Chapter 21: Strike in the Depths

  The air on the concealed ledge overlooking Sector Gamma crackled with stolen energy. Below, the ritual continued its inexorable buildup, the chanting of the cultists a low, guttural drone that seemed to make the very rock vibrate. Edmund gave his sword belt a final hitch, his gaze fixed on the cavern floor, mapping routes, identifying guard positions. Beside him, Isolde took slow, deep breaths, her hand resting on the rowan staff, her face pale but set with determination. Borin meticulously adjusted the small, interlocking runic discs on the device cradled in his palm—the Telluric Resonator—then tucked it away and hefted his war pick, its haft scarred and familiar in his grip.

  "Ready?" Edmund murmured, his voice barely audible above the cavern's hum.

  Isolde nodded, her knuckles white on her staff. Focus on the flow. Disrupt, don't destroy… unless necessary. Conserve. Endure.

  Borin grunted, spitting on his palms. For the ancestors. For the stone.

  "Signals as planned," Edmund confirmed. "Borin, the anchors. Isolde, the energy flow and the leader. I'll draw their attention. Go!"

  With that, Edmund vaulted over the ledge, dropping into the shadows below near the cavern entrance. He landed lightly, immediately moving towards the nearest group of cultist guards, sword drawn. "For Oakhaven!" he roared, his voice deliberately loud, designed to draw eyes away from the true threats.

  Heads snapped up. Shouts of alarm echoed as several guards turned, raising crude axes and spears, surprised by the attack from an unexpected quarter. As Edmund engaged them, creating the planned diversion, Isolde focused her will.

  She extended her staff, drawing not on the corrupted ambient energy, but on her own fiercely guarded internal reserves. A thin beam of focused green light lanced out, striking not the cult leader directly, but a nexus point in the glowing runes on the floor where multiple energy lines converged. The light pattern flickered violently, the chanting faltering for a moment as the energy flow wavered. Isolde gasped, sweat beading on her forehead, the familiar throb in her arm intensifying dangerously. Maintain control…

  Meanwhile, Borin used the distraction to sprint towards the nearest massive runic pillar—one of the primary anchors for the ritual. Two Reavers guarded its base, their attention momentarily diverted by Edmund’s attack. Borin charged, his war pick swinging low. He caught one Reaver behind the knees, sending him sprawling, then slammed the pick's blunt end into the second guard's temple. Before they could recover, he was at the pillar.

  It wasn't just carved; complex Duergar mechanisms were embedded within it, now glowing with the cult's sickly energy. "Fools," Borin muttered, recognizing the locking sequences. His thick fingers flew across the surface, pressing hidden seams, twisting small runic dials only a Duergar would recognize. With a low groan, a section of the pillar slid open, revealing a complex lattice of pulsing crystals within. He needed to disrupt the primary feed.

  Edmund fought fiercely, keeping the bulk of the nearby guards occupied. These cultists fought with fanaticism, seemingly ignoring wounds that would stagger ordinary men. He saw more Reavers converging on his position, along with two of the controlled Blighted, their movements unnervingly precise as they shambled forward.

  Isolde struck again, targeting another energy convergence point. The backlash was stronger this time; she cried out softly, stumbling back a step, her vision swimming. She saw the cult leader on a raised platform near the altar turn towards her, his face contorted in rage, raising a staff crackling with dark energy.

  "Borin, now!" Edmund yelled, parrying a wild swing and kicking a cultist back.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Borin jammed a specially prepared Duergar tool—a heavy iron wedge inscribed with nullifying runes—into the exposed crystal lattice within the pillar. With a jarring screech and a shower of green sparks, the runes on that pillar sputtered and died. The energy flow in the cavern visibly faltered, the humming drone dropping in pitch.

  Success! But it triggered immediate chaos. A piercing alarm klaxon echoed through the mines. Doors Edmund hadn't even noticed slid open, disgorging more Reavers. And the cult leader, ignoring Isolde for the moment, pointed towards Borin. "Stop him! Protect the anchors!"

