Chapter 6: Whispers Turn to Warnings

  The damp chill of the abandoned root cellar clung to them like a shroud. It wasn't much—just a cramped, earth-walled space accessed through a rotten trapdoor hidden beneath loose floorboards in an equally derelict shack on Oakhaven's edge—but it was marginally safer than the common house. Edmund finished cleaning the cut on his cheekbone with a rag dipped in precious clean water, wincing slightly. His tunic was torn, bruises already darkening on his arm where a Reaver's club had connected during his escape from the shed.

  "Too close," he muttered, tossing the rag aside. "They knew we'd meet at the shrine. That Duergar… Borin… he was right. Someone's been watching our every move." He looked at Isolde, who sat patching a tear in his tunic with steady, precise stitches, though her fingers trembled almost imperceptibly. "The rituals, the captives… it's worse than the rumors hinted, Ms. Isa." Worse than Kael's talk of 'necessary order'. They're actively preying on people. The calculated cruelty of it settled heavily in his gut. How could they fight something so entrenched, so ruthless?

  Isolde nodded grimly, not looking up from her work. "Borin confirmed the Shepherd is 'feeding' the Blight, twisting earth-lines with corrupted runes." Corrupted runes… channeled energy… controlled Blighted… The pieces clicked together in her mind with sickening clarity. Like the Púca drew power from the shrine, perhaps this Shepherd draws power from the Blight itself, or from the land it infects, using the Duergar's own craft against them. The thought sent a fresh wave of unease through her. "We need Borin's knowledge, Edmund. Now more than ever."

  "But how do we get him to fully cooperate?" Edmund countered. "He barely opened his door for you."

  "Perhaps," Isolde said slowly, biting off the thread, "the fact that you confirmed the cult is active within the mines, using methods he warned about, will be enough. Shared danger can forge alliances where trust fails." She met his gaze. "I need to try again. Meanwhile, you need to stay hidden. They'll be looking for you."

  Edmund reluctantly agreed. While Isolde slipped out near midday, using back alleys and shadows, he remained concealed, listening to the sounds of Oakhaven—sounds that seemed even more muted and tense than the day before.

  Isolde found Borin's iron-banded door as impassive as ever. She used Edmund’s danger signal—three raps, pause, two raps—hoping it might serve as an urgent summons. After a tense moment, the grille slid open.

  "You again?" Borin grunted, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  "The cult is active within the mines," Isolde stated directly, keeping her voice low but urgent. "My companion witnessed it. Rituals involving captives, controlled Blighted, corrupted symbols. He barely escaped." She leaned closer. "He also found doctrine—the Shepherd speaks of 'sacrifice' and 'purity,' twisting the very earth energies you warned me about. How long until they target your hidden knowledge, Borin? Or the kin you mentioned who are foolishly listening to his promises?" She deliberately sharpened her words, appealing to his Duergar loyalty and his stated fears. Forgive the manipulation, she thought, but time is short.

  Borin stared at her, his expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Told you he was twisting things," he muttered darkly. "Fools listening to surface promises… always ends in grief." He seemed to make a decision. "Fine. Come back after the evening gathering. And don't be seen." The grille slammed shut. A small victory, hard-won.

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  Later, as dusk began to settle, the sound of a summoning horn echoed through the valley—the mandatory evening gathering. From a concealed vantage point in the attic of the derelict shack, Edmund watched the townspeople trudge towards the central square. He recognized the lieutenant from the storage shed incident taking a position on a raised platform near the Shepherd's statue. The man exuded a chilling charisma, his voice ringing out across the unnervingly silent crowd.

  "...and so the Shepherd guides us!" the lieutenant declared, arms spread wide. "Through discipline, through unity, we find strength! While the outer lands crumble under the Blight's chaos, Oakhaven remains pure! A sanctuary!" He quoted phrases Edmund recognized with a jolt from the torn doctrine page: "Order through Sacrifice! Purity through Strength! Reject the whispers of doubt, for doubt is the first crack through which the Blight seeps!"

  His gaze swept the crowd, seeming to linger on individuals. Then, abruptly, he pointed towards the edge of the square. "There! Seize him!"

  Two Reavers instantly moved through the compliant crowd, grabbing a thin, terrified man Edmund vaguely recognized from the marketplace—someone he might have tried speaking to briefly yesterday.

  "This man," the lieutenant boomed, his voice turning hard as flint, "has forgotten the Shepherd's grace! He questioned the tithes! He spoke words of discontent, inviting weakness!"

  "No! I didn't!" the man cried, struggling futilely. "I just asked—"

  "Silence!" the lieutenant roared. "Discontent is the sickness! It weakens the flock! The Shepherd guides us from such weakness!" He made a sharp gesture. "Take him for... purification."

  The Reavers dragged the man away, his terrified protests quickly silenced. The crowd watched in stony silence, fear radiating from them like a physical force. Edmund felt sickened, realizing with horror that his own attempts at investigation might have inadvertently put that man, and potentially others, in the cult's crosshairs. My fault...

  Just then, the rotten trapdoor beneath him creaked open. Borin’s grizzled face appeared, his expression grim. "Trouble," he grunted. "Saw Reavers asking questions near where your friend fought yesterday. Searching houses now. We move. Now."

  Edmund scrambled down, grabbing his pack. Borin wasted no time, leading them out the back of the shack and along a series of crumbling, overgrown paths towards the cliff face where Isolde had first met him. He stopped before a section of rock that looked solid, muttered a complex phrase in guttural Duergar, and pressed a sequence of barely visible seams. With a low groan, a section of the rock pivoted inwards, revealing a dark, narrow opening.

  "Old ways," Borin said, ushering them inside. "Forgotten by most. Safer than anything topside now." He slid the stone door shut behind them, plunging them into cool, utter darkness before striking a flint and sparking a small, efficient Duergar lantern. They were in a tunnel, clearly ancient, the air still and tasting of deep earth.

  "Listen close," Borin said, his voice urgent, his earlier cynicism replaced by grim necessity. "That ritual your friend saw? It's tied to the earth-lines. The Shepherd's corrupting runic anchors deep in the main shafts—Sector Gamma, likely, near the old geothermal vents. He's drawing power, yes, but it's unstable." He produced a small device of interlocking, rune-etched discs from his pouch. "My Telluric Resonator picked up a massive energy surge building, far faster than it should. That 'purification'..." He spat on the tunnel floor. "It's fuel. He's accelerating his plan. The main ritual… it's not weeks away. It's imminent. Maybe hours."

  Edmund and Isolde exchanged alarmed glances. Hours.

  "We have to stop him," Edmund stated.

  "Aye," Borin agreed, his eyes glinting fiercely in the lantern light. "Before he tears the heart out of this mountain... and maybe all of Mercia with it." The alliance, born of suspicion and desperation, was now forged in the fire of immediate, shared danger.