The long-hours pass painfully slowly. It seems that nothing can make my waiting for the real war to arrive less interminable. The best wines do not cheer me, the best pork tastes bland on my tongue, and my armies seem sluggish and ill-coordinated, useless.

After seeing what Ytith's runeknights are capable of, how can my own ever hope to impress? It seems that most don't even bother to clean their armor properly.

Maybe I ought not to be keeping Graveknife at my side all the time. It drains the life from my surroundings, even sheathed as I always keep it. When I walk into a room, all laughter vanishes, and the color in bright lanterns fades.

Right now, I am leaning over the maps I've had brought into the main hall, tracing aimless lines with my finger. I can't even remember what I brought them in for. I'd blame the wine for this, but even barrels of the stuff doesn't really affect my mood much recently. It's just sour. I'm not even sure why I continue to drink it.

That's right—I was examining the main caravan routes. They're the only continuous passages long enough to transport a full army with any real speed and strength. It's them that Uthrarzak's legions will march down, when they finally do show up.

I really can hardly wait. Battle is a terrible thing, yes, but sometimes the waiting can be worse. The city is becoming restless. The price of food is beginning to rise quite high indeed—for the commoners, it is rationed.

A knock comes on the door and I tell the guards to open it. It's probably Lekudr, complaining about another maiming in the contests. Perhaps even a death, this time.

"Runethane Zathar!" someone calls, a voice I do not recognize.

I turn, and actually I have seen this dwarf once before. He wears gilded steel armor, and his sword has a purple sheen through its split scabbard. He's one of the Runeking's messengers. I stand as he hurries toward me, hand outstretched, and in it a crisp letter.

I take it from him and read:

Runethanes,

You are to gather in the heart as before.

Runeking Ulrike

I look up at the messenger, frowning. "This makes me suspicious."

"He passed it to us himself," he says, and I notice he's trembling a little. "And he told us that we were to impress upon you all some urgency."

"Did he, now?"

"Yes, my Runethane. I would not delay—"

"It was the Runeking himself that gave you it? And he wore his crown?"

"Of course, my Runethane."

"It shone with the same power and majesty it always does?"

"Yes!"

I scrutinize him a little further, and then look the letter over again as well, and then once more. It does seems to be made of the same semi-golden material as the last one, and this runeknight is senior enough to be able to tell real metal and gems from cleverly-worked stone, I think. He speaks the truth: this is straight from Ulrike himself.

"Very well," I say. "I will be off as soon as I can."

"With me, Runethane. If you'd please. We were also ordered to accompany you."

Excitement and worry creep within me. "This truly is urgent, isn't it?"

"Yes."

Beneath his cracking mask of composure, the runeknight is exasperated, and very worried. Some factor has changed in the war, a calculation altered drastically, and not for the better.

The rush of blood is finally going to arrive.

We sit at the same places as last time—those of us who are here. Several of the more senior Runethanes are yet to appear, including most of those around my place. Ytith remains, and Runethane Lapek with his grisly axe, but Duthur, Kalthan and the other powerful dwarves are nowhere to be seen.

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No one is talking. Ytith greeted me with a word, and Gaflek with a few, though even he seems subdued. I think briefly about raising the subject of Grovik's treachery to him, then think better of it. It is likely a sore point for him, and besides, I cannot help but feel that the topic of tonight's gathering is far more important than just one Runethane changing sides.

After about half an hour, the main doors open. The missing Runethanes and Thanic Guardsdwarves march through, Duthur at their forefront. His expression is grim. Everyone looks grim. Questions are whispered as they sit down, but they do not answer.

"Give us a hint at least," says Gaflek, with uncharacteristic irritation in his voice.

"You will hear soon enough," says Kalthan, bladed armor looking bloody from the reflections of the ruby walls.

"Why were you told before us, anyway?"

"It's the older ones he wished to discuss our courses of action with first."

"Uthrarzak's made his move," spits Lapek. "That is what this has to be." He glares at Kalthan. "Well?"

Kalthan looks away. Lapek's face twists, but he says no more. It's clear the Runeking has ordered them to say nothing yet.

The main doors close loudly, and further waiting begins. My impatience is becoming too much to bear. Dread and excitement are making me sick. On one hand, I am worried for my dwarves, and on the other, visions of blood and death are making my blood run hot. My ruby is warm and Graveknife cold.

