Talia thought back to the time, a scant hour or so ago, when she’d thought their pace to be excruciatingly slow. She’d been mistaken. Laden with kilos of meat held up on the shoulders of the three humans and Silversweep —more by virtue of their similar height than anything else— Darkclaw slowed their speed to a crawl. And she did mean a crawl.

Every corner was checked.

Every sound stopped for.

Every suspicion heeded.

It was…mind-numbing

Even more so when Talia knew that nothing was approaching them within a range of a few hundred paces. Chellicoi hunkered in their dens, and small critters skittered around, looking for scraps of subsistence. Overhead, the occasional bat or small airborne beast flapped past.

But no depths stalkers. None of the bestial cunning and sentience that would denote something truly dangerous. It was moments like these that Talia was tempted to throw caution to the wind and reveal her secret.

That’s it. I’ll tell Darkclaw, at least. He has to suspect anyway. I’ll tell him with Callisto to back me up. Maybe Lazarus. Then we can stop puttering around in the dark like we’re in constant danger. Then we can stop mucking around in the dark like children. The sheer waste of time.

So Talia split her time between brainstorming runescript and watching her mindsense, nearly tuning out the rest of the world. Her part of the hunt was done. She’d seen what she needed to see, and done what she had to.

Part of her was already wildly theorizing about the sabotaged lifts. She shoved that part into the depths of her mind for later. There were more reliable sources of information than her own rationalization, after all. She knew next to nothing about the events that led to Karzurkul’s Exodus and death.

And even if she had, her effectiveness in doing anything about it would be drastically diminished until she could design and create arcanics again. Being without her arm was less damaging to her psyche while she was under the effects of crystal mind, but the spell had also highlighted just how crippled she was without it.

Unfortunately, she couldn’t do any of her practice without drawing the battlemaster’s ire down on her or revealing her abilities. Dropping something and making a clatter was the last thing she needed right now. And so, she planned. Moving forward and following behind the beastkin officer like a well-trained hound. Rote and low-perception rather than riveted focus.

It was going to be a long day.

----------------------------------------

Their return to haven drew quite the crowd. Brittle-willed they might be, the delvers were not stupid. They knew the caravan was running low on food. So when the battlemaster and their comrades returned with meat by the kilo and a generous portion of edible fungus, it drew attention. And good cheer.

Of course, the immediate consensus was that such a hunt required a celebration. And booze. Talia had scoffed, slipping away from the limelight before her disgust could further taint her perception of the crew.

An exercise in futility.

Luckily, she knew one person who likely wouldn’t be participating, and who could potentially get her some answers. Moving with purpose through the slim crowd, Talia made a beeline for Calisto. Even as delvemaster, the stern woman was still a chronicler first.

----------------------------------------

“No one knows.”

Talia’s right arm twinged painfully even as she threw her left into the air.

“What do you mean, ‘no one knows’? I may have been a poor history student, but even I know Karzurkul was home to more than Karzgorad ever will be. There’s no way we don’t remember anything. Hells, a thousand years is what, three generations of elves? Less? How does the death of a city just evaporate?”

Calisto’s stoic façade slipped into a thin frown. She brushed her newly grey-streaked hair out of her scowling face. A bitter laugh escaped her throat as she waved a dismissive hand.

“The memories of elves are useless to chroniclers, and that’s all I can say on that. Ask Lazarus if you want to know more, he can tell you if he chooses,” she said in an acerbic tone, “You would be shocked how much knowledge we are missing. What did you think chroniclers do? Certainly, we record current events, but for the most part, our job lies in tracking down lost knowledge. The fabric of history can only take so many cataclysms before it begins to fracture, even in the memories of the long-lived.”

Talia’s lips tightened to a line.

“So. Nothing. We know nothing of how or why Karzurkul is an empty husk.”

Calisto rolled her eyes, waving her hand across the books that lay open on her desk.

“Hearsay and snippets of recollection, and that’s it. The topic is one of many that has divided chroniclers down the middle. Some texts claim it was a virulent plague, which is obviously incomplete, considering the Exodus, and the fact that Karzgorad is still standing. Others claim it was a swarm of beasts that inhabited the flesh of sapients as you and I might wear clothes. Others still a miasma of darkness that corroded the flesh of both the living and…”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Talia felt the epiphany click into place. Seeing the light spark to life in Calisto’s ice-blue eyes was like watching an ancestor spring from the Stone.

“Holy gods,” Calisto breathed, “The Scourge of Karzurkul. A plague. A ravening host. A miasma of darkness. The parts about silver metal were always discounted as a conflicting narrative, but what if…”

From context alone, Talia felt a stone sink into her gut. If not for the balm of crystal mind, she felt sure that she’d be breaking into a cold sweat. Instead, her thoughts turned to analysis, breaking apart the problem like she would a difficult enchanting task.

“The Aberrant,” Talia stated, “You think the Aberrant are what killed the city. But if that’s true, where have they been all these years? It’s been centuries. Delves to the Karzurkul have obviously been done before, so why did no one notice them? Ancients’ fury, if they were still in the city, why didn’t they ambush us as soon as we made it in?”

There were so many flaws in the chronicler’s theory, but that did not seem to faze her, for reasons she did not deign to explain. She was muttering to herself, her pen sprinting across a blank page while another hand flipped through an aged tome like it held the key to her salvation.

