Chapter 33: The Artificer

  “How…” Reingard stammered, undoubtedly in response to what they’d all just seen the previous chamber, “How long have they been like that?”

  Bly frowned.

  He had no doubt that Reingard was thinking the exact same thing as Blychert was, that the three bodies they'd seen back there were the missing delvers. It was tough to stomach. But if the dungeon, or rather that strange golden energy, had done this to them, then why hadn’t it done the same to Bly and his companions?

  What had they done differently?

  Bly shook his head, hoping that maybe Cynric could tell them.

  For its part, the dwarf’s encampment was a rough and makeshift sort of outfit, nestled away in a smaller chamber off the much larger one in which the vortex swirled ever more. By the golden light emanating into this chamber from the adjacent one, Bly could just make out a shoddy, single-person tent standing a bit lopsided in one corner. A cold fireplace sat idly a few meters in front of it, and nearby it was a slab of stone that could just barely pass for a sitting place. A considerable amount of refuse and nondescript clutter suggested, or perhaps even confirmed, that Cynric had been down here quite a while.

  But more curiously than anything else, Blychert’s attention was drawn quite quickly towards the voluminous and varied array of trinkets, apparatuses, and otherwise strange alembic-like tools set up throughout the chamber. Some of which contained that very same golden energy that they had been interacting with up until now.

  “Hard to say.” Cynric huffed, as he knelt down next to the fireplace. Retrieving something on his person, a sizzling, striking sound reverberated throughout the camp for a dull moment, before sparks ignited inside the pit. Smoke arose, and a few seconds later, the warm glow of flame light. Standing to his full height, which couldn't have been more than four or five feet, Cynric wrinkled his nose, and added, “I stopped keeping strict track of the time a while ago. I’ve… taken at least seven, or maybe even eight sleeps since they appeared in that chamber. If... that information is of any use to you, so be it.”

  Bly nodded to himself.

  That would likely have lined up with the timeframe in which the dungeon anomaly occurred. They must have been on the seventh floor, or maybe something else had gotten in their way? Similar to Kubranul, perhaps?

  “Shit…” Reingard sighed, finally sheathing his blade. He plopped down on the slab of stone next to the fire, and wiped the sweaty bangs away from his eyebrows. A pondering glance etched his features for a second longer, before he asked, “Has anyone else made it this far? I mean, not like them. Like us. Anyone from the investigation unit?”

  Bly was wondering the same thing, and the stark look on Skaldan’s face said that he was too.

  “Investigation...? No.” Cynric shook his head, though his expression seemed confused by the initial term. He stepped away thereafter into his tent, but returned with a rickety-looking kettle a moment later. The contents sloshed around as he settled it over the fire, and he said, “I tried to help them, you know. I doubt there wasn’t much short of a miracle that could be done without risking my own life in the process. I do not believe they will have suffered, if at all. I am sorry for your loss.”

  So, they were dead.

  Blychert could feel the color flushing from his face, as the sudden realization of what that implied dawned on him. How close had he been to ushering the four of them to their deaths? Was one wrong move all it really would have taken?

  “Is there—” Bly stammered, a hard lump having formed in the back of his throat out of anxiousness. Shaking his head clear, he continued, “We’ve been looking for you. Actually… a lot of people have. Can you tell us, is there a reason everyone seems to think you’re the key to everything, or—I don’t know how to say it, all this stuff going on in Calvergia, with the dungeon, with the ley lines… it’s all connected. Isn’t it? Please, can you just help me understand?”

  He hoped beyond hope that the dwarf could. This was Bly’s last-ditch effort at finally uncovering any semblance of truth, or at least at finding a path forward to work with. He didn’t understand anything about how he was connected to Sage, to Winter, to any of this, but he knew that he was.

  He could feel it.

  Cynric grunted, “That foolish prince wanted the same. To understand. As if any of this is remotely within the scope of understanding, let alone rationalizing—”

  “What happened to Skegg?” Skaldan blurted out immediately in response, ushering himself up to where the dwarf stood. He was desperate, there was no hiding that, but so was Bly. “You were the last person to see him awake. Well? Weren’t you? What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Awake?” Cynric furrowed his brow. Despite the budding tension, the dwarf chuckled, “So, he’s still alive? Curious… though, I am glad to hear of it.”

  “Any particular reason one of the Undaunted’s most decorated members was helping out a known fugitive like yourself?” Reingard seemed keen to make his voice known too. He smirked, as if something funny came to mind, and said, “No offense, but a guy like you comes asking for help? I’m looking the other way.”

