Chapter 11: Collapse

Author’s Notes: A heartfelt “thank you” goes out to the people who helped in refining and improving this chapter. My lady love for her undying support and the harshest critique one can hope for, my editor bikoukumori for his unending patience and a host of volunteers who suffered through the early drafts of this tale. In no particular order: Thornfoote, Pyvent, UKWaterRat and of course my Patrons.

All participants in sexual activities are adults. This chapter contains scenes of explicit violence, gore and mental illness.

“Let us rest here,” Gael said to Rhys a few hours later. The November sun had already dropped below the horizon and only the luminescent fungi growing on the old tree limbs offered any kind of illumination. “It’s obvious you can hardly stand, let alone continue at this pace.”

They had stopped at a small clearing. A rocky outcropping formed the east side, complete with a small waterfall tumbling into a pond while the towering ancient trees loomed on all other sides.

“How much farther do we have to go?” Rhys asked, leaning heavily on his staff. Despite the frost hanging in the air, he was sweating. His knee had resumed its painful thumping and his leg felt like someone else’s.

“We should reach the Vasadil estate around noon tomorrow if you can keep this pace,” Gael said. His tone was nowhere near as condescending as before. “I’ll see to it we’ll have some fresh meat for dinner.” The grim elf vanished between the trees.

Rhys sank onto a rock near the pond, glad to be off his feet.

“Astra’il,” Borna said. She had been quiet most of the day, staring daggers Gael’s way. It was obvious she wasn’t too happy about the elf’s involvement. “I have a question.”

“Out with it then,” Astra’il said, laying down a ring of stones for a makeshift firepit. “What’s on your mind?”

Borna pawed the ground with a hoof. “I’ll probably sound like a stupid little girl,” she muttered. “Forget it.”

Astra’il looked up. “There’s something Isaya told me. ‘There are no stupid questions. Only stupid people refusing to learn.’”

Borna unpacked a tent. “Fine. I’m a bit surprised you and Gael get along so well. I mean ... he’s a surface elf, you’re from Below. Everything I’ve read suggests you should be at each other’s throats. Hereditary enemies and all that.”

Astra’il sighed. “I harbor him no ill will, even if his kind did take my lover from me. Someone has to lay down their arms first if there is ever to be a chance at peace. And as for Gael? I’m not his problem.” She brushed her hands off on her pants and knelt down next to Rhys, carefully examining his knee. “Does it hurt?”

“A bit. Not as bad as I feared it would, considering the pace.” He clasped her hand. “You’re not his problem?”

Astra’il hummed a few bars of a healing spell. Rhys sighed in pleasure as the ether washed through his leg.

“The Stalker faith is new, even younger than mine,” Astra’il explained, coming to her feet. “They are fighting a guerrilla war against Carver’s men, against all those encroaching on the elven woods. They very carefully pick who they quarrel with. They are not stupid and know that we are trying to get away from our lives Below.” She shrugged. “For a few healing spells or a meal, Stalkerites have let me know when dark elf hunting parties were afoot – or let me tag along when they wanted to intercept them. So that I could – in theory – save any new Maiden followers from Isaya’s fate.”

She walked across the clearing and took some tent poles while Borna wrestled with the tarp.

“In theory?” Rhys asked. “And how can I help?”

Astra’il sighed again. “In all of my years here on the surface I have yet to find one like me.”

“How about you get the fire going?” Borna suggested. “Don’t know about you but I’m ravenous.”

“Sure. One moment.” Rhys got up and limped along the clearing’s edge, gathering dead wood. He smiled grimly. There were days back home at the farm where I could hardly walk after Padec had tanned my back and he still insisted I go and gather firewood. At least I don’t have to walk half a mile in Lissy’s old shoes any more.

While he dug around in the underbrush, Astra’il and Borna set up the tent together, chatting quietly.

He dumped the wood into the firepit. Time for another fire spell. Here’s hoping I don’t set the whole elven woods ablaze. Rhys stretched out his right hand, palm forward, using his left to gather energy. A fiery ray burst from his palm, scorching a lump of wood without igniting it.

No wonder. It must be frozen solid, Rhys thought. No one around seemed to have noticed his blunder. He placed a hand on the pile of wood, coiled more energy around himself and concentrated. Before I can set this ablaze, it needs to thaw. The energy flowed through him, a powerful mix of earth, air and ether, only to manifest as waves of heat emanating from the hand touching the pile. There was the sound of cracking wood as it first thawed, then dried.

