Morgan stood near the prow of the long flat cargo barge, looking over the assembled grim-faced warriors. By the time the barge had arrived at the central pier, Issa had selected thirty-two experienced hunters and fighters. Most of them were above level twenty, which they called tier two. As she evaluated other prospects, the governor had finally descended to the docks with an entourage of town guards and militia.

He’d informed Issa, trying to save some face, that the council had agreed to allow her and Morgan to accompany the rescue mission. Issa had started to argue but contained herself when she saw that the governor was sending his guard captain and forty warriors. Captain Rorth was a huge Ardeni, only five or so inches shy of Morgan’s height, and he was apparently tier three, so, somewhere between level thirty and forty.

Even so, Issa had wanted to get more volunteers, bringing their number up to an even hundred, but Captain Rorth had insisted that any more volunteers would just lead to chaos in battle, and he didn’t see the point in further delay. That settled, they’d boarded the barge with five brave sailor volunteers and the seventy-two hunters and fighters and begun the journey upriver.

Morgan had wondered how the long flat barge with no sails would move upriver, but he’d soon learned that it was a marvel of artificed ingenuity. It had four brass rings, each about five feet in diameter, that hung off the aft deck into the water. The rings somehow generated a current that pushed the boat along, even into the Rill Catcher’s flow.

“So, Morgan,” Captain Rorth said, walking along the rail of the barge toward him, “Do you have any idea what these creatures that attacked our trade flotilla are?”

“No, I sure don’t.” Morgan turned to Rorth and leaned back against the railing, folding his arms on his chest. Issa was talking to some hunters a dozen paces away, but she looked up and frowned as Rorth continued toward Morgan.

“Don’t you think it’s odd that these new beings arrived in the caverns, home to Urghat for hundreds of years, around the same time your people arrived on our world?”

“Is it? Odd? As you said, I’m new here. I don’t know how often hostile groups move to new territory in this world. Back in my homeworld? People were fighting over space all the time.”

“Fanwath is a big place, and perhaps we’ve been lucky in our little corner of it, but yes, this is quite unusual.” Rorth now stood a few feet from Morgan and leaned against the rail, casually mimicking Morgan’s posture.

“Huh. Well, what’s the plan? Seems like fighting them from the barge will be rather stupid if they can fly and breathe fire. Is there a way into the caves where we don’t have to approach them like sitting ducks?”

“Sitting ducks?” he scratched his short silver beard thoughtfully. “I’m unfamiliar with this term, but I think I take your meaning. Yes, we’ll beach the barge a few miles from the Deep Down. There are tunnels we can enter downriver from the deep canyons that lead into their caves. I’m glad to see I’m not the only one that thought floating into their abattoir would be foolish.”

“Sounds good,” Morgan nodded and turned to survey the river, inhaling deeply of the fresh air. He was still getting used to his sharper senses; ever since he’d woken from his “metamorphosis,” colors popped more sharply, details stood out more clearly, sounds traveled further, and the smells, the smells were intoxicating. Standing there, leaning over the rail, he could smell the tang of algae on stone, the blossoms on the shrubs and trees along the banks, and the hint of ozone from the summer shower that had dampened the grass and dirt a few hours ago.

“Well? What kind of skills do you bring to the table, Morgan? I missed your duel with Swent, but I heard you had some powerful Energy attacks. Is that so?” Rorth had moved to his side and shared his view of the river.

“Yeah, that’s right. I’m moderately skilled with the sword, but I can dish out some Energy attacks. What about you?”

“Oh, I’m a Beast Hunter. It’s a refinement of the standard Hunter class. I have some abilities that help me to identify a beast’s weaknesses, and I’m a very skilled bowman. I noticed that blade on your hip there. I’m assuming it’s intelligent? That’s why you don’t store it in that ring?”

“Mmhmm,” Morgan said, looking down at the captain. What was he fishing for? Maybe he just wanted to assess an unknown asset, but something about his haughty tone rubbed him the wrong way. “Yeah, it’s a decent sword. I’ll be using it if the spaces are cramped. Otherwise, I have some other options.”

“I’m not trying to pry, friend. I simply want to know if I should put you near the front of the column as we enter the tunnels. The Deep Down is a big place. We’ve fought with the Urghat for more than a century, and we’ve never explored all the way in, even when we mounted major offensives.”

“Oh, Issa and I will be near the front, yes.” Morgan glanced over at Issa while he spoke, wondering if he could use her as an excuse to step away from the captain.

“She’s still in tier one, though, correct?”

“Almost tier two, and she’s got a powerful class. You’ll want her near me.”

“Hmm,” Rorth said, stroking his silvery beard, his equally silver eyes looking into the distance while he contemplated. “Very well. Thanks for the dialogue, Morgan. Here’s hoping we don’t lose more people than we’re trying to save in there.” He turned and strode toward the barge’s stern, calling to one of his men.

“I think he’s trying to sniff out the other alpha in the party,” Issa said quietly, walking up to him.

“Well, he’s barking up the wrong tree; can’t he see you’re the boss around here?” Morgan chuckled, draping an arm over Issa’s shoulders.

“Funny, but he won’t respect me until I’m a lot closer to his level.” Her voice didn’t sound amused, and Morgan knew her mind was on her father. Things didn’t look good for him, Morgan had to admit. If these flying creatures had killed all the Urghat, why would they keep the captured Ardeni alive? That assumed he’d been captured and wasn’t one of the Ardeni slaughtered in the attack.

