Herald of death

Sylas observes the fort from in between jagged rocks. In the hour that follows the chase they escaped, he sees a group of twenty leaving its gate. Two adult-sized hooded figures guide goblins carrying large bags over their backs. They are going southwest, towards Balmwood.

The goblins who tried to find them re-enter the fort. Its gates close behind them, and the place falls silent, as if they weren't even there.

"They gave up," Hawryn says, looking over the forest. "Looks like they think we escaped."

"And the two we killed? Aren't they searching for them?" Sylas asks.

"Wolves got a few more of them. You can thank the beasts," Hawryn says. He winces as his wound flares. "It might be our best shot at escaping. And we need to warn the town about the group that's coming to them."

"My decision is made," Sylas says, trying to sound sure of himself. He glances at the opening in the fort's wall he wants to use to enter. "How would you get inside?"

"I wouldn't."

"How would you get inside, corporal?" Sylas pushes. "I'll be going with or without you. It's in your interest to make sure I come out."

Hawryn comes near Sylas to look at the fort. "The gaps in the wall will be watched if not trapped. I'd climb using this damaged section."

Sylas looks at where Hawryn points. The wall's mortar has been damaged, exposing stones that could be used to climb.

"It gets you above the room where they put back their wolves. They'll probably think any small noise you make came from the beasts." Hawryn unclasps one of his dagger belts and hands it to Sylas. "It will be better than your sword if you get spotted."

"And you?" Sylas asks, glancing at Hawryn's wound. The plants he used scarred it, but he is still pained by the arrow wound.

"I'll make sure you escape when it goes wrong."

"If it goes wrong," Sylas corrects.

Hawryn only gives a grunt for a response. He places himself back on his observation post to watch the surroundings.

Sylas waits for clouds to obscure the moons and descends towards the fort. His heart hurts with shallow beats. He stops behind a rock as moonlight returns. The shadows of the fort seem like they hide countless enemies that stare at him. He looks back, but Hawryn is nowhere to be seen.

An owl hoots from the forest, startling Sylas.

The moons vanish again. Sylas moves to the foot of the wall and makes his way around the fort, keeping his attention on the ramparts and towers. He reaches the damaged wall and pulls himself up, grabbing and stepping on the exposed stones.

At the edge of the ramparts, Sylas shows his head to scan his surroundings. No one is watching. He hoists himself over the battlements and lands on the stone parapet. Keeping to the battlements, hiding from the yard, he moves along the wall to a tower's doors.

No light flickers behind the doors, but they are closed. These doors do not bear a keyhole, making Sylas think they are locked on the inside by a latch. He draws Hawryn's dagger and slides it between the doors. He slowly moves it up, listening until he hears a metallic click. He raises the latch as little as necessary and opens the door to slip inside.

"Stealth leveled up," the system announces, startling Sylas.

Sylas closes the doors behind him and replaces the latch, hoping nobody will notice it was opened. The room was a cellar or a weapon stash once. Crates and chests lie open and raided of their contents. A few rare Amberfell banners linger on the wooden beams, but most have been torn away.

A ladder juts from an opening on the floor, leading downstairs. Cackling voices echo from below despite the absence of light. Another ladder lies against the innermost section of the tower. It once led to the tower top but is now broken.

Sylas moves towards the descending ladder, checking each floor plank before putting his weight on it. His heart beats so loudly he cannot hear if he's being discreet. He edges the opening and looks below.

The room is ten meters in length and five in width. A closed door leads to the yard, and a hole in the ground seems to go deep. The dirt coming out of the hole is packed tight over the wooden floor, marked by countless prints. It seems to have seen a lot of passage.

Five goblins take turns drinking from a bottle. Short spears lie around them, easily accessible.

Cages fill two of the walls, holding growling wolves. Some grind their teeth against the metal bars of their prisons, while others whimper in pain.

Sylas moves back his head to hide from the goblins. Is that why they didn't see any goblins before being spotted? Because they aren't in the fort but under it? How many of them could there be? He banishes the thoughts; right now, he needs to focus on rescuing Liliana.

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Sylas takes a deep breath and triggers Strengthening. He drops through the opening, lands next to the drinking goblins and cuts down the one facing away from him. He follows up with a swing to his right and then left, slashing through the necks of two others.

The remaining two crawl away from him, not even thinking of grabbing their weapons.

Sylas advances, stepping over the corpses, and thrusts his blade into the closest goblin's chest. Righteous Edge feels heavy in his hands as he kills a fleeing enemy.

The last goblin hurls itself at Sylas, who blocks with his arm. The monster claws at Sylas' gambeson, tearing up the layers of fabric.

Sylas drops his blade and rushes towards a wall, crushing the monster between his arm and the stone. He draws Hawryn's dagger and stabs the beast where he knows its heart to be. It writhes and cries, clawing at the blade before going limp.

The wolves growl at Sylas, showing their fangs while recoiling to the back of their cages.

Sylas wrenches his blade off the corpse it still skewers. He heaves as he realizes he stopped breathing during the clash; he takes a deep breath. The smell of blood invades him, and he gags, unable to stomach it. He places his left hand over his mouth but only smears the blood of the last goblin on himself.

