Chapter 330: Treachery in the Dark
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“Caw! Caw!” A crow called from its perch, watching a cloaked figure moving silently from shadow to shadow.
“Shhhh,” Rioran hissed, crouched in the crevice between two tents. “Quiet, bird. Crows should sleep at ni—”
His words died on his lips. Was that bird one of the wizards’ familiars? Had they already caught him? He held his breath and peered from between the tents. Nothing moved.
Evening had quickly darkened into night—as fall marched on, the days grew weak while the nights grew cold and strong—and the moon hung above, a crescent half buried in black clouds.
Fires and magical lights lit the camp, chasing the night’s shadows away.
Rioran made a face of distaste, like he’d swallowed rotting meat.
It was unnatural.
In Uldar’s Vale, night would have slipped over the land like a comforting blanket, draping all in a diffused peacefulness. The only lights to be seen would have been the odd flickering lamp left in a window, the dying embers of a fire cooling in a mantle, and the occasional distant light winking from somewhere on the escarpment.
But these wizards had turned night into a mockery. Glowing orbs of different colours. Magical fires. Lights from other forms of infernal wizardry. In some places, it was nearly as bright as day, and brightness was the enemy of all who sought the shadows.
Like Rioran.
Despite the chill, a cold sweat stood on his brow.
Any moment, he expected some unnatural light to shine between the tents, revealing his hiding place. His mind was already crafting excuses: he’d gotten lost, or someone had given him poor directions. He was even ready to feign drunkenness if he had too: better one of the ‘king’s representatives’ be thought a drunk, than a spy.
Then, when they dragged him back to the rest of his party, he could apologise to Stanwic and Catherine. They would be angry, of course; after all, as far as they knew, he had simply gone to walk the walls for a time.
“Better they have no idea where I am, though,” he whispered. “The secrets best kept are the ones few know.”
He shook himself.
Too long. He’d been in one place too long. Nerves were making him hesitate: too much magic about and he was also still nervous after the crow’s cry.
No matter.
Nerves or not, it was time to move.
With the agility of a cat, Rioran crept to the edge of his hiding place, measuring the distance between himself and his destination: the research tent. He and the contingent from Thameland were given a tour earlier, but just a brief one. Tomorrow, there’d be demonstrations on what these foreigners had uncovered about the Ravener’s dungeon cores…but what guarantee was there that they would tell all?
Rioran hadn’t come here to see what they wished to show.
He’d come to find out what they wished to hide.
Still, doing so without being discovered would be difficult.
Some of the wizards were turning in for the night, though many more were still awake. Patrols of…what had they called them?…‘Watchers of Roal’ swept the encampment in pairs, scanning the night with glowing orbs that illuminated shadows as they passed the tents.
He crouched low, avoiding the gaze of two well-trained warriors. They were alert and dangerous.
But, so was he.
Slipping from his hiding place, the spy snuck through the camp, moving from shadow to shadow, passing patrols as silent as death. No one saw him. No one except the birds.
A crow here.
An owl there.
But mercifully, none of these creatures seemed to be in league with the wizards: no alarm went up, and soon, he’d made it to his target.
Rioran took cover in the shadow of a large supply wagon—noting the gaze of a nearby barn owl—and eyed the entrance to the research tent, assessing its defences. A pair of Watchers with swords belted at their waists, and staffs gripped in both hands, flanked the entry. Glowing orbs hovered around their shoulders, banishing all nearby darkness. Poised and ready to react: these were no bookish academics.
The front entrance was out of the question then, he’d have to check the side, but getting there would be difficult. Rioran was crouched near a lane that separated a row of supply wagons from the tent. With the Watchers on alert, there’d be no way to cross the path easily without being spotted.
He’d have to loop around and—
Scrtch.
The scrape of talon on wood startled him as the owl abruptly took off, hooting and soaring into the air. And for an instant, both Watchers looked up, turning their eyes and attention to the nightbird melting into the night.
There.
This was his chance.
The servant of Uldar silently stepped onto the path on the balls of his feet with breath held, and weight perfectly distributed. He made not a sound as he passed within ten feet of the guards and slipped around the side of the tent then pressed himself against the fabric. Rioran waited, fearing an alarm would be raised.
