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For a brief moment, Acier wondered why Clay had appeared as nothing more than a damaged torso, but before long everything fell into place: he realised the dust covering everything wasn't dust at all.

It was tiny pieces of Clay-- both the material and the individual-- that had been chipped off the Golem's body, using what Acier now realised weren't metalworking tools at all. They were torture devices.
'Everything okay up there?' Dhalroc called, from somewhere below him.
'Up there,' Clay repeated.
Acier returned to the window: Dhalroc and Rech were standing outside, the latter no longer standing on the shoulders of the former. 'It's Clay,' he said quietly, realising if there was anyone in the building, he'd likely already drawn their attention.
'It's Clay,' Clay repeated.
'What?' Rech called, puzzled.
'What.'
'Just-- there's no time to explain,' Acier hissed. 'Find a door, and I'll meet you there.'
'Meet you there.'

Throughout all this, Acier had been listening for Clay's echoes, trying to work out where exactly they were.
'Clay,' he murmured, still not certain.
'Clay,' they repeated. Acier glanced around, uncertain.
'Clay.'
'Clay.' He took a tentative step across the room as they spoke.
'Clay.'
'Clay.'
Acier lunged towards a cabinet and threw it open: what was left of Clay hung inside from what looked like two meat hooks that had been ran clean through their body. The clay around them was chipped and cracked, although it was looking better than the rest of their body by far: they'd been in the possession of-- of someone-- for a while now, and they'd been slowly but surely torn apart, piece by piece.
'Why did they do this, Clay?' Acier murmured.
'Do this Clay,' they said. 'They wanted information.'
Acier nodded. 'About what?'
'About what,' they repeated. 'About Argile's final creation. Her masterpiece.'
'That's... you, right?' Acier said, puzzled.
'You right,' they said. 'No. I am but a servant; I speak as she spoke, but I am an... Imperfect copy.'
'Why didn't you tell us any of this when Avis and I first unearthed you?'
'Unearthed you. You never asked.'

Acier growled in frustration. Although it made sense, he realised: Clay was a servant, after all, and seemed designed to answer questions-- but they couldn't answer a question they hadn't been asked.
'So,' he said softly. 'What was Argile's--?'
He hesitated, struggling to listen: was that a creak from somewhere downstairs he'd just heard, barely audible over his tinnitus?
'Was Argile's,' Clay said.
Acier almost jumped out of his skin. His instincts told him to urge Clay to be quiet, but he thought better of it: that would result in them echoing him, and would undoubtedly alert whoever else was in the building.

Instead, he tried to grab the Golem and free them from their captivity: he soon realised that they were far too heavy for his ordinary arms to list. He opened his mouth to order his new arms to pick them up, but realised this, too, would result in Clay echoing him.

And what was more, there was definitely someone else in the building.

Glancing around, Acier began a frantic, silent search for something to write with, and something to write on: he wished he knew sign language, and then realised that with his original hands being as they are, he couldn't exactly communicate that way either.

Abruptly, Acier realised he had a way of writing-- of a sort. He spent precious moments pushing and shoving his motionless hands until the index finger of one hand was extended, and then crouched down in front of Clay, writing in the dust: 'Grab the Golem'. Sure enough, his arms reached out and grabbed Clay, pulling them roughly from the hooks. He scratched out 'lower' with his foot, and then hurriedly scuffed out both messages: backed out of the room as footsteps drew nearer and nearer.

Acier found himself in a large, comfortable suite; the kind he expected of a high-end inn, the kind only ever found in cities that he could never quite afford to stay at. There was a bed over in one corner, although given by how crammed in it looked between the chairs and table and other furniture, it didn't belong there, and had presumably been moved from the room he'd just left. There were three more doors, and Acier had no way of knowing which led to the stairs.

It occurred to him then that whoever had just entered the building was perhaps the occupant of another room entirely. Acier dragged Clay out into the room and stood there for a moment, listening closely: no such luck, he realised, as he heard heavy footsteps getting slowly closer and closer. Picking a door at random, Acier fumbled it open and hurried inside, glad of the thick carpet-- an expected luxury, given the size of the place-- muffling the sound of Clay's body dragging across the floor. Turning around, he found himself in a small study of sorts, containing a desk and two large wardrobes, much like the one Clay had been hanging in.

