Four Hours Ago…

  Sorin stared at the darkness beyond the silvery pathway. There had been a little nub leading to the Climber’s Union right where he was standing, but it was gone now. He supposed that meant the seven-tower sign he’d carved into the archive’s wall had been discovered and subsequently destroyed, which had some disturbing implications.

  It could just be a coincidence—some random act of destruction born out of frustration at losing his trail in that particular spot. Sorin doubted any of the climbers who’d been looking for him had a scent-tracking skill, but he could easily see someone else being brought in under the assumption that they’d find his trail and run him down.

  It wasn’t hard to imagine a climber lashing out and destroying everything around him, including the wall that the sign had been carved into. That was the best-case scenario, however, and Sorin had generally found he was much more prepared for life when he assumed the worst and planned for that instead.

  This time, that meant he needed to proceed as though the destruction of the sign was deliberate. The Black Hellions somehow knew about Liminal Gateway, which probably meant they knew about everything else, too—the mosaic, the other towers, maybe even what happened on Floor 100. He couldn’t rely on any of the advantages he’d gained in the upcoming fight. No one was going to underestimate him because he appeared to be a lower rank than he was, or because he had four decades of experience despite barely looking twenty-five.

  On the other hand, there was an opportunity here. If they knew about it, possibly because someone in the Black Hellions had also migrated over from another tower, then maybe, just maybe, he could get some answers. The only problem there was that negotiating from a position of weakness was not a good strategy.

  Overall, it changed nothing about Sorin’s short-term plans. He still needed to establish a supply line to sell the spoils of his climbing, use the funds to purchase the soulprints he needed but couldn’t acquire himself, and harvest a mind-boggling amount of anima as quickly as possible. Once he was rank 20, he’d consider dealing with the Black Hellions, and that was assuming they hadn’t gotten stronger in that time as well.

  Sorin turned away from the missing nub that used to lead to the Climber’s Union and walked a few dozen feet closer to the back end of the silver pathway. The sign he’d placed a mile outside the Floor 2 portal hub still existed, and he passed through it without issue. Walking through the forest instead of taking the main trail increased his travel time, but he was looking for as little contact with other climbers as possible.

  Luck was with him. Even when he reached the hub itself, it was sparsely populated. Such a place was never completely abandoned, of course. It couldn’t be, or the tower would swallow it whole, but compared to the evening crowds, it was relatively empty. Nobody looked twice at him, not until he reached Lenn’s shop and the leatherworker poked his head around a tanning rack he’d set up in the middle of the room.

  It was at least twice the size of the normal ones, and a familiar nightmare bat hide was strung up on it. Lenn had obviously constructed a special rack just for the piece, but, lacking a dedicated place to put it, it was taking up the majority of the main area.

  “Sorin! I was wondering when you were going to get back,” he said. “I’ve got your order all ready for you.”

  “Finn have any issues with the treatments?” Sorin asked.

  “According to him, yeah, but he whines and complains about everything, so I’d have to go with ‘no more than anything else he does’ as a more truthful answer.”

  “Sounds about right. Got everything else ready?”

  “Sure do,” Lenn said. He stepped away from the giant tanning rack and started producing pieces of worked leather from a cupboard. “Here’s the armor and bracers, both alchemically lacquered for durability without sacrificing flexibility. And from some of the smaller pieces of hide, a belt, boots, and a few pouches.”

  “That’s more than we agreed on,” Sorin pointed out warily. His funds weren’t so unlimited that he was willing to pay extra for add-ons that he didn’t need.

  “Don’t even worry about it. You grossly overpaid with all the leather. I just made these out of some of the smaller pieces I had left over.” Lenn stuffed everything into a pack and handed it over.

  “Well, if you’re sure.” Sorin accepted it with a smile. “I appreciate it. Now, I was wondering what you’ve got for pre-mades. I’ve got two other people in my team who could use a bit more protection.”

  “It won’t be nightmare bat, but I do have a few pieces. What size?”

  “One’s for a man, about four inches taller than me, maybe fifty pounds heavier. Solid muscle. That one can be thicker leather. The other’s a girl focusing on an agility build. Short and slender. We need to focus on flexibility for her, as well.”

  Lenn had a decent selection, but Sorin ended up going with patterns that had a lot of straps for tightening and loosening. Without bringing Odric and Rue back to the leatherworker for exact measurements, it was difficult to commission any sort of bespoke armor for them.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  His own armor was a cuirass that fit perfectly. Sorin tried it on while Lenn packaged up the other pieces and was pleased to see it didn’t pull or bind anywhere. It felt a lot like wearing a heavy, padded vest, but otherwise wasn’t even that noticeable. “This is fantastic work,” he praised.

  “Thanks,” Lenn said. A faint hint of red crept across his cheeks. “Not too often I get to work with such good leather. It deserves some of the credit for being an excellent material.”

  Sorin wasn’t under any illusions that the cuirass would stop a crossbow bolt or an ogre’s club, but it would be a marked improvement against fang and claw, which was what he was really after. Dodging would always be part of his defensive tactics, but with this, he could afford a small margin of error.

