The ladder led them to a tunnel with torches in sconces at seemingly random intervals along the walls in both directions. Elliott glanced left, then right, the shadowy tunnel curving gently away from where they stood so he couldn’t see far in either direction.

  [Echo]

  The pulse of mana branched out a couple of hundred metres in both directions before bouncing off walls at the end and returning to him. To the left, the [Echo] exposed openings that led overground like the one they’d used to enter. To the right, the mana hit solid walls but not quite. It brushed around the edges, finding the narrowest of gaps to seep into. A door. Hidden. Almost imperceptible. But definitely there. Besides, somewhere ahead – through the walls – he could feel the [Traced] coin moving towards that direction. It wasn’t too far away now.

  “Come,” he whispered as he led Lyla to the right, shadows dancing across the mud walls that surrounded them, until they reached the dead end. It looked no different to the walls around them. Solid mud. He reached out with his fingers, spreading them across the mud until his fingers caught a hairline crack and traced the hidden lines around the door. He placed an ear against one of the almost indiscernible gaps that his [Echo] had caressed earlier. There was very little to hear – the faint rustle of leather, a hushed voice, a soft plink of metal.

  He cocked his head, feeling the [Traced] coin come closer and dropped the [Conceal]. Lyla raised an eyebrow, hands moving to the daggers at her waist on instinct. Elliott put a finger to his lips, keeping his eyes on the wall as if he could see the elf making her way to whatever lay beyond the hidden door.

  He waited.

  Waited some more.

  There. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was entering the chamber beyond. He turned to the hidden door. There was the hard way to do it – find the mechanism to open it. And then there was the easy way.

  He pushed on the door with a little effort, popping the entire thing off its hinges and sending it flying halfway into the room to slam against the stone floor on the other side. It was a modest chamber, lit by a few torches on the mud walls and empty except for the people there guarding what seemed to be a heavy metal door on the opposite side to him. There were no faint sounds now – metal rasped as swords and axes were drawn and seven sets of eyes turned towards him. Two dwarves, two humans and three elves – one of whom was the dollmaker with the long silver braids, green eyes focused on him.

  “Why, hello there.”

  “Who are you?” the dollmaker asked. Elliott could feel the mana throbbing in the air. His eyes darted among the elves – all three of them were drawing mana. Far less than Elliott could but curiously, the two other elves seemed to be passing mana to the dollmaker. A link of some sort. With the added mana, she was drawing as much as Elliott guessed a Starforged user would be able to draw.

  “Very interesting. What do you call that?”

  She channeled mana outwards, drawing four sigils to her side. From four spots among the cracks in the stone floor, mud rose and congealed like unfinished pottery on a potter’s wheel. They formed formless heaps, stretching towards the ceiling, strands of mud writhing and adding to what was already there. The globs of mud grew limbs, torsos, heads and within moments, four golems stood as tall as Elliott was, wet mud dripping from the fingers on their hands.

  “I’ll give you one final chance. Who are you?” the dollmaker threatened, not realising that if Elliott had wished it, she’d already be dead. But he didn’t wish it. Not least because the…link these three elves displayed was something he had never seen before and that fascinated him. Still, it would be remiss of him not to make it clear who they were dealing with.

  He tapped into his mana reserves. If the dollmaker thought drawing four sigils was impressive, he wondered what she’d make of multiple more than that, almost instantaneously. Her eyes widened. Elliott smiled.

  The dollmaker opened her mouth. Whether to scream or shout, it didn’t matter. She didn’t have the chance.

  Four stone hands appeared in the air above the mud golems and pressed down, crushing the constructs, dark brown mud oozing across the floor. Simultaneously, the dollmaker and the other six present in the room were thrown backwards, backs slamming against the walls. Elliott and Lyla stepped further into the room, though Lyla followed his lead, hands nonchalantly clasped behind her back as if this was an everyday occurrence for her.

  The dollmaker began to cast again, doing her best to mould the strands of mana flowing from her. She began to draw a sigil. Elliott countered with a small shake of his head.

  [Mana Snap]

  The sigil she had begun dissipated, the unspent mana snapping back into her and whipping her head against the wall. She let out a small yelp. As skilled as she was, she wasn’t close enough to Elliott to be able to resist. Her eyes widened further, tears forming in both. The other six focused on him with expressions that ranged from enraged to resigned. One of them even had a look more akin to relief.

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  Elliott walked closer to the dollmaker, pinned to the wall a few metres from the heavy metal door.

  “You stole from me twice today,” he said. “Did you know that?”

  She frowned, half-mouthing ‘twice’ to herself.

  “Yeah, twice,” Elliott confirmed. “Once from Lyla here and once from a young girl, earlier in the morning. Green hair? Blue eyes? Bought a little doll’s dress?”

  He saw the recognition in her eyes.

  “You came here because I stole from you?” the dollmaker asked.

