Chapter 8

The wall at the end of the tunnel loomed before Damen Hitema, indifferent to his frustrations.

“Maybe the rankler popped out of thin air,” Siòn smirked.

If it weren’t for the hardened carapace of his druidic armour, Damen might have scratched his head. “Waking Dreams could have teleported it here,” he grumbled unconvincingly even to himself.

Damen caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see a small rock rise up off the tunnel floor, seemingly on its own.

“That’s seriously what you’re going with?,” Drue’s disembodied voice sighed. Then the invisible Lightbringer launched her projectile straight through the wall where it disappeared from view.

“Ospios wept,” Damen grunted in surprise and disgust. “A blighted illusion.”

Siòn couldn’t resist the opportunity, of course. “So much for those finely tuned druidic senses,” he taunted sarcastically. “Tell me, how many ‘dead ends’ did we pass already?”

Damen growled low in his throat but had to admit the Lightbringer rifleman had a point.

“There’s still much about draconic magic we don’t understand,” Drue came to Damen’s defense. “But we do need to report this. Who knows what else we might have missed?”

The thought of dealing with the belligerent Oathbinder Erkas once more soured Damen’s mood even more. He could just imagine the competitive troll druid’s smugness for Damen ‘missing’ such an important clue.

Damen felt a tentative pulse against his life aura, a querying harmonic through his connection with Angry Betty. His interest and alertness spiked immediately in response. But then the druid realized the feeling wasn’t the same as what he’d felt when the bloodsword warned him about the rankler. He probed his connection to the ancient artefact but couldn’t make anything of the response. The powerful bloodsword was layered in enchantments after centuries of use and many weren’t even known to the Order anymore. Damen wasn’t the only wielder who’d attributed certain ‘personality quirks’ to the weapon, but no one had yet devised a means to communicate with its crystalline awareness directly, assuming it was even possible.

The druid drew back from within himself and returned his attention to his material surroundings then addressed his companions out loud.

“No.” Damen shook his armoured head for emphasis. “We can’t report in just yet.”

“What?” Siòn frowned at Damen. “Why not?”

“We don’t know anything we didn’t before.”

“Yes we do,” Drue protested. “We know these caves could be riddled with illusions.”

Damen latched onto the opportunity she’d unwittingly provided. “‘Could’ is the key word. We don’t know if there are more. We don’t even know what - if anything - is on the other side of this one.”

“The rankler knows.” Siòn snorted. “We should have questioned it before the burial.”

“Do you ever take anything seriously?” Drue snapped.

“Not if I can help it,” he shrugged. “I mean ... look at us. We’re hunting Void demons and walking corpses in an underground dragon’s lair. If that isn’t blighted hilarious, I don’t know what is.”

“Can you scry past the illusion, Sister Arden?” Damen directed his words to the empty air. Though truthfully he didn’t really know if Drue was still there. The scout’s cloak of invisibility was flawless. “I can only sense rock and dirt before us. Even though I’ve seen with my own two eyes that’s clearly not the case.”

A mirage-like shimmer of air appeared before Damen, a distortion of light which cleared to reveal Drue reaching to her belt pouch. She traced a glowing white rune with her glassy-tipped arcane wand in the air before her. When completed, it compressed down upon itself to form a translucent, green orb which scooted towards the wall. But instead of passing through like the rock it shattered into dozens of glowing fragments which disappeared before they hit the ground.

Damen watched Drue’s face as she frowned, though she seemed more intrigued than annoyed.

“I take it that wasn’t supposed to happen?” Siòn whispered to Damen loudly, but Drue ignored his baiting this time. Often enough, Damen found that to be the best response to Siòn’s acerbic humour as well.

“Waking Dreams’ defenses are more than just illusions,” Damen answered with a feeling of vindication. “There’s only one way we’ll find out where that rankler came from.”

“Which we can do just as easily after we report what we’ve found,” Drue insisted. But her voice still had that absent tone to it and her eyes hadn’t left the illusionary wall.

