Scorio flew off the top of the monolith and made his way through the caverns till he reached the massive central chamber. The saurians lifted their heads to watch him pass. Scorio gave them a rueful salute; their numbers were hugely diminished. For a moment he gloried once more in flight itself, in being able to rise high into the very air he’d studied for so many months while trapped in the coffin, and then he set his eyes on the shaft.
Up he flew, steadily, his nervousness battling with his resolve. Massive fiendish centipedes bestirred themselves and scuttled away, their hundreds of legs clutching dexterously to the rocky underside.
The conveyor belt was in motion, continuously dipping new buckets of crystal down into the Gold mana-soaked air then rising back up. He’d not have room to flap his wings within the shaft, but that was no matter.
Scorio glided the last few yards, furling his wings and then absorbing them into his back, and sank his talons in the inside of the shaft just before he began to fall. His talons bit deep into the rock and took his weight.
For a moment Scorio felt the urge to look back down, down at the island upon which he’d rested and suffered and endured madness all this time. Then he clenched his jaw, set his gaze on the dim light suffusing the shaft above, and began to climb.
Chapter 49
Scorio moved slowly. The conveyor belt of gold-infused crystals creaked and rotated endlessly past him. He couldn’t help but be bitterly amused: the entire eco-system generated by the Crucible and managed by the Celestial Consortium consisted mostly of dipping empty cups into a well. For some reason he’d expected a grander setup, a more elaborate means of harvesting the mana.
Still, he couldn’t fault the simplicity.
When he’d fallen, he’d espied a handful of levels. Most had been dark and still, but a couple close to the top had been obviously busy and tightly secured. He studied the upper reaches of the shaft as he climbed, trying for silence, pausing after each new handhold to listen for an alarm.
None came.
However, a fragment of the Queen’s Accords came back to him, as outlined in broad by the White Queen herself: something about each House overseeing the defenses against the fiends in the Crucible. Clearly they didn’t want those centipedes or whatever else crawling out and causing havoc.
A grating appeared in the gloom above. It was massive, a latticework of iron bars as thick as his arm, the underside partially covered in what looked like gold rust and occasionally marred by deep, violent grooves. The conveyor belt system dipped through a gap just large enough for the buckets and rose on the far side through the same.
Scorio paused to consider.
So. The first line of defense. How had it not arrested his fall when he’d been tossed down? The answer was obvious: somebody had opened it, which meant both that the attack was expected, and that the grating could be moved.
Who could have known? The answer was obvious: Moira.
He clawed his way closer. His dark vision now was nearly perfect, encompassing all but the edges of his vision. The grating was split down the center with hinges along either side. It could be hauled up and open by chains attached to huge eyebolts.
After a few moments consideration he worked his way around the shaft to the rising segment, timed his move carefully, then reached out to take hold of the chain to which the buckets were affixed.
It rose with inexorable power and he released the wall to hold on tight, legs hanging down around the lower bucket. The Gold mana radiating from the crystals were a warm, comforting glow.
Up he rose, through the open square. He stepped out neatly onto the grating and released the chain before anybody could detect strain on the mechanism. The conveyor continued to cycle up past him, grinding and creaking as ever.
Ten yards up, the shaft opened to one side. A man right beside the edge in House Hydra robes, chin hanging low over his crossed arms as he slept.
The sentry. Scorio repressed a snort. He couldn’t blame the man for falling asleep. How many hours of watching buckets could one take before the monotony drove one crazy?
His smile died on his face. Such questions were no longer rhetorical.
Scorio canted his head to one side and listened. No voices came from deeper within the room, but that meant little given the racket the conveyor belt made. He could leap up to the sleeping guard but what were the odds he was posted alone?
Nonexistent.
So—leap up, knock the man into the shaft so that he fell onto the grate, then turn to fight whoever else was within the chamber?
Too many variables.
Perhaps Scorio could take advantage of the man’s negligence in another manner. But security couldn’t be this lax. What was he missing?
Scorio opened his Heart senses and studied the shaft above him. Ah. There. A field of Gold mana filled a flat plane just below the sentry. It drew faint amounts of Gold from the rising crystals to fuel it, and forged a loop that ran through crystals embedded in the four walls of the shaft.
An alarm system. Simple in design but probably too complex for a fiend to notice or bother with. Breaking the golden field would no doubt alert the sentry and anyone else within the room.
Again, another system that must have been disarmed on the day of the attack.
Scorio watched the flow of mana. It was indeed simple, and he’d grown adept at its manipulation. So he reached out, seized the great chain once more, and arose. When his head breached the golden plane, he channeled a tiny sliver of Gold from his reservoir into the crystal whose reception would be interrupted. He flowed smoothly up, past the sleeping sentry, and saw briefly into the chamber itself. A half dozen men sat around a circular table playing guards, all clad in the robes of House Hydra.
Nobody looked at the silent Scorio as he glided straight up and out of sight.
Scorio exhaled in relief. Secrecy was key. He drew a tendril of Gold from the crystal bucket above him, refilling his reservoir, and craned his neck to sight up to the next level.
The shaft didn’t slow at all under his weight. Then again, so much chain had to weigh literal tons. Whatever mechanism revolved the conveyor system apparently wasn’t fussed by Scorio’s added weight.
The next level appeared above. This one was dark. Scorio waited till the last second and then hopped off the chain to land neatly within the railing and sank into a crouch.
A storage room. No, not quite; a repair room. It was large, the center dominated by workstations on which tools were laid out. Lengths of ruptured and rusted chain were set out, and the walls were covered in shelving filled with boxes and supplies.
Scorio ghosted forward. The Gold mana from the caverns below was almost completely out of reach now. After so long spent bathed in its illimitable power Scorio felt like a man stepping into a dark room; any mana he expended would have to be replaced with Iron or Copper.
The very thought filled him with mingled distaste and relief.
He slipped by the repair tables. The workstations were for scraping gold rust off the chains to reveal the iron links beneath. Did the Gold mana weaken the iron after repeated exposure?
Not his problem.
Scorio paused at the huge door. It was massively reinforced and strong enough to resist a battering ram. Scorio pressed his ear to the iron. Was that a murmur on the far side? Were guards placed on watch?
Scorio rubbed his chin and sank back into his human form. Gazed down at this torn and singed robes, then saw folded sets of workman’s robes on a shelf close by. A few moments later he was dressed in sturdy House Hydra robes, with reinforced elbows and knees.
He stared at the green House Hydra trim and badge in distaste. He would bear it for now. But even so dressed there was no reason for him to emerge from the off-shift work room.
Scorio stepped back up to the door once more and listened. Again came the faint murmur. He studied the inside of the door. There were large brackets for a door brace and a keyhole. No key was in the hole; bending down he gazed through into a well-lit hallway. The sound of voices was ever so slightly louder when he placed his ear to the hole.