“The reason for our ugly decoration,” I say slowly. “Was deterrence. We wanted to scare away any other iron trolls that might have been lurking in wait. And it worked.”

  “It seems that it did, but did you not think to remove them, at least on your final approach? I pride my city on its beauty, just as its founder, my father, did before me. Any inelegance dishonors his memory.”

  “I apologize. I meant no insult.”

  “It is well that I am more reasonable than my father, who would have had your head struck from your shoulders for the dishonor it brought our city, no matter who you were.”

  “I am thankful for your mercy, my Runethane.”

  “I am not your Runethane. You are not of my realm.”

  I bow. “I apologize for my poor choice of words.”

  “It does not matter, does not matter.” She shakes her head. “There are more important things to discuss before I return to my forging. First, exactly why you have brought a dead iron troll into my city. Even sealed inside its carriage, it is still an object of inelegance. And a corpse is not worth as much as refined steel. So, why bring it?”

  “I have brought it because of what it signifies, honored Runethane. A most terrible development.”

  “Oh? And what development might that be?”

  “Runes are carved into its hide.”

  “That is no uncommon occurrence here. Plenty of the beasts mistakenly think that by crudely copying our runes' shapes, they may gain some of our power.”

  “Yet in this case, it burned them in using reagent, and they are not randomly ordered, nor particularly crudely copied. They worked.”

  She raises an eyebrow the color of rose gold. “The iron trolls here are stronger than elsewhere. More intelligent yes, but greater in natural might also. I think you were mistaken.”

  “As much as I wish I were, honored Runethane, I am a second degree—have even been mistaken for first—and thus know runic power when I feel it. If you have the troll's corpse brought down here for inspection, you will see that I am right.”

  “You are awfully confident.”

  “The runes were not all. There was another kind of power held within the troll, although, as the beast rotted, it slowly vanished. But perhaps someone more expert in trolls than I will be able to find some trace.”

  “Trolls have some innate magic. Likely it is that you felt. It is not worth investigation.”

  “I have fought many trolls before, honored Runethane. Even lava trolls. And believe me, I never felt anything like what I felt from the iron trolls' chief. The poem engraved into its flesh told of flesh itself becoming powerful. There is more to the beast we fought than can be easily seen.”

  She frowns. “All right. You wield true metal, even if you do not wear it, and so perhaps I should not dismiss your suspicions so simply.”

  “Thank you, honored Runethane. Though it is cargo that cost a great deal of blood to acquire. My ally will want a fair price for it.”

  “Of course. Will its weight in pure silver suffice?”

  “I would certainly accept such a price. Though I do not know what my ally will say to it.”

  “She would drive a hard bargain indeed to refuse. Copper is not the only metal my mines are famed for.”

  “We will see. I cannot speak for her.”

  “We will see indeed. Now, for my second question: why did our Runeking take such an interest in you? Why did he break, though but momentarily, from his forging trance to save you, who were a mere fifth degree?” She leans forward. “It is difficult even to get his attention with news of hated Uthrarzak's musterings.”

  “I am surprised that you do not have more questions about the trolls. From what we saw, they had destroyed many caravans.”

  “You are stalling for time. Answer my question, if you know the answer—and I think you do.”

  I hesitate. How can I not hesitate, after what Vanerak did to me for my power? Yet lying will not help my cause.

  “I am the Second Runeforger,” I say.

  She laughs. It is high-pitched sound, like ice cracking.

  “It is true," I say. "Can you read the runes grafted to my armor? You certainly know many scripts, honored Runethane. But have you ever read anything like this one?”

  Her eyes rove across my breastplate and her laugh stops abruptly.

  “Indeed, I cannot read it,” she says. “Nor have I ever seen its like. Where did you find this script? Was it pulled from the magma seas?”

  “No. As I said, I created it. And how did you know I came from there?”

  “Runethane Vanerak slew the black dragon, he claimed. Since you were also said to have gone on that quest, and now return in armor of tungsten, it is the logical conclusion that you have spent the last decade in his realm.”

  “A decade?”

