Chapter Six Hundred And Twenty – 620
Imara!
The second district of Birchstone was blazing beneath the benediction of a holy inferno when the voice accosted her. Imara looked up from the corpse she had just torn apart and let their armored halves clatter to the uneven flagstones. Faer.
The old man hobbled from a side street, his white robes identifying his position to the Inquisitors that now filled the entirety of the district. Those closest bowed as he passed, as was befitting his rank beneath the Hierophant. What have you done? he demanded.
Imara frowned. Done? I have done what is right.Ñøv€lRapture marked the initial hosting of this chapter on Ñôv€lß¡n.
Right? You have killed hundreds! Thousands! Thisthis will incite a war not just with the Red Shield Hinterlord, but all of the Rimefang Clans. The Hierophant did not give you the authority to
She gave me the authority to do what needs to be done, Imara said, cutting off the old mans blathering. She felt a bit of heat in her chest, but it vanished moments later, consumed by the Light.
Faer looked at her as if hed been told he was being put to the torch. No. I cannot believe that.
War is inevitable, Bellar stated. The Light must reach all, and the Dwarves have refused it too long. It is time we cracked open their mountains.
Bellar. Faers mouth twisted. There was little love lost between the old priest and the Inquisitors. Imara had learned that during their travels. The Pathless does not seek war. Order. Strength. Purity. Thischaos does not serve Him.
His wrinkled face was smudged with soot and his hands were red with burns, something that immediately leaped to Imaras attention. That spark of anger reignited. Youre injured. What happened?
She did not appreciate Faers constant objections, but to hurt a Hierei was to damage the Pathless. He waved aside her concern.
I am fine. I stopped to offer aid to those that needed it.
Bellar rolled his eyes. Pointless. They are god-touched heathens.
Faers dull eyes flashed with anger. She could almosthear it. If you wish to bring the Light to the Dwarves, the population must survive your arrival.
Bellar clucked his tongue. They were given a chance. The Dwarves have refused our offers of mercy.
Imara. Child. Please rethink this. The Hierophant
The Hierophant willed this, Bellar interrupted. We have explicit orders from the Voice of Light to bring back the Gnomeand to secure the Hierocracys foothold in the Rimefangs. Soon, she plans to claim all of them entirely.
Faer blinked, his aged face gone pale. MadnessIt is the Will of the Pathless, Imara stated, her voice as unyielding as her burning gaze. The spark of anger had died once again, and she felt steadier. Stronger. I am to carry out that Will. I am Chosen.
Tears welled in Faers eyes. My child. II have failed you
Stretching her arm out, Imara caught a descending hammer moments before it impacted the old mans skull. He blinked at it, but she merely turned toward the street ahead. Through the charred remains of a nearby stables, thirty Dwarves in matching armor walked into view. Tabards of black and white with three red shields in the center, and in their hands were short hammers.
Titan, the one in the center said. Leave our city and never return.
The hammer tried to retreat across the air, but she held firm. It glowed and sparked and steamedand went nowhere.
The Gnome! You Need To Reach Him!
Imara shivered, the burning heat in her Mind making the inferno around them seem chill by comparison. You cannot stop me.
One of the Dwarven knights stepped forward. We must try.
All at once, the Forge Knights unleashed their Spirits. A powerful pressure descended on them all, shoving many of the Initiates to their knees and even the Inquisitors trembled. To Imara, however, it was less than a soft breeze.
Begone, Insects.
All at once, their Spiritual pressure vanished. It was overwhelmed and subsumed beneath a tidal wave of godly might. Imara felt it flow through her, as if her flesh were a conduit to something bigger than she could ever hope to become.
They stepped into a wide corridor and Harn whistled. If we werent already breakin and enterin, Id say we aint supposed to be in here.
The floors, walls, and ceiling were all of that midnight stone flecked with diamonds that made up the exterior of Nightfall Palace, and appeared to have been cut from a single piece. Or perhaps the corridor had been bored out from the stalactite that hung from the Clan Holds ceiling. Geometric knotwork patterns abounded, framing the path, light fixtures, and large doorwaysall of them made of gold that had been inlaid into the black stone. Statues of serious looking Dwarves filled the alcoves between doors, each one at least twenty feet tall and set with hundreds of lit candles at their bases.
These are the Hinterlords private quarters, Tzfell said. Shed composed herself and peered around the area. Laur?
This way.The Elf led them down the hall, past several intersections and through three adjointed chambers, stopping every hundred feet to peer at the walls and feel the air. Strangely, the halls were utterly empty, as if the Hinterlord and all his staff had evacuated his own palace. It was quiet, the only sound the tread of their boots and hooves on the stoneand even that was heavily muffled by his Abyssal Skein.
The weak point isthere.
Laur gestured to an utterly nondescript wall between a large potted tree with orange leaves and a painting of some pinch-faced matriarch. The wall was smooth and unmarked.
Judging on the resonance of these patterns, the official entrance to the Undermount must be close. Archibald must have exploited the proximity and used his unique Skill to bridge the gap, leaving us this tunnel. The Elven Chanter peered at the empty wall, his eyes swirling with Mana again. Fascinating. The ripples are moving, as if it were a liquid and not a solid. I think
Were wasting time, Felix said. Laur, how do we get in?
The Elf blinked. We must force the weakness open to allow us to enter.
Force it?
Feel out the edges of the pattern with your Affinity. Do you feel it?
Concentrating, Felix did as Laur asked and after fumbling for a minutes or so, he sensed the first flashes of a strange, jagged design. I think so.
Find the center. Place your Intent squarely upon the point of confluence, and apply your Willpower to leverage the wards apart. When you are ready, I will craft a temporary opening through this tunnel.
Felix found the center. It was like a swirling whirlpool, those jagged waves rushing toward it before pushing back out again. Ready.
He shaped his Intent into a sharpened point and thrust it through the centerbefore hurling his Willpower in all directions. It was surprisingly easy, like twisting off the lid of a pickle jar someone already loosened. The whirlpool widened, pressed apart by the sheer mass of his attention, and the wall before them buckled and snapped. A hole large enough to drive a bus through collapsed into the wall, as if the stone were falling sideways instead of down, and a frenetic surge of crackling Mana filled it.
Youwhat is happening? Vess asked, alarmed.
The Autarch has done something impossible again, Yintarion said thoughtfully. Has anyone kept a tally?
This shouldnt have occurred. My Lord, you cannot rip the weak point open yourself! The wards wont!
All around them, new alarms blared. Horns of a higher pitch sounded from what seemed only feet away, before they turned tinny and vanished. Magelights flickered and went dark, leaving their party standing before the blue-white light of a crackling vortex.
Is it open? Harn asked.
It is, but
Everyone in!
They all piled through, Vess and Yintarion first, followed by Pit, Evie, Beef, and the rest. Felix brought up the rear, his attention the only thing keeping the vortex open.
He leaped through, and it snapped shut.
Across the mountain, standing amid the confusing tunnels of the Clan Holds defenses, Imara perked up. Ballista bolts, concussive pillars of force, and blades of mithril had been rained upon her army for what seemed like hours, but now they stopped. In fact, the wall of shimmering lights before her shuddered and winked out, as did a thousand other enchantments within range of her senses.
The Dwarves started, all of them looking around in mounting horror. Their defenses were utterly compromised.
Imara pressed her hands to her chest. Thank you, Pathless, for your aid.
The glow of gold around her brightened to a blinding inferno, and she lifted her bare hands to the sky. Inquisition! Advance!
