Chapter 25: The Fracture
The new routine of vigilance was shattered by the sound of the alarm horn—two short, sharp blasts from the eastern watchtower. Not the long, wavering note of a Graxian attack, but the signal for a lone, urgent messenger.
Alistair and Thora reached the gate as it was opened. The messenger wasn't a warrior, but a younger Graxian, his leathery skin pale, his chest heaving. He carried no weapon. It was Borak's nephew, a boy Alistair had seen shadowing the older warrior.
"The Earth-Shaker," the boy gasped, his eyes wide with panic. "You must come. There has been... an accident. A cave-in. At the blackstone quarry."
Alistair's first thought was of the corrupted crags. Had the sickness spread? Had it destabilized the earth?
"Where is Borak?" Thora demanded.
The boy's face crumpled. "He is trapped. And... and Varg, he blames Grok. He says the Chief's alliance with you has made us weak, distracted. He has taken his warriors and surrounded the quarry. He will not let anyone dig. He says... he says the stones demand a sacrifice."
The political fracture line they had identified had just ruptured. Varg was using a tragedy to stage a coup.
Alistair's mind raced, the strategist and the steward warring within him. This was a critical moment. Inaction would mean Borak's death and Varg's rise to power—a man who saw the alliance as a weakness. Intervention was a massive risk. He would be stepping directly into a violent Graxian power struggle.
"Thora, with me. Kael, Roric, you too," Alistair ordered, his voice cutting through the tension. "We move fast."
He looked at the terrified Graxian boy. "Lead the way."
They ran. The journey to the Stonetusk lands, which usually felt long and wary, was a frantic sprint. As they neared the quarry, a scene of chaos unfolded. The main pit was a cloud of dust. A large section of the cliff face had collapsed. A crowd of Graxians—miners, women, children—were gathered at the edge, held back by a ring of Varg's warriors, who stood with crossed arms and grim satisfaction.
Varg himself stood on a prominent rock, addressing the crowd. "...the earth is angry! It rejects this soft path, this dealing with outsiders! Grok's weakness has brought this upon us!"
Grok was across the pit, a handful of his loyalists with him, facing off against Varg's larger group. The air was thick with the potential for civil war.
Alistair didn't head for Grok. He walked straight toward the collapsed rock face, ignoring the shocked and hostile stares.
"Earth-Shaker!" Varg roared, spotting him. "You see? Your presence is a curse! This is your doing!"
Alistair ignored him. He placed his hands on the fallen rock, closing his eyes. He pushed his senses into the pile, searching. He felt the chaotic energy of the collapse, but no trace of the planetary corruption. This was a natural disaster, tragically timed.
And then he felt it. Faint, fading pulses of life. Several of them. Borak was there, and others.
He opened his eyes and turned to the crowd, his voice amplified by his power, ringing with an authority that silenced even Varg.
"Borak lives," he announced. "And seven others with him. They are weak, but they are alive."
A wave of hope went through the crowd.
Varg's face twisted in fury. "Lies! The earth has taken them!"
"The earth obeys me," Alistair shot back, his gaze locking with Varg's. "And it tells me they live. Now, will you stand there and let your clansmen die to prove a point? Or will you help me get them out?"
He had publicly called Varg's bluff and exposed his ruthlessness. The mood of the crowd shifted instantly. The miners, whose friends and kin were trapped, began to mutter, turning angry eyes toward Varg and his warriors.
Grok saw his opening. "You heard the Earth-Shaker!" he bellowed, his voice full of restored command. "Everyone! Dig! Now!"
The spell was broken. Varg's warriors, outnumbered and outmaneuvered, lowered their weapons as the entire clan surged forward to move the rock.
Alistair didn't just direct. He worked alongside them, using his power not to move the massive boulders, but to pinpoint the safest places to dig, to subtly shift weight and prevent secondary collapses. He was a guide, a facilitator, just as he had been with the well.
Hours later, as the larger sun touched the horizon, they pulled the last of the trapped miners from the rubble. Borak was bloody and had a broken arm, but he was alive. His first conscious act was to grasp Alistair's arm, his grip surprisingly strong.
"The debt is paid," he rasped. "And doubled."
Alistair looked across the quarry. Varg was gone, slunk away into the shadows with his most loyal followers, defeated for now. But he was still out there.
The alliance was stronger than ever. Grok's position was secured. But Alistair had made a powerful, personal enemy. He had won the day, but he had also deepened the conflict. The sickness in the stone was a distant threat. The hatred in Varg's heart was an immediate one.