Unbound

Standing atop the hidden cliff, they were confronted with two distinct problems. The first was the height. If there had ever been a ramp or stairs leading to this section of the Low Roads, it had been demolished for centuries. There were no ways to reach the cavern below aside from jumping or flight.

The second problem was tied somewhat to the first: to reach the southbound tunnel, they would have to pass uncomfortably close to the fortress town.

Felix was nervous when Yintarion and Evie slipped ahead to scout the way. Thankfully, the latter’s stealth and the former’s diminutive size proved more than capable of circumventing the town’s guards. The squared cavern that Hammerhelm sat within, had two exits. One to the north and blocked by the walls and fortress, and one to the south, which was also blocked by a small fortification.

When the two of them returned, one flying and the other skipping up the vertical cliff as if she weighed nothing, they outlined the path ahead.

“Once we’re down there, we just gotta hug the wall.” Evie dragged her finger through a layer of dirt, sketching the layout of what they’d seen. “Stone simple, really. They got shit for Perception, so with Felix’s Abyssal Skein it shouldn’t be too much of a problem.”

Yin landed in the dirt beside the crude drawing. “Indeed. From there we need to pass through the small wall they’ve constructed along the Low Road. It appears to be no more than a dozen strides across, containing two turrets where a number of those Ironclads are put up.”

“Did you spot wardings?” Laur asked.

“Yes. I saw two designed to trip if anyone were to climb over the wall, and another was inscribed into the tunnel’s ceiling. Presumably to prevent aerial threats.”

“So even if we get down there, we gotta sneak through this thing?” Beef asked. “How’re we gonna do that without bringing the whole citadel down on us?”

“I’d say the real problem is getting these down there,” Harn grunted, still cradled in Eagin’s arms. The man was sweaty and feverish, but he stubbornly refused to lapse back into unconsciousness. He tapped the back of his gauntlet against the Eidolon’s shoulder. “No offense, but you ain’t exactly stealthy.”

“The small Human is right,” Orun rumbled.

Harn frowned. “Small?”

“We can survive a leap from these heights, but the sound of our impact cannot be covered by your Skill, my Lord.”

Felix chewed his lip. “Then we make another way.”

Tzfell cleared her throat, and the tattoos on her head wriggled. “You cannot tunnel through this place. Apart from the dangers I’ve outlined, if a citadel is close that means they will have wardings designed to detect such things.”

“I don’t plan on tunneling.” Felix stood, dusting off his knees. “Line up, everyone. I need to test how much you weigh.”

After a few minutes of stress testing, Felix stood at the edge of their overgrown clifftop and considered the drop. While the shape of the cavern had been squared by the Dwarves, they hadn’t smoothed the walls beyond the first twenty feet. Up near where they stood, the walls were craggy and rough, rife with cracks and crevices.

Or, as he was calling them, anchor points.

Stone Shaping.

Rime Shaping.

Green Shaping.

Cardinal Flame.

His insides felt like a nest of bees with so many Skills active at once, but it wasn’t painful, just odd. It didn’t usually feel like that. Thick Mana flowed from Felix’s feet, slipping from the edge of the cliff before clinging to the walls. It flashed in his Manasight, shifting from dusty brown to icy purple, to green-gold and bright orange—until it froze, solidifying just feet away into a dark blue stone chased with red-gold veins. A platform, ten feet wide and twice that in length. A Fiendstone walkway.

“Right. Stick close. I’m not leaving this thing up for long.” Felix stepped out onto the walkway and it groaned slightly. Quickly, he reshaped the supports and the sound stopped.

“Encouragin’,” Evie said.

“We tested it. Have some faith.” Beef stepped out after Felix, his hooves clopping against the dark blue rock. He gave Felix a thumbs up. “Let’s do this.”

The rest of the team crowded behind them, even the four treasure-filled Eidolons. Felix led the way, constantly feeding Mana through the patterns of his four shaping Skills. The pathway extended ahead of them and, as they drew away from the cliff, it was broken down in the rear. When they were stress testing, Felix had found splitting his attention quite difficult, so he went slow. Foot by foot, they shuffled across the cavernous wall, hidden by the shadows of stalactites.

They could not rely on natural shadows to shroud them from view, however. All it would take was a single Ironclad to look up and spot them, and all of his efforts would be ruined. So, Abyssal Skein hummed beside his shaping Skills, devouring another solid portion of his Mana every second. The Skill obscured them as usual, but he needed to do more than that—the platform itself was rather unnatural, so with a twist of Felix’s Will, the Skill expanded to include the Fiendstone. Created from his Mana, Intent, and Will, the platform easily accepted the shrouding.

Vess signed at him.

Vess shook her head.

That surprised him. When Felix used Adamant Discord, he could perceive a mess of thin blue lines that joined him to the world. Those tiny threads bound people, places, and things together. Connections, like Oaths, were real, and could be manipulated if one had the right Skills. Or access to Harmonic stats. That, Felix had been certain, was the real power behind the Chant.

Now he wasn’t so sure.

Slowly, his team progressed across the cavern. It was around three hundred yards between their forgotten cliff and the southbound stretch of the Low Roads, and that was moving in a straight line across the cavern. As it was, Felix was required to shape a path following the edges of things. Far below, the town of Hammerhelm bustled as soldiers and everyday folk moved about on common errands. Food was being cooked by more than one family, and the smell of roasting meat was a pleasant counterpoint to the stink of smelted iron and charcoal. None of them looked up.

