The discussion is long and fierce. After the initial shock dies down, the Runethanes begin to argue for the most honorable positions in the battle. That is their main concern—honor for their realm and guild, glory and rewards, as it always is. No one wants to be put in the reserves below the Shaft, unable to participate in the battle at all.

"We must have at least a few Runethanes down in the city," one dwarf in triple-gilded steel is saying. "I volunteer Holbrik for the duty."

Holbrik, a frightening looking dwarf in black armor with more spikes than plates, bristles at the suggestion. "You should do the duty yourself, Roinlam! Or else the Thanic Guard ought to—and the golden machines. They are from Allabrast, are they not?"

Several of the Thanic Guard erupt in anger at the suggestion. They all want honor and glory for themselves. Indeed, they're some of the most ambitious here. Powerful enough to rule a realm and yet without any land bar some small district of the city, or sometimes not even that, they are burning with lust for glory.

"Do you not understand that guarding the base of the Shaft could be the most honorable position of all?" Runethane Duthur calls from the top of the table. "You dishonor us, Holbrik and Roinlam."

"You dishonor us by forgetting our titles, old Duthur!" Holbrik shouts back. "Why don't you volunteer for the position, then?"

Runethane Duthur sneers and does not deign to reply.

The argument has been continuing like this for some time now, with no signs of drawing to a close. Nothing has been concluded; the arguments for positions on the vanguard and the front are no less fierce than those to avoid placement away from the main melee. All the while, the Runeking sits and watches, as do his golden automatons.

They intimidate me, as indeed all of powerful dwarves here still do. Graveknife may exert a malign influence of its own, with its runic power that casts fear and discomfort through any room I enter, but the weapons gathered here are far more powerful and it is overwhelmed. Lapek's axe reeks of death and violence. Ytith's sword and buckler, even obscured by the table, have a presence I can all but see. And that is nothing to say of Duthur's weapon, which he has finally decided to bring.

It leans against his chair, very tall and bright. In many ways it reminds me of Xomhyrk's spear, in color at least, yet it is clearly stronger even than that fearsome weapon. It's pure diamond cleverly faceted to look as if it's just been pulled fresh from the stone, though its many subtle symmetries can only have been made by an expert's hand.

Runes run all the way through it, too: tiny etchings in the diamond which glitter like a million oil-slicks. I cannot tell exactly what kind of power it holds, but it is easy to understand that Steelpierce is inferior to it by far, and that it would go through my War Armor like the true steel was only crudely beaten iron.

The arguments continue, increasing in volume and fervor both. Gradually I begin to grow irritated. Our foes are on the march while we sit around shouting at each other; rushing headlong for us is a horde of mad dwarves draped in chains of offensive power and warped healing. They don't even fear the sun, so crazed are they with visions of our riches. The dry lands are poor in ore, and the sand-blocked caverns have little growing in them either. To them, our lands are like paradise.

I give Gaflek a look. He shrugs.

"Same as last time, isn't it?" I say.

"You've learned fast."

"Do you think the Runeking will end it soon?"

"Who can say? But I think this meeting will a little last longer than the last. Now the threat is more pressing, everyone is fighting a little more seriously, and thus they'll endure for longer."

I sigh. It seems that I've been pulled from my waiting just to have to wait further. Patience is one thing in the forge, when you're working toward something great, but this is just infuriating. I have no control over the proceedings—and I wish some of the others, who ought to know better, would have the good sense to realize the same. Some do, I think, and are just putting on a show, using this as an opportunity to insult and belittle their rivals, but others are completely under the illusion that what they say matters.

Eventually even the Runeking's patience fails. He stands up. Some still continue to argue even so. A few minutes under the gaze of his Eyes, however, and even the most worked-up Runethanes and Thanic Guards quieten down.

"I thank you all for your input," Runeking Ulrike says, "and I am glad that you are all most eager to join battle and protect our great city from the murderous thieves seeking to plunder it. You show no fear even at the thought of facing not one, but two Runekings. Though they are not as powerful as Uthrarzak, they will be terrible foes even so."

Although I am keeping my focus on the Runeking, I still get the sense that nervous looks are exchanged down the table behind me. Perhaps some of the more eager dwarves have overlooked that last fact, though I certainly have not.

"In any case, I've decided more or less which armies ought to be positioned where. But before I announce the order of battle, remember that no matter where you stand, you are doing a great and honorable duty. This coming fight will be one of the most terrible in memory and out of it, and every dwarf who stands in our lines will see his name in the tomes, or his image in the mosaics and tapestries."

Should they survive, I think, but do not say. My earlier shock and worry resurfaces. This conflict is going to weaken us no matter what. And Uthrarzak already has more soldiers than we do.

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"The order of battle is to be as follows," continues the Runeking. "In the center, Runethane Duthur and one thousand of his strongest, his other nine thousand to be in the immediate reserve. Beside him, Runethane Kalthan and..."

"We are to be part of the immediate reserves," I tell the gathered commanders. "That means once Runethanes Duthur and Kalthan's forces tire, we will be the ones to rotate in first. We may also have to reinforce weakening points in the lines, from any direction. As you can see, the terrain is more or less flat and thus we could be attacked from any angle."

Our meeting place this hour is not deep in the mine, but rather the main hall of the guest house. I've decided that not only the captains of my own guild should be involved, but the leaders of the other guilds too, as well as every first-degree under my command also.

