Moira Thornwhisper's Arc

Chapter 9 of 13

Moira left at dusk with the weapons bundled in cloth, Clover hopping ahead through the underbrush. The quarry lay two hours north according to the journal's crude map, but she needed to see it herself before they struck. She crested the ridge just after moonrise and froze. The quarry sprawled below like a wound carved into the forest—not the simple mining pit she'd imagined, but a network of excavation sites connected by wooden walkways and stone bridges. A massive reservoir dominated the center, its exposed walls glittering with crystal veins that caught the moonlight. Water cascaded through sluice gates into channels that fed deeper into the earth, disappearing into tunnels she couldn't see from this angle. The research facility rose on the eastern edge, a fortified structure with barred windows and metal reinforcements that made her cottage's defenses look like children's play. Three covered wagons sat near its entrance, their thick frames built for rough terrain. Prisoner transports, ready to move the captives in four days. Moira counted twenty guards on the walkways and twice that many moving between buildings she hadn't known existed. Storage sheds. Barracks. What looked like a forge belching smoke into the night sky. The journal had mentioned six prisoners and a skeleton crew—it had said nothing about this sprawling operation, nothing about the underground network that clearly extended far beyond what she could see. Her group of grieving civilians with cursed blades wouldn't survive the first bridge crossing. She stayed on the ridge until dawn broke, watching the guard rotations and mapping the paths in her mind. The grimoire's hunting spell might turn the forest against the Crown's scouts, but it wouldn't touch this place—too much stone, too little living wood. She needed different magic, something the dryad's memories might reveal if she looked deep enough. Clover pressed against her ankle as Moira stood, and she picked up the rabbit, feeling the warmth of living fur against her soot-stained hands. The rescue wasn't impossible, but it would cost more than five birds and some cursed bone. She turned back toward the cottage, accepting that she'd need to sacrifice something far larger to match what the Crown had built.