Chapter 16 #2
We enter the first weaver's stall, my senses heightened by both training and a new awareness humming beneath my scales. The pull toward Serin remains, a constant tug westward that I force myself to ignore with each forward motion.
“This is Furra's stall," Nirik whispers as we move between hanging garments that sway like ghosts in our wake.
Tunics of impossible beauty drape from ceiling hooks of sunset oranges bleeding into midnight blues, ceremonial attire embroidered with constellations that seem to shift and twinkle even in the dim light.
Bolts of silk line the walls in a rainbow cascade of bloodstone red, serpent-eye green, quicksilver blue that ripples like water when my scales brush against it.
Beneath it all, half-finished creations lie abandoned on worktables, needles still threaded as if Furra might return any moment to complete her masterpieces.
"She makes all of the Threadborn's garments," Nirik adds, his claw tracing the edge of a gossamer veil that shimmers with crushed crystal dust.
"I suppose she will be making them for Serin as well," I say absently, scanning the shadows between spools of thread.
Nirik's head snaps up. "The Threadborn's sister?"
"Yes," I reply. "I would not be here if it were not for her."
"That is a tale I am most interested in hearing."
"One that will have to wait until later," I mutter, spotting the first device nestled among spools of metallic thread, its surface mimicking the iridescent gleam of the surrounding materials. "Here," I hiss, dropping low to examine it. My claws hover, uncertain.
Nirik slithers closer, his movements fluid with practiced precision. "Like this," he says, demonstrating the disarming sequence. Three pressure points in rapid succession, followed by a quarter turn of the outer casing. The device gives a soft click as it deactivates.
Relief floods my system, but there is no time to savor it.
We find two more hidden beneath a stack of shimmering fabrics, and another, disguised as an ornate loom weight, hanging from the central frame, where a half-woven tapestry depicts our sacred ancestral caverns.
By the fourth device, my fingers move with newfound confidence, mimicking Nirik's technique.
We clear the remaining four weaver stalls with brutal efficiency.
Eshara's workshop yielded three devices hidden within hollow dress forms. In Triskel's space, two more nestled beneath intricate beadwork.
Voren's small corner stall contained only one, but it was larger than the others, powerful enough to bring down the entire section.
Lastly, in Maelis's renowned leather-working shop, we uncovered two final explosives tucked inside decorative armor pieces.
"Twelve," I say, the number sinking into my gut like cold stone as Nirik secures the final deactivated core in his pouch. The weight of what could have happened, what still might happen elsewhere, presses against my scales.
"We need to move," Nirik says, already slithering toward the exit. "Kareth and Vaelor will need help with the vendor stalls."
I follow, my tail propelling me forward with renewed urgency, the memory of abandoned beauty giving way to the brutal reality of our race against destruction.
The distant clank of Kareth's blade against something metallic guides us forward, each echo bouncing off abandoned displays of gleaming jewelry and weathered trinkets.
Our shadows stretch ahead of us, distorted by the guttering keh'shalin light that struggles to maintain its glow in the emptied cavern.
"There," Nirik points toward a junction where the market spirals outward like a nautilus shell, each curve hosting a different category of goods. "Vaelor and Kareth are working through the inner rings."
We find them coiled low before a jewelry merchant's abandoned display, Kareth's obsidian-scaled form bent at the torso over an intricate array of copper bangles where he has uncovered a device nestled between stacks of jade pendants.
His claws work with practiced precision, deactivating the mechanism with three quick taps followed by a twisting motion.
The quiet click of success echoes in the hollow space.
"We cleared the weavers' district," I announce, sliding to a stop beside them. "Twelve devices neutralized."
Vaelor looks up, his vibrant blue scales shimmering like sapphires even in the cavern's dim light.
They contrast sharply with the jagged scar that runs from his left eye to his jaw.
A pale lightning strike across azure waters, marking some battle I was not there to witness.
"We have found eight here so far," he says, his tail coiling protectively around a canvas bag bulging with deactivated explosives. "Too many for comfort."
