Chapter 20: Into the Shadowed Mines

  The hidden stone door groaned shut behind them, sealing off the faint sounds of the world above and plunging them into the absolute darkness and cool, still air of the deep earth. Borin’s Duergar lantern flared to life, casting flickering, inadequate light on a narrow, ancient tunnel hewn from the living rock. The air tasted old, undisturbed for generations, mingled with the faint scent of minerals and something else… a deeper, colder stillness.

  They defile even the forgotten ways, Borin thought, his usual cynicism momentarily eclipsed by a cold, burning anger. Using our paths, twisting our craft… unforgivable.

  "Right then," he grunted, gesturing down the tunnel. "These old access ways predate most of the upper shafts the Shepherd's filth are likely using. Should let us get closer to Sector Gamma without running into patrols every five minutes. Still need to be careful. Old tunnels mean old traps, unstable sections." He unrolled a worn piece of hide, revealing a complex, hand-drawn map of tunnels sketched in charcoal.

  "Sector Gamma," Isolde murmured, tracing a line on the map with a gloved finger. "Near the geothermal vents, you said? High energy concentration. A logical place for them to anchor their ritual."

  "Aye," Borin confirmed. "And likely where they're using corrupted Duergar runes to channel it. Saw signs of it on my Telluric Resonator." He tapped a point on the map. "Here. Main support pillars in Gamma Cavern. Old Duergar construction, solid as the mountain's bones… unless you know the structural weak points. The Shepherd’s fools probably think they're invulnerable down there." A grim smile touched his lips. "They don't know Duergar work."

  Edmund studied the map, then looked at Isolde, noting the faint lines of strain around her eyes in the lantern light. "Ms. Isa, you focus on detecting any magical traps or energy surges. Borin, you lead the way, handle any Duergar defenses. I'll take point against physical threats—guards, Blighted, whatever else they've got down here." He met Borin's gaze. "We need to rely on your knowledge for stealth, Borin. Isolde can't risk large expenditures of magic for concealment or bypassing obstacles."

  Borin nodded curtly. "Understood. Stick close. Don't touch anything shiny." He hefted his war pick, its polished edges gleaming dully, and set off down the tunnel, the lantern casting long, dancing shadows.

  The descent was slow, tense. The air grew warmer, more humid as they went deeper, occasionally carrying whiffs of sulfur from the distant geothermal activity. They navigated around sections where the roof had partially collapsed, Edmund using his strength to shift fallen rocks where necessary. Borin pointed out pressure plates almost invisible against the stone floor, expertly disarming one intricate Duergar mechanism involving counterweights and sliding panels that Edmund would have certainly triggered.

  At one junction, Borin held up a hand, sniffing the air. "Gas pocket ahead. Old miners' bane." He led them through a barely visible ventilation shaft, bypassing the hazard entirely—a route clearly unknown to the cultists, whose discarded torches and fresh tracks they occasionally found in the main tunnels. They saw more of the spiral-eye symbols painted crudely on the walls, stark white against the ancient stone.

  The silence was broken only by the drip of water, the scuff of their boots, and their own quiet breathing. Then, rounding a bend, Edmund froze, signaling halt. Faint voices echoed from ahead. A patrol.

  Borin immediately doused the lantern, plunging them back into darkness. He pressed them against the tunnel wall, gesturing towards a narrow side passage choked with debris. They squeezed inside just as the patrol rounded the corner—four cult Reavers, their torches held high, their voices sharp with suspicion. They passed by without noticing the hidden alcove, their footsteps fading down the main tunnel.

  They waited a long moment after the light vanished before Borin cautiously relit the lantern. As they prepared to move on, a low groan echoed from deeper within the side passage.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Edmund drew his sword instantly. Borin hefted his pick. Isolde raised her staff, her knuckles white. Slowly, Edmund advanced into the debris-choked passage. Huddled in the back, trapped by fallen rock, was a single Blighted creature—one of the different Mercian types, its movements jerky but aware. It snarled, trying to pull its trapped leg free.

