Chương 88: The Iron Dead

For the first month or two of his sapient life, Sol hadn't been scared of much. He'd simply been practicing his material fórsa creation and enjoying time on Cianán's Walk with his new friends. Nothing in the jungle would hurt him, and he could leave any time he wished. It wasn't until he'd faced the Eternal King Cianán in all his might had Sol really understood what it meant to be afraid.

Even the lumbering threat of Maitiú or the eldritch abomination of the Fáelad hadn't really touched that part of him that felt real fear. Maitiú and Cian were his friends, and looking back he supposed he was naive enough to think they wouldn't really hurt him in their frenzies. He realized now that had been foolish. Still, the threats they posed had been nothing compared to King Cianán.

He had reached into Sol's spirit and wrenched forth what he thought had been lost or not even present - the consciousnesses of both Solas and Ultán. To have so casually ripped Sol's world apart in a way that even death could not have… it terrified him. So deeply that he had a hard time sleeping some nights as the thought of that moment crept again and again into his head. King Cianán could not just end him - many things in the Tír probably could do that.

King Cianán could change him, and after so many changes, Sol didn't want more - at least none that were not of his own choosing. It felt like a violation. Sol had thought that having faced a juggernaut like King Cianán any other threat would seem trivial. He had been wrong. Following Ferris into the tunnel was like walking alongside mobile trees - he was dwarfed by the Crockern around him and he had to jump ahead two steps for their every one.

Still, he never questioned why the Regent-Elect was so adamant he come along. Ferris hadn't even batted an eye when he'd fetched his fórsalock pistols from his bag. What could Ferris fear so badly in here that he would enter with such a show of force and with so little care about Sol's armaments - he'd only known the Regent-Elect for a day or so. Hardly enough to trust a man with a gun at your back. Sol's questions were soon answered.

"Hold them back!" Ferris's voice boomed.

"Drive them back into the Underlayer! Failing that, do not hesitate to put them down." There was no doubt about what the threat was. They had made their way down to what seemed to be a large ready room, with lockers and tool check-out stations. They had not stopped there and instead pushed on into one of the largest tunnels, where Sol stumbled on thick minecart tracks.

They walked down into the dark for what felt like a long time, their white phosphorescent lamps illuminating the same unending splotches of gray cave wall. Then Ferris's shout echoed across the stone and the darkness came alive. They were Crockern, but… wrong. They moved like marionettes, stiff and lurching, but with the power of an adult Crockern from the Second Ring. Their skin seemed to either be sloughing off or cracking apart - very much like Ferris's arm had been.

In the blanching lamplight Sol could see exposed skulls glinting with material too reflective for bone. In their hands they clutched mining tools, dragging pickaxes and shovels behind them or driving them into the stone ahead, as if they were pitons in a mountain ascent. They all made horrid choking sounds, as if trying to vomit out words that would not come. Ferris burst into action, calling upon the unique power of his Adept class.

He flexed both arms and hundreds of chain links streamed from his backpack onto his arms, shrouding him in steel mail. He blocked one pickaxe directly on his forearm and punched the irondead Crocken with his other fist, steel spikes forming to impale the attacker through its iron skull as if he were driving a pike. Sparks flew everywhere. We must get those techniques into material fórsa! Solas lisped eagerly. For once, Sol didn't disagree. It was like Miriam's vines, but harder and more durable.

He might have to try to make a deal with Ferris for those techniques. Pay attention to the fight, you jackass! Ultán's voice scolded. I'll not lose my second chance because you were mooning over some fancy tricks! Sol started, realizing too late that he was just standing there, transfixed by the horror before him. Looking into the shambling darkness ahead, he felt that which he had thought exclusive to the Eternal King. A healthy dose of real fear.

He quickly loaded vine spears into his fórsalocks and began firing wherever he could see an opening. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. ✧✧✧ Róise was caught between two pockets of Iron Dead. She had ducked into a tunnel to escape the encroaching lights and run headfirst into a horde of mindless, metallic Crockern.

Now that she knew more about what she was dealing with they were not quite as hard to handle - slice important tendons, dispatch in the usual places. It just required her to expend as much fórsa to do so as if she were fighting on her same level. This iron wasn't just armor - it was advanced armor. If she didn't know better she would think it at least Third Ring material. She learned to her chagrin that Seven Drunken Nights was useless. They had no minds to mesmerize.

One had taken a bloody fistful from her back which burned with the sting of iron when she'd learned that lesson. Róisín Dubh mended it, but that was more fórsa gone she couldn't spare. She'd found herself forced deeper and into side tunnels she wouldn't otherwise have risked. Róise needed a plan. As far as she knew the main entrance was the only way out. It was clear that Eoin's plan to get in and out in six hours was dead, but that was still her best chance of escape.