  The bracers and boots also fit perfectly, though his old boots were a bit better broken in. That’d change in a few days, so Sorin didn’t worry about it. All around, he was willing to count everything as a solid upgrade. Combined with his new sword, he was practically a different person from the climber who’d entered Floor 1 less than two weeks ago.

  By the time Sorin left the shop, things were starting to get a bit busier. The bazaar was open, though, and he had some money to burn looking for a soulprint upgrade for Rue. She wanted something with offensive power, but she needed better utility. A basic healing soulprint was a foundational part of every climber’s build, and she’d been ignoring it because her brother was a dedicated healer.

  He found her a copy of the exact same Minor Regeneration soulprint he was using, though it was a bit pricier this time. Still, a few extra danirs were worth skipping the hassle of revisiting dozens of merchant stalls between the portal hubs on Floors 1 and 2, so Sorin gladly paid it. He added the flap of red-lined skin to the pack with Rue’s armor, then retraced his steps back to the seven-tower sign north of the hub.

  So far, so good. I got what I needed, and nobody followed me. Nobody even seemed to notice me, and if they did, it doesn’t matter since we’re not planning to establish a supply line here. Everything we sell will go for more on Floor 0 thanks to the taxes, but we’ll skip paying them by smuggling them in using Liminal Gateway.

  In theory, it would be cheaper to buy his supplies at the portal hub instead of the city on Floor 0, but the hubs were a lot smaller and catered exclusively to climbers. It would be much harder to find Sorin amidst thousands of rank 0s, though ‘harder’ and ‘impossible’ weren’t the same thing. The Black Hellions had already proven they had eyes on the Climber’s Union, so Sorin couldn’t consider that a safe space anymore.

  They probably still had people watching the Meat Grinder, too, but with any luck, he’d be in and out quickly. He just needed a few minutes of Bradford’s time to set him up with a fence and a supplier, establish some drop points, and then clear out before anyone from the gang showed up.

  Sure, nothing could possibly go wrong there. But just in case I’m wrong, let’s not get careless.

  He stepped back into liminal space and looked around, something he suspected was going to become a habit. The question of what would happen to him if the signs were destroyed while he was on the pathway ran through his mind, and he suspected the answer was the obvious. He’d be trapped there for the rest of his short life.

  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have a few more anchor points like that cave, just to be safe. A couple places that I have no connection to, where it’s carved into stone and unlikely to go anywhere, would be perfect as backup spots anyway.

  At the moment, he had the alleyway in the city, the cave on Floor 1, just outside Floor 2’s portal hub, a random tree deep in nightmare bat territory, and the camp where Rue and Odric were waiting for him. Those last three were by no means permanent, and he wasn’t convinced the first one would last forever either. It was too easy for some random person to stumble across the sign and deface it, and Sorin knew how little damage it took before a sign stopped functioning.

  He stepped out into the alleyway and looked around. As usual, there was nobody in sight. Sorin bent down and pulled some of the garbage piled up against the wall aside to reveal the sign, then nodded to himself. It was set into stone, but it didn’t look carved. At least, if it was, it hadn’t been done with a hammer and chisel. It was more like the sign etched into that chunk of slate he’d received from the ruin on Floor 1, something tower-forged that no rank 0 human could hope to replicate.

  That was a relief, in a way. It meant that if all else failed, this sign would endure. Short of someone knocking the building itself down, he would likely always have a way out of liminal space. Of course, the less people who knew about it, the better. He didn’t need a small army camping the alleyway, waiting for hunger or thirst to drive him back out of liminal space and into their waiting arms.

  Sorin piled the garbage back up, then started walking. He wasn’t very familiar with the red tower’s Floor 0 layout, but it didn’t take him long to clear the twisting maze of back alleys and reach a main road. From there, it was a relatively simple task to orient himself against the tower looming over the whole city and start making his way toward the Meat Grinder.

  The trip was going a lot smoother than his first one across the city, at least. So far, he hadn’t had a run in with any climbers looking to press him into service, though that might have been more because he was armed and armored and clearly presenting as a rank 2 climber to anyone who got close enough to check. He also hadn’t run afoul of any of the small local gangs that terrorized poor neighborhoods.

  He knew better than to voice such an optimistic statement, though. The tower heard that kind of shit, and it punished presumptive climbers for their temerity. The best way to get through an ordeal was to simply keep his mouth shut, pray for the best, and get on with it.

  Sorin made it halfway there before he spotted a familiar face. Nemari was walking down the street, a cloak thrown over her shoulders to hide her figure, but her hands were very clearly shackled in front of her waist. Three men were escorting her, one on either side and one behind. Strangely, they all looked vaguely familiar.

  Her family, maybe? What the hell is going on here?

  He knew he should just turn around and walk away. Nemari had abandoned the group, and whatever trouble she was in wasn’t his problem now. But a little voice in his head nagged at him to look closer. What if she didn’t abandon you? What if she was captured? Was the letter even from her? How much of it was true, if any?

  Silently cursing the tower, Sorin started following the group.