But none came.
He wasn’t noticed.
A deep breath escaped his lips. He’d made it. Wordlessly, he closed his eyes, raised his head toward the cloudy heavens and gave a silent prayer: ‘Thank you Uldar, you sent the owl to be my guiding shadow, cutting through moonlight. Please bless my holy work.’
The spy crept around the side of the tent: on the tour, he’d noted an emergency exit at the back, it was a long shot, but if it was unguarded…
Rioran peered around the corner.
No such luck.
Two other Watchers were on guard duty there.
Nothing for it, then.
He moved through the shadows, gliding his hand along the tent fabric and recalling the positions of strange ‘machines’ inside, stopping only when he reached an empty space between two of the larger ones. Tucked inside his cloak, a small bottle of black ash was hidden.
Rioran had no talent for divinity, but even he could feel the blessings on the substance as he uncorked it. With another silent prayer to Uldar, he took a generous pinch of powder and cast a cloud of it over the tent fabric.
The black dust clung like a magnet and the cloth gently quivered where it touched. A magical ward was revealed. The spy had been instructed to push his fingers forward, and gingerly, he did so, parting ward and cloth like curtains.
Wasting no time, he crept through the gap into the dark interior of the research tent—then pulled the two sides closed behind him. The ward and cloth closed like they’d never been parted.
He stood for a breath, gazing around, letting his eyes adjust to the dark; the blackness slowly turned into a blend of light and darker shadows. Only a sliver of light seeped in through the gap beneath the ground and heavy cloth walls, just enough illumination to cast the equipment and machinery into silhouettes of monsters rising from the dark. Rioran’s eyes strained to cut through shadows while his imagination conjured endless horrors waiting for him.
But, nothing came swarming from the darkness, it seemed no horrors lurked here.
Or at least, if there were, he was meant to find, not hide from them.
He drew a device from his cloak—a tin lantern, no bigger than a child’s hand—and eased open the small door, greased hinges muffling all sound. Inside, an oil soaked candle wick flickered into flame from two flintstones the size of fingernails he’d struck together. A single spark, then Rioran quickly shut the lantern door.
Now, the only light was a thin, flickering beam shining through a tiny hole in the door: bright enough to illuminate a sliver of dark ahead, but too dim for anyone to notice from outside. By the low light, he crept deeper into the research tent, closely examining the strange machinery he’d briefly seen earlier that day. But the devices were far too complex and alien for him to even begin to grasp their purpose.
Dials and switches—labelled with technical writing he couldn’t understand—were revealed by the light, but he dared not touch them. Instead, he memorised all the features of each machine he could: there could come a time when he might be sent back to sabotage or destroy the Generasians’ efforts, if the Third Apostle so commanded.
If it came to that, he would be ready.
A low footfall outside the tent had him springing for cover, crouching behind a desk. His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness.
He cocked his ear toward the front of the tent, holding his breath.
Low voices.
Feet shuffling.
Then the sound of the tent flap moving.
Light poured in, he quickly covered the lantern with his bare hand, biting his lip against the pain of hot tin burning his palm. With the flexibility of a serpent, he shrank down, inhaling once and holding the breath as light scoured the tent’s interior.
It felt like a lifetime had passed before he heard a woman’s voice:
“All clear, you boys can go, we’ve got it from here.”
Then the flap closed and Rioran released a ragged breath and the hot metal.
Grimacing, he searched for his handkerchief to wrap the burn.
Bad time for a changing of the guard, from the sound of it, but he hadn’t hesitated or cried out in pain—his training had served him well. ‘Uldar be praised,’ he softly murmured over the sound of his pounding heart.
Enough.
He needed to find what he was looking for and be gone from here.
In one swift movement he was up and creeping to the back of the tent—he’d seen a locked desk there earlier—while he fished out his bottle of ash.
A sprinkling of the black dust revealed a ward over the desk, which he pulled open, then retrieved a set of lock picks and opened the drawer lock.
Click!
It opened with an audible click, freezing him in place.
No movement from outside.