"And likely more to find," Kareth adds grimly. "We need to split up, cover more ground."
I nod, taking in what remains of our task. Perhaps half the sprawling marketplace remains to be searched.
Kareth points with a battle-scarred claw. "Outer ring still needs searching. Nirik and Vaelor should take the middle section with those spice merchants. I will finish the inner circle where we started."
We disperse without further discussion, each understanding the stakes. My tail propels me toward the outermost circle, where the larger stalls display precious gemstones and crystalline formations harvested from the deepest caverns.
My unwanted gift refuses to be ignored, the air pressing against my scales with the insistence of a lover who will not be denied. That same metallic tang I had dismissed as merchant tools in the weavers' stalls now reveals itself as something else entirely.
Invisible currents bring me intelligence I never sought. Chemical bitterness of explosives floats to me through the air that should carry only stone dust and mineral scents, each molecule screaming its warning directly into my consciousness, my awakened senses detecting what others cannot.
The first stall I approach houses raw amethyst geodes arranged in gleaming pyramids, their fractured faces catching what little light remains in the cavern.
Beside them, translucent stalactites hang suspended in metal cradles, harvested whole from the deepest reaches.
I move methodically, checking each display, sensing rather than seeing the inconsistencies.
My claws close around a polished sphere of rose quartz with a decorative silver base that does not match the others. It is too symmetrical, too perfect. I turn it over and find the device embedded underneath, the counting mechanism ticking away precious seconds.
I deactivate it using Nirik's technique, the sequence now burned into my muscle memory. The device goes quiet, its countdown halted, and deadly purpose neutralized. I place it carefully in the pouch Nirik gave me and move to the next display.
Two more gemstone clusters yield similar discoveries, each device disguised beneath glittering crystal formations. One is nestled under a cluster of raw emeralds, another hidden within a hollowed-out geode of celestite.
Each placement was calculated to maximize casualties and structural damage, revealing not just knowledge of Vessan-Kar's layout but also an understanding of our daily rhythms, our vulnerabilities. Only someone who lived among us could orchestrate such precisely targeted devastation.
Jarik's betrayal cuts deeper with each device I find; his decades of service as a Talon provided perfect cover for a worm operative. How many other worms still lurk within our ranks, waiting to strike?
I overturn baskets of dried herbs and spices in the next stall, their pungent aromas released in clouds that tickle my nose.
The metallic scent of another device cuts through the competing fragrances.
This one is hidden beneath crushed moonflower petals.
I uncover four more devices found from this stall alone.
Across the market, I glimpse Kareth working through a merchant's collection of intricately carved bone figurines, his movements deliberate and focused.
He extracts two devices from beneath a display of miniature warriors and adds them to his growing collection.
Our eyes meet briefly across the distance.
A silent acknowledgment of the enormity of our task.
The wind whispers against my scales, an ally now rather than merely an element.
It carries information, the subtle vibrations of mechanisms counting down, the displacement of air around objects that do not belong.
I follow these invisible currents, letting them guide me through textile merchants' silks hanging like colorful banners, the farmers' empty grain sacks piled in untidy heaps, and a scribe's delicate papers and pigments.
We work with increasing urgency as the minutes tick by, each deactivated device both a victory and a reminder of how close we stand to catastrophe. Seventeen devices neutralized when Sareth and Traven finally appear, gliding into the marketplace from the south wall.
"South wall clear," Sareth reports, his expression grim as he approaches. "Found eleven devices embedded in support columns."
Traven's onyx scales glisten with exertion, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "The worms were thorough," he says, voice tight. "They targeted every major structural point."
I slither toward a display case housing crystalline spheres of various sizes.
Meditation orbs carved from the heartstone of ancient stalactites, their surfaces etched with prayers to the Ancients.
My scales brush against the wooden display table as I bend to examine its underside.
There, magnetically attached to the metal support beam, my claws find the cold, mechanical shape of a device.
Its presence is a desecration beneath these sacred relics.
The ground trembles beneath my coils.
Too late.