Damen grinned. As a scout, Drue’s curiosity was an asset. But it could also be a weakness.

“But ‘Sir Mountain’ here does have a point,” Siòn said before Damen could speak. “All we’ve found so far are empty tunnels. Suspiciously empty, this being the Enclave of a who-knows-how-old dragon.” The dark-haired rifleman shrugged. “And I’d feel a lot better telling that arrogant little dragon patriarch Erkas that we’ve found something truly noteworthy.”

“Especially if Oathbinder Blythe’s being hassled from higher up.” Drue sounded worried.

“And here’s our chance to help make sure that doesn’t continue.” Aside from the offense Damen had personally taken from Erkas’ attacks he too hadn’t liked the way the troll implied Blythe was being questioned.

He placed a reassuring arm around Drue’s shoulder and gestured towards what they now knew to be an illusionary wall.

“All we have to do is continue to follow the orders he’s already given us.”

The much shorter woman glanced sideways - well, perhaps as much up than sideways - at the tall druid’s armoured faceplate.

“Laying it on a bit thick,” she said wryly. “Still ... it doesn’t mean you’re wrong.”

“Lead the way, my heavily armoured companion.” Siòn swept his arm low in an over-exaggerated bow. “We’ll be right behind you. Be sure to shout nice and loud when you find our rankler’s other friends.”

Damen removed his arm from around Drue’s shoulders and snorted loudly. “Where’s that sense of adventure you had back in that bear cave, Brother Siòn?” He reached over his shoulder and pulled Angry Betty from his back. “What was it you said? ‘Adventure and treasure awaits!’”

Siòn directed an exaggerated grimace Damen’s way while Drue smiled briefly. Then, the Lightbringer druid boldly stepped forward into the illusionary wall and into the unknown.

He passed through with no resistance whatsoever, his vision filled with swirling colours. This lasted for one or two steps then the colours cleared as his vision returned to normal. As soon as it did he halted in his tracks and he took in the gold-bronze splendor before him.

A vast dome arched high above the large, circular chamber in which he now stood. The dome, the walls and even the chamber’s floor were formed of bronzed-gold orichalcum. Damen couldn’t even begin to imagine what that much of the precious metal would be worth if it were sold on the open market.

Dominating the centre of the room stood a great Willow tree, but one unlike any seen on the surface. The Willow’s highest branches reached far above towards the high centre-point of the dome while its roots laid buried beneath the smooth, metallic floor. The Willow’s trunk was pale white, its thin bark shading towards yellow in certain areas. Its branches split off into long, hanging tendrils which drooped down towards the ground.

What truly distinguished the Willow from any of its mundane counterparts on the surface were the tiny, glowing yellow lights which sprouted from the hanging tendrils in place of leaves. There were hundreds of them ... thousands ... more than Damen could possibly count. They filled the entire chamber with a brightness and pleasant warmth he could actually feel through his magical armour. From time to time, one of the teardrop-shaped ‘leaves’ would detach from the tree, but they didn’t fall to the ground as normal leaves would do. Instead, the glowing, tear-shaped ‘leaf’ would drift up towards the dome. There it would join a cluster of its liberated brethren.

Damen’s armoured head was tilted upwards as he watched the teardrop-lights dance through the air like countless fireflies. The Lightbringer druid basked in the warmth of the Tears and the powerful life force from the Willow’s aura.

“Lacrimae Torvaeus,” Drue Arden murmured in surprise beside him. Damen had barely registered as she stepped through the illusionary wall and stopped beside him. “What are you doing here, Hobrin?”

Drue had raised her voice slightly and projected it towards the Willow. The Lightbringer scout waited expectantly and Damen paused as well, but no response was forthcoming. The druid nodded at that confirmation.

“It’s not a Nurdelese Willow,” Damen stated more confidently than he’d felt before Drue called the Nurdelese tree-spirit by name and received no reply. “Its aura is different from what I’ve sensed in the Commonwealth.”