He heard a door open in the next room, and his heart leapt into his mouth. Acier opened one wardrobe, praying a silent prayer that the hinges wouldn't creak, and found it to be full of shelves-- all of them stacked haphazardly in the bottom. He carefully set Clay down inside and closed it again, opening the other to find it full of clothes: he crammed himself inside and shut the door after him as best he could.

Holding his breath, Acier waited. He realised that anyone who thought it easy to hide in a wardrobe full of clothing had never actually tried to do so: he found himself cocooned in a labyrinth of sleeves, with buttons jabbing and poking every centimetre of his flesh. His arms didn't make things any easier, either: he was just barely able to wedge himself diagonally inside the wooden box, and if the narrow strip of light falling across what little of his face wasn't buried behind a great cascade of fabric was any indication, the door wasn't fully shut, either.

The persistent whine of Acier's tinnitus filled his head for a few moments, over which he just barely heard the sounds of someone moving through the rooms outside his cramped closet. Carefully tilting his head to extract a shirt cuff from his mouth, Acier tried to focus, although it was difficult to hear anything on the soft carpet-- a carpet which was no doubt encrusted with dust and debris from the room in which Clay had been kept, he realised.

And what was worse, he wasn't sure whether he'd closed the door or not. If they noticed that, if they followed the trail through to him--

He heard a door creak open, and realised with relief that he'd remembered to close it after all. Although this wouldn't do him much good, he realised: the moment they noticed Clay was missing, they'd start searching the place. He had to leave, and he had to leave while they were still in the other room.

It was as Acier realised this that the room's occupant left the former bedroom and padded softly out into the hall.
'Where is it,' they said, loud enough for Acier to just barely hear but presumably quiet enough that Clay didn't pick up on it. There was a sudden bang as a door was thrown open, but it seemed muffled; they were searching a different room entirely.

Now, Acier decided. Now was his chance to--

To do what? He realised he had no way of picking Clay up again without moving his arms, and to do that he'd have to speak, and if he did, Clay would repeat him and give their location away. Unless he could scratch a message into the carpet with his feet again, perhaps?

'Wait,' the voice said, coming from somewhere behind him this time. 'What am I doing?'
Acier realised with a start what they were about to do.
'Golem!' they bellowed. 'Where are you hiding, Golem?'
'You hiding Golem,' Clay repeated. Acier swore silently.

Somewhere right beside his head, a door slammed open, rebounding off the wall. 'You're in here somewhere,' the voice growled.
'In here somewhere,' Clay echoed.
The wardrobe next to Acier was flung open, and he heard the sound of Clay being dragged back out.
'Now,' the voice continued. 'You didn't exactly get there by yourself. Where...'
'By yourself where.'
Acier heard them take a step sideways: hoping to take them by surprise, he threw the wardrobe open and stumbled out, taking half the clothes in it with him. 'Hit 'em!' he cried, and his clay hands swung at Clay's captor: the blow didn't connect, and Acier fought to remove what felt like a silk shirt from his face as Clay echoed his words.
Something slammed into his gut, and he took a step forward, hoping to ram into his foe and get at least one set of arms around them: they dodged, leaving him stumbling once more.

Acier decided a change of tactics was in order. 'Grab the Golem!'
'The Golem,' Clay said. Acier felt a great weight on the end of his new arms pulling him forward slightly, and he backed away as quickly as he dared, struggling with the shirt on his face the whole way. His shoulder collided with the doorway, tearing a chunk out of the frame, but he pressed on out, fearful of Clay's former captor: whoever they were, they knew how to torture someone who, for all he knew, didn't even feel pain.
'Clay!' he exclaimed, as he stumbled backwards around the outside of the large, carpeted room. 'Which way to the exit?'
'To the exit,' they said. 'Turn left and continue backwards.'
Doing so, Acier grunted as the door handle pressed into the small of his back. Turning his attention away from the clothing that seemed by this point to be welded to his head, Acier managed to open the door and step outside.
'Drop Clay!' he exclaimed. 'Close the door!'
'Close the door,' Clay said, as it slammed shut.
'Grab-- no,' Acier said. 'Get this damn shirt or whatever off my head.'
'Off my head,' Clay repeated. Finally, Acier found himself able to see again. He stood in a broad corridor, sparsely populated with doorways and ending in a solid wall at one end and a staircase down at the other. Picking up Clay again, he hurried towards the latter.

