The secondary exit tunnel was a stark contrast to the polished grandeur of the main Cog Gate thoroughfare. This was a narrow, utilitarian passage, roughly hewn in places, lit by sparse, sputtering gas lamps that cast flickering, unreliable shadows. Pipes carrying steam or water ran exposed along the walls, occasionally hissing or dripping. The air smelled damp, earthy, closer to a natural cave than the meticulously engineered environment of the Cog City proper. It felt like a service tunnel, rarely used, designed for function over form.
Scout Fendril moved through the winding passage with quiet confidence, his steps barely echoing. Lunrik followed closely, dwarven axe held loosely but ready, his senses on high alert. The transition from the deep safety of Grimfang back towards the perilous surface felt jarring, the perceived security of the mountain already receding, replaced by the familiar tension of imminent danger. His ankle felt mostly healed, thanks to dwarven remedies and werewolf resilience, but a dull ache remained, a reminder of his vulnerability.
Fendril carried himself differently from the Iron Guard or the stern officials Lunrik had encountered. He moved with a lighter step, scanning constantly, his movements fluid and economical, more like a surface tracker than a typical stout dwarf. His equipment – coils of thin wire, small metallic canisters, oddly shaped tools clipped to his harness – hinted at skills beyond simple observation. Kinetic trap deployment, Borin had said. Lunrik wondered what that entailed.
They walked in silence for what felt like a long time, the tunnel gradually sloping upwards. The air grew colder, losing the geothermal warmth, taking on the sharp bite of the high peaks. Finally, Fendril stopped before a heavy, iron-banded door set flush into the rock wall, almost invisible in the dim light. Complex locking mechanisms were visible, different from the main Gate but clearly dwarven.
"Surface access point Delta-Seven," Fendril murmured, more to himself than to Lunrik, as he produced a series of precisely shaped metal keys and began manipulating the locks with practiced dexterity. "Less conspicuous than the main Gate. Used for… discreet observation." He glanced back at Lunrik. "Standard procedure: exit quickly, secure immediately behind us. Minimal exposure."
The final lock clicked open, and Fendril pushed the heavy door inwards, revealing not the open glacier, but a narrow, natural-looking cave mouth heavily screened by snow-laden pine branches and strategically placed boulders. It opened onto a steep, wooded slope high above the glacier basin, offering a concealed vantage point overlooking the area where the Ashfang camp was located miles below. The wind howled outside, carrying flurries of fresh snow. They had emerged significantly higher and further west than the Cog Gate ledge.
"Clever," Lunrik admitted, appreciating the concealed exit.
"Pragmatism is the cornerstone of survival, werewolf," Fendril replied dryly, stepping out cautiously, scanning the surroundings intently before beckoning Lunrik forward. As soon as Lunrik was clear, Fendril pulled the heavy door shut from the outside; Lunrik heard the locks engage automatically behind them. They were committed.
The view from their high perch was panoramic, but grim. The vast glacier stretched below, a sea of white and grey under the perpetually overcast sky. Far below, barely visible without enhanced sight, Lunrik could just make out the faint smudges of smoke from the Ashfang encampment near the ice caves. The scale of the terrain was immense, intimidating.
"Borin's sensors indicated Grakkus's main force remains near the caves," Fendril stated, producing a small, intricate device that unfolded into something resembling a spyglass, though likely far more advanced. He peered through it intently towards the distant camp. "But scout parties are definitely pushing west, towards the passes. Your task is to observe those search parties, identify their routes, maybe… encourage them to take less productive paths." He tapped one of the metallic canisters on his belt. "Kinetic pulse charges. Small radius, precisely tunable vibration. Enough to trigger localized snow slides or ice falls on unstable slopes. Used judiciously, they appear entirely natural."
Lunrik nodded, understanding. Subtle sabotage, misdirection. Far preferable to direct combat.
"My task," Fendril continued, lowering the scope, "is to observe you, observe the Ashfang, maintain communication with Gate Command, and deploy countermeasures if necessary – either kinetic traps or…" he patted a compact dwarven crossbow slung across his back, "…more direct methods, should the situation deteriorate." He met Lunrik's gaze, his expression neutral but clear. "I am your backup, werewolf, but also your leash. Do not forget it."
"Understood, Scout," Lunrik replied, appreciating the dwarf's blunt honesty, even if he didn't like the implication.
"Good. Now, we need to get closer to observe their search patterns effectively," Fendril decided. "There's a series of interconnected ridges running parallel to the glacier edge, leading towards the Whispering Ice Pass area. Offers good cover, multiple observation points. We proceed there. Stay low, stay silent."
They began their descent from the concealed exit, moving carefully down the steep, snow-covered slope, utilizing trees and rock outcrops for cover. Fendril moved with surprising speed and silence, his dwarven climbing spikes finding purchase where Lunrik occasionally slipped. He clearly knew this terrain intimately.
As they moved lower, getting closer to the glacier's edge but still high above the Ashfang camp, they began to see clearer signs of the werewolf scout parties. Groups of two or three Ashfang, often in crinos form, could be seen moving cautiously along the lower ridges or venturing out onto the ice, sniffing the air, examining tracks, clearly searching. They seemed disorganized, lacking clear direction now that Grakkus and their experienced scouts were gone, but their numbers and persistence made them dangerous.