The next time he fired off a flame blast, the wood ignited. Within moments, the campfire crackled merrily.

“Ladies, your human tinderbox has delivered,” Rhys said, grinning weakly.

Astra’il hugged him from behind and breathed a kiss onto his neck. “And here’s your reward, oh Firelord.” Another kiss, this time a loud smooch on his cheek.

Rhys glanced in Borna’s direction but the cursed girl had ducked into the tent and was rummaging inside.

“Thank you, oh wise healer,” he said, turning in Astra’il’s embrace. With a lot less levity, he added. “You have no idea how good it feels, being able to cast spells again.”

“You’d be surprised. When I renounced the Chaos Queen, shattered her holy symbol, her retribution was swift. She cut me off from her divine power, turning an almighty priestess, terror of the Depths, into a simple dark elven girl. It took nearly three years and a lot of persuasion on Isaya’s part to let the Maiden into my heart and with her, renewed access to magic. Don’t push yourself too hard. No one will be helped if you hurt yourself while trying to impress Gael.”

“Who says I’ll-”

A third kiss, this time on his lips, shut him up. “Because Borna and I are already impressed with you,” Astra’il said, a playful spark lighting up her emerald eyes.

“It would take a dragon summoning to impress me,” Gael said, carrying two rabbits by their ears. “But I am indeed impressed at how careless you are. Not a single guard? Instead I find you necking each other.” He scowled and sat down on the rock Rhys had vacated, pulling a drawing knife. “While I do the rabbits, someone could set up a cauldron. We’re making stew tonight.”

Faedal reined in his mount and surveyed the ‘Dancing Dryad.’ It was a frontier settlement like so many others he had visited, conquered or razed. A wooden palisade, a handful of buildings and a lot of people crammed into too tight a space. The only difference to similar places – here no one seemed to be overly distraught by the sudden appearance of two dozen heavily armored riders. He shrugged and dismounted. A stable hand came up to him.

“Anything you need, sir?”

“Not now. We’ll be leaving shortly anyway.” He waved him away and strode across the yard, heading for a stall selling equipment. A white-furred ratkin was unpacking wares from a stash of boxes, whistling happily.

Faedal sidled up to the counter, took off his helmet and rapped his gauntlet against the weatherbeaten wood.

The ratkin looked up. “How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for someone,” Faedal said, sliding a handful of gold coins over the counter. “A young man. Auburn hair this long, fancies himself a sorcerer. Might have problems walking.”

For a moment, something like sympathy was visible on the murine features of the merchant. A heartbeat later, his paw swiped across the counter and the coins vanished somewhere on his person. “If you mean this kid accompanied by some huge demon thing and a beautiful dark elf ... yeah, I’ve seen ‘em.”

Faedal’s features twisted into an unpleasant smile. “When?”

The merchant weighed his chances of being able to weasel a few more gold from the scary man with the lifeless, black eyes. Reason quickly won over greed. “They left yesterday, late morning. And the boy did limp something fierce. Can’t be too far ahead.”

“You don’t happen to know where exactly they went,” Faedal purred.

The ratkin shook his head, the rings in his ears jangling merrily. “Sorry, no idea.”

Faedal pulled some more gold from his purse. “Will that jog your memory?”

“A tempting offer, good sir, but no.” The merchant looked thoughtful. “I only know that they’ll probably be back in a few days. The boy ordered a Teleport scroll and said he’d be back in five days or so.”

Faedal dropped the coins onto the counter. “Thank you. That was surprisingly helpful.”

He left the stall. It was hard to fathom how Rhys could have such a large lead, especially considering the state of his leg. Maybe that dark elf knew some shortcuts. The most important information was that Rhys indeed had been here, and only recently. All he needed to do was sit back and wait until the boy returned. Another sobering thought followed that idea.

What if Rhys found a way to slip by him again and skip the ‘Dryad’ altogether? Carver would probably kill him if he knew Faedal let the boy escape again. The fallen paladin gnashed his teeth. How could one mangy ... farm boy become such a nuisance? Better to follow him, kill his friends and make sure no one interfered this time.

One of his scouts walked up to him and saluted sharply. “We’ve found tracks. A two-legged thing walking on hooves, someone obviously dragging a foot and another set. Less than a day old.”

“Then we should make haste.” Faedal returned to his horse. “Let’s hunt us a sorcerer.”