“Wrong colour too.” Drue took a second, more critical look at the Willow. “Nurdelese Willows are more orange, aren’t they?”

Damen nodded agreement.

“Too bad. Slipstreams look fun,” Siòn offered from Damen’s other side. “But I’m more interested in where the rankler’s friends are hiding than exotic trees. And where all those other entrances lead.” The Lightbringer rifleman gestured with his weapon as his eyes circled the exterior walls.

Damen tore his gaze from the mystical tree and glanced around the room. Along the circular outer wall he could see several tall archways spaced at varying intervals. The air within the archways wavered oddly, as if some barely seen haze blocked the passageway. Beyond the haze rocky tunnels could be seen, just like the one they’d just came from. Damen briefly turned to look over his shoulder and could see the same haze in an identical archway behind him.

“Looks like alternate exits back into the open tunnels,” Damen replied. “From what I recall of what I sensed out there, these arches represent maybe one tenth of the ‘dead ends’.”

“So there’s even more?” Siòn asked. “How big is this place anyways?”

“Well...” Damen shrugged his armoured shoulders as he grinned unseen beneath his faceplate. “You wanted to explore a Draconic Enclave. Just looks like we’ll be at it much, much longer than we thought.”

Siòn’s expression soured noticeably and he cut Damen a sidelong glare.

Drue reached to her forehead and removed her nightband with one hand. “We should look around. It’s why you convinced us to come here after all.”

Damen looked at the great tree appraisingly. Between the broad trunk and the hanging branches only half the chamber was visible from where they stood.

“You circle around to the left,” Damen said. “Brother Siòn and I will take right.”

Drue nodded once in reply. Light bent and twisted around her as she disappeared into invisibility.

Damen glanced through the hazy archways as he and Siòn circled around the chamber. He saw nothing save the same rocky tunnels they’d just left. Like Brother Siòn, he also wondered how far this secret lair-within-a-lair might go. With druidic senses extended outwards, Damen could pick out Siòn’s life energies clearly but Drue’s were masked by her invisibility, as expected. The great tree in the centre of the chamber was nearly overwhelming in its presence.

It wasn’t until they’d circled some distance that the Lightbringers spotted the body.

“Ancestors grant me patience,” Oathbinder Trevor Blythe grumbled After he made sure his wristband radio had disconnected from the communication, of course.

The Lightbringers were crossing the last stretch of farmland as they approached the upcoming treeline. Blythe had arranged his forces with the main group travelling loosely together and a pair of Erkas’ druids scouting further ahead. While the druids couldn’t become invisible like his preferred scout, Drue Arden, their incredible resilience and supernatural speed would allow them to extricate themselves from almost any trouble they couldn’t handle.

“The Duke seems to be rather insistent,” Xi-Pen Lao observed mildly.

The Mashalan druid walked beside Blythe and had listened in on the communication.

“Do they teach ‘The Art of the Sublime Understatement’ at a young age in Mashala?” Blythe asked dryly. The corner of his lips lifted in the quirk of a smile, though it was only a small one.

“Right after ‘The Art of the Serene Facial Expression’,” Xi-Pen agreed, demonstrating the same.

The Oathbinder chuckled softly as he considered his still-new second in command.

Blythe had been reluctant when Grand Chapter Command first recommended the wiry Mashalan. When his previous second was promoted to Oathbinder and assigned to a different Province, Blythe had wanted to replace her with another arcanist. Perhaps even a necromancer, though he’d held little hope of one becoming available.

But when Trevor Blythe had reviewed Xi-Pen Lao’s file he’d been thoroughly impressed. Over a hundred and forty years old with a century of experience in a variety of combat organizations, from the Mashalan equivalent of an elite Special Forces unit to the Mashalan branch of the Order itself, including as an Oathbinder.

In fact he’d only had one question when he met Xi-Pen in person.