  “It has been about that long since the black dragon was slain. Or so I conjecture—news travels fast sometimes, slow other times, and sometimes news is not news at all, but lies.”

  “I see. That piece of news was the latter: a filthy lie. Vanerak did not slay the dragon, simply watched from afar, and then watched the true slayer die—Xomhyrk.”

  “The famed dragonslayer? Then Runethane Broderick's claims of slaying it are untrue also, are they?”

  “I did not see him. I think I would have—he is not easily confused for any other dwarf.”

  “Indeed he is not, or so they say.”

  “Do you believe me, honored Runethane? That Vanerak is a liar.”

  “I have met Runethane Vanerak once—and you should use his title, second degree—and did not like him. He seemed presumptuous and arrogant, much like his master was. This does not mean I believe your claims.”

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  “I will not use his title! He broke our Runeking's laws, brazenly and foully. He is vile. Perhaps you would be interested to know what happened in his realm—of the defeat and betrayal he suffered. And of his crimes that led to it.”

  “Betrayal?” Her eyes narrow. “Did you commit a second one, pardoned traitor?”

  “Is it a crime to turn against one who went against our Runeking's laws?”

  “Two crimes do not make a rightful act.”

  “Yet is it not just to go against a criminal? Especially when the assigned forces of justice are far out of reach.”

  “I am not interested in arguing philosophy with a second degree. Tell me what happened in his realm. In fact, tell me everything of your life, famed traitor, and of your powers especially. We have time. I am in no hurry.”

  "Everything? Everything that's ever happened to me?"

  "Yes."

  Cold beads of sweat form on my forehead. Some run into my cheek-wound, making it sting. I try to move my tongue, and cannot.

  "Well, runeknight?"

  What is she after? Was Volka wrong? Is this Runethane Ytith the same as Vanerak, concerned only for her own power and happy to torture anyone who comes into her grasp? Is this interrogation going to be the first of many?

  "Answer me! Are you stalling for time again? You ought to know better. If you are truly the Second Runeforger, as you claim to be, I must know the nature and origin of your powers. As must the Runeking."

  I force myself to speak stiffly:

  "He told me that my runes were likely not original, but merely poor alterations. At first they were, but not anymore. I... I have to apologize. I can't tell you of their origin, nor of their nature. I don't even know myself."

  "But listening to the saga of your life might shed some light on them. And thus I shall listen. Begin, Zathar! I am a Runethane. That is reason enough for you to obey me."

  “Very well. I'll tell you everything I can," I say meekly.

  Then I clench my fists. What reason is there for me to be afraid? I fought Vanerak to a draw! Anger, at both myself and at her, rushes into my veins.

  "But these secrets are valuable," I declare. "I have been tortured for knowledge of my power—another one of Vanerak's crimes. And deep into the magma seas, we came into the place of the first runeknights—I would like some compensation for bringing this knowledge to you. Is it not a Runethane's duty to pay her subjects?”

  She scowls. “Rising too fast has made you arrogant."

  "When I tell you of what I experienced in Vanerak's realm, and of our duel, you will understand why I do not respect the authority of Runethanes as much as most do."

  "You do not respect the authority of a Runethane? A bold admittance, especially to a Runethane. Very bold." I tense, but her expression softens slightly. "Your weapon-catcher gives you some right to be bold to me, however. You know the true metal. I'm sure I can spare something. Its exact value will depend on the quality of the tale you tell. But if it turns out that you have lied to me, pardoned traitor—it will not matter where you flee to.”

  “I've paid a high price for lying before. I assure you that I don't intend to pay it again.”

  “Then speak.”

  And so I begin to tell her everything, starting from my escape from Broderick's forging hall. I leave out no detail, for fear she will understand immediately if I omit any episode, even the most minor. She listens intently, with the patience all runeknights must develop—up until my meeting with the river trolls, when she interrupts:

  “And you thought it wise to give up our secrets to such a creature? This dwarf-troll?”

  “He saved our lives.”

  “And your lives were worth as much as the power to write runes?”

  “They were to us, at that moment, yes. And the trolls used them crudely—I did not anticipate the true power that was in the box.”

