All mining operations had stopped, and round-the-clock shifts had been posted at the resurrection node. Everyone saved an anima profile, and Rhen adjusted the setting so that they could afford to resurrect everyone if they died. It resulted in the speed of Jakira and Aki’s resurrection being affected—which Rhen could actually track from the control node.

Three more days… that’s how long he would be without them. But that was almost a good thing. He didn’t want them respawning into the middle of a terrocken battle. They needed a more sustainable solution than a constant five-man guard posted, and he knew just where to go to get it.

Wyland.

Rhen made it to town in record time, out of breath. He went to open the door to Wyland’s shop, but it was locked. He knocked, waited, knocked, waited, then started banging on the door non-stop.

After the third full minute of Rhen pounding and calling for Wyland, he opened the door, a deep scowl wrinkling his brow. “What could be so urgent to interrupt my teatime?”

“I’m sorry, truly. My friends died after saving their anima profile, and we barely have control of the node. We’re being attacked by monsters every hour, and we know there’s an event in that chamber that wreaks a lot of havoc, but don’t know when it will hit again. I need a creative solution for safe resurrection that doesn’t require a constant guard within three days.”

“Three!” Wyland laughed.

“Can you do it?”

Wyland frowned. “Said I wouldn’t poke my nose in any dungeons again…”

“Please, sir, it won’t be like Welsh. I’ll listen to you.”

The old man scratched his chin with his mechanical arm. “You got Lafite?”

“Yes.”

“Telzonite?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Lafite’s good enough I ‘spose. All right, let me get a few things.” Wyland opened the door and beckoned Rhen inside.

Rhen followed him down to his shop and milled about while the old man got ready. He wheeled a cart around his workshop, grabbing this tool and that, nothing Rhen really recognized besides oversized pliers. He wasn’t a crafter himself but did find all that fascinating. If he hadn’t developed such a passion for delving, he’d likely have become a crafter after earning his freedom.

“Help me with this portable smelter, would ya?” Wyland fluffed out a wide-mouthed pack and stood beside a waist high cylinder with many knobs covering its surface. It had a lid that seemed to lock in place, and a large inner bowl that had been blackened by use.

Rhen stood beside Wyland and helped him fit the mouth of the bag over the top of the smelter. As soon as the top of the smelter passed the cinch it shrank and distorted, almost as if it were being stretched.

“How?”

The rest of the bag fit over it easily and Wyland smiled. “Enon syntials are a wonder.”

“But where is the syntial?” Rhen looked all over the sack, but saw nothing.

Wyland pulled on the string that would close the bag. It flared a brilliant red at his touch. Six mandala-like inkings revealed themselves around the top of the bag, and then disappeared after a moment.

“They’re the least understood of the syntial types, but so essential. I’ll teach you ‘bout em sometime… for a fee.” Wyland winked.

“I’d happily pay it.”

He gathered the rest of his tools, opting to shove the entire cart into the sack instead of dropping each tool in individually. Wyland passed the bag to Rhen. “You carry this one.”

He went to his bed and stuffed a few shirts and other items into another, smaller backpack. Wyland slung the pack over his shoulder and looked around at his space.

“Oki doki, let’s hit the road.”

“Wait, you’re going out to the dungeon?”

“Whatdja think we were packing for?”

“I…”

“If you need it fast, there’s no time for me to go out, survey the space, craft a design, come back here, build it, go out there, test it, yadda yadda yadda. If I’m there, bing, bang, boom, we’ll get it done.”

“That makes sense, though, I’m not sure if that will require delving paperwork signed by the guild.”

Wyland waved his hand dismissively and headed for the stairs. “I have no intentions of mining or monster hunting, and those are the two big no-nos if you don’t have papers. Cmon, daylight’s wasting.”

Wyland shuttered everything up tight on their way out, activating the same anima locks on the workshop door and the front door of the shop before they left. They were on the path toward Rhen’s dungeon when it struck him. Money.

“I really appreciate you doing this, but we haven’t discussed a rate.” Rhen said, apprehensive. He knew Wyland was good, so it wasn’t the quality of craftsmanship that was the issue… or maybe it was. His work was too good, and therefore too expensive.

“I’ll be usin’ all your materials, you’ll be puttin’ me up and feeding me, protectin’ me, oh and I’ll need a couple apprentices—gophers.”

“Gophers?”

“Yeah, you know, go fer this, go fer that, someone to hold the cast steady, etcetera.”

“Sure, we have several delvers that can help, but what about your rate?”

“Impatient. I could tell by the way ya nearly banged down my door! I’m gettin’ there, sonny. With all those things accounted for, you’re just payin for my expertise and time, so let’s say thirty marks.”

Rhen was shocked. “Total?”

Wyland’s laugh filled up the whole forest. “No, sonny, per hour. ‘Course you only pay when I work. I’ll need breaks for sleepin’ and eatin’; I am just a man, after all.”

Thirty an hour was steep, but Rhen knew it’d be worth it. “Okay, agreed.”

“No fuss? Huh. I expected you to counter with twenty or somethin’. Thirty it is! Now, where’s this dungeon?”

Rhen shook his head, smiling. Damn kook had gotten him good.

“We’re still a few miles out. It’s to the south past the waiting tree.”

“Better pick up the pace,” Wyland said, then took off at a jog. He was surprisingly fit for his age. Rhen wondered if Wyland hadn’t faked some of his feebleness for his own ends. What a clever ploy.

Rhen caught up to him easily and kept pace beside him, always watching for trouble. They made it to the dungeon in an hour, the sun already on its way down the horizon.

Joseph had a good-sized fire outside the inn. He’d also positioned some sitting rocks around it and dropped down onto one. He was roasting his feet and shoveling back soup. Joseph’s voracious eating stopped when he saw Rhen and Wyland.