  “A fair assessment, though I suppose that’s why you wear that gold medallion, and he the platinum.” Cynric responded in kind.

  Blychert chortled, not expecting the dwarf to burn his temporary party leader so badly.

  “Uh huh…” Reingard muttered out the side of his mouth.

  “Master dwarf,” Bjadir asked, a curious tone of voice, “Does your bounty with the Khaglayn have something to do with your… how would one say it in the common tongue? Learning? These odd things around here, I mean. I do not know their purpose, they are beyond me, but they are strange to look at.”

  “Aye.” Cynric nodded. The kettle began to whistle, and he removed it promptly. Producing only a single, ruddy colored mug, he poured, took a sip, wincing only somewhat at the heat, and passed it to his left to Skaldan. He then addressed Bjadir, “My research is my life’s work. Those highbrow, glorified custodians in the Khaglayn’s inner circle could never understand—too conservative for their own good, and too permissive in their indulgences. They lack… ambition, ingenuity. They care not for the wonders of this world… its most treasured secrets.”

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  “Some things are better left a secret, yeah? Crazy, magical bullshit, perhaps? Just a suggestion...” Reingard insisted, but Cynric dismissed him with a flick of his wrist.

  “You are a warrior, and you have a warrior’s mind.” He argued, “Simple, yet highly effective in the areas of your expertise." Reingard rolled his eyes, to which the dwarf said, "Do not glower, my mind is the same as yours. Though my area so happens to be crazy, magical bullshit, as you say.”

  “And you’ve been studying the ley lines?” Bly asked. Skaldan passed the mug to him as he did, and so he took a sip. But to his shock, Bly quickly realized it was only hot water. Nothing else. Contents aside, he added, “Following the patterns, or… all the weird stuff happening around the kingdom?”

  “I detected stuttering in the ley lines of Calvergia well over a year ago.” Cynric admitted, “These dungeon anomalies that you delvers have been forced to suffer are only a manifestation of the greater issue at hand.”

  “How do you mean?” Skaldan pressed.

  “A dungeon operates on a steady flow of magical energy.” Cynric replied, “But one thing that is not widely understood, is the detailed process by which it uses said mana, A dungeon does not utilize the magical energy it intakes off the main source, not in the way most thaumaturgical scholars would have you believe, and certainly not one-to-one. For starters, the rate of flow in a major ley line is far too vast for a dungeon to get any practical use out of without over saturation. Secondly, raw mana is functionally useless to a highly sophisticated apparatus such as a dungeon, it requires a more delicate conversion subprocess.”

  “It stores it.” Blychert said his thoughts out loud, thinking back to his initial inklings with the aura detection. The rest of his party looked at him like he was crazy, and so he winced awkwardly, “And, it converts it… somehow?”

  “Hm. Yes, something like that.” Cynric nodded with approval, "However, there’s a clear pattern of ley line disturbance across the entirety of Calvergia. Now, you might think that what I’ve said shouldn’t impact a dungeon, if indeed such an apparatus stores magical energy as reserves for its operational functions. But what happens when a dungeon reaches critically low power levels? What becomes of those functions? It’s primary process for proliferation?”

  “The anomalies.” Blychert suggested.

  Cynric seemed to agree, “These are not natural disturbances. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it is outright manipulation, I don’t know of any mage, be they alive or deceased, that could pull off such a feat. To me, it is more of a subtle encouragement. I truly do not understand what or who could do such a thing, but… I have my hunches. And indeed, I intend to stop it. Even if there are those who do not wish me to do so.”

  Skaldan and Bly looked at one another intently.

  “You mean… Gurogan.” Skaldan asked.

  “And the Sister of Mercy?” Bly thought to add.

  “They’re not with you, are they—!” Cynric said fearfully, his entire demeanor shifting in that moment, “Don’t tell me you’ve led them here?”

  “No, but—” Bly put up his arms in protest, “We’re not with them. We want to help you.”

  “Oh… well, good.” Cynric exhaled. He sat down momentarily, and fiddled with his beard, before saying, “They’ll only impede my work further to unmake the damage they insist upon allowing to continue.”

  “They want a rift to happen. But why?” Bly asked, “What could the Guild or the Church hope to gain out of something like this? It doesn’t make any sense. Back home, I can’t help but feel like they wouldn’t want a big outbreak to happen unless it was properly managed.”