With trembling hands, Rioran gently slid the drawer open, and in the low light, examined the sheath of papers inside. Reports, journals, logs, all had to be looked through, their exact position memorised. He selected some to look at, laid them on the desk, and began inspecting them using his lantern light.
He frowned.
Much of what was written was unknown to him.
Words like ‘malleability’, he was familiar with, but there were also a host of strange terms beyond his understanding. A great deal of information about mana. Frequencies. Energy. All science beyond him, but from what little he could grasp, it seemed the Generasians were studying characteristics of the dungeon core substance.
That seemed innocent enough, but when he read entries on applications…that was where things became interesting. There were proposals for new power sources. Ideas for weapons far beyond what Thameland had made for the Heroes. Devices he could not understand.
For each of these items, they’d referred to a specific experiment that had led to a suggested application…except in one case.
There were entries about golems and other automatons, and how dungeon core substance would be ideal for building cores for the constructs. Yet, there was no reference to any experiments having been conducted for this. It was like the ideas had been birthed from thin air, yet, notes were written as though they’d already built a golem using the substance.
‘What are you hiding?’ he thought before shuffling the reports and returning them to the drawer, then leafing through others. His heart was pounding as he read as many as he could, finding notes about locating more dungeon cores, plans for different tests the wizards wanted to conduct, as well as prototypes they were interested in building.
He wished he could see more, but his time was running out. He had to get out of there.
Chances of being discovered were increasing the longer he stayed, so he’d just have to be happy with what he’d learned. Rioran made sure to carefully put everything back exactly as he’d found it, he closed the drawer and pulled the ward shut, then retraced his steps back to the spot where he’d snuck in.
He eased the black dust from his cloak and…’wait…I don’t remember if I locked the drawer.’ He cursed, angry at himself. ‘It’s a waste of time, but I’ll have to go back.’ Trembling, the spy took a quick glance at the entrance and exit flaps before creeping back to the desk, sprinkling the dust on the wards, and trying the drawer. It slid open, he hadn’t locked it. He looked up to the heavens and asked Uldar for calmness as his hands shook harder. If he got caught, it would mean the end. He stayed in stillness for a few breaths, feeling calm returning, then locked the drawer and returned to the side wall using the black dust again to escape.
He remained still and held onto the calm, listening and watching for any movement…but only a nearby bird eyed him. Nodding to it, he melted into the dark, taking the long way to avoid discovery.
Moving from shadow to shadow took him farther from the research tent and, with distance, his relief grew. He’d done it! His first mission for Uldar—the first time he’d left Uldar’s Vale—and he’d succeeded in learning much in only part of a night’s work.
‘Not bad for my first effort.’ an elated Rioran thought as he slipped between two tents. ‘I suppose I was more ready than I though—’
He gasped and his thoughts died when a large hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Strong fingers bit into the spy’s muscle and—before he could utter another sound—he was spun around and gripped by the other shoulder with a strength like iron.
A broad-shouldered young man glared at him in the dark.
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“Caw! Caw!” A crow called from its perch, watching a cloaked figure moving silently from shadow to shadow.
“Shhhh,” Rioran hissed, crouched in the crevice between two tents. “Quiet, bird. Crows should sleep at ni—”
His words died on his lips. Was that bird one of the wizards’ familiars? Had they already caught him? He held his breath and peered from between the tents. Nothing moved.
Evening had quickly darkened into night—as fall marched on, the days grew weak while the nights grew cold and strong—and the moon hung above, a crescent half buried in black clouds.
Fires and magical lights lit the camp, chasing the night’s shadows away.
Rioran made a face of distaste, like he’d swallowed rotting meat.
It was unnatural.
In Uldar’s Vale, night would have slipped over the land like a comforting blanket, draping all in a diffused peacefulness. The only lights to be seen would have been the odd flickering lamp left in a window, the dying embers of a fire cooling in a mantle, and the occasional distant light winking from somewhere on the escarpment.
But these wizards had turned night into a mockery. Glowing orbs of different colours. Magical fires. Lights from other forms of infernal wizardry. In some places, it was nearly as bright as day, and brightness was the enemy of all who sought the shadows.
Like Rioran.
Despite the chill, a cold sweat stood on his brow.