A shock of cold, as if someone had doused him in iced water, makes him refocus. He looks at the hole and sees a drying trail of blood going into it.

The wolves' growls do not waver. It might attract attention. If someone finds the corpse, they'll give the alarm.

Sylas counts the wolves; there are eight of them and two empty cages. He chops three goblins at the waist and throws the corpses to the wolves. They quiet as they start to eat, but the cracking sounds of the bones sicken Sylas. He looks away and enters the hole.

The air turns warmer than in the tower, humid and thick. The sounds of the wolves fade to a muffled grinding as he descends. A faint orange glow appears ahead, licking at the tunnel wall – a torch.

After a dozen careful steps, Sylas comes into a mineshaft that stretches left and right. Wooden beams support the ceiling. He recognizes the pattern used; this is man-made. Torches are stuck into iron brackets at irregular intervals. They are too far from one another and create long sections of darkness.

Goblins' voices echo from somewhere down the right side, too many to count. He creeps left first, away from the voices. The ground here is less compact, marked by fewer tracks.

Feet slap the ground behind him.

Sylas turns, heart lurching.

A trio of goblins exit into the mineshaft from a tunnel Sylas didn't notice. Two of them carry bucket pairs hanging from a pole across their shoulders, making slushing sounds as they move. The last one carries a short spear and uses a cracked bucket as a helmet.

Sylas hides himself behind a beam.

The goblins turn towards the other side and vanish into the mineshaft.

"Stealth leveled up." Sylas flinches at the words. He never hated the system's announcement as much as he does now. He wishes he could command the Elder God to shut up.

Sylas continues in the same direction. The torchlight grows thinner here. The mineshaft ends in a wide and high cavern. Minecarts lie at the end of the tracks, stacked against a bumping post. Tracks and trails of blood lead further inside, towards the shafts the miners dug by following ore veins.

A low sob reaches him. It's faint and muffled but unmistakable – a choked, pained sound that is nothing like the goblins' screeches.

Sylas' chest tightens. He almost calls out but clamps his teeth shut. He tilts his head, straining to locate it amongst the echoes. He moves towards it, his blade held before him.

The shaft he follows widens into a large cave reinforced with timber. It is newer than the mineshaft and made haphazardly with not dry enough wood. When it does dry, it risks cracking. An iron lantern hangs over one side, illuminating tables filled with books and vials.

The sobbing stops as Sylas creeps into the room. Something moves in the darkness. A cage sways in and out of the lantern's light, hung from a crossbeam. Several others begin to squeak as the chains grind against their hook. A pale hand comes out of one of them, human and small. "Water."

Sylas' throat closes. He goes further inside and unhooks the lantern to get it closer to the cages. Half of them are occupied by starved women and children. Blood cakes their arms and legs from lashes and cuts. They are pale, with sunken red eyes, bald patches in their hair, and countless bruises. The sight twists his stomach.

They recoil, frightened by the light.

"I'm here to help," Sylas whispers. He forces himself to steady his grip on the lantern to hide his stress and disgust. "Stay quiet."

A few whimpers rise anyway.

He moves from one cage to the next, searching for Liliana amongst the captives. If she isn't here, it means he'll have to explore the other way, towards the goblins. But how could he leave them here? He reaches the last cage and finds it empty.

"Who were you hoping to find?" an older woman asks.

"A woman named Liliana. Blond hair, my age," Sylas answers. He moves to the desks to search for keys. It is a chaos of parchments and books, vials of gunk, and stacks of leather-bound notes.

A bug writhes in a vial as light touches it– a long centipede moving in a liquid. The vial is set next to a tome opened on the depiction of the same creature. Sylas would have disregarded it if the bug's name, written in imposing letters, hadn't made his heart jump – Minotaur heart eater.

"There is nobody like that here," another woman says. She grabs the bars of her cage. "Now get us out of here."

Sylas looks one last time around the desk; he cannot find keys. He moves to her cage and looks at the lock. It's a simple design; he pulls out Hawryn's dagger and fiddles with it until it clicks open. "She was dragged in from the fort an hour ago; I need to find her. If you follow the right wall, you'll find a tunnel that leads back to it. Wait for me in the room above the one you'll end up in."

"I was the one who was dragged back in," the woman reveals. She shows the fresh cuts on her arms. "A goblin was feeding us when they all started screaming. He ran without closing the cage, and I tried to escape the way you said."

Sylas freezes. Does this mean Liliana was safe all along? On her way back to Balmwood? He looks back at the centipede. Half the cages are empty, but the blood and waste under them tell him they were occupied not so long ago. "Did they take people out of this room?"

"Yes," the woman answers. "Kids, all of them. The ones he infected with his parasites."

Sylas' grip slackens on the lock he just opened. He steps back from her cage as he realizes he might have made a terrible decision. Because he let his feelings win, he might have endangered Balmwood's best defence, putting at risk its hundreds of inhabitants.

The older woman hisses, "Get us out!"

Sylas forces a breath into his lungs. He moves to another lock but stops as he hears voices coming from the mineshaft.