The Essence Wars--An Envious God, page 31
Grantchu tensed, breath catching. If it collapsed, the tunnel would be exposed, the fort left vulnerable. His arms moved instinctively, though he knew he had no chance of stopping the massive stone.
‘Vorruk,’ Kaedryn hissed. ‘Ease up, you big oaf!’
But easing up wasn’t in Vorruk’s nature. With a final, mighty heave, he forced his way through. The door teetered, rocking back and forth with a grating screech. For a breathless moment, it seemed it would topple. Then, as though reconsidering, it settled back into place with a thunderous thud.
Kaedryn exhaled, shoulders slumping. ‘I swear, Vorruk, you’re going to be the death of me one day.’ He ran a hand over his face, shaking his head.
Vorruk, now comfortably in the tunnel, gave a grunt that sounded smug, as if to say the ordeal had been a mere inconvenience.
Kaedryn and Grantchu exchanged a glance before turning back to the door. Together, they pushed it closed. This time, it slid more smoothly, the mechanisms clicking into place with ease. The passage was sealed. The tunnel belonged to them now.
They lit their torches, the flames casting jagged shadows against the rough-hewn walls. The air thickened, damp with the weight of the ground pressing from above, its scent a mix of cold stone and ancient dust.
The tunnel stretched ahead, shrouded in mystery, daring them to uncover its secrets. And they, holding one of the keys, were ready to step into the unknown.
Beyond the threshold, the passage opened into an antechamber where the tunnel truly began. Two paths diverged: one veered sharply left, its walls lined with alcoves cradling oil lanterns; the other ran straight into gaping darkness, its destination uncertain. Their bearings were difficult to judge underground, but the leftward tunnel seemed to burrow deeper beneath the fort, slanting south and east, while the path ahead inclined slightly, drifting north and west.
Kaedryn tilted his head, attuned to the faintest echoes. ‘Left,’ he murmured.
‘Straight ahead,’ Grantchu said at the same time, his tone decisive.
Kaedryn smirked, snapping off a mock salute. ‘Straight ahead it is, then,’ he quipped, falling in step behind Grantchu. Years of friendship lent an ease to their banter, but Kaedryn still deferred to the man’s authority when it mattered.
They placed their torches into iron sconces mounted along the tunnel walls, their flickering glow momentarily casting long, twisting shadows before being extinguished. Instead, they pulled oil lanterns from the recessed alcoves, surprisingly intact despite years of neglect. Their polished reflectors funneled light forward in steady beams, illuminating the tunnel far better than the torches had. Kaedryn turned one in his hands, studying its craftsmanship. Whoever had built these tunnels had done so with precision and purpose, anticipating their use not just for escape, but for sustained movement.
As they pressed on, the air grew heavier, rich with damp soil and the silence of undisturbed stone. More lanterns lined the walls at even intervals, their reservoirs nearly full. The detail did not escape Kaedryn’s sharp eyes.
‘They left these for larger movements,’ he murmured, half to himself. The realization gnawed at him. This wasn’t just a hidden exit. It was a tactical asset, one the East would almost certainly exploit if they reclaimed it. A knot of unease tightened in his gut. If the tunnels led near the surrounding farms or beneath the fort itself, they could be the key to an incursion.
Grantchu’s voice cut through the low crackle of the lantern flame. ‘What was that?’
Kaedryn glanced at him. ‘Just thinking. Whoever used this tunnel last wasn’t advancing—they were escaping. If they had been moving troops through here, they would’ve lit the way as they went.’
The thought lingered between them. If the lanterns had been left for marching soldiers, should they destroy them now? Kaedryn’s first instinct was to smash the glass, make the route as inhospitable as possible. But caution tempered the impulse. They didn’t know the extent of this network. If these tunnels twisted into a labyrinth, having a lit path back could mean the difference between returning to the fort or being swallowed by the dark.
Kaedryn struck the flint of the lantern in his hand, the spark catching as a small flame sprang to life. He set it carefully into a wall bracket, watching as its glow pushed back the dark. ‘Just a few,’ he murmured. ‘Enough to find our way back.’
