.”

“Silence.” Runethane Thanerzak does not need to raise his voice to seal Ganzesh’s lips tight. “You are only two hundred years old. You do not have wisdom and experience, and you have never seen a dragon. Broderick poses not half the threat that thing does.”

“I speak my mind because I am worried for us, Runethane,” Ganzesh whispers after a long pause.

“I know. You care deeply for the city—after all, you were born here. Unlike most of us in here, it is all you have known. I will spare all the runeknights I can to defend against any attack Broderick may throw at us. And of that defense, you are in charge.”

“You trust me so?”

“Yes,” the Runethane says, though that is not quite true. He just wants to get rid of this young fool for a while. He doesn’t need his concentration disrupted.

“I thank you.”

“You are welcome. Now, we will continue with the main part of the discussion. Once the ballistae are mounted, we will stage them first at...”

The discussion lasts long into the night, if it is indeed night. Runethane Thanerzak has been avoiding sleep, and so his perception of time is rather warped at the moment. The nightmares have been getting worse.

Finally, the discussion is over. He ascends the spiraling passage flanked by the councilmembers, guards, and servants, a procession of metal moving in perfect lockstep around him. They lead him to his chambers, and he enters. Sleep is battering at his eyes, darkening his vision.

Once again he avoids it. He draws out his key of diamond and makes his way to the forge.

The weapon is nearly complete.

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

Hardrick is led into the entrance hall of the palace by his guildmates. He gazes up in wonder at the roof. He’s never seen such wealth! It is plated with gold and studded by diamonds the size of his fists—and his fists are the size of hams. Such power, such ostentation! There’s a big word, who says hitting the books doesn’t have its benefits?

Even the halls of Inevitable Victory are not so ostentatiously decorated, at least not the ones he’s been allowed into. Perhaps the main hall is this ostentatious, with ostentatious statues of the strongest members and ostentatious books filled with deadly runes, and ostentatious armor and ostentatious weapons hung upon the walls for inspiration.

“We nearly there yet?” he asks Danath.

“Nearly,” says his tall, blonde friend. “You nervous?”

“Not really.”

“You should be.”

Hardrick shrugs. “I know my armor will impress him, and if it doesn’t, my sword will.”

“We’ll see.”

Hardrick gets the feeling Danath isn’t so happy about all this. He’s never been given a personal audience with the Runethane, after all. And it’s not even as if Hardrick requested it, no, the Runethane requested it. Well, ordered it.

Wants to see the great hero for himself, does the Runethane. Hardrick grins wide, showing off his gold-capped teeth to an attractive female servant. Whoever knew moving up in the world would be so easy?

“This it?” he asks when they come to a pair of enormous ivory doors. They are patterned with a complex inlay: a battle rendered in platinum, with rubies for the various splashes of blood.

“I believe so.”

“You mean you haven’t been let in before?” Hardrick says in mock surprise.

“I've never had reason to, no.” Danath's jealousy is clear to hear. “You should knock.”

Somehow, Hardrick feels that he’s instead meant to petition the beautiful servants standing either side of the door. But why waste time? The Runethane is expecting him, isn’t he?

He strides forward and knocks loudly. The doors swing inward.

Runethane Broderick is a great appreciator of beauty. That much Hardrick has heard, yet still the work of art that is Broderick’s throne room still takes his breath away.

It has been made in an image of the surface world, wrought in precious gems and metals. Long thin emeralds make up the grass either side of the platinum-paved path. Trees of burnished copper and green agate stretch up to the ceiling of sapphires. The centerpiece of the room is a sphere of pure gold, six feet in diameter, that hovers above Broderick’s throne and shines so brilliantly Hardrick has to shade his eyes.

The throne is gold too; gold is Broderick’s favorite metal.

And Runethane Broderick on the throne? He is golden too.

Not in the sense that he wears golden armor. How crude! No. Runethane Broderick has sewn tiny golden rings into his skin. Each is only a millimeter and implanted so perfectly that not a single speck of white or pink shows. For clothes, golden chains drape him, but there aren’t quite enough of them, Hardrick thinks.

It really is every bit of skin the Runethane has turned to gold.

His beard is perhaps the most impressive part, however. The story goes that a servant once compared the gold dust he used to rub into it to dandruff. Broderick locked himself in his chambers for a year, and when he came out, he had plucked out every single hair of his beard and replaced them with golden wire.

The servant was executed.

Now this bizarre dwarf is looking down upon Hardrick. Suddenly his silver cladding does not feel so impressive.

“So you’re the one are you?” laughs Broderick. His voice is deep and mellow. “The miner?”

Hardrick goes to one knee. “I used to be. Then I found I had a talent for forging.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. I’m not a great fan of silver, you know. You might have redone it in gold.”

“Didn't have the time.”

“So what are you here for, again?”

Hardrick looks up, mildly annoyed. “You wanted to look at me.”

“Oh, yes, I remember. But not just look. Get up, will you?”

Hardrick does so.

“Give us a smile.”

Hardrick smiles, showing off his golden teeth.

“Oh, that’s more like it! Maybe you have better taste than I thought. And I hear your sword is most ferocious!”

Hardrick draws it out. This is the third version of it he has created. The runes are much better formed. Even the air seems to recoil away from it, as if in pain.

“Looks nice. Give us a swing.”

The sword keens as it passed through the air, left, right, straight down.

“Yes, very nice. You’ve been on a couple raids already, I hear?”

“Only one, actually.”

“Well, you’re going on a lot more. I need someone to really mess the other side up. Spread destruction, diminish fighting capacity, that sort of military stuff.”

“Thanks for the opportunity.”

“Big word for a miner. How would you like to be a captain instead?”

“A captain?”

“Yeah. Lead not just raids, but a proper army. You’ll be better off than your friend here.”

Hardrick hears Danath shift behind him.

“Ah, but you're only the fifth degree, right?” Broderick says.

“Yeah.”

“Well, you can get special dispensation and take the exam for third right away. Shouldn’t be so hard for you, from what I hear.”

Hardrick grins and slashes his sword in a loop around his head. The air squeals. The runes flash brightly, leave their images trailing behind the slash. “I’m sure it won’t be.”