When they reached the outskirts of the Vasadil estate, the sun was setting already. In the eerie twilight, Rhys couldn’t see anything but massive trees, old, gnarled and somehow menacing.

“You’re sure this is the place?” he asked Gael. “I don’t see any houses.”

“That’s the whole point,” the elf snarled. “If they were properly maintained, you could walk right past the towers without even noticing them. Sadly, they have been empty for over three centuries now and the illusion has weakened somewhat. Look closer.” He pointed upwards.

Rhys’ gaze followed his extended hand and he suddenly saw it. Some of the angles were too even for natural growth. What he had thought of as bark on some of the trees was skillfully worked stone. Slabs of it had fallen out of the walls, leaving strikingly regular cavities. And something had scythed off the top levels of the towers just above the treetops, leaving uneven stumps, like torn-off skeletal fingers.

“Why would someone go to all the trouble of disguising their house like that?” Rhys asked.

“Why would anyone leave the safety of the elven holds and prefer to live out in the open?” Gael shot back. He snorted. “The old High Mage families were an odd bunch. Even back before the Fall. Preferred to keep away from the courts and cities, instead focusing on their studies and research. And well, when the Fateweaver fell, she took them right with her. Suddenly their self-imposed separation worked in their favor, sheltering them from the ire of their peers.”

“Who’s the Fateweaver?”

“Ask her.” Gael slashed a hand at Astra’il.

“What is known today as the Chaos Queen was once the consort of the Lifegiver,” Astra’il explained, clutching her holy symbol. “The goddess of magic and prophecies-”

“As much as I’d like to learn about ancient elven history and theology,” Borna growled, “I think we’re not alone here.”

“I would have noticed any tracks on our way here,” Gael said. “Are you certain?”

Borna sniffed. “Yes. At least a dozen different scents coming from over there.” Her stinger pointed in a certain direction. Rhys thought he could see flickering light emanate from between two tree trunks.

“I could sneak ahead, have a look,” Gael hissed.

“We shouldn’t split up,” Rhys cautioned. “Who knows how many there really are.” He reached out and clasped Borna’ hand. No icy burn came. “I’d never doubt your nose.”

“I should have said I only smelled a dozen people. No idea how many undead could be there.”

Gael shrugged. “Fine. Here’s some magic of my own.” He pulled a flask with a strange, wide opening from his pack and unscrewed the lid. “Your feet.”

Rhys leaned on his staff and raised his boots one after the other. Gael coated the soles with a thick, sappy fluid. He repeated the procedure for Borna and Astra’il.

“That should muffle your footsteps for the next few hours. Just make sure not to jangle your equipment about like complete idiots.”

Rhys tried a few steps. Even his limp wasn’t audible anymore. “Let’s hurry then before it gets too dark. I’m probably the only one without enhanced night vision.”

Gael shot him a curious look. “You’re a sorcerer. Can’t you-,” he waggled his fingers about, “cast a sight-improving spell?”

“An intriguing idea. But with my luck recently, I’d probably blind myself.” With a bit of acidic humor, he added. “And then I’d be properly useless.”

“Hm. Good point.”

Quiet like a shadow, Gael ducked into the underbrush, Astra’il hot on his heels.

“You’ll be your old self in no time,” Borna said, gently squeezing his forearm. “Let’s go.”

“Did you douse your claws?” Rhys asked.

Borna chuckled. “Yes. I’ve used the stone again. These undead won’t be healed by my hands. And I’m strong enough to deal with any living opponents.” She ducked into the underbrush. Not even her tail caused the foliage to rustle. Rhys wasn’t so lucky. To him, it sounded like a herd of oxen was flattening each and every branch in his way as he passed through the bushes, towards the flickering lights.

No alarmed cries came though. Suddenly, Borna’s hand was there, flat against his chest, stopping his rustling advance. Her lips touched his ear. “You need to work on your stealth skills, Rhyssie,” she breathed. “Slowly now.” Her hand clasped his and pulled him sideways. He let her guide him until they ended up behind a huge root rising from the earth, like a waist-high barricade. Less than thirty feet ahead, Rhys could see a campfire. About a dozen men were huddled around it. They wore mostly black. A sinking feeling overcame him as he spotted the axes-and-goat head sigil painted on a shield.

“What are Carver’s men doing here?” he hissed at Borna.