Any moment, he expected some unnatural light to shine between the tents, revealing his hiding place. His mind was already crafting excuses: he’d gotten lost, or someone had given him poor directions. He was even ready to feign drunkenness if he had too: better one of the ‘king’s representatives’ be thought a drunk, than a spy.
Then, when they dragged him back to the rest of his party, he could apologise to Stanwic and Catherine. They would be angry, of course; after all, as far as they knew, he had simply gone to walk the walls for a time.
“Better they have no idea where I am, though,” he whispered. “The secrets best kept are the ones few know.”
He shook himself.
Too long. He’d been in one place too long. Nerves were making him hesitate: too much magic about and he was also still nervous after the crow’s cry.
No matter.
Nerves or not, it was time to move.
With the agility of a cat, Rioran crept to the edge of his hiding place, measuring the distance between himself and his destination: the research tent. He and the contingent from Thameland were given a tour earlier, but just a brief one. Tomorrow, there’d be demonstrations on what these foreigners had uncovered about the Ravener’s dungeon cores…but what guarantee was there that they would tell all?
Rioran hadn’t come here to see what they wished to show.
He’d come to find out what they wished to hide.
Still, doing so without being discovered would be difficult.
Some of the wizards were turning in for the night, though many more were still awake. Patrols of…what had they called them?…‘Watchers of Roal’ swept the encampment in pairs, scanning the night with glowing orbs that illuminated shadows as they passed the tents.
He crouched low, avoiding the gaze of two well-trained warriors. They were alert and dangerous.
But, so was he.
Slipping from his hiding place, the spy snuck through the camp, moving from shadow to shadow, passing patrols as silent as death. No one saw him. No one except the birds.
A crow here.
An owl there.
But mercifully, none of these creatures seemed to be in league with the wizards: no alarm went up, and soon, he’d made it to his target.
Rioran took cover in the shadow of a large supply wagon—noting the gaze of a nearby barn owl—and eyed the entrance to the research tent, assessing its defences. A pair of Watchers with swords belted at their waists, and staffs gripped in both hands, flanked the entry. Glowing orbs hovered around their shoulders, banishing all nearby darkness. Poised and ready to react: these were no bookish academics.
The front entrance was out of the question then, he’d have to check the side, but getting there would be difficult. Rioran was crouched near a lane that separated a row of supply wagons from the tent. With the Watchers on alert, there’d be no way to cross the path easily without being spotted.
He’d have to loop around and—
Scrtch.
The scrape of talon on wood startled him as the owl abruptly took off, hooting and soaring into the air. And for an instant, both Watchers looked up, turning their eyes and attention to the nightbird melting into the night.
There.
This was his chance.
The servant of Uldar silently stepped onto the path on the balls of his feet with breath held, and weight perfectly distributed. He made not a sound as he passed within ten feet of the guards and slipped around the side of the tent then pressed himself against the fabric. Rioran waited, fearing an alarm would be raised.
But none came.
He wasn’t noticed.
A deep breath escaped his lips. He’d made it. Wordlessly, he closed his eyes, raised his head toward the cloudy heavens and gave a silent prayer: ‘Thank you Uldar, you sent the owl to be my guiding shadow, cutting through moonlight. Please bless my holy work.’
The spy crept around the side of the tent: on the tour, he’d noted an emergency exit at the back, it was a long shot, but if it was unguarded…
Rioran peered around the corner.
No such luck.
Two other Watchers were on guard duty there.
Nothing for it, then.
He moved through the shadows, gliding his hand along the tent fabric and recalling the positions of strange ‘machines’ inside, stopping only when he reached an empty space between two of the larger ones. Tucked inside his cloak, a small bottle of black ash was hidden.
Rioran had no talent for divinity, but even he could feel the blessings on the substance as he uncorked it. With another silent prayer to Uldar, he took a generous pinch of powder and cast a cloud of it over the tent fabric.
The black dust clung like a magnet and the cloth gently quivered where it touched. A magical ward was revealed. The spy had been instructed to push his fingers forward, and gingerly, he did so, parting ward and cloth like curtains.