  “The first attempts to attain godhood and true immortality are said to have involved enruning crafts to improve the mind and soul directly. It is also said that most failed, horribly. I imagine that what you found was one of these. Though I do not understand why it would work so well on a troll.”

  “In any case, it only affected Dwatrall and his tribe. I don't think its power could have spread down here. The iron trolls—”

  “You presume to know much about this craft that even I can barely fathom. Why shouldn't its power have spread? But it is of no matter. Trolls are the least of our concerns with war rumbling toward us. Tell me of your next encounter with the black dragon, which you have hinted at.”

  She again lets me continue without interruption, until I tell her of the terrible heat I felt at the black dragon's blazing ascension. Then she sneers, bitterness twisting her beauty:

  “It is as some suspected, then: Runethane Thanerzak did not slay the dragons of Hazhakmar, but instead imprisoned them. I know of dragons—they do not gain power so fast from stolen crafts. It takes time for the magic to sink through their skin. The black dragon devoured its forebearers.”

  For a while, I cannot speak. I cannot comprehend—cannot believe.

  “Imprisoned them?” I eventually say. “How?”

  “Lures, traps, and chains. They would not have gone to each other's aid either. A runeknight as single-minded and revenge-thirsty as Thanerzak was, after his tortures, would have found ways. Yes, he was a clever one.”

  “Did he tell the Runeking that he'd slain the dragons?”

  “He did.”

  My face flushes hot with anger. “Then he was a traitor too, and brought his doom upon himself!”

  “Indeed. Though you were one agent of that doom.”

  “For which I have been pardoned.”

  “Quite. Now, calm yourself and continue. Tell me of your escape, and how you gained further knowledge of your power.”

  From now on she interrupts more regularly. Most of her questions, just as Vanerak's were, are about the nature of my abilities. I tell her as much as I can about them, and speculate also on how they came to me—perhaps through my blood, or perhaps through some kind of possession, or perhaps I unknowingly came close to the sphere while mining in the deepest depths of Broderick's gold tunnels. It was there I spent my youngest days, listening to my brother spin tales of how we were to become the greatest of runeknights, side by side.

  Yet despite my honesty, I detect suspicion behind her eyes. She does not believe in my power. She asks many times about the runes we found in the magma seas, and is very skeptical when I tell her that they had no strength in them at all.

  “And did anyone try to graft them onto metal?”

  “They did.”

  “With every reagent? Every combination of materials?”

  “I believe first degree Halax undertook such experiments. They yielded no power.”

  “I see. Continue.”

  I tell her of Pellas' death and torture. She looks disgusted, but makes no remarks. I tell her of my discovery of the true metal, and she seems almost impressed, but again, says nothing. Eventually I come to the final battle against the demons and their creator. She leans forward, fascinated.

  I tell her how I slew Nazak and battled Vanerak to a standstill below the statue of the First Runeforger. Still she asks no questions, but there is a light in her eyes now—the light of greed.

  My tale finishes, and she sits back.

  “It is a most interesting life you have led, Zathar Runeforger. And you uncovered a most deep secret under the magma. Or rather, Runethane Vanerak did. Now I see why our Runeking sent him there. It was not only to get him out of Allabrast quickly.”

  “And now you have the knowledge that he was meant to give our Runeking.”

  “Valuable knowledge, are you trying to say?”

  “Is it not?”

  “It is.”

  “I must pay for passage below, back to the fort. That is the only reward I ask of you—a bargain.”

  “You are so keen to leave that I am almost insulted. Does my city's beauty not move you?”

  “It does," I say hurriedly. "Your city is more beautiful even than Allabrast. Yet I swore to my friends I would come to them.”

  “True. But I still have not passed judgement on this second betrayal of yours. Runethane Vanerak, for all his crimes, was still your Runethane. And the only proof he destroyed your guild was from the raving mouth of a torture victim, and that only second-hand.”

  “Honored Runethane, he—”

  “Silence, runeknight! I must think. Kneel at the base of the steps and wait upon your fate.”

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