Page 26 of Warrior Unraveled

“Have you seen anybody come out of this tunnel today?” Zoltan asked, while he let his gaze wander, searching for anything that looked out of the ordinary.

“I started my shift only an hour ago. But I’ve seen nobody since I felt the disturbance.” He motioned to a cross tunnel a few yards ahead. “If anybody wanted to avoid passing by me, he could have used one of the other tunnels.”

“Hmm.”

A tunnel intersected with the one Zoltan was using. Quentin passed it and Zoltan continued following him. The flames shooting out of various cracks along the stone walls painted eerie shadows on the walls and ceilings. The smell of sulfur was particularly strong in the tunnels where the scent had no place to escape.

“It must have been somewhere here,” Quentin suddenly announced and looked over his shoulder.

“What makes you say that?”

“There’s a different smell here.”

Zoltan sniffed the air around him. “What is that?”

“I believe it’s almonds.”

The smell of almonds, it was very distinct now. And stronger to his left. Zoltan turned in the direction his nose was leading him. He noticed a large boulder and a narrow opening next to it. He sniffed again.

While most modern explosives had no distinguishable odor, he knew that there was one that had a distinct smell of almonds: Nobel 808, an explosive nobody in the modern world used anymore. But then, he knew of one species that hadn’t exactly gone with the times. A species that still fought with old weapons. What if they were still using an old explosive?

“Go through there and tell me what you see,” Zoltan commanded his underling.

Quentin did as he was told and slipped through the opening. A moment later, he called out, “There’s nothing, oh Great One. Just some rubble.”

“Any sign of explosives?”

“None, oh Great One.”

Reassured that it would be safe to enter the hidden cave—one of so many in the Underworld—Zoltan marched through the opening. It was dark there, so he reached into his pocket and pulled a match from it, then drew it along the boulder. It ignited and illuminated the space.

His eyes searched the ground. Footprints. He knelt down. They appeared to be fresh. Two sets of boots at least. Two people.

“Look around, Quentin,” Zoltan ordered. “Somebody was here not long ago.”

He noticed Quentin strike a match, too, while his own burned down to his finger. He tossed it and lit a new one.

“Oh, Great One, here.”

Zoltan pivoted and reached for the item his subject handed him. “A button?” He brought it closer to his eyes and examined it. It was silver, and when he tilted it just right, the light of the match made an engraving visible: a dagger.

A dagger he had no trouble recognizing. He’d been injured by daggers like this one often enough. The daggers of the Stealth Guardians.

Fury charged through him. They were here. They’d entered his domain. How, he didn’t know. But he was certain it was them.

“Put everybody on alert.”

Quentin stared at him blankly.

“We have intruders.” Intruders who could make themselves invisible. Were probably roaming his Underworld right now, scoping out the layout, searching for weak spots, spots which they could attack. But not even their cloaking powers would help them evade the weapon he was about to unleash.

“Get the dogs!”