Those same dark eyes gazed back at Trevor Blythe now filled with patience and humility. Qualities which Blythe had quickly learned were intrinsic to Xi-Pen Lao’s very being.

“You have Keeper Talon’s full support,” Christof dun Woldun said. “Our Order’s mandate is clear. The Duke’s concerns are understandable but his push to assume command are ill-advised at best, entirely reckless at worst.”

The older man strode along easily, unbothered in the least by the ground-eating pace which had been set. An ornately engraved bronzed-gold staff - taller than he was - swung back and forth in his left hand.

The eye-catching staff was by no means a mere travelling aid. In the hands of a skilled arcanist, the arcane staff was a versatile tool and deadly weapon combined. It was forged from the mana-infused, incredibly durable metal called orichalcum - a highly sought-after material whose method of creation was known only to dragonkind. The arcane staff was carved with runes of arcane focus and power. Its use by practitioners of arcane magic dated back before the Upheaval - an ancient disaster which had sundered a continent, decimated the once-mighty Greater Republic of Nurdele and buried the scant survivors beneath the ocean.

Christof crossed his right hand in front of him and rubbed the thumb against the back of his left. The absent-minded gesture revealed his agitation to Blythe, as did the rapid blinking of the older man’s owlishly-wide eyes. Though at times seemingly scatterbrained, Oathbinder Christof dun Woldun was one of the most powerful arcanists Blythe had ever met, in or out of the Order of Lightbringers.

“The Duke’s bluster was mostly for show,” Blythe responded to Christof’s observation. “He certainly knew Keeper Talon wouldn’t relinquish our authority. He used the argument only as a platform from which to launch his true attack.”

Christof looked at Blythe then blinked slowly. “This ‘support and observation’ team.”

“More complexity in an already too-fluid situation,” Blythe frowned. “I’m frankly surprised the Keeper...”

Blythe allowed his words to trail off as he saw Oathbinder Erkas Mar’ja Tanegra’ma separate from one of his squad members and move towards him. ‘Berserker’ Erkas hadn’t participated in the radioed conference between Oathbinder Blythe, Keeper Minerva Talon in distant Astagar and the Duke of Merth. Instead Blythe had placed the volatile troll Oathbinder in charge of monitoring the local situation while Blythe’s attention was elsewhere.

A task which Erkas had embraced wholeheartedly. He’d openly displayed as little interest in participating in the high-level discussion as Blythe had harboured in letting him participate.

“Did my forward team report in, Oathbinder Mar’ja?” Blythe asked as Erkas drew close.

“They did,” Erkas replied gruffly as he fell in beside the much shorter Christof. “But for all his searching Damen has yet to find any void demons.” Erkas’ chest puffed out as he smiled at Blythe and smiled with a certain smugness. “My scouts have already found recent signs of demonic activity. I was just about to move forward to join them.”

“Good luck,” Blythe replied mildly. He tried to channel some of Xi-Pen’s ‘Art of the Serene Facial Expression’. The attempt nearly backfired as his lips threatened to curl upwards. “Remember your duty and the Oath.”

“Humph.” Erkas’ eyes narrowed. “You may keep your ‘reminders’, Trevor Blythe.”

Erkas faced Horgal - to whom he bowed low, arms crossed before his chest - then spun away.

Blythe watched as Erkas called out to his squad in the ancestral troll language. Erkas’ second in command shouted back a reply and the other trolls laughed. Then Erkas accelerated to an impossibly fast, qi-enhanced sprint. The rest of his team followed in his wake and the troll druids all quickly disappeared into the treeline ahead.

“We should tell him,” Christof observed softly. Blythe turned to face him, though Christof didn’t meet his eye. “It feels wrong. As if we’re using him.

“No worse than we use ourselves,” Blythe replied. His voice was deliberately cold as he watched the troll Oathbinder sprint away.

Christof breathed an unhappy sigh. His thumb stroked the back of his hand. “What if it’s bait? A ruse to conceal something else?” He stared at the treeline, though Erkas was long gone from sight.