  "Just one," Edmund murmured. "Seems pinned."

  "Don't be fooled," Borin warned. "Saw what they did topside. It's controlled, likely. Might be bait."

  Suddenly, two more Blighted scrambled down from crevices above, dropping silently behind Edmund. He spun, barely parrying a clumsy swing from one. The second lunged, faster than expected. Isolde reacted, sending a small, sharp bolt of energy—enough to stagger it, but not destroy it. The effort cost her; she swayed, gripping her staff, a sharp intake of breath betraying the pain.

  Can't risk more! she realized, frustration warring with fear.

  Seeing her falter, Edmund knew he couldn't rely on significant magical backup. He shoved the first Blighted back against the wall, dodged the second's grab, and engaged them both in the cramped space. It was brutal, close-quarters work. These things were tougher, their movements less predictable than the fen shamblers. He took a glancing blow to the shoulder but managed to disable one with a precise thrust, then dispatched the second. He quickly finished the trapped one before it could cause more trouble. The brief, vicious fight left him breathing hard, the close call a stark reminder of their vulnerability.

  They pressed on, the incident adding another layer of tension. Finally, after what felt like hours, Borin stopped, holding up a hand. The air here hummed with latent energy, feeling thick and charged. Ahead, the tunnel opened into a vast natural cavern, unnaturally lit by the eerie, pulsating glow of corrupted runes carved deep into the walls and floor.

  This was it. Sector Gamma.

  From a concealed ledge overlooking the cavern floor, they took in the scene. It was worse than they’d imagined. Dozens of cultists moved about below, tending to the massive runic arrays that pulsed with sickly green-black energy drawn from cracks in the floor where geothermal heat radiated. Controlled Blighted creatures stood guard or moved heavy objects with disturbing docility. In the center stood a crude altar-like structure of blackened stone, surrounded by several bound figures—Edmund recognized the terrified faces of Duergar-Kin among them.

  A high-ranking cultist, draped in robes bearing a larger, more intricate version of the Shepherd's symbol, directed the proceedings, his voice echoing in the cavern as he chanted phrases that made Isolde’s skin crawl. They were preparing something. Feeding energy into the central structure.

  Isolde’s breath hitched. "The energy signature…" she whispered, her eyes wide with horror. "It's not just corrupted Essence. It's… resonant. Like the shrine in Blackfen, but amplified, weaponized. It feels like him—the entity."

  Borin spat, his face a mask of cold fury. "Perverting the earth-lines. Twisting Duergar craft. They're trying to tap directly into the deep power, using those poor souls as living conduits!" He pointed towards the main runic pillars supporting the cavern roof, now integrated into the cult's array. "Those are the anchors. Break them, and the ritual should collapse."

  Edmund scanned the cavern floor, assessing the guards, the layout, the sheer scale of the operation. "There must be fifty cultists down there, plus the Blighted. And that leader…"

  They retreated slightly into the shadows of the ledge, hearts pounding.

  "This is madness," Edmund breathed. "What are they trying to achieve?"

  "Power," Isolde said grimly. "Or perhaps… communication. An invitation."

  "Whatever it is, we have to stop it," Borin stated flatly. "The anchors are Duergar work. I know their weaknesses. Get me close, I can disrupt the main sequence."

  "I can try to counter the energy flow, target the leader," Isolde added, though the thought of wielding magic near that concentrated corruption terrified her.

  "Alright," Edmund said, taking charge. "Borin, you focus on those runic anchors. Isolde, disrupt the energy, target the leader if you can, but conserve your strength. I'll handle the guards, create an opening. We hit them hard, fast, break the ritual, and get out."

  The plan was desperate, the odds overwhelming. They were deep inside the enemy's heart, facing a fanatical cult wielding corrupted power on a terrifying scale. But as they readied their weapons and nerves, sharing grim nods in the pulsating, unnatural light, there was no turning back. The confrontation was upon them.