Talia burned through two of her three days in a furious flurry of activity. Well. Insomuch as reading voraciously and sitting in a meditative stance on her bed between brief meals could be called activity. The fledgling mage had finally gotten around to skimming through the pages of A Treatise on Magic, Arcanistry, Mages, their Origins, Capabilities and Limitations.
Gods that’s such a long title.
She’d also made a noticeable dent in her efforts to memorize the hundreds of clicker calls contained in the manual, though the other officers had been too busy for her to actually practice them. The young arcanist had considered asking some of the crew to help her practice instead, but on the rare occasions she emerged from her bunk—usually in search of food—most had been busy taking care of the various tasks that kept the caravan running. Even in its current stalled state.
In some ways she was glad. Their unavailability gave her more time to practice what the instructors in Magecraft for the Newly Awakened called ‘controlled Core cycling’. It had taken her about a day to gain a basic grasp on the technique. The key was in unspooling excruciatingly thin tendrils of mana from her core and threading them through her blood and out into the air above her palms with a deliberate lack of intent. Any errant thought would catalyze the mana into an unfocused wave of force that could shift small objects, as Talia had learned rather quickly when her mind had wandered midway through emptying her Core.
I’m just glad Calisto doesn’t spend a lot of time in her bunk. That would’ve been an awkward thing to explain away. ‘Oh sorry, chronicler, I just bumped my head hard enough to concuss myself, but don’t worry, I’m fine! Thick skull. Happens all the time.’
Talia had seen a few techniques described in the final chapter of the tome that laid out how to gain further agency over the actual expression of her powers, but for now, the control exercise was all she was pursuing. It would allow her to better conceal herself, which was presently her only goal.
The young woman couldn’t foresee a point in the future where she would be safe to use her magic without anyone catching on. While her power was nearly invisible, it would be difficult to explain away how she was blasting back objects and enemies alike with just her mind. The expedition was small enough that just one slip meant rumours would spread faster than dysentery from a Low Quarter well.
Not that the temptation wasn’t there. Core cycling was…intoxicating once she got the hang of it. The mana in her blood fizzed electrically, begging to be released, shaped. When those urges disappeared, she’d be able to consider her untethering complete, according to the instructors’ claims. In the meantime, she’d just have to resist the temptation to see what her Gift was capable of.
The fact that her Core had grown ever so slightly didn’t help, like a few extra drops at the top of an already full glass. Already, she had begun to feel the pain the tome had warned of, a light tenseness in her chest, like muscle soreness between her ribs and her lungs, which apparently only get worse before it got better.
Talia ignored it. It was nothing compared to her trek through the Maw. The pain of that memory was still fresh, despite the healed wounds.
Focus…
The young mage twined threads through her veins as slow as she could make them. When her Core finally felt empty and hollow, she pulled mana in reverse, gently filling it back up. The odd meditation had a way of stealing time from her. Hours passed as she sat cross legged on her bunk, feeling all at once like a short eternity, interminable instants.
As she reached the end of her third cycle of the day, preparing to empty her Core once more—
Craack—BOOM
The deafening blast of stone hitting stone rang through the cavern. The impact shuddered through her chest like a chorus of drums, vibrating between her ribs.
Immediately pulled from her trance, Talia fumbled for her clicker, sticking it behind her teeth.
Her ears were overwhelmed with a chorus of clicking. ‘Cave-in’; ‘emergency’; ‘roll-call’; ‘warriors ready’; ‘assistance’; the list went on in a dissonant, chaotic cacophony.
Adrenaline streaked through her, and she tumbled out of bed, thanking all that was holy that she’d remained in her armor. The arcanist did up the straps she’d left loose with unpracticed clumsiness, fumbling under her bunk for her mother’s weapons.
She almost fell when the secondary quakes began.
Wait—there was no first quake. The cave-in happened first.
Every item in the wagon not nailed down began to rattle. The vibrations got stronger by the minute, piling in Talia’s chest like it was a steambox with a missing gear, rattling her bones.
What by all the gods is happening?!?Can I not catch a break, just this once?
Anger surged through her briefly at her circumstances, before being shoved pragmatically into its own little box.
After quickly slipping her shield bracer on her left arm and strapping her sheath to the left side of her hip, Talia swept up her armored cloak, tossing it roughly over her shoulders and quickly tying it off, not bothering to activate the obscuring function.
We’re way past going unnoticed, at this point.
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Ensuring that the lightstone was off and the curtains pulled shut—a habit now more than anything—Talia rushed out into the chaos outside.
Crew members rushed to and fro, all thought of silence forgotten. She spotted Darkclaw and the delvemaster by the command wagon, clicker calls cracking orders to the frantic expedition members.
She jogged over, almost losing her balance as another quake hit. A few members of the crew were not so lucky, smashing into the sides of wagons or dropping their loads to the ground.
They’re getting stronger. Too frequent to be an earthquake.
Approaching her fellow officers, her tongue fumbled out a clicker call.
‘Situation; question’
Torval gestured behind them, to where Zaric and Osra should have been working on clearing the way ahead.
Where the two mages had stood just that morning, melting away rock like clay into the contours of the tunnel, instead a cloud of dust and debris chocked the air of the tunnel. As she watched, the cloud collapses in on itself as if sucked down by an air current, revealing Zaric’s tall form, a body clutched in a princess carry in his arms. Behind him, the blockage appeared to have both worsened and improved; the debris that had previously clogged the way forward had fallen through the tunnel floor. The ceiling above was rent and fractured, seeming to have given out completely.