Taking several staircases backwards in a hurry while carrying a heavy Golem was not an experience Acier was eager to repeat. Time and time again he felt himself about to topple over, and he constantly feared being crushed under Clay's weight before he could get any useful information out of them. Carrying the clothing he'd accidentally stolen from the Golem's captor didn't help, either: two or three times it slipped from his shoulder and fell across the stairs, threatening to trip him up, and he kept having to set Clay down and go back for it. Eventually, he came to a foyer, not unlike a larger and more elegant version of the Girder's: the Dwarf behind the front desk (who could also pass as a larger and more elegant version of the innkeeper from the Girder) stood up as Acier stumbled across the room, letting out a wordless exclamation of alarm. 'What are you doing in here? I did not allow you upstairs!'
Acier stood there for a few moments, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as he struggled to think of some logical explanation for both his presence and his current state.

'I'm a... gentleman caller, shall we say, of a highly esteemed guest,' Acier said. 'If you were to speak of my presence here, it would surely ruin h-- them.'
'No,' they said. 'That is absurd.'
'It's the truth,' Acier lied. Glancing at the stolen shirt, his arms, and the torso he was still dragging, he added, 'my client has very... specific needs.'

They stood there lost for words as he hurried from the inn and into the street beyond, finding Dhalroc and Rech standing around arguing with one another about going in. Rech noticed Acier first, and hurried across to help: they took the shirt from Acier, who carefully set Clay down. Dhalroc joined them and hesitated. 'Wait,' he said. 'That's not Dome.'
'Not Dome,' Clay repeated. 'Dome?'
'Another Golem,' Acier said. 'I built them from the loose clay in the workshop down in Deeproot's catacombs. Pick Clay back up.'
'Clay back up.'
'What happened?' Rech asked, as they hurried away from the inn before Clay's captor continued their pursuit. 'I mean, I'm assuming whoever made i-- them didn't intentionally create them looking like this.'
'Looking like this.'
'They were tortured by Brechdan,' Acier said. 'I think. I mean, I got tangled in a shirt, so I didn't actually see, but it was a really expensive room and whoever dismantled Clay hadn't actually bothered to clean up any of the dust, so...'
'The dust so,' Clay said.
'Acier?' Dhalroc said, examining the shirt. 'I wouldn't be so sure about that. I mean, far be it from me to comment on a woman's clothing, but I feel like this shirt wouldn't come close to fitting Brechdan. At all.' By way of demonstrating, he took off his shirt (ignoring Clay's echoing of his words) and attempted to wear the one Acier had been carrying: it came to a few inches above his midriff, leaving the dark skin of his stomach exposed. The overstrained buttons threatened to ping off at any moment, and several narrow strips of his chest were left exposed where the shirt was struggling to close. Taking it off before he took someone's eye out with a wayward button, he hurriedly pulled his own shirt back on.
'Yeah,' Rech decided. 'Brechdan would never fit into that.'
'Into that,' Clay repeated.
'So,' Acier realised, 'we're dealing with-- with Voix.'
'With Voix.'
Dhalroc nodded. 'Probably. And of course we'll be able to take care of her without any problem-- I mean, we know where she's staying.'

Clay's echoing of these words was drowned out by the inn exploding behind them.

