Dreisterne

INTERLUDE V

The rhythmic clang of pickaxes striking stone echoed through the cavern, each blow stirring clouds of glittering dust that shimmered in the torchlight. The men worked in tense silence, save for the scrape of metal and the faint hum that seemed to pulse from the leader's pendant. The crystal hanging from his neck glowed ever brighter, its soft azure light casting strange shadows across their faces.

"Keep diggin'," the leader rasped, eyes locked on the wall before them. "It's here."

The others exchanged uncertain glances. The pendant's pull had led them through twisting tunnels and dead ends for hours, and the air was thick with the earthy scent of dried silver veins. But when the last strike broke through the rock, a gust of cold air spilled from the newly opened path, carrying with it a low, haunting hum that vibrated in their bones.

One man raised his torch and stepped forward. "Bloody hell... what is this place?"

The party filed in cautiously, and what they saw stole their breath. The chamber beyond was immense, its walls alive with blue light, veins of Mana crystal threading through the rock like glowing arteries. Fragments of crystal littered the ground, each one pulsing faintly as though the cavern itself was breathing. But all eyes were drawn to the heart of the room: a massive crystal on the floor, radiating a power that made the air hum.

"Myrddin's beard..." one of them whispered. "We're rich. We're bloody rich!"

A few of the men dropped to their knees, clawing at the smaller shards like desperate scavengers. But before they could pocket so much as a handful, the leader's voice cut through the air, cold and sharp as a blade.

"Don't. Touch. Anything." His glare pinned them where they stood. "Morgan only needs the largest crystal. You take even a grain, and I'll split your skulls myself. Understood?"

There was a collective nod in response.

The leader's tone softened, though the tension in his jaw did not. "Good. Three of you, move it to the cart. Careful with it. The rest, form a perimeter. I don't want surprises."

They obeyed. It took three grown men grunting and straining to lift the central crystal from its base, its glow brightening with each inch it moved, as if resisting their touch. The air grew heavier, almost electric. When they finally settled it into the cart, a faint crackle of blue energy danced along its surface, momentarily blinding them.

"Get it out of here," the leader barked.

One by one, they filed back through the narrow passage, their boots crunching over loose gravel. The leader lingered, watching the light from the main crystal flicker against the jagged walls. Alone now, he let his hand drift to his belt pouch and pulled out a small chisel.

Just a sliver, he thought. No one will ever know.

He drove the tool into a smaller crystal near the entrance. It snapped off cleanly, gleaming in his palm. He walked out of the chamber with a grin, feeling proud of himself for outsmarting his underlings.

... ... ... ... ...

Moonlight washed the broken stones of the Watchmen's Tower in a pallid glow, the cold wind howling through the arrow slits like the sighs of the dead. At the parapet's edge stood Morgan, motionless, pale, his cloak fluttering behind him like a shadow given form. His eyes, hollow and brilliant with unnatural fire, never left the distant lights of Londinium, twinkling faintly across the dark valley like embers soon to be snuffed out.