Theo and Lia were sent to check on the shrine Marc had first seen the undead at. Thankfully, the clerics there could completely seal off the access to the tunnels. Many of the buildings in the Canopy had some amount of access to the tunnels depending on how close the dire moles dug to the surface. It reminded Marc of a weird inversion of the fallout shelters underneath his high school, still there decades later but rarely thought about.

  There were a few people who used them as extra storage, usually for things that were bulky, but not irreplaceable. According to Berk, the tunnels had become a part of the culture of the canopy, building trust between political rivals. When you and your opponent have open, unmonitored access to each other’s homes, abusing that fact would bring scorn, or in the worst cases exile.

  This was the first time an enemy had used them though. The tunnels were not well mapped out, with only the Queen possibly knowing the full layout. Berk knew a lot from his work here, and theoretically Ratscal lived there for long enough to know parts, but their information was incomplete.

  Where the undead were going next was impossible to know, but there were a few places that were the worst case scenario: The Wellway restaurant, the Vestac family complex, and another family home that had conveniently been turned into a barracks for the city guard. With the last one notified, the captain of the guard, a ten-foot behemoth of a dryad named Hariet, promised to defend their position. That left only two.

  The Wellway was a restaurant that was “closed” during the flood. The owners were an Icess couple, one the chef and the other an entertainer. Berk said they were “asked nicely” and had shut down the place for the duration of the flood under the pretense of being unable to secure ingredients. What really mattered was that the Wellway got its name from the massive hole to the tunnels. It was one of the few places that the Dire Moles had actually broken through to the surface, with the restaurant being built around it afterwards.

  The Vestac family, on the other hand, was one of the more powerful Snow Elven noble families, including a few adventurers from combat classes. The family itself were technically descendants of a mythical king figure, and still owned a large portion of the arable land in the sage lands. The complex extended deeper into the earth than most other buildings, though what was beneath Berk didn’t say. It was here that the dire moles first became known enough, and where Berk entered on his first incursion, multiple Floods ago.

  Either place had large openings to the tunnels that could pour hundreds of undead at a time out of them. As the veteran and the outsider moved quickly through the streets, they had to go over the plan. Marc’s plan.

  “So,” Berk started, “how d’ya kill these thin’s? Never had to fight ‘em before.”

  Slightly shocked that he knew something Berk didn’t, Marc explained, “The issue with them is that they don’t feel pain-”

  “Yeah, neither do Dires, but we kill em’”

  “Dires can’t put their limbs back on when you lop them off, though. We need to break the bones, or do something magic to stop them from getting up.”

  “Curates might help for that.”

  Marc nodded, “We used fire, but with wooden streets that seems like a bad idea.”

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  “Dryadwood, remember?” Marc shook his head. He knew it was special but couldn't remember how. Berk continued, “Can’t burn, even if you tried to. But still, wouldn’ be good for most houses.”

  So fire was an option, albeit a last resort. Or, it could work in a more open area, like the Royal Promenade.

  “The Wellway is too open. We need to do something to keep that from being their exit. Holy water?”

  “I’ll talk with the clerics I know. You get the others to Vestac, tell them the situation. That’s the best bottleneck, with the most extra hands.” Marc nodded.

  A few minutes later, they saw Jacky and Lloyd. They correctly guessed what was happening the moment they saw him.

  She skulked her way up out of the tunnels, unseen by the owners of the house. This was one of the more dangerous houses to poke through, being a foreign noble’s home. He was sure to have full on house guards. But more than that, he was sure to have weapons of some magical power. Hopefully, even ones that could deal with undead.

  Her partner was already up, silent as his class would suggest, and analyzing any of the weapons in the makeshift vault they were in. It was mostly full of lapis carvings, and occasional paintings or tapestries

  But then, there they were. The people of Teferet loved their weapons as art more than tools. But that didn’t change the skill taken to make them. She’d been enamored by the idea of them since she was a child. This nobleman, Rodaan, didn’t disappoint. There were swords and axes with blades polished until they reflected her face back to her, every speck of dirt and grime on it an affront to the crafter. One statue held in its hand a rod of some kind and a golden sickle. Those two pieces alone were likely worth more than everything she’d ever stolen combined then doubled.

  The one that caught her eye the most though was the one that stood out. A simple saber with a longer handle. It was not in a place of prominence, just placed on a table, seemingly freshly sharpened. Its blade was not reflective, but as she got closer she looked at it carefully.

  The blade was not just gray metal, but had a slight blue tinge. She’d seen it only a few times before, but the mere sight of it shook her. The last time she’d seen this metal was in her father’s helm. A helm that meant something, hundreds of years ago. Before the Endeavor.

  It had an elven name, some long and clumsy thing she’d grown to hate, like most of the rest of Old Elven. It had a Dwarven name too, which literally translated to “Blue Metal.” She preferred the name Iron Mountain gave it. Mythril, named for its rarity, and the mythical feats that would befall its wielder and wearer.

  She took the sword, scabbard and all. Its handle was wrapped in blue dyed leather, but that could be fixed later. To anyone looking, she had a simple sword. To anyone in the know, she had taken a generational treasure.

  They could have stayed longer to take more. Were it not for the creatures below, they would have, but they had something to do. The heist would have to wait. There were monsters to kill.

  Hraban spent the night praying to the Gravemaiden. Othin’s cage was brought into his cell for the time being, but he wasn’t leaving until the next morning, at earliest. More likely, it would take something major to get him out before the flood was over.

  The rest of the inmates looked at him with worry, another thing he’d gotten used to since leaving home. In Visica, he was a hero, a knight in shining armor. The Gravemaiden’s Inquisitors were respected in the Mortocracy, as well as their neighboring nations. Not loved, but always respected. Here, he was a “strange death cultist”.

  It was disheartening to Hraban. His masters had warned him about the cold treatment he would receive, but this was more than he ever expected. Adventurers were more understanding, but even then there was a tension with most.

  It was late at night, as he slept lightly in his cell, that a guard entered. She tried to be quiet, but Dryads were not known for their finesse at movement. His door was unlocked, and the cell opened wide.

  “You are being freed. Quickly.” She tossed a key to Hraban, who caught it mid-air. He looked at it, unlocked Othin, and left the cell in surprise.

  Something major had happened.