Unbound

“It’s a pretty good picture,” Beef said, staring at the crumbled parchment critically. “Especially without cameras. Really nailed your eyes. Do you think it’s a Skill?”

“Put it away,” Vess ordered. “No unnecessary noises.”

“Sorry,” the Minotaur mouthed, as he folded the wanted poster back up.

The group of them had crept forward, following Evie toward the end of the disused tunnel and onto a rocky cliff that overlooked a wide cavern. There were no stairs or ramp; no easy way down short of leaping or flight, and either would draw the attention of the guards. The floor of the cavern was a hundred feet below them, beyond a honeycombed mess of stalactites and hanging moss that offered them some much needed cover.

Felix was pressed up against that cover, peering down through the stone and moss at a town, just as Evie had described. It dominated the far end of the unnaturally square cavern, a squat collection of towers that sat astride a main artery of the Low Roads. Within the fortresses' expanse, a small town sprawled outward in an orderly grid, lit by street lanterns and the pulsing glow of inscriptions tracing the foundations of each building. Dwarves filled it, many dressed in cloth or furs, but most in the distinctive armor of Ironclads, the Dwarven infantry. Here and there, Felix spotted others in different armor, all wearing tabards with an unfamiliar design on them. A high wall enclosed all, and with his Manasight he could see the rainbow refractions of wards dance across the surface and air above.

“What do those signs say, Tzfell?” he asked, pointing to a series of metal placards bolted to the cavern walls. Unlike the ones on their original path, these were well-maintained.

She peered down to the signs, and her eyes widened. “This…is not good.”

“What?” Evie asked, looking up from Harn.

“That is a league marker, showing the relative distance between Clan Holds or Low Fortresses such as this. It says this is Hammerhelm. Outpost citadel of the Ironjaw Clan Hold.”

“Great,” Felix snapped. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, my apologies, I—” Tzfell pointed to the tabards Felix had spotted earlier. “Those soldiers would not be here if this was Red Shield territory. Yet they bear the glyph of Clan Ironjaw.”

Felix frowned. “Is that what it is? I thought it was a weird rock.”

Vess looked to the Chanter in alarm. “Clan Ironjaw is nearer my home than the Hoarfrost. Five hundred leagues south of the frozen north, if I recall correctly.”

“You do. The portal in the Rockshaper’s atelier placed us farther than I anticipated.”

Felix growled. “That’s an understatement. I need a map. Show me where we are.” He paused, then gestured for them all to move back into the tunnel.

While everyone retreated back beyond the nearest bend in the tunnel, Tzfell sorted through her maps until she produced a folded atlas bound in well-oiled leather. She spread it out onto uneven ground, revealing hand-drawn mountains, rivers, and forests. The mountains filled the page, and each large peak was marked with a clan glyph. The Chanter pointed near the top of the map, where three shields were clustered together near a vaguely familiar mountain. “Here is where we were, and just north of this is the Hoarfrost.” She dragged her finger down, down, down until she’d just about reached the southwestern edge of the vellum sheet. There a series of smaller mountains continued on, but were split by what looked like a swampy forest. “We are here. At the southern edge of the range.”

Pain rolled through his chest again, but Felix shoved it away into his Hunger. She ate it up, leaving him with that stomach-sour anger. “So the chances of us getting to the Hoarfrost in a few days is zero.”

“I am afraid so.”

Damnit. Felix pushed his hands through his hair, tempted to yank it out.

“Wait, why are there wanted posters for him if we’re so far from Red Shield?” Evie asked. “Why would they care, this far out?”

“The Undermount’s a shared thing,” Archie said. “All the clans use it, revere it for some dumb reason. Remember the pleasure palace? We got every single one of ‘em in a tizzy when we broke in…and then this guy tore the Vault of Nine Kings down.”

Tzfell nodded. “Archibald is correct. Invading the Undermount as we did is a matter of concern for all the Clans. It is likely all the Dwarves are on the lookout for you, Lord Autarch.”

“We knew of the consequences before entering the Undermount,” Felix said. “We can handle it. Being so far from the Claw though…I hadn’t expected that.”

Hallow flowed off of Beef’s chest, her rocks reassembling into a humanoid figure around four feet tall. She was far more detailed than she had been in the past, and her once-lumpy face now had the semblance of a mouth, nose, and eyes picked out in green crystals. “What do you wish to do?”

Felix drummed his fingers against the stone but stopped himself. He was hitting it too hard, chipping chunks from the ground and the edges of Abyssal Skein thrummed as they attempted to veil the sound.

