A high-pitched grinding screech tore through the quiet cavern, vibrating straight down through the limestone ceiling.
Kaelen did not move. He kept his straw hat tilted over his eyes and his woolen quilt pulled up to his ribs.
The hammock swayed gently between two stalagmites beside the underground lake. Below him, clear water lapped against smooth river pebbles. Above him, a solid sheet of pale blue glacier ice sealed the natural chimney.
The screeching did not stop. It grew louder, rising into a rhythmic, mechanical shriek that set his teeth on edge. Dust trickled from the rock crevices, speckling the brim of his hat with white chalk.
Twelve hours. I got twelve hours of decent sleep before Dravus decided to play carpenter.
Kaelen sighed. He pushed the hat back by two inches and glanced up at the cavern roof.
A spinning spiral head of blackened star-iron was chewing through thirty feet of solid rock. It was an acoustic resonance drill, four feet wide and powered by heavy spirit-springs. The spinning flanges ground salt-stone into powder, spewing grey grit into the open air above.
“General’s orders,” a shrill voice echoed down the freshly punched shaft.