Acier and his companions were far enough to avoid the worst of the blast, but they still stumbled and, realising what was going on, leapt for cover.
'Highest,' Dhalroc said, louder than he seemed to realise. 'My ears are really ringing.'
'Really ringing,' Clay said.
'Mine too,' Acier said, smiling.
'Mine too.'
'And mine,' Rech said, seeming not to notice Acier's joke. 'What was that? Magic?'
'That Magic.'
'No,' Acier murmured.
'No.'
'Sorry?' Dhalroc shouted. 'You'll have to speak up a little-- I can't hear anything.'
'Can't hear anything.'
'She didn't take any of Luisant's stuff from our lab,' Acier said. 'But the formula for her sparkpowder... and I mean, she had plenty of time to pick up what she needed for it.'
'Needed for it.'
'Think we'll be able to find Voix?' Rech asked.
'Find Voix,' Clay echoed.
'No,' Acier said. 'I mean, we can try, but... I don't fancy our chances. And plus I was seen leaving the building in a hurry-- and some... rather strange circumstances-- a few minutes ago. If I were Voix, I know I'd try to pin the blame on me.'
'Blame on me.'
'And Voix was smart enough to make us think Brechdan stole Clay all this time,' Dhalroc said. 'She's probably still a step or two ahead of us.'
'Ahead of us.'

They checked the crowd drawn by the explosion regardless, but saw no sign of Voix, and eventually returned to the Girder to try and decide on their next move. Brushing off a few puzzled questions from the innkeeper, they piled into Acier's room, with some difficulty. Acier propped Clay up on the bed (knowing that the resulting clay dust encrusted into the sheets would mean he wouldn't get a good night's sleep until he left-- although his tinnitus often prevented this anyway), Dhalroc sat cross-legged on the floor, and Acier and Rech were left standing, leaning against the walls.
'So,' Acier said. 'Clay, start from the beginning: what happened?'
'What happened,' Clay echoed. 'In the beginning, Dwarves were as wordless as the beasts that roamed the land; then Dirwelig came, shepherding them into the safety of the caves and--'
'The creation tale?' Dhalroc asked, raising an eyebrow. 'Why that?'
'Why that,' Clay said. 'You asked me to start at the beginning. If there is more before that, I am unaware of it.'
'Start at the first thing relevant to Voix kidnapping you,' Acier said.
'Kidnapping you. Healing Sorcery was in common use during the earliest days of the Old Age, until the link was made between it and the Blight. This link was first used by the Elves, as leverage against political opponents--'
'What does the Mageblight Genocide have to do with your kidnapping?' Rech said.
'Your kidnapping. The Blight Hunters became the Ancienne, who hunted Argile and her creation and continue to do so until this day, now that the Seed has been found once more.'
'See, now we're getting somewhere,' Acier said. Pacing over to the bed and sitting down beside Clay, he continued, 'why didn't you tell Voix this?'
'Voix this. I can only reveal information about the Seed to Golemancers, although proper use of it requires more than mere Golemancy. Voix is no Golemancer and I surmised the Golemancers I did speak to in my time here spoke to me only under her command.'

Everyone was silent for a few moments. 'So,' Dhalroc said. 'Probably best to cut straight to the mammoth in the room: Voix is an agent of the Ancienne, then?'
'Ancienne, then,' Clay said. 'Yes. Membership has been passed down through the generations in secret. Their original goal of eradicating magic has held true, but the purity of their membership has not.'
'Why would anyone want to get rid of magic?' Acier said. 'I mean-- do they really want a second event like the Mageblight Genocide?'
'Mageblight Genocide. Bad magic causes sickness. None know what constitutes "bad magic". The Ancienne believe it to be all magic.'
'Even Alchemy?' Dhalroc asked, shuffling forwards. 'But... Alchemy was a gift from The Highest at the beginning of the New Age, right? Or so the story goes back home, anyway. It's probably told differently here, seeing as the Dwarves discovered most of it, but that version of events was one of my mother's favourite stories. I mean, Sorcery I can understand, but... Alchemy?'
'But Alchemy,' Clay said. 'Even Alchemy. According to the Ancienne, all magic is bad magic. Their logic is simple.'

Rech let out a long sigh. 'So Voix is Ancienne, then-- and she's behind all this. What's with all the magic we've come up against?'
'Up against,' Clay said.
'Good question,' Acier realised. 'I mean, you explained the Alchemist up here yourself-- they learned Alchemy recently. Although I have to say, they were worryingly good.'
'Worryingly good.'
'Some people take to it pretty quickly,' Dhalroc shrugged. 'I remember a couple students were fast-tracked through the College in Antliss while I was there. And if they took to it like a fly to sh-- to fertiliser-- then it's not too much of a jump for them to... switch full-time.'
'Switch full-time.'
'But what about all that business in Midslope?' Rech asked again. They paced across the room, halted, and began leaning against a different wall. 'I mean, they were Sorcerers, right?'
'Sorcerers right.'
'Right,' Acier said. '...Clay, can you explain that?'
'Explain that. Yes,' they said. 'Sorcery can enter into the same bloodline as the Ancienne. Some Sorcerers never choose to develop their abilities-- Argile knew air magic but never had reason to use it.'
'That much I can vouch for,' Rech said. 'I never really use my Sorcery, after all-- I don't even know what I can do.'
'I can do.'