“I could get through the fortress,” Archie offered, taking off his goggles. His eyes looked like faceted rubies set into his otherwise normal face. “None of the rock looked too high Tier, so it’d be simple…but that way is north, right?”

Tzfell nodded. “Right.”

“I’d rather not go back toward more Dwarves. I’ve had my fill of the bastards.”

“I agree with gem-eyes. I don’t blame ‘em for what happened, but I’m in a mood to hurt somethin’.” Evie caressed the chain around her waist. “For Harn’s sake, I’d rather get somewhere we can get proper healin’ done. That ain’t gonna be the Dwarves, not if they’re out for blood.”

“If they don’t already have all of our descriptions, I’ll eat my helmet,” Harn grunted. “Where’s my helmet?”

“You’re awake?” Evie rushed to the man’s side, but she didn’t touch him. She didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. “Here. Your helm’s hooked on your belt. How’re you feelin’?”

“Like I got my legs chopped off.”

“Harn.” Felix stood up in order to meet his friend face to face. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know goin’ back north is a fool’s errand. Cut the Claw loose, send ‘em home.” He shoved at the Eidolon’s arms, pushing himself into a sitting position. The stalwart Eagin didn’t move a twitch. “We gotta find our own way back.”

“I might have an alternative,” Vess said, pulling out a tome of her own. Felix had noticed her leafing through them during their rare moments of rest, but had been too preoccupied to ask what they were about. “Yin and I recovered a number of books from the vault. Books that were marked by my order’s seal. This one,” she flipped the tome open and held it up for them to see. The thin page held a number of sketches and hand-drawn notes around them, including what looked like a series of mountains and trees. “This one describes a number of outposts in the Rimefangs. Most are more northerly, nearer the Hoarfrost…but according to this, there are two where the mountains give way to foothills and the dark swamps.”

Yin lifted his bearded head up from the molten core. “Are you sure, child? We do not know what lies in wait at any of these locations.”

“Whether we travel to the fortresses themselves or not is unimportant,” Vess said, and Felix felt her Spirit twitch. A lie. “But if we can get above ground, I believe I can lead us into the lowlands with these maps. From there it is but a short journey to Pax’Vrell and my father’s lands. There we can safely rest and heal before we press on.”

“Pax’Vrell,” Laur said contemplatively. “That nears the heartland of the Hierophant’s power. Is such a thing wise? Or would we be trading one conflict for another?”

“The Pathless has a presence in my home, that is true. Amaranth is but two months south by Manaship, and trade between us and the other Territory’s of the Hierocracy is considerable. But my father holds no love for the Hierophant or her god. He will put us up. I know it.”

“Pax’Vrell. That would put us very far from any Territory I control, right?”

“It would, yes. Ahkestria is far to the south, and Nagast…getting to Setoria would set us back by months, even via Manaship,” Tzfell said.

Grumbling, Felix paced. Face the Dwarves and his sister’s army again? Or hoof it across unknown dangers for far longer to avoid them? His boots hadn’t survived his previous battles, and his clawed toes dug into the stone with each step. The simple rock parted like half-melted butter, and the ease of it soothed his brain. Felix really wanted to punch something.

“I—if it is not too presumptuous, Autarch, I would offer my own opinion,” Eagin said.

He stopped pacing and looked at the Eidolon in surprise. “Go ahead.”

The other Eidolons stepped closer. Orun, Telys, and Iiana. They looked almost identical, and only the web of glyphs on their chests were different. Eagin cleared his throat; a sound like grinding rocks. “As much as we would prefer to return to the Kingsrock, our sworn duty is to the Colossus first and foremost. Others of our kind, those that were meant to protect our home…they were destroyed long ago. We would see you safe from harm, and running headlong across enemy territory only promises further danger. The strange army you faced in the vault likely remains a threat, too. I say we head south, toward Lady Vessilia’s home as she has suggested.”

Eagin was right, Felix knew. Imara loomed in his thoughts; she hadn’t died during their fight, and the Inquisitor army was boundless in number. If they weren’t already at large in the Rimefangs, he’d eat Harn’s helmet. Above all else, Felix wasn’t ready to face his sister again, let alone the Pathless.

Hunger growled at the thought, entirely too eager for a rematch. Felix still wasn’t sure how much he could trust that part of himself, but he appreciated the enthusiasm.

“I need to think about this. Let’s make camp, and we’ll tackle it in the…morning? Evening? Anyone have a clue what time it is?”

“Midday, I believe,” Laur said.

“Right. Set a guard and rest up.” Felix walked to the edge of the tunnel and settled against a portion of the wall before sitting down. “I need to make a call.”