I wait before my anvil. It's like none I've ever seen before: into the square side are cut oddly shaped holes, and it has two horns, a normal one and a smaller, sharper one sticking out at a right angle. It isn't steel either, but some kind of white rock. The furnace is even more disturbing—it's nearly as tall as I am, and on its side are about two dozen switches.

Before I have a chance to examine them further, I hear the voice of Judge Daztat.

“Careful not to touch,” he says. “We wouldn't want the trial to end before it's even begun.”

I turn around and narrow my eyes at him.

“Would we?” he says.

“Of course not. Will the bell ring soon?”

“Yes. Judge Gerapek is just saying a few words to the crowd. You've pulled in quite the turnout.”

“All of them eager to see justice done—for a price.”

“Everything has a price. You're old enough to know that.”

Including judges.

“However, you are allowed to look at the materials catalogue, you know.”

“I'll wait for the bell, if it's all the same to you.”

He scowls. “That's not the kind of tone you ought to be taking with me, young dwarf.”

“Nevertheless, I'll wait for the bell.”

“Fine.” He shrugs. “Do as you please.”

As if on cue, the clang of a great bell shivers up through the arena floor, nearly shaking me from my feet. It comes again, then once more. Patterns form in the pearly gray sand that look almost like faces, then they fade.

“That's the bell,” says Judge Daztat. “Call me over when you've chosen your materials. Don't take too much time. Remember that the sand is flowing.”

He points to an array of sand timers on a shelf cut into the dividing wall. There are five of them: one for seconds, one for minutes, one for short-hours, one for long-hours, and a final one for the two long-hours that I have before my craft is judged. No servant is required to turn each over once it's reached its limit—it flips of its own accord.

But I'm not going to let the judges rush me. That would only be playing into Vanerak's hands. Instead I'm going to take my time and plan my craft thoroughly.

I walk to the writing desk and sit down, push the materials catalogue to one side. I search the drawer for some blank paper then pick up the writing implement—not a pen, but a strange gray stick—and begin to sketch.

My helmet is going to be conical, I quickly decide. This is the shape most resistant to blows from above, the most powerful kind of hammer-stroke. All the force will be dissipated down the sides, rather than crushing into the top, and the runes I'm going to write will enhance this effect.

Cones aren't the easiest shapes to forge, though. I'll have to be very exact when I shape the metal. I go to Judge Daztat:

“I need to know the dimensions of the armor stand,” I say.

“It'll be slightly larger than your own head.”

“I need to know the exact dimensions. It needs to be a good fit.”

“I'll see what I can do. Do you need them now?”

“As soon as possible—actually, I'd like to measure the stand myself. Is that possible?”

“Do you really think that's necessary?”

“Yes. I do.”

He shrugs. “Well, it's probably allowed. I'll have to consult with Judge Gerapek.”

“Please do it quickly.”

“He'll be here soon enough, I imagine.”

“Good.”

I turn back to my papers, rather irritated. Why was I not given the dimensions immediately? Any runeknight knows that the fit of a piece of armor is vital. That's part of the reason we don't use each others' equipment: we forge to exact dimensions.

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I bet I was meant to be given them, but there was some miscommunication down the line, courtesy of Vanerak, or more likely one of his lackeys. And clearly Judge Daztat has been instructed to be of as little help as possible.

Well, it is what it is. These are just the odds I'm up against. I continue my sketches, trying to at least work out the angles if I can't yet get the lengths. I'll do an open-faced design. Adding a visor would just waste time, since the helmet itself will be the target, not the false head it'll be covering.

Once I have a few basic ideas sketched out, I open up the materials catalogue. I flick through, looking for titanium. That's the material I'm best used to forging with now.

My head spins: there's a huge selection of different alloys available, many of which include metals I've never heard of. I suppose I ought to stick to what I used down in the fort. I rack my memory trying to recall what it was called. It was some mix that included a metal beginning with a 'v' sound... Or did it just have a number?

I flick through to the back of the section and find one that might be what I'm looking for, but it's a full one gold wheel per square inch at the thickness I want. Even though I learned at the Red Anvil that an inch in Allabrast is judged to be slightly longer than in most other realms, for some obscure reason, it's still far too expensive.

So I flick back to the middle of the section. I tug my beard in frustration: there's just too many options! Besides, I don't know much about alloys anyway. They're a complicated field of study.