“Hey, I won’t promise your dad is going to be ok, but we’re going to do everything possible to get him out. Listen, I know it’s a terrible thought, but if he’s dead, at least you know he died loving you, and you two were on good terms. God, I know I’m probably saying all the wrong things, but I guess I’m trying to say that you always were good to him. He was proud of you, and there’s no bad blood between you. No unfinished business. Does that make any sense?” Issa was silent, looking out over the water, and Morgan suddenly wished his mouth had a rewind function. The silence stretched into an uncomfortable minute, and Morgan was frantically thinking of something to say when she finally sighed and turned into him, pulling him into a tight hug.

“It makes sense, Morgan. Thank you; I know I have a lot to be thankful for, and I know how harsh life can be. I hope we can save him, though.” Morgan felt his racing heart start to slow, and he stroked Issa’s hair, watching the banks of the wide, slow river drift past. The barge continued up the river for another two hours before Morgan heard Rorth calling orders to the volunteer crew, and it started to veer toward a wide tributary that branched away between some hills to the south.

“Gear up! Be ready!” one of Rorth’s sergeants called out. Morgan was content to let the soldiers take care of the logistics of organizing the party and drew his sword in one hand, standing near the prow, keeping an eye on the shore ahead of the boat.

After only thirty minutes or so, the tributary became too narrow and shallow for the big barge to continue, and Rorth called for the soldiers and volunteers to descend to the bank down one of a dozen rope ladders they threw out. Morgan looked down the fifteen-foot drop to the grassy bank and hopped over the rail. He was pleased with how gracefully he sailed through the air to land lightly, barely having to bend his knees to catch his momentum. He’d felt like something unseen was different about his body, and though he felt more robust than ever, he’d noticed that he moved more lightly and with greater precision.

Not to be outdone, Issa hopped down to join him, though she stumbled a step, and he reached out to catch her shoulder. She nodded to him, drew her rapier, and moved to where Rorth was organizing the column. Morgan followed close behind.

As they approached, Rorth nodded and said, “Morgan, Issa, up front with me. Sergeants, count out your squads and get in formation.” Morgan moved to where he indicated, and soon the column of soldiers and hunters was moving through the brush up a narrow canyon, searching for a cave that Rorth supposedly had seen before.

They didn’t encounter anything other than an aggressive boar analog that charged and was filled with arrows before it could get close. The sun was sinking in the west when they came to the end of a narrow box canyon where a tangle of dead trees and scrub obscured a wide, dark tunnel that descended at a gentle grade to the east.

After they’d cut away a narrow path, the column continued into the darkness. Morgan walked in the front, Bloodfang in his hand and Azure Sight turning the shadows to shades of bright gray and blue. Further back in the column, some soldiers ignited light stones and held them aloft, ready to rush forward in the event of an ambush.

Morgan could feel Issa’s Battle Chant buzzing just behind her teeth, ready to flow out and saturate the space with her power. Rather than narrowing and becoming more challenging to navigate as Morgan expected, the tunnel continued to widen. Soon they were walking in an enormous passage with a ceiling nearly out of view above their heads and walls that were easily forty yards apart. “What the fuck made this tunnel?”

“Nobody knows what race crafted the Deep Down, but this is nothing,” Rorth said from his left. “When we get really deep, you’ll see halls that all of Tarn’s Crossing could sit within.” In his enhanced vision, Morgan studied the walls and ceiling and saw that they were incredibly smooth, not like something that tectonic activity would create. He supposed the tunnel could have been carved by a massive river or maybe volcanic flow, but he couldn’t imagine the kind of cataclysm that would result from such a vast flow of magma. He was trying to imagine the source of the smooth-carved stone when he saw a shadow move along the top of the tunnel about fifty yards downslope. He hissed and raised his sword, pointing.

“What?” Rorth whispered.

“Movement. Get ready!” Suddenly he felt a buzzing in his bones, and his muscles ignited with Energy as Issa started to hum her Battle Chant. Rorth yelled for his sergeants to ready their men, and then he moved next to Morgan, a huge black spear with a bright, shining tip in both his hands. Morgan studied the spot where he’d seen the shadow, and then he caught another one moving just a bit to the left. As he followed its movement, he saw another and another start to move; soon, the ceiling was crawling with shadows. “There’re dozens of them. Get ready!” he said again.

As he strained to see the details of the shadows, one of them detached from the ceiling, falling into the air in the center of the tunnel, and massive wings blossomed from its narrow form. With a horrible shriek, the creature pumped its wings and sped directly toward Morgan. Morgan wasn’t standing twiddling his thumbs, though; he’d primed a Vortex Lance, and, without waiting for an invitation, he unleashed it.

With a concussive blast, the projectile of Energy ripped out of his outstretched sword, a spiral of ripped air following in its wake as it struck the flying shadow dead center with a wet, cracking impact that echoed in the tunnel. The winged creature’s flight path arced up into a backflip, and then it streaked to the ground, landing with a crunching, reverberating thud.

“Nice shot,” Rorth said, but he’d barely gotten the words out before another shriek tore through the air, then another and another, until the air was echoing with hundreds of them. Accompanying the shrieks were the sounds of hundreds of flapping wings as the shadows clinging to the ceiling took flight toward the column of would-be rescuers.