Grantchu nodded, his focus fixed forward. The tunnel stretched ahead like the gaping maw of some waiting beast, its depths seemingly endless, its secrets still untouched.
They moved in silence, their boots pressing softly against the stone floor, the occasional flicker of flame casting erratic shadows along the walls. The shifting light played tricks on the edges of their vision, making the narrow space feel almost sentient, as though the tunnel itself was watching.
Twenty minutes passed, each step marked by the quiet ritual of lighting a lantern or two at careful intervals. Then, in the shallow drainage channel running along the length of the tunnel, they spotted it: the key, abandoned in the frantic flight of those who had come before. Cyre had meant to retrieve it, only to fail. Now it lay there, glinting faintly in the lamplight.
Kaedryn bent down without hesitation, plucking it from the stone and slipping it into the pouch at his waist. He cast Cyre a sly glance. ‘See? That was easy.’ Straightening, he pressed on.
For nearly an hour, they navigated the tunnel, marking key intersections with a lantern to guide their return. The path split frequently. Some passages narrowed into tight, airless corridors, while others expanded into cavernous spaces, as though inviting further exploration. Yet Kaedryn’s gift spared them the need to stumble blindly. He could hear the subtle shifts in the structure, the faint whispers of space beyond the walls. Without even needing to check, he dismissed dead ends before they reached them.
‘Another branch,’ Grantchu murmured, lifting his lantern. His voice carried in the confined space, reverberating slightly.
Kaedryn tilted his head, listening. ‘No need. That one ends about fifty paces in,’ he said with quiet certainty, pointing toward the narrowing passage. Grantchu didn’t question it, veering instead toward the main path.
Despite their progress, they had yet to find the tunnel’s end. Kaedryn estimated they were still several hundred yards from its terminus, the faint vibrations ahead hinting at another opening or chamber. Time, however, was running against them. Morning crept closer, and if they didn’t return soon, their absence would be noticed.
Grantchu slowed, lifting a hand. ‘That’s enough for tonight,’ he said, his tone firm but resigned. ‘We’ll return tomorrow night and push through to the end. See where it comes out. Then we’ll tell the General. Maybe he’ll put us on guard duty here.’
Kaedryn nodded, but cast a lingering glance down the tunnel. Frustration flickered beneath his usual composure. He wanted to see the end. Needed to. Even so, he knew Grantchu was right. Their lantern light stretched thin, and exhaustion pressed at the edges of his awareness. They couldn’t afford to be caught missing. Not now.
Retracing their steps, they extinguished the lanterns one by one, plunging the tunnel back into its natural, oppressive dark. With each snuffed flame, the air seemed to grow heavier, the silence settling around them like a shroud.
‘Not exactly a fruitful journey,’ Grantchu muttered as they reached the cellar door. His expression wavered between weariness and faint amusement. ‘Unless you count knowing we’ve got a tunnel heading north and west as treasure.’
Kaedryn shrugged. ‘Could be worse. At least we know it’s not a straight shot under the fort for an ambush. Yet.’ His tone was light, but the unspoken concern hung between them.
Once back in the cellar, Vorruk still struggled to squeeze through the narrow door while Kaedryn and Grantchu stood before the gaping threshold. The stone, now ajar, revealed the problem they hadn’t considered—closing it from this side. The metal bar embedded in the door had allowed them to pull it open from within the tunnel, but there was no clear mechanism for sealing it from the cellar.
Hindsight settled over them. If the General or any officer wandered down here, the unnatural gaps left by the misaligned stone would draw immediate attention. They had to fix it quickly.
Kaedryn stepped forward, running his fingers along the edge of the door, listening. The mechanism inside was still active, interlocking gears poised to engage, waiting for the command to return to place. He tapped lightly on the surface, mapping out the inner workings in his mind.
‘Give me the key,’ he said, his voice thoughtful.
Grantchu handed it over without question.
Kaedryn knelt at the base of the door, tracing the bricks where he had sensed movement within the stone. He inserted the key, feeling the resistance in the old grooves. Turning it counterclockwise, he met nothing at first; undeterred, he kept going.
A low, grinding groan rumbled from within.