Wasting no time, he crept through the gap into the dark interior of the research tent—then pulled the two sides closed behind him. The ward and cloth closed like they’d never been parted.
He stood for a breath, gazing around, letting his eyes adjust to the dark; the blackness slowly turned into a blend of light and darker shadows. Only a sliver of light seeped in through the gap beneath the ground and heavy cloth walls, just enough illumination to cast the equipment and machinery into silhouettes of monsters rising from the dark. Rioran’s eyes strained to cut through shadows while his imagination conjured endless horrors waiting for him.
But, nothing came swarming from the darkness, it seemed no horrors lurked here.
Or at least, if there were, he was meant to find, not hide from them.
He drew a device from his cloak—a tin lantern, no bigger than a child’s hand—and eased open the small door, greased hinges muffling all sound. Inside, an oil soaked candle wick flickered into flame from two flintstones the size of fingernails he’d struck together. A single spark, then Rioran quickly shut the lantern door.
Now, the only light was a thin, flickering beam shining through a tiny hole in the door: bright enough to illuminate a sliver of dark ahead, but too dim for anyone to notice from outside. By the low light, he crept deeper into the research tent, closely examining the strange machinery he’d briefly seen earlier that day. But the devices were far too complex and alien for him to even begin to grasp their purpose.
Dials and switches—labelled with technical writing he couldn’t understand—were revealed by the light, but he dared not touch them. Instead, he memorised all the features of each machine he could: there could come a time when he might be sent back to sabotage or destroy the Generasians’ efforts, if the Third Apostle so commanded.
If it came to that, he would be ready.
A low footfall outside the tent had him springing for cover, crouching behind a desk. His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness.
He cocked his ear toward the front of the tent, holding his breath.
Low voices.
Feet shuffling.
Then the sound of the tent flap moving.
Light poured in, he quickly covered the lantern with his bare hand, biting his lip against the pain of hot tin burning his palm. With the flexibility of a serpent, he shrank down, inhaling once and holding the breath as light scoured the tent’s interior.
It felt like a lifetime had passed before he heard a woman’s voice:
“All clear, you boys can go, we’ve got it from here.”
Then the flap closed and Rioran released a ragged breath and the hot metal.
Grimacing, he searched for his handkerchief to wrap the burn.
Bad time for a changing of the guard, from the sound of it, but he hadn’t hesitated or cried out in pain—his training had served him well. ‘Uldar be praised,’ he softly murmured over the sound of his pounding heart.
Enough.
He needed to find what he was looking for and be gone from here.
In one swift movement he was up and creeping to the back of the tent—he’d seen a locked desk there earlier—while he fished out his bottle of ash.
A sprinkling of the black dust revealed a ward over the desk, which he pulled open, then retrieved a set of lock picks and opened the drawer lock.
Click!
It opened with an audible click, freezing him in place.
No movement from outside.
With trembling hands, Rioran gently slid the drawer open, and in the low light, examined the sheath of papers inside. Reports, journals, logs, all had to be looked through, their exact position memorised. He selected some to look at, laid them on the desk, and began inspecting them using his lantern light.
He frowned.
Much of what was written was unknown to him.
Words like ‘malleability’, he was familiar with, but there were also a host of strange terms beyond his understanding. A great deal of information about mana. Frequencies. Energy. All science beyond him, but from what little he could grasp, it seemed the Generasians were studying characteristics of the dungeon core substance.
That seemed innocent enough, but when he read entries on applications…that was where things became interesting. There were proposals for new power sources. Ideas for weapons far beyond what Thameland had made for the Heroes. Devices he could not understand.
For each of these items, they’d referred to a specific experiment that had led to a suggested application…except in one case.
There were entries about golems and other automatons, and how dungeon core substance would be ideal for building cores for the constructs. Yet, there was no reference to any experiments having been conducted for this. It was like the ideas had been birthed from thin air, yet, notes were written as though they’d already built a golem using the substance.
‘What are you hiding?’ he thought before shuffling the reports and returning them to the drawer, then leafing through others. His heart was pounding as he read as many as he could, finding notes about locating more dungeon cores, plans for different tests the wizards wanted to conduct, as well as prototypes they were interested in building.