“Calisto? Calisto!”

The chronicler jerked, a hint of mania in her blue orbs as she looked up and seemed to realize Talia was still there.

“Hmm, what? Oh, it’s too complicated to explain it all, but so much of the mythology fits. How do I even explain…ah. The novitiate’s conundrum.”

“The novitiate’s conundrum?”

“Yes. A simple problem posed to chronicler novitiates,” Calisto explained with another dismissive wave, snapping shut her book and setting down her pen. “Do you know why the Surface is not a myth, but a fact? Do you know how we know?”

Because I’ve seen it in the memories of giant psionic spiders, most of whom are long dead. And because…you have evidence?

“Because—”

“Barring the Everclock.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say—”

Calisto sighed.

“The novitiate’s conundrum is a rhetorical question, Talia. It’s meant to get you to think historically, not actually be answered. The answer is that we don’t. We only have snippets of evidence; linguistic anomalies, mythologies, religious texts and second-hand accounts inscribed on broken walls. References from ancient memory cubes. Bits of an equation that, despite unknown variables, can only add up to one answer.

That is how you put together lost history, by identifying the gaps that can only be filled by something either known or supposed. And yet, most believe the Surface to be a myth. A story of origin, like the dwarven Stone-Mother or the Meti-Ona of the beastkin. The chroniclers know it to be fact, distorted as those facts may be.”

Talia allowed herself to process what the chronicler was saying, allowing it to sink in and applying it to the context of Karzurkul. A suspicion hit her, and she roved her gaze across Calisto’s desk. Bestiaries, historical texts, journals of encounters in the deep. All pointed to one thing. Grief at its finest. The new delvemaster searched through scattered memoires of the past. A clue as to her lover’s killers. What they were. Where they came from.

And now Talia had handed her a prime theory on a silver platter. All by happy accident. But that was unimportant. Calisto’s judgement was clearly compromised. It didn’t mean that she was wrong, but it was immaterial to her current problem.

Hmm. This was a mistake. Should’ve just let things lie, asked her to vouch for me with Darkclaw and gotten back to work. Now she’ll be even more distracted.

Yet she couldn’t help herself.

“So they’re guesses, big, convoluted, educated guesses,” Talia concluded.

The chronicler was already shaking her head disdainfully.

“Just because the puzzle is missing some pieces, does not mean you can’t discern the image it depicts. There are degrees of truth, historically speaking, each with their uses, and weaknesses.”

Talia opened her mouth to argue that truth didn’t come in degrees, but snapped her mouth shut with a click.

Doesn’t matter.

Her respect for the woman dropped though, stripped of the childish awe she’d held the older woman in since embarking on the journey. Instead of lamenting the disillusionment, Talia moved on.

“I need to tell Darkclaw about my…abilities. Will that be a problem?” she asked.

The sudden change of topic seemed to give Calisto a smidge of whiplash, but she recovered quickly.

“As long as you’re prepared for beastkin…peculiarities, it should pose no problem. Most beastkin are not proponents of Bill 32. May I ask why you feel the need to share?”

“Efficiency. Too much wasted time today,” Talia growled, “If he knew, I could just guide us to prey and hunt myself. Wouldn’t need to worry about being tracked or going slowly.”

“If it’s so easy, why not hunt a few of the bugs down yourself—ah. Transport. I see. Well yes, that’s fine. Just be wary of his spirituality, as I said.”

Talia frowned.

Why the hells is a lack of religious education —of all things— coming to bite me in the ass so often?

“Spirituality?”

“Yes, spirituality. Quite literally. The predominant belief among the beastkin enclaves is that magic, in all its forms, comes from the Meti-Ona. The word translates to dwarvish poorly, but can be likened to ‘spirits of the world, given flesh and power’. It’s a complex system of belief that isn’t particularly important to learn about, despite a fascinating bit of mythology,” Calisto rambled.

Huh. I thought that Meti-Ona meant arcano-sun.

When she said as much, Calisto sighed and shook her head.

“It does, and it doesn’t. Explaining properly would take too long, and unless you plan on worshipping, it won’t serve you. Just beware. You’ll have to temper how you speak to him about it.”

“I…see.”

Calisto scoffed.

“You will. Just refuse any titles, names or prayers, and ask him to be discreet. Darkclaw isn’t a zealot, thankfully.”

“Understood.”

Calisto search Talia’s face, either finding what she was looking for, or dismissing her entirely.

“Anything else,” Calisto asked.

“The delving group for the matrix-core.”

The delvemaster’s expression turned pained.

“One week. One week and I’ll see what I can muster up.”

Fine. More practice for me anyway.

“I look forward to getting this over with,” Talia said instead.

She went to leave, stopping at the threshold and looking back at the older woman.

“Calisto?”

“Yes?”

“I apologize for being…volatile, these past few weeks. It won’t happen again.”

“I—ahem—thank you. I didn’t hold it against you, Grief and fear twist the best of people at times.”

Not knowing what to say to that, and eager for the conversation to end so she could get back to her practice, Talia simply nodded.

Time to tell Darkclaw, then it was back to the workshop to work.

Talia’s plans were almost immediately shattered as she turned the corner and ran almost headfirst into a trio of her fellow hunters-turned-porters.

It was going to be a long day.