The dry sound of cracking wood filled the chamber, as Abianarin’s humming grew in pitch and volume. Soon, before the wide eyes of her companions, the poles’ spiked points split into a Y shape, with grinding protestations from the ancient wood. When Abia let her humming fade, the spiked poles, once fit for a palisade, resembled small, flat platforms. Splinters were all that remained of the split points.
Dusting herself off, Abianarin gestured to the pit.
“Foul sorcery,” Fassn muttered.
“Let us see your Ajralan do this,” she said, with a smile of satisfaction.
“So we’re to crawl across on hands and knees?” Shyan asked.
“What is next is up to you,” Abia said.