He wished he could see more, but his time was running out. He had to get out of there.
Chances of being discovered were increasing the longer he stayed, so he’d just have to be happy with what he’d learned. Rioran made sure to carefully put everything back exactly as he’d found it, he closed the drawer and pulled the ward shut, then retraced his steps back to the spot where he’d snuck in.
He eased the black dust from his cloak and…’wait…I don’t remember if I locked the drawer.’ He cursed, angry at himself. ‘It’s a waste of time, but I’ll have to go back.’ Trembling, the spy took a quick glance at the entrance and exit flaps before creeping back to the desk, sprinkling the dust on the wards, and trying the drawer. It slid open, he hadn’t locked it. He looked up to the heavens and asked Uldar for calmness as his hands shook harder. If he got caught, it would mean the end. He stayed in stillness for a few breaths, feeling calm returning, then locked the drawer and returned to the side wall using the black dust again to escape.
He remained still and held onto the calm, listening and watching for any movement…but only a nearby bird eyed him. Nodding to it, he melted into the dark, taking the long way to avoid discovery.
Moving from shadow to shadow took him farther from the research tent and, with distance, his relief grew. He’d done it! His first mission for Uldar—the first time he’d left Uldar’s Vale—and he’d succeeded in learning much in only part of a night’s work.
‘Not bad for my first effort.’ an elated Rioran thought as he slipped between two tents. ‘I suppose I was more ready than I though—’
He gasped and his thoughts died when a large hand clamped down on his shoulder.
Strong fingers bit into the spy’s muscle and—before he could utter another sound—he was spun around and gripped by the other shoulder with a strength like iron.
A broad-shouldered young man glared at him in the dark.
Caw! Caw! A crow called from its perch, watching a cloaked figure moving silently from shadow to shadow.Shhhh, Rioran hissed, crouched in the crevice between two tents. Quiet, bird. Crows should sleep at niHis words died on his lips. Was that bird one of the wizards' familiars? Had they already caught him? He held his breath and peered from between the tents. Nothing moved.Evening had quickly darkened into nightas fall marched on, the days grew weak while the nights grew cold and strongand the moon hung above, a crescent half buried in black clouds.Fires and magical lights lit the camp, chasing the night's shadows away.Rioran made a face of distaste, like he'd swallowed rotting meat.It was unnatural.In Uldar's Vale, night would have slipped over the land like a comforting blanket, draping all in a diffused peacefulness. The only lights to be seen would have been the odd flickering lamp left in a window, the dying embers of a fire cooling in a mantle, and the occasional distant light winking from somewhere on the escarpment.But these wizards had turned night into a mockery. Glowing orbs of different colours. Magical fires. Lights from other forms of infernal wizardry. In some places, it was nearly as bright as day, and brightness was the enemy of all who sought the shadows.Like Rioran.Despite the chill, a cold sweat stood on his brow.Any moment, he expected some unnatural light to shine between the tents, revealing his hiding place. His mind was already crafting excuses: he'd gotten lost, or someone had given him poor directions. He was even ready to feign drunkenness if he had too: better one of the king's representatives' be thought a drunk, than a spy.Then, when they dragged him back to the rest of his party, he could apologise to Stanwic and Catherine. They would be angry, of course; after all, as far as they knew, he had simply gone to walk the walls for a time.Better they have no idea where I am, though, he whispered. The secrets best kept are the ones few know.He shook himself.Too long. He'd been in one place too long. Nerves were making him hesitate: too much magic about and he was also still nervous after the crow's cry.No matter.Nerves or not, it was time to move.With the agility of a cat, Rioran crept to the edge of his hiding place, measuring the distance between himself and his destination: the research tent. He and the contingent from Thameland were given a tour earlier, but just a brief one. Tomorrow, there'd be demonstrations on what these foreigners had uncovered about the Ravener's dungeon coresbut what guarantee was there that they would tell all?Rioran hadn't come here to see what they wished to show.He'd come to find out what they wished to hide.Still, doing so without being discovered would be difficult.Some of the wizards were turning in for the night, though many more were still awake. Patrols ofwhat had they called them?Watchers of Roal' swept the encampment in pairs, scanning the night with glowing orbs that illuminated shadows as they passed the tents.He crouched low, avoiding the gaze