The cursed girl shrugged. “Just be glad they didn’t hear you.”

Rhys looked closer. These weren’t Faedal’s men. From what he could gather, they wore light armor under their cloaks. More like scouts than heavy cavalry. Still no clue what they could be doing here. Are they after the same tomb robbers we are? Another detail caught his eye – they hadn’t posted any guards either.

“No guards,” he whispered into Borna’s ear.

She bared her teeth. “Probably think they’re the biggest threat around here.”

“What’s our plan?” Gael hissed. Rhys nearly fainted. He hadn’t noticed the elf approach.

Astra’il’s hand caressed down his back, cheekily cupping his butt cheek as she knelt down on Rhys’ other side. “That’s a lot of trouble,” she muttered.

“Where is the entrance to the tomb?” Rhys asked Gael.

The elf pointed to a spot behind the campfire, at the base of another tree trunk. “There is a ramp leading down to the crypts under that tower,” he whispered. “If there are more of them inside, they’ll probably hear what we are doing up here.”

“I’m open for suggestions,” Rhys said. “And for what it’s worth, we don’t have to kill them all. Just make sure they’ll pose no threat after we’re done with them.”

“The easiest way to ensure that would be to kill them all,” Gael said. “And the black riders are a blight upon these woods.” The elf readied his bow. “I can take four of them, no problem.” He planted four arrows in the dirt in front of him.

Rhys remembered the kind sergeant he’d met not that long ago. A wave of guilt washed over him as he pondered his options. Gael was probably right. It would be much easier and quieter to ambush and kill them than to find a way to knock them out.

You know they willingly serve Carver, unquestioningly carrying out his orders, right? a mean little voice snarled at him. Your own father was here, remember? Where do you think that precious elven pitcher came from? That ratkin at the ‘Dryad?’ Now they’re desecrating the dead and you still want to be kind to them?

“If we kill indiscriminately, we’re no better than they are,” Rhys hissed aloud.

Gael made a strange noise. “Oh, I know exactly who I kill. These beasts don’t deserve to live. Remember what they did to my sister. Even if none of these pigs raped her, it was dogs serving the same master.”

“Fine.” The memory of the slave pit easily extinguished any remnant of compassion Rhys felt for Carver’s men. Seeing Mirrin after her ordeal at Faedal’s hands had been bad. A room full of girls and boys like her was a nightmare he’d probably carry for the rest of his life.

He peered at the campfire. It had been properly hedged in with pebbles and stacked high with logs. Built like it was, it would probably burn for hours. Or turn into a huge fireball if I were to tinker with it, he grimly thought. My luck with fire spells.

“I can probably turn the fire into a weapon,” Rhys muttered. “In the following confusion, we’ll take down any who manage to escape the initial attack.”

“I could add to the confusion,” Astra’il said. “When the dance begins, I’ll drop a globe of darkness onto them.”

“Keep that to the left side. I’d like to know where my targets are,” Gael hissed.

Astra’il nodded. “As you wish. Borna?”

“I can track them by scent.”

“Then I’ll take care of any who try to escape,” Astra’il said, drawing her blade.

“Whenever you’re ready, Rhys,” Gael snarled, nocking an arrow.

“Wish me luck,” he muttered, peering over the root. His first instinct was to turn the wood into lamp oil but that would probably lead to a large puddle of oil seeping everywhere and most likely dousing the fire in the process. Rhys concentrated and pulled strands of energy around himself, gathering power by the fistful. He leaned over the root, stretched out his right hand and loosened what he hoped would be a Force Missile sufficient enough to scatter the fire.

Something huge and angry roared from his palm, leaving a searing contrail in its wake as it slammed into the campfire and exploded in a blinding eruption of force and fire, turning the campfire into a gargantuan fireball. A moment later, panicked screams and the stench of burning flesh filled the night. Rhys blinked tears from his eyes. The ground around the campfire was ablaze, tongues of flame even licked at the root he was hiding behind. Gael stood upright next to him, his bowstring thrumming as he fired arrow after arrow, mercilessly picking off Carver’s burning soldiers one by one. To his left, a huge globe of inky blackness loomed. He could hear screams and the sounds of blades clattering coming from within. Astra’il vaulted over the root and dashed into the darkness. Wet gurgles marked her passing. Borna was a slithering shadow amidst the conflagration, her tail slashing this way and that as she finished off helplessly screaming and thrashing bodies.