  He looked around the room at all of them. The two dwarves – one with a red bushy beard, the other with a brown one – still held their axes firmly in their hands. The two humans – a male and female with similar builds and similar eyes. Siblings perhaps. Then there were the two elves – both males, blonde hair flowing to their waists over their pointed ears. All of them looked young – even the elves. It wasn’t just the ageless quality to their skin. Elliott figured they couldn’t be more than mid-twenties at most. Perhaps as old as Lyla.

  He let them settle to the floor, their boots softly touching down on the stone, and released them from their holds. They looked wary as they checked they could move, their eyes still focused on him. None of them made a move. He glanced towards Lyla.

  “Recognise any of them?”

  She shook her head.

  He turned back to the dollmaker. “I was curious about kids using magic to steal in the market, only to find it was you. But if I’m not mistaken,” he glanced around at all of them again, “you’re not much older, are you?”

  “You’re not from Bizayn?” she cocked her head at him.

  “No. What I am…is curious about who you are and why you’re stealing with the help of children and why you’re shipping children to the other side of the lake?” Then he glanced at the heavy metal door. “And I’m curious about what’s behind that door.” Then he turned back to her. “And I’m ever so curious about the mana link you three elves maintained.”

  “You’re very curious,” the dollmaker replied. “If you’re not with Bizayn, who are you?”

  “I could be your friend. Or I could be your enemy. It really depends.”

  “On what?”

  “You,” Elliott smiled at the elf.

  She fixed her green eyes on his black, then briefly flickered them in Lyla’s direction. “And who’s she?”

  “Someone who chose to be a friend. Now, as amusing as it is for me to treat you as an equal – we’re not. So, I suggest you lead me through that door to whoever’s in charge here.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Then I’ll kill the seven of you and walk through the door anyway.”

  Glances passed among the seven of them before the elf turned back to him and looked beyond him at the door in the middle of the room.

  “Can you at least put that back where it belongs?” the dollmaker asked as one of the dwarves went to the metal door and opened it. Elliott didn’t even look back, channelling mana at speeds unfathomable to the elf, whose eyes belied her wonder. He made sure to amplify the sound of the door clicking back into place, hiding the tunnel through which he came.

  The dollmaker looked at the others, a knowing nod passing between them, before she led Elliott and Lyla through the door and into a tunnel beyond. It was wide enough for the three of them, lined in stone with torches burning along the walls. The metal door closed behind them, the other six staying on the other side to do their best to stop the next unwanted guest.

  “What’s your name?” Elliott asked.

  “Does it matter?” the elf replied. She was doing as asked. She didn’t have much choice. But she wasn’t here to make friends with him. He respected it. He stayed quiet as she led them to a junction with three routes, taking the path to the right. It led to another dead-end, much like the first one with the hidden door. The silver-braided elf placed her hand to the side of the door, passing it across the mud wall, then a click sounded. The door pulled back ahead of them with a gasp of air and opened into a chamber, much like the one they had been in, six guards standing in front of another heavy metal door. The elf walked over to them, whispered a few words and they opened the door and let them through.

  This tunnel was longer than the others, their boots echoing on the stone floor as shadows flickered from the torches. They walked in silence but as they neared the end, he could hear sounds. Voices, music, the unmistaken laughter of joyful children.

  A few moments later, the tunnel opened into a large cavernous hall with a high ceiling, bathed in the light of torches on the walls and on the few supporting columns in the room. Children filled the hall. Dozens of them – perhaps two hundred or so at a brief glance. The youngest no older than five or six. The eldest no older than thirteen. They sat huddled in groups playing games, while others weaved between the tables and chairs, laughing as they played tag.

  There were older children too – late teens. Some into their early twenties. Those were carrying food between the tables – the sweet aroma of meats and veg and the smells of freshly baked bread permeating throughout the air. Others were reading stories to groups of kids sat patiently on the floor at their feet, eyes wide, smiles decorating their faces. Yet others were playing stringed instruments, little children dancing in circles around them as warmth filled the hall. And not just from the cooking fires. These children looked happy. These children looked satisfied.

  He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. A prison maybe. Some sort of underground trafficking ring. What he’d found was more akin to a home. Like the orphanage he’d grown up in.

  The corners of his lips curved ever so slightly.

  Around the circular outskirts of the room were adults, armed with swords or axes or wearing the robes of healers and mages. They guarded various doors leading away from the hall. An orc either side of the entrance they had stepped through glanced in their direction. Though they recognised the elf, they tensed when they saw Elliott and Lyla. Both raised their axes in a defensive posture.

  "Stand down,” the elf said quietly. “He could kill all of us if he wanted to.” The orcs hesitated a second, warily studying Elliott before stepping back, though they held their axes ready. Then she turned to Elliott, green eyes focused on him, silver braids dangling by her waist.

  “Welcome to Haven.”