'So,' Acier said. 'We've got Clay back, at last. I mean, that's what we came here for, but... as long as Voix is around, I feel like they won't be safe. And besides, the Ancienne know how to make Luisant's sparkpowder. We should probably do something about that.'
'About that.'
'Agreed,' Dhalroc said. 'Except... is there anything we really can do? There are three of us, and we're not exactly good at teamwork.'
'At teamwork.'
'And you two can't fight,' Rech said.
'Two can't fight.'
Acier stood up. 'I'm pretty sure I can now. These new arms are pretty heavy; I feel like I could do some serious damage.'
'Serious damage.'
'You have new arms,' Dhalroc said. 'She just blew up an entire inn just to cover her tracks and screw us over.'
'Screw us over.'
Acier nodded. 'Actually, that's a good point. So we're outmatched-- we need allies.'
'Need allies. You need the Seed.'
'The Seed?' Dhalroc asked. 'You keep mentioning that-- what is it?'
'What is it. More than a Golem,' Clay said. 'Argile's finest creation. Golems are alive-- an imperfect imitation of life, but alive all the same. The Seed is life and more.'
Acier nodded. 'What does it look like? Is it in Hollowpeak?'
'In Hollowpeak,' Clay said. 'I believe so-- although it is inactive. It looks like a stone cylinder.'

Dhalroc and Rech grunted with frustration, and Acier was inclined to agree. Architecture here wasn't exactly big on columns and cylinders, but they'd seen plenty of them in their time here-- to say nothing of the smaller ones some Dwarves seemed to carry around. There were thousands upon thousands of cylinders to search for, and if Voix and the Ancienne somehow found it first--

But then he realised that it was much simpler than that. He paced across the room to where Dhalroc was seated and reached into the human's satchel with his hands, fumbled briefly, and was about to issue a command to his other hands when Dhalroc had the same idea.

Reaching into his bag, he pulled out the stone cylinder they'd taken from Argile's workshop in the catacombs, what felt like months ago (although it was in reality only a few days). Acier examined the runes carved into it with fresh wonder: he recognised a few of the ones relevant to Golemancy, although they were tiny, and there were dozens upon dozens of others he didn't recognise. Some didn't even appear to be from Sorcery at all.
'Dhalroc,' he said, 'you studied Alchemy-- you recognise any of these?'
'Any of these,' Clay repeated.
'No,' Dhalroc said.
'No.'
'Clay?' Acier asked, on impulse. 'Can you read this?'
'You read this,' Clay said. Dhalroc nodded eagerly in agreement and rose to a crouch, hurrying across the room to hold the cylinder in front of Clay.

What followed was ten solid minutes, give or take, of rapid-fire rune naming. If anything, Acier felt that he knew less about how the Seed was supposed to work than before he asked.
'So,' Dhalroc said. 'I didn't exactly follow... any of that-- I mean, I dropped out of the College of Alchemy, after all-- but I feel like I know someone who might be able to help us. Thing is... you're not gonna like it.'
'Gonna like it,' Clay repeated.
'Marteau?' Acier asked, frowning. 'What's wrong with him?'
'Wrong with him.'
'Nothing,' Dhalroc said. 'Aside from the fact that he's all Alchemy, or so he said on our first visit to the Academy-- probably won't be able to help with the Sorcery side of things.'
'No,' Acier said, realising who he meant. 'You can't be serious.'
'Be serious.'
'Name one other Bifold Mage who might possibly hold some grudge against the Ancienne if they knew the full story here,' Dhalroc said.
'Full story here.'

Rech swore loudly as they too realised who Dhalroc meant; Clay echoed their sentiment.