The corridor beyond the entry hall was narrower than Rhys expected.
The ceiling arched overhead at about twenty feet, and every surface was covered in a thin layer of frost that glittered like diamonds.
"Stop," Pho commanded suddenly.
Rhys froze mid-step, his perception picking up what Pho had noticed.
A faint magical signature was embedded in the floor ahead, barely visible even to his trained eyes.
"Pressure plates," Pho observed. "Crude, but effective. Step on one and you'll trigger whatever trap the Drake's minions installed. Ice spikes, probably. Or a cave-in."
Rhys studied the corridor, his mind working through the problem.
He could try to navigate around the pressure plates, but that would take time and focus he couldn't spare with his stamina already depleted.
Or he could remove the threat entirely.
"Slyph," Rhys said quietly. "Can you sense the magical connections between the pressure plates and whatever they're designed to trigger?"