Agreement came from an unexpected direction.

“Deceit is all but certain, Oathbinder dun Woldun,” Xi-Pen Lao said respectfully.

Blythe glanced sidelong at his second in command. Though shorter than the others - especially Blythe and Horgal - Xi-Pen’s stride did not appear hurried. The wiry druid walked with a fluid grace even more pronounced than the way Damen did. Blythe wondered if it was a trait from Xi-Pen’s Mashalan-style martial training. Or it could be due to Xi-Pen’s affinity for Air, as opposed to Damen’s affinity for Stone.

Or perhaps it was a combination of both.

“Oathbinder Mar’ja has what he needs to fulfill his duty,” Blythe said. “We will deal with the Void’s inevitable deception when the time comes.”

Their eyes met and Blythe locked Christof’s gaze with his. Blythe understood Christof’s reluctance but he needed the arcanist’s full cooperation to pull this off. Yes, keeping the entire plan from Erkas felt like a small betrayal, even to Blythe. But ‘Berserker’ Erkas had only his own belligerence to blame.

Christof broke eye contact and nodded, apparently deciding to let the argument drop. He rubbed the back of his hand pensively as they continued in silence for a time, then lifted one shoulder with a shrug.

“At least it will be interesting,” Christof commented softly, voice pitched low for only Blythe to hear him. A contemplative air had replaced the worry as the older Oathbinder resolved himself for the task ahead.

“I’ve never captured a demon before.”

Damen took a knee to examine the dead man closely.

Light-skinned and of middling years dressed in dark clothing, the victim’s death had clearly not been peaceful. The man’s right leg was twisted at unnatural angle. Damen could tell the man’s last expression had been one of terror and agony - what could be seen of it through trauma of his severely beaten face, that is.

“You think our rankler friend had another playmate before it met us?” Siòn asked, though by his tone it was mostly rhetorical. He stood to one side, eyes scanning their surroundings alertly.

“Massive blunt force trauma all over the body,” Damen grunted. He extended his druidic senses and probed the broken body. “Traces of decayed flesh all over.”

“So that’s a definite ‘yes’,” Siòn responded. His hands tightened around his rifle and the muscles of his jaw flexed. “You going to give the victim the same courtesies you gave his murderer, Sir Mountain?” the Lightbringer rifleman asked rather sharply.

Damen’s back stiffened at Siòn’s tone. He turned his head to glare at his squad mate, though Siòn wouldn’t be able to see it beneath Damen’s druidic armour.

Damen pushed himself to his feet and turned to face the other man. “Problem, Brother Siòn?” he growled low in his throat.

Siòn didn’t face Damen directly, instead continuing his vigil. “It’s a legitimate question.”

“Orichalcum is resistant to magic. As you well know.”

Siòn scoffed and finally glanced at Damen. “Then put that fancy bloodsword of yours to use. Like you did for the rankler.”

Damen sighed and shook his head with exasperation. “It’s not worth the energy it would cost.”

Siòn’s eyes widened, and he said sarcastically, “So you’ll ‘waste’ the magical effort to bury a rotting, soulless shell but not the person it just murdered. That makes a lot of sense.”

Damen’s temper flared, unexpectedly sharp. He stepped menacingly toward Siòn, who looked up at the big druid with a smirk.

But a soothing counter-harmonic from Angry Betty caressed his life aura, causing Damen to shake his head. He backed away - literally and figuratively - then turned to deliberately present Siòn with his armoured back.

“We’re on our way now.” Damen ignored Siòn’s unquiet snort and walked away, leaving it to the quarrelsome Lightbringer to follow. He skirted the severely beaten body with a twinge of regret, but what he’d told Siòn was the simple truth. The golden-bronzed, orichalcum flooring would be far more difficult to shape than mere stone. “What have you learned?”