The stone lurched, resisting at first before yielding to the ancient gears, the cogs grinding as they shifted into motion. Kaedryn stepped backward as the door inched toward its original position, the mechanism smoothing with each rotation of the key. With a final heavy turn, the door juddered to a stop. Bolts extended, sliding seamlessly beneath the stonework.
What had been an open passage was now nothing more than an unassuming section of the cellar wall.
Kaedryn exhaled slowly, staring at it as though it had never moved at all.
No one was getting in or out without that key.
Vorruk let out a low, unimpressed huff, shaking dust from his fur after his undignified struggle to squeeze through earlier. Cyre hopped from Grantchu’s pack with the air of a queen enduring an unworthy voyage, her tail flicking in feline disdain.
Kaedryn chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. ‘Tomorrow night, then. Let’s see if this thing’s worth the trouble.’
Grantchu grinned, the lantern light catching the edge of his smirk. ‘It better be. If not, I’m putting in for cellar duty. At least it’s quieter down here.’
They ascended the stairs in silence, slipping back into the fort just as the first hints of dawn stretched across the horizon.
They had barely settled into their beds, sleep a fleeting luxury, when the horns of alarm split the air. The sharp, relentless call echoed through the stone corridors, rousing every soldier into action.
Kaedryn jolted awake, exhaustion vanishing as his mind snapped into focus.
The first wave of Eastern retaliation had arrived.
From the northern ramparts, their encampment was already visible, rows of tents forming beyond the bushlands, well out of range of Western archers and siege weapons. The Eastern Union had not come to storm the fort. Not yet. They would wait—for reinforcements from Lirioneth, then more from Gusia. Only then would they strike.
Inside the walls, Garette Fort locked down. The front gates were sealed, and no one would enter or leave that way again. Only one route remained open: west, through the docks and bay, where Western supply boats still moved under the shadow of the Thalryssi. The East had reclaimed the northern supply lines, but they had not yet taken the bay. For now, the West would endure, stockpiling grain under cover of darkness.
General Drennov Kaelstorn stood at the highest watchpoint, observing the Eastern forces with cool calculation.
His orders were clear: hold the fort through summer. Spread as much chaos as possible.
The enemy’s numbers were small, but not small enough to justify an open assault. To march out and meet them would be folly. The West still held the fort, the walls, the higher ground. That advantage was too valuable to squander. They could repel this first wave with far fewer losses from within. No, Kaelstorn would wait.
If the Eastern armies grew bold enough to press closer, he had contingencies in place. If necessary, he would burn the southern farms himself. The East could not reclaim what no longer existed.
Grain shipments still moved between the farm and the fort, though the Roydne reinforcements had yet to arrive. Once they did, the raids would expand west and north of the fort. If Kaelstorn could hold long enough, the West’s grip on Verdathisa would tighten further.
The Eastern supply routes had been damaged, disrupted—but not yet broken.
That would change.
This was only the beginning.
Kaelstorn’s agenda was far from complete.
CHAPTER 19 – The Fire Unseen
During the late morning, Maerwyn’s forces had established a forward camp amid the tangled scrub and scattered bushland encircling the fort and its surrounding farmland. Beyond the stronghold, the Sea of Thewthyri stretched like a sheet of silver, its placid surface betraying none of the tension gripping the land. The fort loomed over the bay, its formidable walls casting long, unyielding shadows. From a distance, it looked unchanged, as if it were just another day in occupation. The battlements remained manned, the courtyards alive with movement, smoke curling lazily from hidden chimneys. But the gates were shut, their iron-clad defiance sealing the invaders in as surely as it kept Maerwyn’s forces out.
That morning, she had scouted the perimeter herself. No visible weakness. Impenetrable from land, or at least from what she could see.
Jorven Strathe approached with his usual brisk, deliberate stride. The Verdathisan commander of the Jonikan forces had the air of a man who had spent his life in calculated, decisive engagements. His sea-gray eyes swept over the fort’s defenses before settling on Maerwyn and Braegor.
‘If we don’t cut off the grain shipments to the docks, they’ll sit comfortably behind those walls,’ he said, his voice low but edged with urgency. ‘They’ll hunker down, wait us out. We need to retake Marran’s Farm. Immediately.’
Maerwyn didn’t look at him. Her gaze remained locked on the fortress.