In a matter of moments, it was over. Without decent fuel to sustain itself, the fire sputtered and died, leaving only a smoldering heap of embers.

Rhys stared at the devastation in horror. “That ... that went far too well,” he stammered. “I ... I only wanted to expand the fire a bit.”

“Well done,” Gael said, his tattooed face a smug grin of satisfaction. “Roasted pigs. My favorite.”

Astra’il leaned over the root, her cloak stained with blood in several places. Behind her, the globe of darkness dissipated, revealing several more black riders laying in the dirt. “Come now, before more of them show up,” she said, pulling Rhys to his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, limping along in her wake. “I didn’t mean...”

“No need to apologize. You did what you said – blowing up the fire. Just be careful inside,” Astra’il said, throwing him a wary grin over her shoulder.

Rhys shuddered as he followed her across the devastated camp site, his gaze drawn to the scorched corpses littering the ground like oversized, blackened leaves. Arrows stuck from necks or eye sockets like macabre, miniature flag poles. Others had the tell-tale round stab wounds made by Borna’s stinger and a few Astra’il had felled with precise sword strikes.

They reached the entrance to the crypts, a low, curved ramp disappearing under one of the massive trunks. Someone had placed fresh torches into sconces along the walls. Rhys could see the remains of a beautiful mural depicting wreathed elves carrying a sarcophagus in an elaborately bedecked procession.

Gael and Borna huddled a few feet further down the ramp. Rhys and Astra’il joined them.

“Where’s the rest of them?” the dark elf whispered.

“Probably still down there,” Borna muttered. “Only the deaf and the dead could have missed the commotion we caused.”

Rhys winced. “What can we expect down there?” he asked Gael.

The elf shrugged. “No idea. I didn’t have any reason to creep through the halls of the dead before. But since no one has come to investigate our little massacre, I guess there are enough rooms and corridors in between to muffle the sound.” He made his way to a set of large metal doors. They hung askew on their hinges, whatever decoration they once had obliterated by a massive impact.

“Well, at least I’m not the only one misjudging their spells,” Rhys muttered.

“Maybe you’re brooding too much,” Astra’il said encouragingly. “Forget you’ve ever eaten a Disjunction Stone.”

He followed her into the crypt proper. The smell of old stone greeted him. Illumination from the torches behind them quickly turned into a strange twilight. The hallway was tall and narrow, made from a strange stone which reflected the light both with a white and green shimmer, like a mixture of bone and jade. Alcoves at even intervals probably once held flowers or gifts for the dead but they were empty now save for some shattered vases or bits of colored glass. Above them, set into the walls, were small round crystals, providing the barest hint of illumination. His companions seemed comfortable with the light levels but it was far too dark for Rhys to see anything but shadowy outlines. He picked a rock off the floor and concentrated, placing a Light spell onto it. Gentle, golden illumination spilled from between his fingers.

The group walked for nearly two minutes until they reached an intersection.

“This place is much bigger than I anticipated,” Gael said, his voice throwing whispering echoes off the walls. “Maybe we should split up and explore in twos.”

“Oh, that will be fun,” Borna muttered. “How shall we notify you if we find anything important? I have misplaced my carrier pigeons.”

“I can help,” Astra’il said. She dug around in a pouch at her belt and produced a set of rings, intertwined bands of silver set with a circular piece of moonstone. “Please don’t lose it,” she said, sliding one ring over Rhys’ finger.

“Aw, how romantic,” Borna chuckled. “Shall I speak some vows?”

Astra’il stood on tip toes and breathed a kiss onto Borna’s lips, shutting up the cursed girl. Then she pulled her head down and whispered something into her ear. Her hand slithered under Borna’s coat.

The cursed girl growled and closed her hand around Astra’il’s wrist. “Not now,” she warned.

“Now you know when we could play at marriage,” Astra’il quipped. She clapped Gael’s shoulder. “We’ll take the eastern corridor.”

“Wait!” Rhys said. “How does the ring work? What does it do?”

“Kiss the stone, speak my name and whatever you say next, I will hear,” Astra’il said with a bright smile. She whirled away and hurried after Gael.

“So, you and me again, huh?” Rhys asked Borna. “And what was that about ‘playing at marriage?’”

Borna grinned. “She wanted under my loincloth in our pretend wedding night. And I’d rather have you at my back than him.” Her tail slashed east.

