Chapter 2

  The Burrows were vast—thousands upon thousands of Grimtails going about their lives. A web of enormous tunnels stretched in every direction, with shacks built along the walls all the way up to the ceiling. Wooden lifts, powered by spinning wheels, creaked endlessly as they carried supplies and bodies between levels. Below, running water flowed like a river, flanked by narrow walkways on either side. The water was cleaner than the Drainways, but Tivric still wouldn’t drink from it.

  He was on his way to visit Brimlow at the Stitch Den when Kreltch voice cut through the noise.

  “Hey, Tivric—,” Kreltch called out.

  “Hey, Kreltch,” Tivric replied.

  “I thought you three were dead for sure during the Endless Retreat yesterday,” Kreltch said.

  “Me too,” Tivric answered, his eyes hollow.

  “I don’t know if you heard,” Kreltch continued, lowering his voice, “but your friend Skorvel keeps getting into arguments with Warren Lord Marn about letting the undead pass through the Warrens.”

  “Yeah,” Tivric said. “I’ve heard it a hundred times from him. He says if the undeadaren’t even trying to attack us— and are just looking for a way to slip through and hit the surface. Then we need too stop being stubborn to get out of the way.”

  He paused. “When you’re hanging from the ceiling during hatch runs, you’ve got nothing but time to talk about all the injustices Skorvel can find.”

  “He keeps saying we shouldn’t be protecting those aboveground,” Tivric went on. “That they wouldn’t do the same for us. That they never have.”

  Kreltch nodded grimly. “More Grimtails are starting to think like your friend. Some are saying even Warren Lord Edda is beginning to sympathize—with a plan to tunnel a path for the undead around the warren, straight beneath the nearest surface town.”

  He looked at Tivric. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” Tivric said slowly. “Stopping them feels like the right thing to do. But at this rate… I don’t know how much longer we can hold. This is the fourth time they’ve expanded the Stitch Den just to fit the wounded.”

  Kreltch exhaled. “I don’t know either. But watching you two charge yesterday…”

  He shook his head. “For a moment, I thought maybe we could actually win this.”

  Tivric parted ways with Kreltch and made his way toward the Stitch Den. The moment he pushed open the door, the stench of death rolled over him—thick, choking, layered with the low, constant moans of the wounded. He moved through the crowded chambers, stepping carefully between cots and blood-stained stone, searching for Brimlow.

  Many of the Grimtails lying there looked as though they had little time left. If their kind had ever been gifted with true healing magic—or any real talent for it at all—Tivric thought, the air here would not hang so heavy with suffering.

  Brimlow had seen him first and gestured Tivric to come over.

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  “You weren’t panicking or running around like a headless burrow-rat,” Brimlow said. “So I figured you weren’t part of the staff.”

  “I’m glad you’re still breathing,” Tivric said.

  “Wouldn’t be, without you,” Brimlow replied. “I hope the undead hand out tail promotions like we do, because that archer deserves one. Luckiest shot in the Burrows. Tore my harness clean apart. Then his friend put an arrow in my shoulder, and before I knew it I was in the water. My leg didn’t take kindly to that.”

  “You would’ve done the same for me,” Tivric said.

  “No, I wouldn’t have,” Brimlow snapped. “Are you mad? Charging undead with a knife topsiders give their children to spread jam?”

  “I would’ve left you, and started a brand new burrow.” Brimlow added, his tone turning joking.

  They both laughed.

  Then Brimlow’s voice softened. “But… I won’t forget this, Tiv.”

  “I’d rather you did,” Tivric said. “I know I will”

  Brimlow laughed again—then winced.

  “Good luck on your mission. Word is you’re being reassigned.”

  Tivric frowned. “Where did you hear that?”

  “Not sure,” Brimlow said. “Actually… I am. But I can’t tell you.”

  He hesitated, then added, “Rumor has it a Grimtail was murdered in the city you’re being sent to. So be careful, all right?”

  Tivric Nodded

  They clasped forearms in the old way, callused hands gripping tight. Then Tivric turned and disappeared back into the tunnels.

  The next day, a messenger was sent to retrieve Tivric for a meeting with Warrenlord Marn in the Command Den.

  Tivric made his way through the burrows toward the building, overhearing Grimtails arguing heatedly about current affairs involving the battles with the undead. As he entered, he passed a cluster of engineers gathered around schematics spread across a stone table.

  “This new design would let the hatch latch itself automatically once it closes,” one Grimtail engineer said.

  “And what if someone’s stuck on the other side?” another asked.

  “We add a keyhole on the outside,” a third suggested.

  “That could be picked,” someone snapped back, “or pried open.”

  Tivric slipped past the shouting and pushed deeper into the structure, eventually reaching a wide chamber at the rear. Waiting inside was a veteran Grimtail, his fur silvered with age. Two bands were cinched tight around his tail: a black one denoting his roots in Black Burn Burrow, and a heavy gold band that caught the light—the mark of a Warrenlord..

  “Latchrunner Tivric,” Warrenlord Marn said, rising slightly. “I’m glad you could make it.”

  “Hey, Marn,” Tivric replied. “You needed something?”

  “Close the door,” Marn said. His voice left no room for argument. “We need to speak—privately.”

  Tivric obeyed, sealing the chamber before returning to the bench opposite him.

  “First,” Marn said, “you did well yesterday. Kreltch gave his report—Brimlow’s fall, your descent, the risk you took pulling him back.” He studied Tivric for a moment. “That mattered.”

  Marn leaned forward, claws resting on a table.

  “But that isn’t why I summoned you. The truth is this: we are running out of time. The undead are pressing harder with every assault, and the last one came closer to the heart of the Burrow than any before it.”

  Marn’s expression darkened.

  “It’s also the closest I’ve come to letting them through—so they strike Karr’s Bastion instead.”

  Tivric stiffened.

  “I sent for aid,” Marn continued. “The dwarves declined. Internal civil strife. One of the great houses violated the Code of the Old Stone, and now their holds burn from within.”

  He exhaled slowly.

  “The Dawnborn, however, have agreed to lend aid.”

  Marn reached into his cloak and produced a sealed letter, the wax marked with the burrow’s sigil.

  “But there are conditions,” he said, holding the letter out. “You will deliver this personally. The seal must remain intact, and it is to be placed directly into the hands of the High Luminary himself.”

  He paused before adding, “You will not travel alone. A Dawnborn woman has been assigned to accompany you to the High Luminary. She is waiting for you at Karr’s Bastion.”

  Marn’s gaze hardened.

  “You leave tonight.”

  “Oh—and take Skorvel with you,” Marn added. “ I don’t intend to spend the night debating him while your gone.”