Joseph pointed to Wyland with his spoon. “What’s he doing here?”

“He’s going to build us something to protect the resurrection node.”

Joseph jumped to his feet, a furious grimace pulling at his lips. He jammed the spoon at Wyland’s chest. “I don’t want you anywhere near us, you hear me?”

Wyland nodded. “I hear ya, sir.”

Joseph returned to the fire to eat and stare daggers at Wyland. His scars stood out to Rhen for the first time. He’d thought Joseph had earned them after years of being a bruiser, but now he saw differently. There were scars all up his fingers, and some of his nails were missing. The scar running up his face ran from chin to cheek, but only on one side.

Then it hit him. Joseph must’ve been the man ferrying delvers in Welsh’s dungeon. When he lost control, he must’ve hit the wall of the dungeon, dug his fingers into it to slow his descent… after he’d dropped his daughter.

Olliat emerged from the inn carrying a tray loaded with bowls full of stew and a fresh baked loaf. She smiled when she saw Rhen, but her expression melted to worry when she saw Wyland. She looked to her father, then stopped and set the tray on one of the sitting rocks.

“You can’t be this way forever.”

“Like hell. He got you killed.”

“No, he didn’t. Stop spreading your guilt around onto other people and get over it.”

Joseph grabbed the loaf of fresh bread and chewed off a hunk, his death glare never wavering from Wyland.

“Unbelievable.” Olliat grabbed two bowls and brought them over.

Rhen accepted the bowl and took a sniff. Smelled like father’s fennel and terrocken thigh. The broth was thick and reddish, and there were other chunks of what looked like potato floating around in it. Rhen took a taste. The sour broth made his jaw clamp down, but he forced himself not to pucker his lips. Olliat was watching.

“Thanks, s’good,” Rhen managed to say through clenched teeth.

He missed Jakira…

She chuckled. “It’s better with bread… if my dear father would share!”

Joseph ripped off another hunk. “Need my fill for the dive. I’m night shift.”

Olliat rolled her eyes. “You two sit, there’s another one that should be ready soon.”

“Thank you, dear.” Wyland put himself on the opposite side of the fire from Joseph, making it difficult for him to glare without staring straight into the flames.

Olliat turned back at the door to the inn. “It’s good to see you well, Wyland.”

He raised his bowl to her. “Good to see you well, too.”

Rhen wasn’t going to touch this one. There’d be no quarrel if they didn’t cross one another’s paths. But still, Rhen realized he would need to start making rules of conduct for the village and the delvers who frequented it. No brawling would have to be at the top of that list.

So much to do.

After a few minutes, Olliat emerged with another loaf. Rhen and Wyland chowed down on the sour soup with a confused flavor palate, stuffing bread in after to soak up the taste. It wasn’t the worst meal Rhen had ever had, but that wasn’t saying a lot. They needed to start farming more ingredients.

So.

Much.

To do.

Rhen breathed deeply and reminded himself, one thing at a time. Build a protection solution for the resurrection node. First things first, let Wyland inspect the area and form a plan.

Rhen drained the last of the broth from his bowl. “We should get down there.”

“Lead the way, sonny!”

Rhen and Wyland curved through the dungeon down to the rainforest chamber. The delvers had set up a simple rope wayfinder solution by staking branches into the ground and tying the rope off around it. They’d painted the sticks and rope red to help them stand out. It was smart, but one more night of chaos would undo all of it.

The terrocken were learning that the delvers were dangerous prey, unlike the smaller creatures of the forest, and so he didn’t think they’d be ambushed. Just in case Rhen stayed on high alert and in full view of whatever may have lurked in the forest surrounding the path. He was ready to make trouble for anything dumb enough to try and stop them.

Rhen pushed through the last bit of underbrush to see the guard team had cleared the ground level bushes and branches from around the resurrection stone. It was much easier to protect from ambush now that they could see more than five feet into the forest.

“Deo,” Eli said, tipping his head.

It was short for Dungeon Owner, since Rhen was adamant about them not calling him that. This was Eli’s workaround.

“Any attacks?”

“None. What are you doing here, Wyland?” Eli asked of the old man, his voice laced with scorn.

Wyland tried to smile but it looked like a wince. “Just makin’ sure y’all can resurrect safely.”

“Deo, this man’s faulty machinery got my sister killed.”

“That’s only partly true,” Wyland cut in before Rhen could say anything. “Yes, your father was operating my glider when they fell, but the cause was your dungeon owner’s negligence to my warnings, not because there was any fault with the machine.”

Eli looked like he wanted to say more, but he held it in. He was younger than Olliat by a few years, only fifteen to her nineteen. It must’ve been difficult being without his sister for so long when he was just a child.

“Wyland’s machines are not perfect. They are limited, just like our magic,” Rhen explained. “Tremor blast takes a lot out of me, and I can only do so many before I can’t cast anymore. Likewise, the machines that feed off our anima have limited use before we’re tapped out.”

Eli shoulders slumped and he nodded.

Wyland was already walking the circumference of the cleared circle. “Hmm, good.” He snapped at Rhen. “Gimme the, uh, ligimeter.”

“The… what?” Rhen pulled the bag off his back and opened it up. He looked inside, his gaze roving over the miniature tools.

Wyland reached into the bag and removed a stubby cylinder with a bit of string sticking out the end.

“Hold the end.” He gave the string to Rhen, then pointed for him to stand at the node. Wyland walked around the node, staring down at the cylinder. He stopped abruptly. “Someone mark this spot.”

One of the guards used their dagger to scratch in the dirt where he pointed. They did this a few more times until there were six marks in the dirt.

“What is this all for?” Rhen asked.

Wyland chuckled. “Sonny, you’re about to find out.”