“You don’t like Gael.” Rhys turned west, his rock light illuminating their way. Several yawning doorways were visible ahead.

“No secret there,” Borna said, silently walking beside him. “I have seen his type way too often already. Zealots. Too many preconceptions, too many principles set in stone. Unwavering thoughts, yet very loose weapons. Without the promise he gave his sister, he’d be at your throat, mark my words.”

“And poking the bear is a wise choice?”

Borna laughed softly, a sound so unfamiliar, Rhys stopped dead in his tracks. “What can he do? His arrows probably will just bounce off.”

“Unless he goes for the soft parts,” Rhys said. “I’d watch my cute butt if I were you.”

Now it was Borna to do a double take. “Did ... did you just compliment my ... ass?”

“We’re on a quest, Borna. Complimenting is all I can do right now,” Rhys said, his eyes sparkling.

She blushed furiously. “How about we try and watch out for traps or the like?”

Rhys looked around. “Considering the amount of plundered alcoves, I would think that any grave robbers would have tripped them before us. Twice over, at least.”

“Remember that room under Storm Harbor,” Borna cautioned. She peered into a doorway. “Odd.”

“What?” Rhys joined her and illuminated the room she had looked into. It was a narrow chamber, wide enough for an elaborately decorated sarcophagus on a wide plinth. The lid had been placed upright next to the base. It depicted a beautiful, naked elf woman clutching a carved staff against her slender body. The sarcophagus was empty.

“This is recent,” Borna muttered, indicating fresh tracks in the sheets of dust covering the floor. “Someone took the body.”

“Let’s look around,” Rhys said, limping across the corridor. He looked into another chamber. The view was eerily similar. Another open sarcophagus, this time the probable occupant had been a male elf. According to the chiseled lid, he had worn a wide headband taming a flood of hair and carried some kind of crystal orb in front of his stomach, just above an impressively sized phallus.

There were four more chambers along their corridor and each one had been desecrated, the sarcophagi emptied.

“They’re not skulking around here,” Borna said. “Maybe there’s another level below.”

“Rhys.” Astra’il’s voice came from about waist-height. Rhys nearly dropped his rock light. Shaking his head, he raised his hand. The moonstone ring shone in a silvery light. “We have found some burial chambers. The bodies are gone. We’ll return to the intersection.”

Feeling a bit strange, Rhys touched the ring to his lips. “Astra’il. We’ll join you there.”

“Let’s go then,” Borna muttered, slinking past him. “No need to keep your girlfriend waiting.”

“How deep does this thing go?” Rhys asked no one in particular. They had met back at the intersection and walked along the last corridor they hadn’t yet tried. It went due north and ended at another wide ramp which corkscrewed downwards.

“I am as surprised as you are,” Gael confessed. “We have found twelve empty sarcophagi in total. I thought that would be every single High Mage, even those from before the Fall.”

“What about the rest of their families?” Astra’il asked. “They didn’t just bury the heads of the household, did they?”

Gael made a face. “I’m no authority on burial rites. If the inscriptions on the lids were any indication, they only buried those who actually had become High Mage and burned the rest like proper elves.” He shrugged. “And look what it got them. Stolen and possibly defiled like some common carcasses.”

“Now this smells like proper undeath,” Borna muttered, inhaling deeply. “Be careful.”

Gael stopped and sniffed. “I’m amazed at the acuity of your senses,” he said. “For me, the scent of rot is barely perceptible.” He nocked another arrow. “Can you tell me what lies ahead?”

Borna shrugged. “No clue. It smells like rotting flesh. Probably no skeletons then.” She waited until Rhys was close. “Try casting your Armor spell.”

“I just hope I won’t turn into a somewhat--”

“Do it!” Borna snapped. Rhys fell silent, surprised at her sudden ferocity. He gathered energy around himself. This time, it was much harder, on account of a lack of power sources. There was some earth energy he could tap into, but that was it. My flesh is as hard as steel and still flexible, Rhys thought emphatically, turning the power inwards like he had done under Idunn’s supervision time and time again. He opened his eyes again. “How does it look?” he asked.

Borna’s tail stinger slapped against his shoulder. He noticed the impact but he also noticed the metallic ring the wickedly sharp bone spike produced.

“Finally,” Borna muttered. She accelerated and joined Gael who knelt next to the entrance to the next level. Her face showed acute disgust. Rhys sniffed. There was the aroma of old stone and stale air but apart from that...