Twenty-three hours after Kaelen’s last check of the slate, the defenders traced a suspected conduit beneath the mountain.
A thick, foul stench of metallic copper and rotted marrow hung heavy in the subterranean cavern.
Sera Thorne followed Princess Valeria down the winding limestone tunnel.
Torchlight sputtered against damp stone walls as water dripped from jagged stalactites. Behind them came Barnaby Holt, carrying an iron lantern that cast long, swinging shadows across the rock. Alchemist Linnea walked close behind, clutching a brass-bound wooden testing kit against her ribs.
The rebel sappers had excavated seventy paces through an ancient salt-mining shaft before breaking through a natural fault line.
Now, eighty feet beneath the scarred battlefield of White-Lotus Valley, the four of them stood on a shelf of wet rock.
Down in the center of the hollow limestone cavern lay an abomination.
A massive iron conduit stretched across the cavern floor. It was four feet wide, forged from heavy black blood-iron. Dense crimson runes twisted across its outer surface, glowing and fading with a rhythmic pulse like a diseased heartbeat.