I decide to stop fretting over it and go for something middling in price. That way I'll have enough metal to spare that if I make a mistake it won't be a total disaster, and still have plenty golden wheels left to buy metal and reagent for runes plus other miscellaneous items with.

I take the catalogue to Judge Daztat and point to the alloy I've chosen.

“I'd like a twenty by ten inch, four millimeter thick sheet of this, please. Plus seven five millimeter diameter twelve inch rods of the same alloy, and a twenty inch rod also. I believe the total comes to twenty-three gold wheels.”

“Plus tax, that'll be twenty-six gold wheels.”

I scowl. “Tax?”

“Yes, tax. I trust you're familiar with the concept? Or maybe you wish to add tax avoidance to your long list of crimes?”

“Just get me the metal, will you?”

“Of course.”

He calls a guard over. I make sure to keep close by so that I hear every word, but he relays my order without error. I return to the writing desk and continue to work on my sketches. My hands are shaking with anger. Tax indeed! No doubt he's going to pocket the difference himself, and I can't do a single thing about it.

Sixteen minutes later, by the count of the sand clock, the guard returns with my materials. I inspect them and am satisfied they're of good quality. By now I've decided on the overall design for my helmet, and just need to get the measurements for the armor stand to calculate the final dimensions.

I watch the sand flow in the timers. Nearly half of the sand in the short-hour timer has drained down, so I've been here an hour already—and I still can't start! I grit my teeth and approach Judge Daztat once more.

“Please, I really need the dimensions,” I say, trying to hide my irritation as best I can. “Could you please get me them?”

“When Judge Gerapek is finished whatever business he has up there, I'll talk to him.”

“And how long will that take?”

He shrugs. “No idea.”

“If you don't have the dimensions, then maybe I could just see the armor stand. I'm sure one of the guards could bring it in.”

“I don't know if that's allowed.”

He's one of the damn judges! How could he possibly be unaware if that's allowed or not? And why in hell would it not be allowed? My fists clench tight. Judge Daztat smirks very slightly.

“I'm sure there's plenty to prepare in the meantime,” he says. “Why don't you start by arranging the tools, or cleaning out the furnace?”

This time, I can't help but narrow my eyes. “I'd presumed it was already cleaned.”

“It ought to be. Still, wouldn't hurt to check, surely? A thorough equipment check is in order at the beginning of every forging session. Even initiates know that.”

“Of course they do.”

I stalk off back to the forging area and open up the massive furnace. It looks clean, certainly—but what about the inner workings? I walk around to the back. The sheet of metal there is fixed with screws, which I could probably undo.

I glance back at Judge Daztat. He's watching me. I take my hands away from the back of the furnace. I'm sure it's perfectly clean, and he just wants me to try opening it up so I can accidentally break something.

Instead of doing that, I take a look at the switches on the side. There's a lot of fancy stuff, like the ability to time burns, or have the temperature slowly increase or decrease over time. Though I've had a read of the manual—it was one of the books in my cell—I think it'd be a mistake to experiment with those functions. I'll just stick to the basic methods of operation.

I go through the tool cabinet next, and take out everything I know how to use—which is only about half of what's in there. Again, I'm only going to make use of what I'm confident in. Once this is done, I glance up at the sand timers. Nearly a whole short-hour has passed—one thirty-fifth of a long-hour—so one seventieth of my time is up and I haven't been able to swing my hammer even once!

I'm getting sick of this. I want to forge! Not only to win this contest and find justice, but because it's in my nature. My dwarven instincts are crying out for me to heat the furnace, work the metal!

Then, finally, some luck. Two guards appear at the arena entrance and start to drag an armor stand through the sand toward me. I hurry past Judge Daztat to them.

“So I am meant to have this?”

“Yes,” says the guard. “Idiot servants forgot.”

“I'll drag it from here.”

Judge Daztat is already hurrying over.

“All right,” says the guard.

I give Judge Daztat a smile as I drag the stand past him. He scowls, but it seems he doesn't want to kick up so much of a fuss. Vanerak doesn't have absolutely everyone running this trial in his pocket, it seems.

I set it up next to the writing desk, measure with a tape, and calculate the dimensions for my helmet design. Then I pick up my sheet of titanium and grin fiercely.

Finally, it's time to forge.