Green Shaping is level 90!

Sweat slowly dripped down Felix’s back the longer the path wore on. While the rest of his party chafed at the snail’s pace, Felix was aching for a different reason. He’d wrought Fiendstone many, many times—it came almost easily to him now. This, however, was plodding and exacting. Each stretch of stone he conjured had to be the same as the last, every bit of it properly secured to the craggy wall, or else he and all his friends would tumble hundreds of feet. And all the while, Pit and the energies of the Mote of Frenzy pulsed in his chest; a furnace of agony that he simply endured.

In the past, he would shape grand workings of elements; sprawling things that covered battlefields, or rough but serviceable constructions. Or spikes. Spikes were very useful during a fight. This was none of those things, and it taxed him in uncounted ways. The combination of fine details and stringent specifications dragged at the pattern of each Skill, which in turn pressed his Intent and Affinity as they sounded the form and function of his Mana.

It was, as it happened, an excellent form of training.

Green Shaping is level 91!

Rime Shaping is level 95!

Abyssal Skein is level 91!

I need to do more things like this, he vowed. He had a Skill to figure out and a Pillar to form, and he imagined training all of his shaping Skills would only improve his chances.

Time wore on. Felix lost track of it as he focused on each step and maintaining his many Skills. His Mana regenerated at a ridiculous pace, but there was still a distinct sort of ache whenever he spent too much at once. The ache had drilled into his bones by the time Vess gripped his arm.

“Hold. Look,” she whispered.

Ahead of them, the air shimmered to his Manasight. Traceries of light zipped through the air, faint but distinct as they spread between concealed bits of sigaldry.

Wards.

Below them, the Dwarven wall straddled the opening of a tunnel, beyond which the southbound Low Road opened up. Ironclads sat atop the wall, most pacing, some few leading back against crenelations with a mug of something steaming in their mitts. They were far away, but if even one of them looked up and could get through his Abyssal Skein…it sent a new shiver through him.

Focus. Felix gave Vess a smile. “Good looking out. Laur. You’re up.”

The Elven Chanter rolled up his sleeves as he squeezed to the front of their line. For the first time, Felix noticed that his fine robes were covered in bloodstains. Slender fingers dimpled the air, interacting with the wards as if they were a physical object. Soon, a haze of light bowed around the Chanters hands as if he gripped pieces of a rainbow, and with a gentle motion he pulled them aside. To Felix’s Manasight, the wards simply parted like curtains.

“I have them bypassed,” Laur explained in a low tone. “Once we are through, I’ll release them. The Dwarves will never know we were here.”

Felix grinned. “My man.”

Across the threshold, suspended and shrouded, they passed unseen into the Low Roads.

Abyssal Skein is level 93!

Green Shaping is level 94!

Rime Shaping is level 97!

Three entire hours later, their slow motion crawl came to an end in a lesser used side tunnel. With a groan of relief, Felix demolished the last trace of his Fiendstone path as his friends stretched their arms and legs.

“Didn’t think I’d be so happy to stand on the ground,” Archie said, but his laugh cut short as he met Harn’s sweaty gaze. “Oh. Sorry. Ow!”

Evie gripped the front of the Delven’s jacket and lifted him up. “Watch your mouth.”

Archie put up his hands in defeat. “Okay! I said I was sorry.”

“Whatever.” She dropped him, and he landed on his rear.

“Enough chatter,” Felix said. “We’re away from Hammerhelm, but I’ve no idea when some Dwarves might come strolling through. We keep all talking to a minimum, and we get moving. Now.”

Now afoot, they were able to move far faster, especially due to the far better conditions of the Low Road itself. Unlike the disused tunnel they’d wandered into, this stretch was properly maintained, marked, and lit. Inscribed lamps abounded, illuminating the road and the plentiful metal placards edged in molded golden knotwork and sharp-edged Dwarven runes. The Low Road’s version of highway signs, they aided Tzfell as she guided them all to the south and west.

Until, perhaps a day later, they hit a wall.

“This is as far south and west as the Low Roads can take us,” Tzfell said. “If we continue on this path, it will lead us back east for several leagues, before turning north once more.”

Felix reached out and placed a dark hand against the carved stone. The Low Road curved through here, cutting through the deeps like a subway tunnel. “Is there no exit?”

She shook her head. “None that I can find. Perhaps there are secret ones, such as the Rockshaper’s atelier, but I cannot guess where they might lie.”

“So, what? We go back?” Beef asked.

“We may have to—”

“I’m not goin’ back,” Archie declared. He jerked a thumb toward Evie. “Not even if handsy over here dragged me.”

“Drag you? You’re small enough to kick halfway to Red Shield.”

“Enough bickering,” Vess demanded, cutting them off. “We are all of us tired and on edge. Our food runs low and our water lower. Felix. My plan was to head southwest, but that seems impossible now. What is your decision?”

Felix still had his hand on the wall. The thing had been carved by Dwarven craftsmen in ancient Ages, reinforced by powerful magic, and even now it thrummed with active wards that he could just barely see.

And it would not stop him.

“We dig.”

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