“The energy field is powerfully disruptive,” Drue replied quietly through his earbuds. “Definitely don’t touch it - not if you want whatever you touch it with to remain intact. Other than that it’s completely stationary. Leave it alone and it will leave you alone.”

Damen had continued to walk briskly around the lacrimae torvaeus as he listened to Drue’s report. By the time she finished speaking he’d arrived at the opening she’d found. Unlike the others around the circular chamber which were blocked by hazy disturbances in the air, this one was completely open. The corridor beyond was also made of the same golden orichalcum as the chamber they were in.

Some of the drifting, illuminated ‘tears’ which had floated ceiling-ward from the great tree had drifted back down towards this particular tunnel. They flowed languidly through the opening, and streamed along the tunnel’s roof as if following some unfelt current of air. It was this curious behaviour which had attracted Drue’s attention. While Damen examined the battered body - out of place in such an otherwise tranquil scene - the invisible scout had done what she did best and continued stealthily in ahead.

With his silent companion trailing sulkily behind, the Lightbringer druid strode a short distance up the new tunnel until it terminated in a sharp bend. The bronzed gold tunnel diverged sharply to the right with no visible obstruction and the Tears continued that way as well.

But it was the left which drew his immediate attention. The stroboscopic field of multi-coloured energy which Drue had described hummed with power, like a live electrical wire of extremely high voltage. Damen’s skin crawled in sympathy, but more than that something else, a whispered susurration which he felt with his very soul.

“What do you suppose it’s guarding?” Siòn asked behind Damen’s shoulder. To Damen’s ear he sounded decidedly eager.

“Mountains of treasure,” Damen grunted sourly, without turning around. “Precious gems, gold bars, a priceless painting or three. Once we solve the puzzle it’ll be ours for the taking. As long as we don’t spring any traps.”

The druid couldn’t see the suspicious look Siòn directed at his broad back. “I think you pay more attention to Stella’s video games than you let on.”

Damen grunted in response, a private smile hidden by druidic armour.

It was only when he turned and faced Siòn that Damen noticed a visual oddity of the light in the tunnel. He looked up and traced the path of the illuminated Tears as they drifted along. He supposed he’d gotten so used to the shadowless sight of the nightbands in the tunnel that he hadn’t noticed until now.

“No shadows,” Damen observed out loud.

Siòn looked at him quizzically, then down at their feet as comprehension dawned.

“Come again?” Drue asked via the radio. The Lightbringer scout spoke in that quiet voice she used while invisible - and most other times, to be completely honest. Just loud enough to trigger the throat mic of her radio but too low to carry far in her surroundings.

“We have no shadows in the light from the Tears,” Damen clarified.

“Interesting,” Drue replied thoughtfully. “Do the Tears from the Nurdelese Willows produce shadowless illumination as well?”

“No,” Damen responded with a reflexive shake of his head. “Another peculiarity of this one, it seems.”

“Is it dangerous?” Siòn asked with a frown.

Damen’s head turned towards the other Lightbringer. “How could not having shadows be dangerous?”

Siòn’s frown deepened to an outright scowl at Damen’s tone. “How would I know?!” He wiggled the fingers of one hand. “Magic?”

Damen chuckled softly as he stepped forward and clapped Siòn on his shoulder.

“You’re safe enough, Brother. Let’s go before our little Sister gets too far ahead.”

Damen grinned to himself while Siòn snorted his amusement. The ‘little’ Sister in question chose not to dignify Damen’s teasing with a response though he could practically hear Drue’s eyes roll.

“Learn anything from our latest dead body?”

“No weapons that I saw and no empty holsters.” The druid started down the tunnel with Siòn close behind. “There was something though...” Damen hesitated, unsure how to describe what he’d felt, at least not in words. “I think he was a necromancer.”

“A necromancer?” Siòn repeated doubtfully. “Killed by a single rankler? He’d just see it coming and...” He wiggled his fingers again and blew air through his cheeks in what Damen assumed was supposed to sound like gusts of magical flame.