B3 Interlude 13: Relief

Rieker stomped through the catacombs of a dead empire, a scowl on his face and his hammer gripped tight. Blood was splattered across his shirt; his heavy-plate would have only slowed him down, and nothing down here was a true threat to him.

Bronwyn had sent a runner for him; the delver said he had something interesting for him, though the Iron he’d sent in his place hadn’t been able to share anything about what.

Hardworking bastard he might have been, Bronwyn had always been crap at reports.

Gods, he hated these bloody tunnels — they all had the same air, made him feel like he was breaking some sacred peace. Felt like he was walking through someone else’s crypt.

Almost every ruin of an Empire settlement had a warren like this beneath them. Sprawling messes of interconnected corridors, rooms, and bolt-holes that seemed to stretch endlessly. They ranged from tunnels big enough to march a parade through, to passageways low enough he had to stoop.

It was a surprise to find them under Deadacre of all places, but it wouldn’t be the first time something like this had happened. These empire-sublevels were always buried deep, and almost entirely separated from construction above. While most had above ground ruins as well, it was nowhere near all — the Shattering had not been a gentle experience.

Calling the place that this Old Yon had set up down here a ‘safe house’ was a misnomer.

Old Yon had simply found a relatively isolated cluster of rooms and built fortifications to control the surrounding tunnels — they may as well have been paper in front of him, let alone with Ro, four Silvers, and three full Steel teams at his back. This particular hideout was only accessible from a single arterial accessway that wound its way through what might have been a full league of the ruins.

He had to give Old Yon one thing, he was at least diligent — he hadn’t relied fully on the base being hidden, he’d done his best to build defences as well.

Taking a left at the next bend, Rieker stayed on the well lit path that marked the areas that the syndicate had refurbished for their use. The shattered wreckage of wooden fortifications scattered the new section of tunnel. Bodies were littered amongst the destruction, though not as many as there could have been.

Raiding this place had been…easy. Far too easy.

A few hundred men scattered across three bases, most were concentrated here and almost all were Bronze, with a rare few at low Iron. They may as well have been a hive of gnats. Once they’d broken through the defenses, few had been stupid enough to fight — the puddles those fools had left behind were more than enough to break the rest.

Most had simply fled — and gotten caught by the teams they had stationed at the entrances. Steel teams were hunting down the ones that had been foolish enough to take their chances with the many unmapped passages scattered through the warren. Even if this wasn’t a military installation, Empire ruins were known as death traps for a reason.

Those who didn’t get lost and starve were just as likely to die from a collapse as they were from a stray rune formation going haywire, or a hairtrigger mechanical defense.

Diolin, for all he had brought them information, hadn’t even come close to fully exploring this place — that would be the work of years. A responsibility that would ultimately fall on him. As if his people didn’t have enough shit on their plates.

Rieker scowled, stalking forwards.

The ease with which they had broken the spirits of the defenders worried him. They had come prepared to bring down a full Silver team — if they’d had backing like that, he doubted the gangers would have routed so easily.

Throw in an only partially mapped ruin, known for its convoluted and often hidden passages?

An Onyx rat could have long since slipped his net.

He reminded himself that not all hope was lost. For one, they had done good work here — the slagheap had gotten rough with the destitution that had been foisted upon it. Too many people without homes, and not enough space — fucking phase change. Hopefully, with this ratsnest destroyed, it would get a little better.

Once the ruckus had settled, they’d be able to comb over Old Yon’s base — undoubtedly the man would have missed something in his sudden flight, and there was a good chance that one of these cowards knew something about wherever Kaius had been taken.

Reaching the centre of the shattered defences, Rieker entered a smaller hallway through an iron-banded door that had been bashed straight out of its hinges. The main base, a clustered collection of rooms that had been converted to something resembling barracks, meeting rooms, and more.

It was crawling with delvers, each guarding rooms full of surrendered men while they waited for Ro to bring word to the remaining Steel and Iron teams to congregate here — and bring their own prisoners with them.

Once they’d locked this place down, questioning could begin, and they could start ferrying the criminals into the waiting hands of the guards.

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At the end of the primary corridor that ran the length of the base, he found another shattered door, and Bronwyn standing over a huddled group of half a dozen terrified criminals — all of them having been bound hand to foot.

He cocked his head at the bisected body in the doorway. That wasn’t Bronwyn’s style, and even if blood splattered over the man’s enamelled light-plate, it wasn’t nearly enough. The rest of the room was equally out of place — a desk and a few empty shelves.

They’d found Old Yon’s office, it seemed.

“Bronwyn.”

Rieker stepped over the corpse.

The Silver looked up, “Guildmaster.”

“You do that?” Rieker tilted his head back behind him.

Bronwyn shook his head. “I did not — apparently our quarry got a little testy when someone interrupted a meeting with his Silvers to warn him of our arrival.”

He scowled, “A proper bastard then.” Not that he thought that was ever in any doubt.