  Bly bit his tongue.

  He realized his error the moment it left his lips. Thankfully, nobody seemed to take notice or even care that he had just admitted to being from at least a nation that recognized the Guild or the Church’s authority. He was supposed to be from somewhere in Loreley, which most certainly did not recognize either of those bodies. Not that he expected any of his companions to know that, but it was still a forced error on his part.

  Either way, Cynric replied sternly, “Make no mistake, this forming rift is something else entirely. Its manifestation will have been entirely fabricated, should it come to pass. What I mean to suggest, is that it is my believe that something within Sage itself—some errant entity is compelling a rift to form via its own accord, by poking and disturbing the ley lines seemingly with clear intent to cause disruption as part of a widescale effort. All indications in my research, here in this dungeon, suggest as much. In this, under the auspicious yoke of the Heavenly Principle, perhaps it is only fitting to call such an entity… a demon.”

  “Pale Lady…” Bly murmured.

  “What did you say?” Cynric snapped. Before Bly knew it, the dwarf had turned maniac, grabbing him by the arms, and shaking Bly, “What did you just say, boy?”

  “Get off him—!” Reingard groaned, jumping into the fray at the first sign of trouble. One brief skirmish later, and the fighter had the dwarf pinned down on the ground, kicking and screaming.

  “I’ve seen her face!” Cynric shouted desperately, attempting to wrench himself free of Reingard, “The demon will come for us all! In the weave, I saw her too—I’ve seen her face! And she saw mine! Death comes to Frostwall. The eye of winter falls upon us! We must hide! We must shelter from the storm—!”

  The manic shouting stopped abruptly, though it was only because Reingard had punched the dwarven artificer so hard in the face that he’d knocked the poor fellow out cold.

  “What—the hell—did you say to him?” Reingard panted heavily, turning back to face Bly, and more than a little irritated by the looks of it.

  “Eh-eh…” Bly smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head to cope, “It’s kind of a long story.”

  The time for ambiguity was probably over, if he wanted his companions to be safe. Frankly, the more people up to speed and on Blychert’s side, the better this was going to turn out for him. It was clear that the Pale Lady—that Winter was the entity haunting Cynric. Blychert needed only take his words as proof of their shared experience. Which meant these things he was researching had to be directly related to what she was doing in Calveriga. It had to be, there was no other explanation at this point.

  And as for the Guild, the Church…

  If Winter was their sworn enemy, as his own research into the matter suggested, then what did they stand to gain from allowing a rift to break out in Calvergia? From allowing this "thing" to operate of its own, errant accord?

  Bly smirked to himself, almost in disbelief of his own naivety. The answer was so stupidly simple, it was laughable and pathetic. What was the one thing Administrator Caelus always used to say?

  “The Heavenly Principle shall always be upheld.”

  In a land that cared little for the artifices of the all-seeing eye, what better way was there for the Heavenly Principle’s light to be brought to bear, than for it to shine through an unfathomable darkness that was all but certainly on the horizon now. It wasn’t a matter of ‘if’ anymore, it was a matter of ‘when’ And that… that made all the difference in the world.

  “I think maybe we should rest now.” Bly suggested, the weight of exhaustion finally washing over him. Still, he turned towards his party leader, and practically begged, “We need to do everything we can to get him out of here. Reingard? I know I don’t have the right to ask you this, and I know we agreed about the bounty, but will you please help me bring him to Nelkaar instead?”

  The fighter furrowed his brow, an altogether unamused expression, “Seriously? What do you take me for? Some kind of a wretch?”

  “…Huh?” Bly said confusedly, not expecting that answer. After everything that had happened today, he was surprised Reingard hadn’t knocked him out cold.

  “Of course we’re taking him to the Hall. As if I’d seriously entertain any other stupid idea. This guy still has to answer for one of our brothers in arms…” Reingard shook his head seriously, before proceeding towards the dwarf’s tent, “Big guy, tie him up and get some sleep. Let idiots one and two sort out amongst themselves who keeps watch over him. And do not wake me up, not unless something needs to die.”

  Bly turned to face Skaldan, who could only shrug, but said, “I can take him first, if you want? I wanted to ask him some things, assuming he comes to.”

  “Sure…” Bly sighed with a thankful grin, already moving to lay out his bedroll.

  Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he would be able to sleep at all. But in times like this, it really couldn’t hurt to try.