Veylin's voice echoed through the narrow tunnel.
With his mind, he indicated the weak point in the basalt layer on the three-dimensional map constructed in everyone's minds.
"Here. This will be their grave."
Ola breathed heavily, his battleaxe resting on his shoulder as he stared at the point, imagining seawater gushing out once they broke through the rock wall.
"How do we fight them? In the water, my knights are nothing but tin cans."
"We won't fight in the water." Veylin drew back his finger.
"We'll turn the battlefield into dry land."
He turned to Sarah and issued new instructions.
[Excavate a vertical space above the designated ambush point, wide enough for a dry cavern where fifty people can fight. Leave several drainage channels at the bottom of the cavern, connected to deeper strata.]
[As you command, Father.]
The swarm immediately changed its digging direction.
Watching the changes on the map, Barrett understood Veylin's intent.
They were going to create a "pocket."
When the enemy broke through the wall from the tunnel below, they would enter not another underwater world, but a dry killing ground.
The seawater would drain rapidly through the prepared channels.
A trap that favored their side.
Aboveground, at the Lord's Manor.
Tristan's temporary office was brightly lit.
Dozens of clerks were sorting stacks of resident records, the air thick with the scent of parchment and ink.
"Next." Tristan's voice was steady.
An old man with graying hair and a deeply wrinkled face was brought in.
His legs splayed slightly as he walked, a legacy of years spent living on swaying decks.
"Were you a sailor?" Tristan asked.
"Yes, my lord." The old man looked uneasy. "When I was young, I spent ten years aboard the Dawnbringer, sailing the North Sea routes."
"Have you ever seen Sea