of two well-trained warriors. They were alert and dangerous.But, so was he.Slipping from his hiding place, the spy snuck through the camp, moving from shadow to shadow, passing patrols as silent as death. No one saw him. No one except the birds.A crow here.An owl there.But mercifully, none of these creatures seemed to be in league with the wizards: no alarm went up, and soon, he'd made it to his target.Rioran took cover in the shadow of a large supply wagonnoting the gaze of a nearby barn owland eyed the entrance to the research tent, assessing its defences. A pair of Watchers with swords belted at their waists, and staffs gripped in both hands, flanked the entry. Glowing orbs hovered around their shoulders, banishing all nearby darkness. Poised and ready to react: these were no bookish academics.The front entrance was out of the question then, he'd have to check the side, but getting there would be difficult. Rioran was crouched near a lane that separated a row of supply wagons from the tent. With the Watchers on alert, there'd be no way to cross the path easily without being spotted.He'd have to loop around andScrtch.The scrape of talon on wood startled him as the owl abruptly took off, hooting and soaring into the air. And for an instant, both Watchers looked up, turning their eyes and attention to the nightbird melting into the night.There.This was his chance.The servant of Uldar silently stepped onto the path on the balls of his feet with breath held, and weight perfectly distributed. He made not a sound as he passed within ten feet of the guards and slipped around the side of the tent then pressed himself against the fabric. Rioran waited, fearing an alarm would be raised.But none came.He wasn't noticed.A deep breath escaped his lips. He'd made it. Wordlessly, he closed his eyes, raised his head toward the cloudy heavens and gave a silent prayer: Thank you Uldar, you sent the owl to be my guiding shadow, cutting through moonlight. Please bless my holy work.'The spy crept around the side of the tent: on the tour, he'd noted an emergency exit at the back, it was a long shot, but if it was unguardedRioran peered around the corner.No such luck.Two other Watchers were on guard duty there.Nothing for it, then.He moved through the shadows, gliding his hand along the tent fabric and recalling the positions of strange machines' inside, stopping only when he reached an empty space between two of the larger ones. Tucked inside his cloak, a small bottle of black ash was hidden.Rioran had no talent for divinity, but even he could feel the blessings on the substance as he uncorked it. With another silent prayer to Uldar, he took a generous pinch of powder and cast a cloud of it over the tent fabric.The black dust clung like a magnet and the cloth gently quivered where it touched. A magical ward was revealed. The spy had been instructed to push his fingers forward, and gingerly, he did so, parting ward and cloth like curtains.Wasting no time, he crept through the gap into the dark interior of the research tentthen pulled the two sides closed behind him. The ward and cloth closed like they'd never been parted.He stood for a breath, gazing around, letting his eyes adjust to the dark; the blackness slowly turned into a blend of light and darker shadows. Only a sliver of light seeped in through the gap beneath the ground and heavy cloth walls, just enough illumination to cast the equipment and machinery into silhouettes of monsters rising from the dark. Rioran's eyes strained to cut through shadows while his imagination conjured endless horrors waiting for him.But, nothing came swarming from the darkness, it seemed no horrors lurked here.Or at least, if there were, he was meant to find, not hide from them.He drew a device from his cloaka tin lantern, no bigger than a child's handand eased open the small door, greased hinges muffling all sound. Inside, an oil soaked candle wick flickered into flame from two flintstones the size of fingernails he'd struck together. A single spark, then Rioran quickly shut the lantern door.Now, the only light was a thin, flickering beam shining through a tiny hole in the door: bright enough to illuminate a sliver of dark ahead, but too dim for anyone to notice from outside. By the low light, he crept deeper into the research tent, closely examining the strange machinery he'd briefly seen earlier that day. But the devices were far too complex and alien for him to even begin to grasp their purpose.Dials and switcheslabelled with technical writing he couldn't understandwere revealed by the light, but he dared not touch them. Instead, he memorised all the features of each machine he could: there could come a time when he might be sent back to sabotage or destroy the Generasians' efforts, if the Third Apostle so commanded.If it came to that, he would be ready.A low footfall outside the tent had him springing for cover, crouching behind a desk. His eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness.He