Scorio drew powerfully from his mana reserves, fueling his strength as he fought for speed. Would the Ferric Drake give up if it lost sight of them? Or would it simply tail them now until they ran out of mana or had to rest? How far could it fly? How fast?
These questions repeated themselves over and over again in Scorio’s mind as he flew, an endless and futile repetition that only made him more frustrated for not having grilled Druanna more as they’d traveled together.
They’d spent most of their time instead sparring, discussing what had happened between House Hydra and Manticore, and reviewing how the Kraken outpost would receive them and what manner of aid they might lend. They’d discussed the Blood Ox and the war, what role Scorio and Naomi might gainfully play in the ongoing struggle, and what Druanna knew of the Crimson Earls that led the fight.
But they’d never delved deep into the habits and abilities of the fiends that had given them wide berth. It hadn’t felt necessary. Druanna was going to deliver them to experienced Kraken Great Souls, and then they’d leave the Iron Weald behind altogether.
Damn it.
The tunnel leveled out but took a general turn toward the north. The weight of stone overhead was oppressive.
Should he deposit Naomi amongst large rocks and then turn to fight the Ferric Drake? Would it be wise to seek the fight on his own terms? But the fiend had looked massive. Druanna had mockingly told them they’d not stand a chance. But had she underestimated his newfound strength?
On he flew as he wrestled with these questions, and he still wasn’t sure if they were actually being pursued or not. He began to feel foolish, fleeing desperately before a possibly nonexistent foe. But Naomi’s tense grip never faltered, so he flew on, ever on.
“It’s there,” Naomi abruptly announced.
Scorio fought the urge to veer in panic. “How do you know?”
“I can see its eyes.”
“How far?”
“Hard to be sure.” She twisted, looked back, then returned. “Maybe a couple of hundred yards?”
“Do I fight it?”
He felt her grip tighten around his neck. Her frustration was painful. Then she gasped. “There! Just a little. I put some mana into my Heart!” Her voice was wild with sudden relief. “But - I still can’t ignite.”
Relief made him feel weak. She would heal. She would return to herself.
An entire future where he shepherded a defenseless Naomi through hell crumpled up and fell away.
“I don’t think you can fight it,” she said, looking back again. “It’s really big. But it’s fast. It’s going to catch up.”
“Then we need to lose it.” Scorio scanned the tunnel ahead in desperation. “We need to reach another cave system.”
“We don’t have much time.”
“I can go faster.”
He’d not been going all out. Had been trying to pace himself to a slight degree, but now he gave flight everything he had. His spherical Heart blazed as he torched as much Iron mana as he could, the gray flames blazing up into a glorious inferno.
Scorio burst forward, his wings growing shorter so that he could beat them faster. He felt himself growing hotter, his claws leaving contrails of blazing white light behind as they hung below him, and Naomi began to edge about on his back, as if unable to lie long in any one position.
“It’s keeping pace. Stopped gaining on us.”
Scorio couldn’t manage complete sentences. “Falling back?”
“Maybe a little… no. It’s keeping up.”
Scorio grunted, tucked his chin, and fought on.
His body was burning. The Iron mana was perfect for this kind of effort; Copper would have been too light and lithe, Coal too heavy and crude. But Iron? It burned bright and slow, it fueled him with staying power, it gave him a sensation of endless reserves.
But he was heating up. Naomi was hissing and adjusting her posture more often. He could feel the heat baking off him, and now the edges of his ebon scales were beginning to turn a dark crimson, each one limned in a dull, hellish light.
The tunnel began at last to rise, and then abruptly the floor fell away and was gone.
Scorio was flying so swiftly that he had but a moment to react. His darkvision could only encompass the abrupt change below, a sense of two vast tunnels having intersected, so he barrel rolled and dove, dropping like a stone into the new space.
Only to bank violently as he almost careened into a flat expanse of wall that emerged suddenly from the dark. With a cry he jerked back, his spine flexing, his wings straining as they beat powerfully, and Naomi cried out, her legs losing purchase as she swung out to dangle down his side, arms still locked around his neck.
For a desperate moment Scorio literally ran along the wall, pushing against it as he absorbed the momentum of his forward flight, and then he leaped back out into the air and dipped under Naomi, dropping faster than she fell so that she floated up and settled onto his back once more.
Only then did he take in their new surroundings.
They’d been forced to take an abrupt left along the wall, and now flew through a much narrower channel, perhaps only fifty yards across. Both sides were of worked stone, pale and perfectly smoothed. He couldn’t see the ground below, just an endless ocean of darkness that caused the pit of his stomach to clench, and the air was suddenly warm.
“What is this place?” he cried out to Naomi.
But she had twisted around. “It’s followed us in!”
“Damn it!”
To descend or climb? They’d sacrificed maneuverability and terrain by risking this new tunnel. But perhaps it led to other Great Souls? Who else would have smoothed the walls to such geometrical precision?
Climb.
Scorio fought for altitude, the huge muscles of his back burning, his wings laboring, his breath coming in gasps, and the worked walls scrolled by until abruptly they pulled away and Scorio burst out into the top of this new tunnel.
The curved ceiling was of rough stone, unworked, but both sides of the channel drew back into the darkness, as smooth as ever, great expanses of stone that sped by without notable features, running off beyond the scope of his darkvision.
Scorio veered out over one shoulder and left the bottomless channel behind. The ceiling was perhaps sixty yards above, fading in and out of range, but he flew over the smooth expanse of floor, searching for the far wall.
And found it. Rough and pitted, the smooth stone floor flowed seamlessly into its base as if the natural rock had grown over it, was consuming it as the rot was eating the city of Bastion.
But there were no immediate exists. No alcoves, no small tunnels in which they could hide.
“Damn it!” Scorio cried, banking again and speeding alongside the wall.
But now he could hear the Ferric Drake. The rhythm of its wings was slower than his own frenetic pace, but each came with a distinctive whoosh that chilled his blood. He glanced back, unable to resist, and saw burning eyes only some fifty yards behind them.
A slash of red showed ahead, a glowing stripe that ran along the floor, leading from the wall to the channel. Hope surged in Scorio’s Heart, but as he reached it he saw the band was a narrow strip of luminous red stone, perhaps only a yard or two wide. Magma? No, literally just glowing rock.
Without anything else to follow, Scorio banked violently again, Naomi crying out in surprise, and followed the glowing path as it ran straight into the channel and dove down into the depths.
Scorio flew over the edge, furled his wings, and dove right after.
The band plummeted into oblivion. The channel was far deeper than his darkvision could pierce, but the band’s luminosity allowed him to trace its path for what looked forever down.