‘And if you do that, Jorven, with only the forces we have here, we lose the siege before it begins.’ Her tone was calm, yet there was steel beneath it. ‘We wait. Let them stockpile. What good will it do them when they’re boxed in? Once reinforcements from the Gainfolds arrive, once Gusia answers the call, we’ll reclaim the farm, surround them, and squeeze. And when the navy returns to reclaim the bay,’ she gestured toward the water ‘—their occupation ends.’
Jorven’s nostrils flared, frustration tightening at the edges of his eyes. But then he smiled, just slightly, and pulled something from his belt. A key.
‘We have one more way in, Maerwyn,’ he said, watching her closely. ‘A passage. One that few know about. The Western farms have tunnels. One leads directly under the fort. A barn conceals the entrance.’
Maerwyn’s hand shot out, snatching the key before he had even finished speaking.
Jorven smirked. ‘Sheriff Fenthos keeps this key for exactly this purpose,’ he said. ‘But listen carefully. If you lose it, we lose the tunnels. There’s another key inside the fort. The messengers dropped it before using the one within to escape. You’ll need to retrieve it, get out, and seal the tunnel so it’s of no use to the West.’ He extended his hand, waiting.
Maerwyn hesitated.
Jorven’s expression turned wry. ‘I’ll be needing that back.’
Reluctantly, she returned the key to his palm.
His voice softened, but his words carried weight. ‘The key rolls the door in and out. The mechanism is designed for one person, so you won’t need help moving it. Find the missing key, get back before dawn. If you’re not out, we can’t unlock the tunnel again until the next night. The key could be anywhere. Do your best. We could send trackers after you if needed.’
Her fingers curled into a fist. The mission was clear: a test of patience, precision, and stealth. She glanced at Braegor, whose ears twitched, attuned to what lay unspoken. Then she turned back to Jorven, her resolve firm.
By early afternoon, the first Lirioneth troops arrived, banners snapping in the wind as they pitched their tents. The scattered force outside the fort was becoming something formidable, numbers swelling with each passing hour. Inside, the enemy felt it.
The atmosphere on the walls had shifted. Gone were the bold taunts of soldiers confident in their position, replaced by tense murmurs, uncertainty creeping into their voices. They had spent days reinforcing the walls, sealing gates, and stockpiling supplies. This was no battle measured in days. It was a test of endurance.
For now, the eighteen hundred Westerners inside the fort were secure. But that would change. The Roydne fleets were at least a day away, their arrival the only chance of breaking the siege.
An hour after the first Lirioneth regiments arrived, the distant thunder of hooves signaled another approach. A mounted unit rode in, heavily armed, with banners streaming. Eastern cavalry from Lirioneth. Two riders broke from the formation, their horses surging ahead, offering no explanation, no acknowledgment of the growing Eastern forces. One of them bore a white flag of parley.
Maerwyn watched as they halted fifty yards from the gate, well within range of the archers above. On the wall walk, tension thickened. Bows were drawn, crossbows lined along the battlements, but no one fired.
The horsemen called out their demands, but inside the fort, no one listened. Noise from the garrison drowned them out: boots against stone, the shifting of armor, murmurs of men who knew their place, their odds, their fate. Nearby, the Lirioneth riders waited, their mounts restless, pacing in the dirt.
A heavy clunk echoed from behind the gates, followed by the slow creak of iron grinding against iron. The gate cracked open, just enough for two figures to emerge.
A lone Westerner strode out, his movements unhurried, commanding, his Lumineer Lynx beside him a silent declaration of control. The creature glided effortlessly at his side, its sleek form an extension of the quiet menace that accompanied its master.
Colth and Urrgar.
The gates groaned shut behind them, the iron sealing them away from the security of their walls as they advanced toward the waiting Lirioneth riders. Without a word, Colth extended a scroll, the motion slow, unshaken, as if the message it contained had already been decided. One of the horsemen reached for it, the parchment unfurling in his hands as his eyes flicked over its contents. His brow furrowed, the faintest twitch of tension marking his otherwise disciplined expression. He lingered on the words, his silence drawing out as if expecting them to change. Then, finally, his gaze snapped to Colth.