  Suddenly, a figure dropped from a higher ledge, landing near Borin with unnatural agility. Tall and gaunt, clad in black leather armor adorned with polished bone, this figure wielded a wickedly curved blade that seemed to drink the cavern's unnatural light. This was no mere Reaver; this was the lieutenant Edmund had seen directing the ritual in the shed.

  "Filthy gnome," the lieutenant hissed, lunging at Borin with blinding speed. "Desecrating the Shepherd's work!"

  Borin barely brought his pick up in time to block the strike, the impact jarring him to the bone. He was a miner and runecrafter, not a frontline warrior like Edmund.

  Edmund saw Borin in trouble and fought desperately to break through the guards surrounding him. Isolde, seeing the immediate threat to Borin, abandoned her attempts to disrupt the wider energy field and sent a desperate blast of green energy towards the lieutenant, forcing him to dodge but leaving herself gasping and visibly weakened, the dark lines on her arm pulsing faintly beneath her glove.

  The lieutenant sneered, easily sidestepping Borin's retaliatory swing. "Fools! You cannot comprehend the Great Shepherd's vision!" He parried another blow. "He communed with the deep earth, with the silent gods beneath! This valley is only the first offering! Soon, all Mercia will know true order!"

  His words sent a fresh chill through Edmund, even amidst the heat of battle. Communed with what? Offering?

  Taking advantage of the lieutenant’s momentary distraction, Borin slammed his pick into the floor runes near the lieutenant’s feet, disrupting the localized energy. The lieutenant stumbled as the ground flared beneath him. Seeing their chance, Edmund finally broke through the guards, reaching Borin's side.

  "We need to go!" Edmund yelled, pulling Borin back as the lieutenant recovered, his eyes burning with cold fury. More guards were closing in.

  "The anchors!" Borin protested, gesturing towards the other intact pillars.

  "We got one! It's enough for now! Move!" Edmund shoved him towards the tunnel they'd entered from. Isolde, pale and leaning heavily on her staff, stumbled after them.

  Their retreat was a desperate, running battle. Cultists and controlled Blighted pursued them relentlessly through the tunnels. Borin, regaining his bearings, proved invaluable. Knowing the tunnels intimately, he directed them through side passages, then used his pick and knowledge of structural weaknesses to bring down sections of tunnel roof behind them, blocking pursuit with tons of rock and debris.

  Finally, gasping for breath, they found temporary safety deep within a narrow, winding passage Borin swore the cultists wouldn't know.

  "Status?" Edmund panted, checking his own minor wounds. Isolde slumped against the tunnel wall, breathing shallowly. Borin glared back the way they'd come, clutching his war pick.

  "We disrupted one anchor," Borin growled. "Slowed them down. Didn't stop them."

  "But we learned…" Isolde managed, her voice weak but urgent. "He said… the Shepherd 'communed' with something. That this valley is an 'offering.' It confirms the ritual is just the start."

  Edmund nodded grimly. "And they know who we are now. They know what we can do." He looked at Borin. "That lieutenant… fast. Strong."

  Borin nodded. "Aye. Touched by the Shepherd's 'gift', likely." He rummaged in his pouch, pulling out a small, cracked runestone—something he must have snatched during the fight or retreat. "Got this near the altar. Broken, but…" He peered at the faded markings. His eyes widened. "Stone fathers preserve us… it's not just power they need. It's… life. Specifically attuned life." He looked at them, his face grim. "The ritual needs sacrifice, yes, but the main event… it requires the blood of those strongly connected to the deep earth. Like… like the Kin they had captured!"

  The horrifying implication hung in the air. The captured Duergar weren't just fuel; they were essential components for the larger, imminent ritual. Time wasn't just short; it was measured in the remaining heartbeats of those prisoners.