Odran’s hand shot up, and the sapper in front of him stopped with one boot on the stone lip. A split ran across the upper access ahead, widening as grit spilled through it. The survey team backed away while the roof settled another inch.
“Clear the mouth,” Odran said. “No one under the beam.”
The last sapper scrambled out. A slab broke free and struck the threshold hard enough to throw dust across them. The way inside narrowed to a jagged slot.
Aren kept his numb right hand close to his side. His left held the lamp. The black mark at his collar itched under his shirt, but he stayed focused on the gap. They had come to learn whether the route beneath the northern front was only an escape tunnel or part of something larger. Now the mountain was trying to close it before they could look.
Cadrin glanced from the fallen stone to the marked survey sheet. “Can your team reopen it?”
“Not without putting weight on the rest of that roof,” Odran said. “There’s another way in.” He pointed to a narrow cut in the rock beside the access. “Old drainage channel. It should meet the upper passage.”
“Should?”
“It’s the only route I know that doesn’t put us under that beam.” Odran adjusted the strap across his injured shoulder. “If the channel is blocked, we turn back.”
Cadrin looked at Aren. “You’re there as a witness. You don’t overrule the sappers.”
“I understand.”
Odran ducked into the drainage cut. The others followed in a line, leaving two guards at the mouth to mark the collapse and keep anyone from trying the direct approach. The channel sloped steeply, forcing them to crawl for several paces before it widened enough to stand. Odran paused at each junction to test the stone with a short-handled hammer. He listened to the echoes before moving on.
Aren watched him work. Odran did not pretend the shoulder was sound. He braced it against the wall when he leaned in, then used his good arm to probe the joints. Each time a sapper offered to take the hammer, he gave a specific task instead: hold the lamp, check the floor, keep the line clear.
At the first turn, they found an old iron hook set into the wall, polished along its lower edge. Odran rubbed dust from the groove beneath it.
“Litter pulley,” he said. “The weight ran this way.”
The sapper beside him frowned. “For hauling stone?”
“Stone doesn’t need a padded sling.” Odran pointed out the scraps of leather still caught under the hook. “Someone brought people through here.”
Aren felt the answer settle into place, but it was still only one hook. It might have served the refuge they had already found. It might have been a single rescue line. He waited while Odran moved on.
The channel ended at a waist-high opening. Beyond it, the upper passage ran north and south, its walls reinforced with timber and old metal brackets. The survey team entered carefully, measuring the width and marking the damaged beams. Aren held the lamp over the floor while Odran studied the wall.
There were chalk lines here—some faded, some bright. Small marks repeated in pairs beside the passage, one set beside a crude human hand, the other beside a horned profile. Numbers followed each pair. Odran crouched and brushed away dust.
“Counts,” he said. “Not supplies. These are people.”
“From the refuge?” Aren asked.
“Some. Look at the dates.” Odran indicated three groups of marks spaced down the wall. “They’re spread across different shifts. And there are names for more than one access.”
Aren leaned closer. The chalk marks were rough, scratched quickly into the stone. A few had been crossed out. Others ended in short strokes that looked like a tally completed by someone whose hand had been shaking.
The paired signs appeared again farther along. They passed a second pulley hook, then a shallow alcove sized for two litters to be set down side by side. A painted arrow pointed north. Beneath it, someone had scraped away a destination label so thoroughly that only a pale rectangle remained.
Cadrin came to stand beside Aren. “This is organized evacuation, not one group retreating through a convenient tunnel.”
Odran tapped the wall beside the tally. “Multiple galleries. Multiple loads. Someone kept count.”
“Can you tell where they went?”
“Not from this.” Odran held up the lamp to inspect the scraped paint. “The label’s gone.”
Cadrin studied the marks, then the surveyed passage. His expression gave nothing away, but he folded the map and tucked it inside his coat instead of handing it back to the clerk.
A groan rolled through the stone.
“Back,” Odran called.
A crack raced across the ceiling above the alcove. The sappers retreated toward the opening, but one of them had been measuring the northern wall. A timber brace snapped, pinning his leg beneath a falling crossbeam.
Aren lunged forward. The sapper at his side caught his belt. “That beam’s holding the roof.”
The trapped man gritted his teeth and pushed at the timber. “Don’t pull from the left. My boot’s caught.”
Odran was already moving. “Wedge the lower end. Keep it from rolling. You—get the jack from the channel.”
Aren set down the lamp and went to the trapped sapper. He could not use his numb hand to find a grip. He braced the timber with his shoulder and left forearm instead, feeling it shudder as the roof pressed down.
“Give me room,” Odran said.
The jack came forward. Odran set it, but the timber twisted against the wall, crushing the trapped man’s boot. The sapper’s breath caught. The beam above them shifted with a crack that turned every face toward the ceiling.
“Jack won’t hold,” Odran said. “We need the brace from the return channel.”
“That leaves no support at the entrance,” one of the guards said.
“Then we move fast.” Odran looked at the trapped sapper. “Can you get your foot free if we lift the beam a hand’s width?”
“Maybe.”
Odran turned to Aren. “Keep it from rolling.”
Aren’s left arm shook under the beam’s weight. He could feel the temptation of the sword’s strength waiting somewhere beyond his reach, a clean offer that would make this easy. He kept his hand on the timber and gave the others time to bring the brace.
Odran drove the brace beneath the crossbeam. The trapped sapper dragged his boot free, then fell forward into Aren’s arms. The team pulled both of them clear as the ceiling dropped another few inches. The brace held, but the return channel behind them was now blocked by broken stone.
Their safest way back was gone.
For a moment, nobody spoke. Dust thickened the air, and the trapped sapper coughed against Aren’s shoulder. Odran checked his leg and ankle, then handed him to two guards.
“We’re done here,” Cadrin said. “We have enough to justify the record.”
Odran looked north along the passage. “We’ve enough to know there’s more.”
“We’ve enough to lose another man under a roof we don’t understand.”
Aren watched Odran’s face. The sapper had found what they came for: not a destination, not an explanation, but proof that the route had been used across multiple galleries to carry human and demon wounded together. He had also gotten a man out at the cost of their return channel.
“Mark the route and withdraw by the upper cut,” Aren said. “We can return with supports.”
Odran nodded once. “That’s the right call.”
Cadrin looked to the guards. “The mapped route remains clear of battery fire. Add every connected access we’ve confirmed to that restriction. No one enters without sapper authority and a support plan.”
It was a larger order than the one they had started with. The northern guns would have to give the newly found galleries the same space they had given the original route.
The team turned back toward the drainage cut. Then the ground moved beneath them—not a shudder from overhead, but a smooth, slow shift under the floor. The chalk dust drifted toward the northern wall. A hairline gap opened beside the painted arrow, widening as stones slid away from its edge.
Odran raised the lamp. The gap revealed a low passage, its floor marked by recent bootprints and a dark smear where something heavy had been dragged through.
Cadrin’s hand went to the map inside his coat. “How long?”
Odran measured the sagging roof, then looked at the fresh tracks disappearing into the opening. “If we leave it, the next collapse may seal it. If we go in, we may lose the only way back.”
The opening widened another finger’s breadth. Aren heard stone grinding on stone, and the team’s lamps trembled in their hands.
From somewhere beyond the gap came the sharp scrape of a boot moving deeper into the unmapped passage.
Next
With the return channel blocked and fresh tracks leading into a passage that may collapse, will Cadrin risk sending Odran’s team after whoever is moving beneath the northern front?