Fendril found them an excellent observation point – a deep crevice between two massive boulders on a ridge overlooking a wide valley that likely led towards the suspected location of the Whispering Ice Pass. From here, they could see several Ashfang search parties moving through the valley below without being easily detected themselves.
"They are definitely searching this area," Fendril murmured, observing through his scope. "Following old game trails, checking cave mouths, examining rock formations. Looking for… something specific. A marker? A hidden trail head?"
Lunrik watched them, Alaric's tactical sense automatically analyzing their patterns. "They seem… hesitant," he observed. "Moving slow, doubling back often. They don't seem confident in their search. Maybe the maps Magdra gave them are incomplete? Or deliberately misleading?" It would be just like the Ashfang Matriarch to provide partial information, keeping the ultimate key to herself.
"Or perhaps the 'pass' isn't a pass at all," Fendril mused. "Perhaps it's a specific cave system, a hidden tunnel known only by landmark triangulation…" He focused his scope on one particular group below that seemed to be paying close attention to a distinctive, fang-shaped rock pinnacle. "They keep returning to that pinnacle. Could be significant."
Suddenly, Fendril stiffened, lowering his scope slightly, his gaze shifting rapidly towards the eastern edge of the valley. "Movement," he hissed. "Fast. Not Ashfang."
Lunrik strained his eyes, following Fendril's gaze. At first, he saw nothing but swirling snow and distant ice fields. Then, he caught it – fleeting glimpses of dark shapes moving with incredible speed along the glacier's edge, heading directly towards the valley the Ashfang were searching. They used the terrain brilliantly, appearing and disappearing between ridges, almost too fast to track.
"The hunters," Lunrik breathed, his blood running cold. The two survivors who had fled the dragon attack? Or a new team? "How did they get here so fast?"
"Unknown," Fendril replied grimly, tracking their progress with his scope. "Stealth tech, possibly short-range teleportation as Gyra theorized. They're converging on the valley. Directly towards the Ashfang search parties near that pinnacle."
A clash seemed inevitable. The hunters, presumably still seeking Banehallows or technology related to them, intercepting Ashfang forces who were searching for a secret dwarven pass. What would happen? Would the hunters attack the Ashfang? Ignore them? Try to capture someone?
"Do we intervene?" Lunrik asked, his hand gripping his axe.
"Negative," Fendril stated firmly, his eyes still glued to his scope. "Our objective is observation and disruption of the Ashfang search only. Engaging the hunters is outside mission parameters and extremely hazardous." He lowered the scope slightly, looking at Lunrik. "Unless they directly threaten us or Grimfang assets, we observe. Gather data. Report." His adherence to orders was absolute.
Lunrik felt frustrated but understood the logic. They were severely outgunned by the hunters. Direct interference was likely suicide. Yet, watching passively as these two hostile forces potentially collided felt deeply wrong.
Below, the situation developed rapidly. The lead Ashfang search party near the pinnacle seemed to suddenly sense the approaching hunters. They stopped their search, sniffing the air, heads raised, growling low warnings. They hadn't spotted the hunters yet, but their instincts screamed danger.
The dark-clad hunters didn't slow down. They burst into the valley from behind a ridge, moving in a tight, tactical formation, energy rifles raised. They opened fire almost immediately, not with wide beams, but with precise, targeted shots aimed at the Ashfang warriors.
Blue energy bolts zipped across the snow, striking with deadly accuracy. Two Ashfang went down instantly, armour sizzling, collapsing without a sound. The remaining three roared in fury and charged their attackers, abandoning caution.
The hunters met the charge with disciplined fire, falling back slightly, using cover, their shots coordinated. It wasn't a chaotic melee like the Ashfang fight against the dwarves; it was a swift, brutal, technological execution. Within seconds, the remaining three Ashfang were neutralized, cut down by precise energy blasts.
The hunters advanced cautiously towards the fallen werewolves, scanning the bodies with handheld devices, presumably checking for Banehallow signatures or other data. They seemed utterly unconcerned about potential Ashfang reinforcements nearby.
Lunrik and Fendril watched in stunned silence from their concealed position. The hunters' efficiency was terrifying. They had dispatched five Ashfang warriors in less than a minute with minimal effort.
"Data confirms extreme combat effectiveness," Fendril murmured, likely relaying observations back to Borin via his internal communicator. "Energy weapon range approximately 300 units. Accuracy high. Tactics suggest coordinated small-unit operations."
Then, one of the hunters looked up, its reflective visor sweeping the surrounding ridges, its scanner likely picking up residual heat signatures or minor disturbances. Its gaze seemed to pass directly over Lunrik and Fendril's hiding spot. Did it see them?
Before they could react, the hunter turned back to its comrades, gestured briefly, and then, with shocking speed, all three hunters activated some kind of personal device. They shimmered violently for a second, dissolving into static – just like the entrance effect Kaelith described – and vanished completely, leaving only the dead Ashfang and swirling snow behind.
They were gone. As quickly and silently as they had appeared. Leaving Lunrik and Fendril alone on the ridge, staring down at the silent battlefield, grappling with the terrifying implications of the power and elusiveness of their unknown enemy. The surface tension had just snapped, revealing the deadly predators lurking beneath.