The mage had not a speck of dust on him. Where he walked, fractured earth and stone shifted out of his way of its own volition. Talia stilled as she recognized the woman in Zaric’s arms. It was Osra.
Oh no.
The ebony skinned man strode forward, releasing a ‘healer’ call, urgently. Summoned by the sound, Lazarus rushed out of the command wagon, beelining for the Mage-Commandrum. The elf took the apprentice from her master gently, careful not to jostle her. He set her down behind wagon one, pulling at his belt for healer’s implements.
Sighs of relief were had all around as he called that she’d live.
‘Report, Commandrum’, the clicker call came from Torval.
‘Unexpected compression, accidental cave-in. No enemy movement’, Zaric replied quickly.
The battlemaster, frowning, interrupted them, calling to the crew at large.
‘Ware below; wyrm; spears ready; back tunnel; repeat; wyrm below’
Torval whirled on the beastkin, concern evident on his face.
‘Certainty; question’ he asked.
The battlemaster tilted his head, then crouched and placed a hand on the tunnel floor. Another quake hit.
‘90%; medium wyrm; garbog, maybe listhir type’
Torval looked like he wished he could swear. Instead, his face took on a grim cast. He looked over at Zaric, who had paled at the mention of the deep dweller threat.
‘Prepare way; quickly; after, prepare fighting retreat’
The Mage-Commandrum nodded resolutely, but the fear and exhaustion on his face remained. The tall man whirled back towards the nearly cleared tunnel and began reshaping the ground ahead of the caravan into smooth, navigable stone. The previous ceiling slowly turned into the new floor.
Talia shook her head in wonder despite the situation, turning to Torval.
‘Orders; question’
His brown eyes met her grey ones with steely determination.
‘Fight for time; fight for life’
Talia’s stomach sank into her feet. She couldn’t help the feeling that in the delvemaster’s gaze, behind the mask of command, lay a primal fear.
If he’s afraid, then shouldn’t we all be?
The young arcanist didn’t voice the thought, as Torval had already begun to lash out rapid-fire orders to rest of the crew to prepare for departure, leaving the defense in Darkclaw’s hands. Around them, delvers donned armor and shields and swapped swords and axes for spears.
Hopelessness hung about the tunnel like a shroud.
Darclaw reached up and clapped her on the arm.
‘Fight; die; live; Deep give; Deep takes’
His one-eyed gaze implored her to not make it easy.
Remembering a new call she’d memorized just that morning, Talia flicked her tongue at the device in her mouth, forgetting in her preoccupation to direct it solely at the veteran beastkin.
‘Unbowed’ she called.
Darkclaw graced her with a feral grin, thumping his chest with a closed fist.
‘Unbowed’ he replied, his response taken up by other crew and passed around on silent tones only they could hear.
A promise, and a rallying cry.
Talia only hoped it wasn’t their death-knell.
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The tremors had gotten only more intense as time passed. From what Talia had gathered, the garbog wasn’t tunneling through rock like some wyrms did. No, instead, it rammed its tail into the sides of tunnels, smashing them apart and using the vibrations to track its prey.
To track them.
The young mage stood in a loose formation along with every delver who could swing a spear, hold a shield or wield a blade. Shield walls would prove useless against the garbog’s bludgeoning strikes and acid spray. The defenders’ best bet was to remain spread out and to use skirmishing tactics to whittle down the beast’s strength. The artificial plug Zaric had raised days prior loomed over them, trapping them while providing little in the way of actual defense.
At first, there had been some concern that the beast would come up from behind them where Zaric furiously worked his magic to allow them a route through the tons of collapsed rock and debris.
In the moment between quakes, Talia had even considered that perhaps, the wyrm would come from below them, smashing its way through the floor to scoop them out of the tunnel like yolk from an egg.
A quick activation of the seismograph’s display had soothed their worries. The clever piece of arcanistry tracked sources of vibration much like garbog did and had confirmed that its trajectory had started down far below them, before climbing in a zig zag from the depths once the collapsed ceiling had presumably woken it.
The defenders wouldn’t have to worry about attacks from below. Unfortunately, that also meant that the goblin warren sitting somewhere under them would prove to be only another potential threat, unlikely to become the wyrm’s target until they were long gone. Or dead.
Beside her, a young delver, who couldn’t be more than sixteen, shook tremulously. Talia favoured her with a comforting smile, despite feeling much the same way herself.
Another tremor hit.
Closer this time. Close enough that they heard rock smash beyond Zaric’s thin wall. Close enough that the unprepared were knocked from their feet.
‘Steady; prepare’ the battlemaster called from his place in the middle of the formation.
Talia reached over a hand to help up the young delver, whose shaking hadn’t helped her balance. The raven-haired delver girl nodded her thanks, nerves mixing with embarrassment and fear in her green eyes.
The final vibrations passed, spreading a pregnant stillness across the gathered defenders.
‘Spears ready’ came the call.
Even through the metre thick stone of Zaric’s plug, they heard it. A slithering scrape of leather on stone, mixed with insectile clicking sounds.
Clack. Clack. Clack clack clack.
The beast was right behind the wall.
Talia tensed.
Time around them froze for a moment, as if the Deeps themselves held their breath. A low screech rang out beyond the plug.
Then—the world exploded. A deafening crack-bang shrieked out. Shrapnel flew in every direction, pinging off shields and armor, sprayed far into the tunnel to crumble against the wagons.
In one hit, the beast had broken through Zaric’s wall.
The fight for their lives was upon them.