The keeper sat in the vault and did not count the gold again because she had learned long ago that counting was a form of speaking, and Dumathoin did not permit unnecessary speech in his service. The wealth here had been accumulating for two centuries. No one living knew the full measure of it except her. A young dwarf brought word that the council wanted access to the reserve. She said nothing, only walked to the entrance of the vault and sealed it with a gesture that no one but another keeper would recognize. The gold had been placed in this darkness for a reason. It would remain in this darkness until the moment it was truly needed. That moment might come in a year. It might come in a thousand. The vault was cool and absolute. The gold did not judge. The keeper did not judge. She was simply the guardian of this threshold, the keeper of the boundary between the wealth hidden and the wealth used. Others might make the decision of when the boundary was crossed. She would not. She simply held the line. In the darkness of the vault, she felt more at peace than anywhere else. This was Dumathoin's gift; the understanding that not all things are meant to be used, not all wealth is meant to be spent, and the deepest power rests in what is held in secret, waiting, patient, for the moment when a secret's value becomes absolute...