The descent behind them, Luke and Ilyrana pressed forward into the hidden domain of their enemy. The cavern was vast—so vast that the ceiling disappeared into shadow save for the shafts of moonlight that cut through the gaps above. And here, in this unlikely underground cradle, trees had grown.
Strange trees, tall and thick, their branches stretching out wide to weave a canopy that cloaked most of the cavern's floor. Their bark was pale, ridged with lines that seemed almost too symmetrical, too neat, as if they had been cultivated rather than born wild. Luke, staring up at them, admitted silently to himself that he had no idea what kind they were—oak, ash, elm? He wasn't a dendrologist. He was barely a fake mage who knew how to make a deck of cards vanish. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that these trees were perfect cover.