The doors swing open once again. A procession all in gold comes forth, no less than ten of the Runeking's guild—his automatons. I have never seen so many gathered in one place before, and I flinch back, as do several Runethanes. The two leading are a little taller than the rest, and their movements not so stable, and yet I can tell by the shine of their gold that their power is very great. Certainly they are more powerful than I am.

Behind them marches Runeking Ulrike in his full armor and with a sword at his side. The Eyes in his towering crown peer through us. My hand clasps around Graveknife. I can feel them looking at it very intently.

He pulls out his great chair, but does not sit down, just stands before it. His golden entourage forms a line behind him. We wait, breathless, for him to speak.

"I bring grave news," he says. "Worse than any of us expected, including myself."

My heart beats harder, and my head grows light. I feel dizzy.

"We have been preparing hard to do battle against hated Uthrarzak. Indeed, several armies began to march out in this past long-hour to move to more favorable positions. Yet it seems that a battle for our very survival is about to break out at the very outset of this war."

What can he mean? My head spins. Are we going to fight against someone else, not Uthrarzak? Something else, even? I see visions of dragons and hordes of trolls.

"Tell us!" Runethane Lapek roars. "If you hold any respect for us, tell us!"

The Runeking briefly looks at him, then continues.

"Runeking Bolotorok has surrendered to the Twin Runekings of the dry lands, and granted them passage through his territory."

A sense of confusion seems to wash over the hall. This is serious news, no doubt, but not entirely unexpected. Besides, the Twins are considered to be rather less powerful than Uthrarzak, and Runeking Bolotorok's realm is far from small. It will take them a long while to get to the border, even with free passage. There are not so many caravan-ways there.

"I see that you are not all so concerned," says the Runeking. "But I have not yet given you the other half of it—the Twin Runekings have decided to move over the surface, to accept the burning of the sun. And the humans of Hyvaen are giving them passage." A shadow of worry seems to pass over his face. "They will be over Allabrast within but a few dozen long-hours. They are running fast. I can guess that they will assault from above, through the Blue Shaft. We cannot allow them to gain access; we must fight on the surface also, and drive them back or else slay them all."

Shocked shouts ring out. Clamor and chaos ensue; dwarves leap to their feet shouting for blood and vengeance, though I stay seated.

"We never should have trusted him!"

"The humans must pay for this!"

"Punish them!"

"We must send a force to Bolotorok—and stick his head on a pike!"

"Death to the humans!"

"Death to the Twins!"

"Silence!" screams one of the golden runeknights.

The sound is discordant and piercing and I cover my ears. But silence does not yet fall. Those here are Runethanes, and not so easily cowed.

"Silence yourself!" Lapek shouts back. He is holding his axe. "We have much to say, and questions to ask! Are we not Runethanes? Are we not rulers in our own rights? Why has this been kept from so many of us!"

His words have the effect the golden runeknight's did not. The hall quietens down. The Runeking has some explaining to do, we are all thinking. Both about his actions and the machinations of the Twins'.

"I will answer your questions gladly," he says. "As for your last, I have been keeping no secrets. I learned the news but a long-hour ago. I debated much with myself about what to do, and then I called my most trusted for a private discussion, which lasted but an hour before I addressed you all just now."

Runethane Lapek is not satisfied. "You put them above us, do you? We should be treated as equals."

"Be quiet," says Duthur, in a tone of contempt. "You are not equal to me."

"That is enough," warns the Runeking. "I will choose who I value most for my closed councils. I'm sure you do the same within your guilds."

Runethane Lapek appears as if he is going to say something more, but Ytith quickly speaks.

"You seem very sure of their war-plans, my Runeking. How can you know they will not descend in some place other than the Blue Shaft?"

"I cannot be sure of that, and thus we will station forces elsewhere, too. But the main shield of our defense will be directly above the city."

"I see."

I remember what Gaflek told me during the last meeting, about how Ulrike was first and foremost of Allabrast, only caring about the other realms so far as they protected him and his wealth.

"As for the exact composition and shape of this shield, that is what we will now discuss," continues the Runeking. "The dwarves of the dry lands fight very differently to Uthrarzak's legions. They are wild and frenzied, with little discipline but great strength all the same. I will open a discussion on how our forces should be arranged. We will not leave here until the details have been worked out, and then you will organize your dwarves accordingly."

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