Argrave, Anneliese, and Melanie spent some time lingering exactly near where Therapont had suggested they avoid. The place was as the senator had described—namely, an abandoned construction site. It was something of the darker side of this society that seemed so idyllic. Where once before their society had seemed nearly without flaw, they saw something abandoned, falling apart, and sectioned off. And rather than merely neglected, it was completely abandoned. That illustrated the dwarven tendency toward perfection. Either they did it all the way, or not at all. And in this case, they chose not at all.

Guards issued by the senators were constantly shadowing them, and so it was impossible to approach the people that were squatting in the abandoned sector. They didn’t seem to be especially numerous, but in a society so free of conflict, he’d little doubt that this was a hot-button issue for their people. As much was proven when they asked their guards about the squatters.

“It’s a disaster built by journeymen,” one of the guards said. “It’s better off abandoned.”

Some of the others present bristled at this answer, but Anneliese asked, “Journeymen?”

Argrave was going to explain, but he was beaten by the others present. “Journeymen are those in the crafter’s guilds that’ve completed an apprenticeship, but have not yet been declared a master,” the dwarf explained. “Those out there in the abandoned section are all journeymen, mostly. A fair few years ago, they received approval from the senate to build the next section of the city. The plans were drafted, everything was up to code, and the project was very nearly done. Then, the masters of the guilds had their construction permits and materials revoked after invoking an old privilege they possess before senate.”

A dwarf pointed to the squatter encampment. “Right. Those out there—protestors. The senate had no right to restrict permits. Now, it stands to reason it’ll be years before that section of Mundi is complete. All because the masters couldn’t bear to have their work ‘stolen,’ when they’re the one’s been dragging their feet.”

“How do you mean?” Anneliese kept up her inquiries. “Where is the conflict?”

Argrave expected some reluctance to explain, but it was clear these people weren’t used to be secretive about their politics. “There’s a large glut of journeyman dwarves in the guilds. Most of them are every bit as skilled, if not more so, than the masters above them. But the masters retain certain privileges—among those privileges is the right to anoint new masters. It’s done by popular vote from the current masters—and the current masters aren’t making many new masters. The last thing the majority of them wish to do is create competition for themselves. Generally, only relatives of current masters are getting through. It’s an antiquated, nepotistic system that needs to go.”

Another nodded. “Either journeymen enter into shite contracts for years to become a master, or they stay journeymen. Masters of the guild have a stranglehold on the entire economy—nay, the entire senate.”

“Let’s not be alarmists,” the other dwarves cautioned. “The last thing we’d want is for every single journeyman to be allowed to become a master. The consequences that might have could be devastating.

“What’s alarming is how much influence the masters have come to possess,” another of their guards protested. “My sister showed me the contract she received. It’s no different from the apprenticeship she’s supposedly graduated from. Time was, they promoted merit. Now, they’ve got a grip on money tighter than a vice, and seem to want to be sure none but they and theirs get it.”

Neither Argrave nor Anneliese needed to consult one another—one glance alone was enough for both to recognize that the other was thinking the same thing. This was their lead. This was the way to leverage an active political notion to jumpstart their own needs. It seemed as though everyone agreed there was some problems with the system, but fixing it? That was the matter of contention. And where contention was, opportunity followed.

As Argrave’s brain was working, Elenore’s voice entered his head. Usually she was clear, composed, and calm. Even in this supernatural method of communication, he could hear that she was utterly rattled with one four words.

“Argrave, Durran is gone.”

And when he heard them, he knew why that was the case. He immediately stepped away from the conversation with the guards, responding, “What do you mean?”

“I can’t feel him anymore. His presence, our connection, has severed. The last words I received were that he’d encountered Dario, and now he’s gone, and I…” her voice trailed off.

“Alright,” responded Argrave, distancing himself from the group. He put one hand up against a wall and leaned against it. Melanie asked him if he was sick, but he didn’t answer. “We don’t know what happened yet. Until we do, let’s assume he’s simply cut off for now. Do you remember what I said about this guy?”

“You said Dario had some sort of strange power that can affect magic and blessings,” she replied shakily, then went silent. “If he’s hurt… you know I’ll do whatever it—”

“But you won’t have to do anything, because he’s fine,” Argrave interrupted. “He’s got divine armaments, he’s an S-rank spellcaster thanks to the Alchemist, and he’s been fighting gods for the better part of a year. You need to contact Lira, your patron goddess. She’ll have to know better what happened.”

“You’re right. You’re right.” Though their connection conveyed no such thing, he could practically hear her taking a deep breath. “I need to focus on coordination. I’ll…” she stopped speaking. “Durran said Dario was studying heat resistance. Now, I’m going to…”

Their connection severed, but Argrave could still feel her presence persist in his mind, ready to be opened whenever it was needed. He stepped away from the wall, refocused. Melanie and Anneliese both looked at him expectantly. They were both quick enough to catch on to what made Argrave step away so urgently.

“Durran found someone we know,” Argrave said grimly. “And he’s cut off from Elenore.”