Before me is spread a simple map. In its center is a dot of blue ink, denoting the Shaft. Around are sketched blocks and squares named for the Runethanes whose forces they denote. At the far left is a large red arrow—this is the direction our foes will likely arrive from.

"I'd hoped for the frontline," says Ithis, rather predictably.

"As did I," I say. "But orders are orders. We must obey."

"It shows the Runeking's view of us rather well," says Lekudr. "He wishes to see what we are capable of, us and our runes, but he doesn't want us in the forefront of the danger. His most dependable will be there."

"Whatever his reasons, it's time for us to decide where to put our own forces. It would be foolish to concentrate all our strongest at the front. I feel sure that this battle in going to turn into a right mess. They'll surround us, or at least flank us in some fashion." I take a quill, dip it in red ink and draw two horns curving out from the arrow. "We must be prepared for that."

"I agree," says Rtayor, and most everyone else echoes him.

"I would ask for a place at your side," says silver-clad Guildmaster Huirah, whose guild remains a powerful one. "And I would ask this for some of the other guilds, too. We must show a united front."

"By which you mean there's no reason for the Runic League to get all the glory," Ithis says.

Huirah shrugs. "That too. I do not deny it."

"Who gets what glory is irrelevant," I snap. "Compared to victory and defeat, glory is nothing. The outcome of this battle is far from certain—think deeply on these words."

An uneasy quiet falls. It seems to me that a lot here see this coming assault as a mere prelude to the main war. A bloody one to be sure, but something we will inevitably win. Ulrike against Uthrarzak is to be the grand event, and this battle to be a mere exercise. To my mind this way of thinking is idiotic, and I'd hoped for better from my dwarves.

"Besides," I say, a little more calmly, "as I have said, I am predicting a descent into chaos as soon as the battle starts. Positions will change. Look." I point out a few hillocks and copses marked on the map by lines and groups of dots. "It'll be easy to conceal forces here, and here, and here. Probably they'll be elites, and quick ones too. And I do not particularly trust in the strength of these formations." I point several out. "Their commanders are too rash."

"The lines will weaken there, then," says Brognir. "And we will be called on to reinforce."

"Or they might simply be broken through," says Ithis. He points to a block on the left flank. "Yes—Runethane Holbrik has a poor reputation. A disciplined foe could cut through his lot with ease. There's certain to be bloody fighting through here."

"You can lead the left-hand section of our forces then," I tell him. "That is what you are angling for, no?"

He smiles. "My company will do bloody work on them, guildmaster. You have my word on this."

"I'm sure they will. As for the rest of the guilds, and my captains, here is what I have been thinking..."

Even despite my earlier warning that glory means little compared to victory and defeat, the jostling that follows is only a little less fierce than it was in the Hall of the Golden Heart. No one wishes to be left out of the fighting, especially the more minor guilds, desperate to forge reputations for themselves. Their barking is loud and aggravating, and I nearly lose my temper several times. And there is another problem, too:

"We do not get along with that lot," is a line often said. "Put them somewhere else!"

"Put your differences behind you," is my usual reply. "We're of the same realm. Understand this!"

Factionalism within the army has gotten worse than I expected. Maybe Lekudr is right that the violence of the contests ought to be turned down a little. Several minor blood-feuds seem to be brewing, which I do not like one bit.

After a lot of wasted breath, the positions are finally decided. Not everyone is happy with their lot, but they can do nothing about it and, besides, I am sure that once the battle is over, these neat blocks and formations represented on the paper will be scattered and mixed beyond recognition. There isn't a dwarf from the realm who won't have blood on his armor.

"There is one last thing I wish to say," I tell them before their dismissal. "It relates to the humans of Hyvaen."

Some mutter angrily, though most just look sad. No one expected our trade-partners to give passage to our enemies, even if it's obvious that they had little choice. If they'd refused, their own lands would have been ravaged by war.

"I do not think they are particularly happy with what has happened," I say. "They've been humiliated."

Lekudr nods. "We should not be swearing vengeance on them, as so many from other realms are."

"Indeed. But not all are swearing vengeance. Runethanes Gaflek and Ytith both do good trade with Hyvaen, as do several others. Indirectly, Allabrast benefits by this as well—a good amount of the food and ale here is of surface origin. So, I don't think the Runeking will find it remiss or presumptuous if we extend an offer to them."

The gathered commanders look at each other.

"You mean to the humans?" one guildmaster asks.

"Yes."

"What kind of an offer?" says another.

"A simple one: I am going to write a letter suggesting that they send a force of their own to the battle. One with many wizards, and perhaps cavalry—horse-riders. In return, we will offer a deal of the metal we gain from our victory, and of course a promise of future generous trade agreements."

There is some grumbling at this.

"With respect," says Ithis, "I do not particularly like the idea that we should offer gold to those who have let our enemies through to us."

Many murmurs of agreement rise. I raise a hand to quiet them.

"I understand your concern. It does send a rather bad precedent. However, like I said—the humans of Hyvaen are probably aching for an opportunity to wreak revenge on this great army. If they come, they will be burning with bloodlust. They will be fierce friends. And if they are, and slay many of our foes for us, we will gain great thanks from the Runeking—if he hasn't extended any similar offer himself. I would not exclude this possibility."

"No matter what happens, the others will look down on us," Huirah points out.

I shrug. "Most already do. I don't care what they think, only of our victory. Some of you have seen first-hand the power of human magic. If the others should witness it bent against our enemies, performed by wizards here at our call, they will not be so dismissive of us anymore."

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