Path of Dragons

Book 7: Chapter 22: A Persistent Threat

Book 7: Chapter 22: A Persistent Threat

“Ain’t nothin’ ‘round here to get all worked up about,” Kurik grunted, kneeling next to the tunnel wall. “Don’t know why you decided to tag along.”

Miguel didn’t immediately say anything. Instead, he focused on the darkness just outside the circle of light created by their lanterns. He didn’t sense anything down there, but that wasn’t a guarantee that they were safe. Since his return to Ironshore, he’d grown accustomed to the increased senses that came with being so close to the grove, but in the tunnels far beneath the city, their potency had faded significantly. He was still better off than he had been around Norcastle, but there was something oppressive about the subterranean tunnels that made his senses feel less effective than normal.

Perhaps it had something to do with being underground. Or maybe it was just the dearth of life. Living things still existed beneath the surface of the Earth, but they were far less prevalent than in the forests with which he was accustomed.

The solution to his weakened senses was to pay more attention. The problem, of course, was that a person could only remain on high alert for so long before their attention began to wane. And Miguel was no different. Despite his extensive training, and though he could keep it up for far longer than most, he was still only human. And he would eventually lose focus. When that happened, bad things were bound to happen.

“You listenin’ to me, boy?”

“I heard you, Kurik,” he said, wishing that Trevor was with him. However, the stag was a bit claustrophobic, so he’d remained on the surface while Miguel had followed Kurik into the mining tunnels.

“How much longer will this take?” asked the woman who’d insisted on coming with them. She was about his uncle’s age, with long red hair and a host of scars. “I feel like every second might bring more of those dark elves after us.”

“It takes as long as it takes,” Kurik stated, reaching into a small hole in reality and retrieving a tiny crystal, which he fit into a depression he’d dug into the wall. A small surge of ethera came a second later, then disappeared entirely. “There. That’n’s done. Let’s move on.”

Miguel and the woman – Gwenivere was her name – set off down the tunnel with Kurik following behind. The idea behind their mission was simple enough – they were tasked with deploying a host of traps throughout the mines and into the tunnels below. If the dark elves decided to once again ascend and attack Ironshore, they’d doubtless lose many people along the way.

Miguel had seen Kurik’s traps in action, but that was before the Trial of Primacy. The dwarf had gained a lot of levels since then, so Miguel suspected that his new traps would pack quite a punch.

Or maybe that was hope at play.

Regardless, the mission was a valid one, and what’s more, it gave Miguel an opportunity to do something useful while he tried to figure out his next steps. He’d been training extremely hard since returning, and he’d taken a big step by creating the Blade of the Green Warden. However, he was itching to get back out into the wilderness, where he could challenge himself and truly progress.

“You’re related the Druid, right?” asked Gwenivere.

Miguel nodded, answering, “He’s my uncle.”

“Has he said anything to you about when he’s going to make good on his promise to help my people?” she asked.

It took Miguel a moment to realize what she was talking about, but then it hit him. She was from the group of refugees that had been stranded in the middle of that storm far out to sea. “I don’t know anything about that,” he admitted. “He doesn’t really tell me much about his plans.”

That was mostly true. Elijah kept most of that to himself, though he had mentioned that he would be going on a trip soon after completing his cultivation. He’d been at it for most of a week, so Miguel had no idea when he’d be finished. Still, he had a sneaking suspicion that rescuing a few refugees wasn’t high on Elijah’s list of things to do. He’d hinted that he had other important tasks in front of him.

If Miguel could manage it, he’d have offered his own help. Yet, Gwenivere was a higher level than him, and if she couldn’t save her people, then he certainly couldn’t do much to alleviate their problems. Besides, he didn’t think he could cross the ocean, pierce the storm, and survive the harpies he’d heard made their home within.

“My people are dying, and he’s just lounging about on his little island,” she muttered to herself. “By the time we go back, we’ll find nothing but corpses. And it’ll be his fault, too.”

“That ain’t true,” Kurik cut in. “That man’s got more on his plate than you know. He’s got everyone pullin’ him in different directions. You think he should sacrifice a city of thousands just so as to help your people? It ain’t as simple as you make it out to be. Besides, it ain’t like he’s obligated to do anything. Most people in the wider multi-verse wouldn’t even think ‘bout doin’ that kinda thing unless they thought it’d help them in some way. Or unless they got paid. Mostly that last one. So, you actin’ all offended-like just ‘cause he ain’t jumpin’ at your every word – that’s ‘bout as entitled as it gets, and I won’t stand for it.”

“Look,” Miguel said, gesturing toward the dead body before him. “What do you see?”

“I’m not here to play twenty questions, kid,” Gwenivere answered. “Just tell me what you want me to know.”

“The armor is in poor condition,” he responded, pointing to a few scratches and dents in the dark elf’s greaves. “We didn’t make those. And look at this.” He lifted the fighter’s arm. “That wound is old. A few days. Maybe a week, depending on his Regeneration. Hollow cheeks, too. Maybe dehydration. This dark elf was not in good shape even before he found us.”

“They were runnin’ from somethin’,” Kurik guessed.

Miguel shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe,” he acknowledged. “That’s why I wanted to keep one alive. I should have seen it sooner. If I had, maybe we could have questioned them to find out what was really going on.”

Gwenivere frowned. “What do we think happened?”

“Some of the prisoners said things ain’t good down below. Most of their people’re fightin’ some threat they won’t even talk about. That army that hit Ironshore was just a fraction of their total population,” Kurik answered. “Maybe they lost a fight. They might’ve been overrun. Ain’t no tellin’.”

“Maybe they deserted,” Miguel guessed. “Think about it. One squad, this far up? If things are as bad down there as we’ve been led to believe, then there’s a chance that some of the dark elves decided to take their chances by heading topside.”

“I don’t think it matters,” Gwenivere said.

“Of course it matters,” Miguel argued. “We need to know what’s going on so we can pass that on to everyone in Ironshore. If we get hit again without warning –”

“Not my point, kid.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“What?”

“You know what. It’s condescending,” Miguel stated. “I’m younger than you by what? Ten years? Fifteen? That’s not as big of a gap as it used to be.”

She sighed, then ran her hand through her red hair. “Fine. Just call it stress. I’m sorry,” was her response. It was not what Miguel expected. “But my point was that it doesn’t change anything about our mission. We’re here to set traps, right? Then that’s what we do. Maybe we find out more as we go, but I say we just keep doing what we came here to do.”

Miguel didn’t have much of an argument for that suggestion, so he just nodded. “Then let’s get to it.”

“First things first, kid,” Kurik said with a grin. “And don’t be tellin’ me not to call you that, ‘cause it ain’t gonna work. I’ll damn well call you what I want to call you, and there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it. Do you know why?”

“Why?” Miguel asked.

“’Cause without me, you won’t have nowhere to put all the loot. Now, let’s strip these bastards down, take everything they have, and then get back to work.”