#####

Though Durran thought that his mistake had been trying to hide, he’d only been half right. It had been a mistake to run near the golems at all.

With another wave of Dario’s hand, a dozen of the golems closest to him came to life, overflowing with a strange white power that exuded outward from their joints. These golden automatons walked to gleaming him like angelic guardians, making his attempt to hide utterly useless. At first he tried to weave his way through the inert golems as he headed toward the desk, but the others recklessly tossed their machine kin aside and cornered Durran.

Strangely, the golems were fierce and thinking fighters. He’d seen the golems fight against Titus and his men, and he’d fought against those spear-wielding monstrosities on the mountain peak with Argrave—he knew this was not their normal behavior. Whatever Dario had summoned forth to possess these creatures had a will of their own. Durran could sense no necromancy at work, nor did he suspect shamanic magic. This was something different. They herded him, trying to keep him at bay.

With little time to stop Dario from getting what he needed, Durran rushed forth madly. The closest golem lashed out with a deadly kick. Durran went low and caught the golem’s heel with his left hand, pulling it forth with the full strength of the divine armaments empowering him. He cleaved the divine blade through the joint near its hip, and it collapsed with a leg severed. As it lay there, his sword pierced straight through the golden armor on its torso right where its core was. When the core shattered, he was glad to see the thing become useless without it.

The other possessed golems attempted to punish him, but he quickly conjured an S-rank ward, and a globe of golden power exploded outward to protect him. The S-rank ward ­bent beneath the golem’s punches like soft metal, and finally fractured while scattering oddly morphed magic. It gave Durran time enough to get away… but he’d never been one to retreat. He rushed at one, jumped upward as it bent down to punch at him, and stabbed it straight in the chest. His force sent it tumbling backward, and before it fell, he leapt from it, heading for where Dario stood over his desk, stuffing papers into a bag.

Durran landed behind Dario and ran forth, ignoring the golems behind him. Dario turned, swinging his right arm mounted with the crossbow. The crossbow’s point swung at his head like a warpick, and Durran tried to bat it aside with the flat of his blade. He wasn’t expecting the tremendous power behind the blow. As soon as their weapons met, the powerful impact made the blade vibrate intensely and ring. He felt the sheer force travel through his wrist, and dropped the weapon as it rung like a gong.

Rather than retreat, Durran got closer, trying to wrestle with Dario. He kneed the bag that Dario had been preparing, and some papers scattered everywhere. He got his hands around Dario’s forearms and struggled to overpower him. He heard mechanical creaking as whatever the man had adorned his armor with strained to fight against his divine-empowered strength. Durran grabbed at a mechanical support and attempted to pry it free, but the thing was ridiculously firm. The futile struggle freed up Dario, and he again called upon that strange power of his. This time, it powered the dull green golem standing just beside the desk. Durran disentangled from Dario just as it swung its fist down toward him.

The golem struck his right arm with power utterly incomparable to the gold ones. Pain assailed the whole right side of his body as Durran felt his feet leave the ground. He slammed into an inert golem, tumbling in a heap of broken parts. When he finally recovered, he saw Dario aiming his crossbow. His foe fired.

Durran knew he couldn’t dodge, but he could minimize damage. He twisted his body and the bolt struck him right at the top of his left shoulder. It pierced past the armor far easier than it had any right doing, then continued into the ground with a loud rumble. Durran cried out in pain, yet had sense enough to stagger away back into hiding before another shot came. As Durran watched, healing his wound, Dario fumbled his way over to the green golem. He was looking just as tired as Durran felt. The golem picked both him and his bag up, then ran toward the exit with unnatural speed.

Durran rushed out of cover, heading for the desk while watching for any further attacks. To his joy, Dario had not collected all of the papers that scattered after he’d kneed his bag. He quickly collected them, though did not have the time to survey them all. He gazed at the wound in his left shoulder. Few inches lower… I’d lose an arm. Lower than that, my heart’s a sauce. He looked at his right arm. He was sure he’d broken his shoulder. More than that, his arm was dislocated. He popped it back into place, hissing in pain.

With his arm corrected and his wound healed, Durran studied the papers—seven remained, and one of them had been torn in half. They contained dense letterings. Still, it was something that Dario had thought was important enough to come and deal with personally. Movement from the golem array drew his attention back, where the golden guardians still billowed with Dario’s power.

“Don’t know who you are…” he spoke to the golems, thinking that whatever controlled them might be able to hear him. “But we’ll unravel whatever it is you’re doing. Look forward to it.”

Durran stowed away the papers then made for the exit, leaving the inferior golems in the dust. He picked up his glaive on the way out, then advanced forth cautiously. He had a hell of a lot of explaining to do to his allies, he suspected. And if he knew Elenore, she was frantically sending people out to this location. But he’d gotten something. It was time to get it back to the people who might interpret what it was.

Durran had good senses. And Dario seemed to him to be one of the biggest threats they’d face. He was a man dying for his cause. And every time he’d conjured that power, there had been no hesitation.