Somehow she needed to find her way back there, but behind the Crockern who had descended to investigate. If she could find somewhere at least a little secure she would be happy to try to wait it out, but no matter what nook or cranny she tried to stake out, there would be a new Iron Dead there in moments. They flowed like water into every possible space. The problem was the damn lights. They kept coming. Whoever these Crockern were, they were mowing through the Iron Dead like a farmer at harvest.

Quickly, efficiently and without mercy. If she wanted to avoid being seen by someone with a brain, she was being forced deeper. Then she crossed a three-way junction which also quickly filled with irondead Crockern and she was stuck in the middle. Pixie above, I could really use those wings now! Róise thought as she scampered up the walls. She lashed her feet to the roof and breathed deeply, thankful for a chance to rest.

This high she was a bit beyond the Crockern's reach, given that none of them seemed inclined to jump, but blood was rushing unpleasantly to her head. Thankfully, once she stopped moving and kept out of their sight, they seemed to forget about her, almost as if Seven Drunken Nights were already running. They simply turned and continued to walk down the tunnel. After this group of Iron Dead shuffled past she broke her lashes and landed lightly on the stone floor, her breath coming hard. She was running out of fórsa.

She needed to stay still somewhere. She was just coming up with a plan to lash herself to the ceiling again, but maybe right-side-up this time, when she saw more lights coming from the opposite direction. How did they get past me? was her first thought, but she quickly realized this was not the Crockern troop she'd been avoiding. This light was the yellow of fire, not the white of the phosphorescent lamps she'd been trying to keep her distance from.

She felt hope surge - that must mean there was another exit further in! This group was also not being very quiet. They seemed to be walking very casually, unafraid; even laughing from what she could hear. She used that to her advantage, skulking closer but out of the sight of their torches. She applied her lashing trick again, this time at the entrance to another junction where the flames were set to pass through. Pixies! Róise's jaw dropped. This was a contingent of pixies walking together in disorderly rows.

They were an odd mix of functionaries; four were clearly soldiers, armed with bright, clean swords. Another two seemed to be servants in obedience to the last four, who were dressed like scholars. And each of them bore the crest of House Séarlait. She stifled her anger and dropped to the ground before they could see her, making as if she were walking down the tunnel as casually as them.

"Ahoy there!" she called to the group. The soldiers whirled, blades at the ready, but relaxed when they saw Róise. She was no Crockern after all, living or dead, and she wore the uniform of the Séarlait contingent stationed in Teilgcheárta. A pixie like them, in service to Caolán Séarlait. Even the deception burned in her gut, but she forced herself to continue.

"I was scouting down here for one of my group's researchers when these… things attacked. Where are you coming from?" One of the scholars, an older portly man with anemic wings and less than a head shorter than her, took her hand and bowed.

"My lady! So very unfortunate. It seems in our haste we did not consider what our infiltrated brethren might suffer before we made our move."

"Your move?" Róise asked.

"All part of the plan, my dear," the scholar said.

"I am Donnchadh, leader of this humble brigade. Who might you be, besides lovely?" Róise swallowed bile. He reminded her of every self-important banker or merchant who stalked the streets of Shirren at night, catcalling and whistling but in such a more refined way - at least to their own ears.

"Róisín. Should I accompany you? I'd wager a strong arm wouldn't go unwanted in these caves."

"I think we've got it well in hand," one soldier began, when one of his compatriots muttered into his ear.

"Well, well! A Fourth! You may be right, Miss Róisín. Though we've had no trouble so far, it's best to be safe where we can."

"How have you had no trouble?" Róise asked, looking between the scholar and the soldier.

"I've tangled with countless of these Iron Dead."

"Our Mr. Séarlait has secrets on secrets!" Donnchadh chortled, pulling a small glowing stone from his robe.

"I'm told it's fashioned from principles taken from the real thing, but its effects are far more limited. None of these corrupted Crockern dare to come near us! So we drive them ahead as we scour these tunnels. But I must ask - could it be that you've seen it? Could you help shorten our mission?"

"Have I seen what?" Donnchadh grinned with the satisfaction of someone who has found a way to make himself seem important.

"Why, the secret of Teilgcheárta's dominance for all these years. The whole reason we've come in the first place!" The fact that Róise didn't roll her eyes was a testament to her acting skills. Cormac would have been jealous, she decided.

"What?"

"Nothing less than the fabled Heart of Iron, my dear."