The distraction worked. Perhaps too well.
The Black Banner camp was a hive of screaming men and stampeding horses. The prisoners—those who hadn't been cut down by crossbows—had set fire to the tents. Smoke rolled thick and black across the canyon floor, mixing with the fog to create a blinding soup.
"Close ranks," Karn hissed.
The Vanguard moved as a single entity, five shadows slipping through the chaos. They didn't run.
They walked with purpose, ignoring the soldiers who ran past them with buckets of water.
They reached the edge of the excavation pit.
It was massive. A crater dug deep into the bedrock, lit by hundreds of torches. In the center, half-buried in the stone, was the Gate.
It wasn't metal. It wasn't stone. It looked like bone—fossilized, ancient, and ribbed like the cage of a leviathan.
"Gods," Horg muttered.
The massive doors were sealed with a substance that looked like black amber.
Standing before the gate was a small group of armored figures. They weren't panicking. They were focused.
"That's him," Jax whispered. "Commander Kaelen."
The Commander was a giant in full plate, his helmet removed to reveal a scarred, pale face. He was watching a robed figure—a scholar or a mage—pour a vial of glowing liquid onto the amber seal.
The liquid hissed. The bone-doors shuddered.
"They're opening it," Kael said.
"Not without the Catalyst," Karn said. "Vane said they needed the cylinder."
"Look," Kael pointed.
On a stone table near the Commander, a black obsidian cylinder rested on a velvet cloth. It pulsed with a faint, rhythmic light.
"That's the payday," Jax said, his eyes glittering.
"How do we get it?" Kael asked. "There are ten elites guarding them."
"We use the chaos," Karn said. "Horg, fire the oil flasks. Jax, smoke bomb. Rat... you run."
"Me?" Kael blinked.
"You're the smallest. You're the fastest. We make the hole. You grab the rock. We cover the retreat."
Kael swallowed hard. "Okay."
"On my mark," Karn growled. He hefted his axe. "Three. Two. One."
BOOM.
Horg threw three flasks of alchemist's fire into the pit. They exploded in blooms of green flame, scattering the guards. Jax followed with a smoke bomb that turned the pit into a grey void.
"GO!"
Kael sprinted.
He slid down the slope, his boots tearing up the gravel. He hit the pit floor and kept running. The smoke was stinging his eyes, but he knew where the table was.
He heard steel clashing. Karn's roar. The scream of a dying man.
Kael burst through a cloud of smoke and saw the table. The Commander was there, shouting orders, his sword drawn. He hadn't seen Kael yet.
Kael lunged.
His hand closed around the cold obsidian cylinder.
"THIEF!" The robed scholar screamed, pointing a bony finger.
The Commander spun around. He was fast for a big man. His greatsword swung in a lethal arc.
Kael didn't try to block. He threw himself to the ground, rolling under the swing. The wind of the blade ruffled his hair.
He scrambled up, clutching the cylinder to his chest.
"I got it!" Kael screamed.
"RUN!" Karn bellowed from somewhere in the smoke.
Kael didn't need to be told twice. He scrambled up the scree slope, his lungs burning. Behind him, the Commander roared—a sound of pure, unadulterated rage.
"KILL HIM! KILL THE BOY!"
An arrow struck the stone inches from Kael's hand. Another pinged off his shoulder pauldron.
He crested the ridge. Jax was there, pulling him up.
"Go! Go! Go!"
They ran into the burning camp, vanishing into the smoke. But Kael could feel the weight of the cylinder against his chest. It was heavy. And it was warm.
As if it had a heartbeat.