"When I was young, a troll showed me mosaics from the Impossible Empire depicting all kinds of things," you say.

"What do trolls know of the Impossible Empire?" Melaxu says with a haughty sniff. "They're untrustworthy creatures. I have often considered using trolls for excavations, since they are quicker than dwarrow. But the last time I considered it, Hareetha found Acamon's ax and began her dark crusade–"

Then a troll's voice seems to come from directly behind you. The nymph grabs her mossy torch and somehow dims it, as if it were a dwarf-lantern, until it looks like no more than a few embers glowing green instead of red. But then the voices fade. The torch blazes back to life when she hands it back to you.

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"These wretched creatures," Melaxu says. She tugs on a root overhead, looking for a way up to the surface, which is now only a few cubits above you. "Something has driven the trolls mad. Or someone. I have never seen the man with the brown hood before, but perhaps he did this. Though why he destroyed my work and my servants, I do not know."

The nymph's hand tightens on her spear. You notice that spiderwebs cling to the ashen haft here and there, where troll blood has not stained it, and wonder how long Melaxu was lost in her work.