Page 93 of The War of Four Winters

Katyr shook his head. "They didn't need to follow our route. It’s possible they’ve been lying in wait this entire time."

"Can we find another way?" Ruith scanned the walls for side passages or maintenance shafts.

"Not easily," Aryn admitted, his expression softening slightly at Daraith's arrival. "This section runs beneath Ivygrass territory. The only branch points are behind us now."

Daraith's tattoos pulsed brighter. "They've brought death to these tunnels before," he observed, his voice taking on an unsettling resonance that made the hairs on my neck rise. "Many slaves died here during the riots. Their spirits remain."

"Daraith," Katyr warned, recognizing where this was heading. "Are you sure that's wise? Necromancy in D'thallanar itself—"

"Would be a shocking breach of protocol," Daraith agreed with the faintest hint of a smile. "How fortunate we're already fugitives."

Another flash of green magic illuminated the curve ahead, though this bolt struck harmlessly against the ceiling, seemingly meant as a warning rather than attack. A voice called out, echoing strangely in the confined space.

"Surrender now, and the Primarch may yet show mercy!"

Ruith's eyes met mine. "We fight through," he said simply.

I nodded, shifting my grip on my weapon. "Together."

"Wait," Daraith interjected, his silver tattoos now pulsing with increasing intensity. "The dead may clear our path first."

He knelt, placing one palm against the damp stone floor. Ancient words flowed from his lips, each syllable seeming to hang in the air like physical things. The temperature around us plummeted until our breath frosted in the dim light. A strange wind stirred through the tunnel, carrying whispers and half-formed sounds that might have been voices.

"What's happening?" I asked, unable to keep the unease from my voice.

"The forgotten," Aryn replied quietly, moving to stand protectively near Daraith. "The slaves who died here during the riots. Daraith is... waking them."

From the water beside us, misty forms began to rise, translucent shapes that gradually solidified into recognizable figures. Men and women in tattered clothing, their necks bearing ghostly marks of collars long removed. Their eyes, hollow and luminous, fixed on the bend ahead where the battle mages waited.

"The dead don’t forget," Daraith explained, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control over the conjured spirits. "They will help us now."

The ghostly slaves surged around the bend. Shouts of alarm and panic erupted as they encountered the battle mages. Flashes of green magic lit the tunnel in strobing bursts accompanied by the unnerving sounds of spectral wailing. The temperature dropped further, frost forming along the tunnel walls as Daraith's power intensified.

Before we could implement our plan, a new sound reached us—splashing water and rapid footsteps from behind. The pursuit had caught up more quickly than expected, cutting off retreat.

"The overflow pipe," Aryn said suddenly, pointing to a narrow opening in the wall beside us. "It connects directly to the river."

Ruith assessed the opening with a frown. "Too small for armored guards. But we'd be vulnerable while crawling through."

Daraith shook his head, sweat beading on his forehead from the strain of controlling the spirits. "I cannot maintain this summoning if we separate," he warned, his voice thin with effort. "The moment I release them, the battle mages will recover."

"I'll buy you time," Katyr said, raising his hands as blue fire danced between his fingers. "Get Ruith to safety. I'll find another way out."

"No!" Ruith's response was immediate and fierce. "We stay together."

The sounds of pursuit grew louder behind us, while ahead, the flashes of magic grew more erratic as the battle mages fought desperately against the spectral onslaught. Daraith stumbled slightly, Aryn's hand immediately steadying him.

"He can't maintain this much longer," Aryn warned, concern evident in his usually impassive face. "The spirits are growing unstable."

A sudden explosion rocked the tunnel, water splashing violently as debris rained down from above. For a terrifying moment, I thought the entire structure might collapse around us. Then a familiar voice called out from the direction we had come.

"This way! Quickly!"

Niro appeared through the settling dust, his armor splattered with blood that I hoped wasn't his own. Behind him, Klaus Wolfheart led a group of warriors bearing his clan's insignia. Wisps of shadow still clung to Niro's hands, dissipating slowly into the dim light of the tunnel.

"What was that explosion?" I asked as Niro reached us.

"Shadow compression," he explained, flexing his fingers as the last tendrils of darkness faded from them. "I collapsed part of the tunnel to cut off Tarathiel's guards. The eastern tunnel is clear. Lord Wolfheart's people have secured a path to the river gates."

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