cocked his ear toward the front of the tent, holding his breath.Low voices.Feet shuffling.Then the sound of the tent flap moving.Light poured in, he quickly covered the lantern with his bare hand, biting his lip against the pain of hot tin burning his palm. With the flexibility of a serpent, he shrank down, inhaling once and holding the breath as light scoured the tent's interior.It felt like a lifetime had passed before he heard a woman's voice:All clear, you boys can go, we've got it from here.Then the flap closed and Rioran released a ragged breath and the hot metal.Grimacing, he searched for his handkerchief to wrap the burn.Bad time for a changing of the guard, from the sound of it, but he hadn't hesitated or cried out in painhis training had served him well. Uldar be praised,' he softly murmured over the sound of his pounding heart.Enough.He needed to find what he was looking for and be gone from here.In one swift movement he was up and creeping to the back of the tenthe'd seen a locked desk there earlierwhile he fished out his bottle of ash.A sprinkling of the black dust revealed a ward over the desk, which he pulled open, then retrieved a set of lock picks and opened the drawer lock.Click!It opened with an audible click, freezing him in place.No movement from outside.With trembling hands, Rioran gently slid the drawer open, and in the low light, examined the sheath of papers inside. Reports, journals, logs, all had to be looked through, their exact position memorised. He selected some to look at, laid them on the desk, and began inspecting them using his lantern light.He frowned.Much of what was written was unknown to him.Words like malleability', he was familiar with, but there were also a host of strange terms beyond his understanding. A great deal of information about mana. Frequencies. Energy. All science beyond him, but from what little he could grasp, it seemed the Generasians were studying characteristics of the dungeon core substance.That seemed innocent enough, but when he read entries on applicationsthat was where things became interesting. There were proposals for new power sources. Ideas for weapons far beyond what Thameland had made for the Heroes. Devices he could not understand.For each of these items, they'd referred to a specific experiment that had led to a suggested applicationexcept in one case.There were entries about golems and other automatons, and how dungeon core substance would be ideal for building cores for the constructs. Yet, there was no reference to any experiments having been conducted for this. It was like the ideas had been birthed from thin air, yet, notes were written as though they'd already built a golem using the substance.What are you hiding?' he thought before shuffling the reports and returning them to the drawer, then leafing through others. His heart was pounding as he read as many as he could, finding notes about locating more dungeon cores, plans for different tests the wizards wanted to conduct, as well as prototypes they were interested in building.He wished he could see more, but his time was running out. He had to get out of there.Chances of being discovered were increasing the longer he stayed, so he'd just have to be happy with what he'd learned. Rioran made sure to carefully put everything back exactly as he'd found it, he closed the drawer and pulled the ward shut, then retraced his steps back to the spot where he'd snuck in.He eased the black dust from his cloak and'waitI don't remember if I locked the drawer.' He cursed, angry at himself. It's a waste of time, but I'll have to go back.' Trembling, the spy took a quick glance at the entrance and exit flaps before creeping back to the desk, sprinkling the dust on the wards, and trying the drawer. It slid open, he hadn't locked it. He looked up to the heavens and asked Uldar for calmness as his hands shook harder. If he got caught, it would mean the end. He stayed in stillness for a few breaths, feeling calm returning, then locked the drawer and returned to the side wall using the black dust again to escape.He remained still and held onto the calm, listening and watching for any movementbut only a nearby bird eyed him. Nodding to it, he melted into the dark, taking the long way to avoid discovery.Moving from shadow to shadow took him farther from the research tent and, with distance, his relief grew. He'd done it! His first mission for Uldarthe first time he'd left Uldar's Valeand he'd succeeded in learning much in only part of a night's work.Not bad for my first effort.' an elated Rioran thought as he slipped between two tents. I suppose I was more ready than I though'He gasped and his thoughts died when a large hand clamped down on his shoulder.Strong fingers bit into the spy's muscle andbefore he could utter another soundhe was spun around and gripped by the other shoulder with a strength like iron.A broad-shouldered young man glared at him in the dark.
