by Zac Gorman
“I can’t,” said Grunda. The goblin grinned, revealing a mouthful of crooked yellow teeth—perfectly natural for a goblin—and reached into a leather satchel that Iphigenia hadn’t noticed until now. She pulled out a jar covered by a lid with airholes punched in it. A large red worm was curled up around the base of the jar. From its head, twelve eyes glittered like rubies back at Iphigenia, studying her, and she suddenly had the feeling that someone was rooting around inside her brain like it was a trash bin.
“What is it?” asked Iphigenia.
“Mindworm,” said Grunda. “Incredible creatures.”
The mindworm wriggled around, and Iphigenia couldn’t help but thinking that, yes, mindworms truly were incredible creatures. Perhaps she should elect a mindworm to a position of power? Grunda unscrewed the top of the jar and sprinkled in something that looked like ground-up leaves, and as the mindworm began to eat contentedly, Iphigenia felt her thoughts return to normal.
Grunda tucked the jar back into her satchel as she continued, “They’re all over the dungeon. And they can relay messages to each other over thousands of miles, so when one is apart from the rest . . . they’re still quite together.”
“You’re using them to keep an eye on the dungeon,” added Iphigenia.
“You might say that . . . ,” she replied, but trailed off. “The important part is that Thisby is okay. She’s still going to win the Wretched Scrattle, thanks to your help. But what I need from you is not to be too hasty.”
An uncomfortable sensation crept into the room like an imaginary spider. Iphigenia motioned for Oren to leave, and he gladly obeyed.
“What do you mean? Don’t be too hasty?” said Iphigenia after the door had latched shut and she was certain they were alone.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Princess, but you need to stay out of the affairs of the Black Mountain. Focus on the affairs of Nth instead.”
“The affairs of the Black Mountain are the affairs of Nth.”
Iphigenia refused to flinch. She knew that most goblins believed the Black Mountain should be fully independent of Nth. She wasn’t surprised Grunda felt the same; however, after all they’d been through together, she’d hoped that the old goblin would show her a little more deference. That was clearly not the case.
“This is about more than politics. It’s about more than a war between men. More than a squabble over land or money. The fate of the world . . . the Eyes in the Dark . . .” Grunda trailed off.
“The Eyes in the Dark is locked safely away in a prison you built, need I remind you,” said Iphigenia sharply.
“There’s no such thing as ‘safe’ where the Eyes in the Dark is concerned!” snapped Grunda.
“We’re on the same side!” insisted Iphigenia, no longer fully convinced of the words herself.
“Are we?” asked the goblin. “You humans are all alike! Playing a game where you don’t even know the rules! Why do you think I’ve done everything that I’ve done? To keep the Eyes in the Dark at bay! To keep the dungeon safe!”
Iphigenia was shocked to see that tears were beginning to form in the old goblin’s huge dinner-plate eyes.
“It will be safe. It will. When Thisby is Master—” began Iphigenia.
“You’re right,” Grunda interrupted. “When Thisby is Master. When Thisby is Master, things will be different.”
“What do you mean?” asked Iphigenia.
“Wait and see,” said Grunda.
And with that, the goblin vanished.
Chapter 17
Marl stalked around the blackdoor machine with her hands twisted behind her back, her mind racing. She hadn’t slept in days, hopped up on red tea and unable to pry herself away from the flickering screens, watching the mayhem unfold below.
The gamekeeper was still out there somewhere. The last time the Overseer had managed to spot her was when she’d encountered the cuco in the tunnels behind the ice wraith’s den, but soon after that she’d lost her trail. It’d been one of her most profound disappointments that the creature had chosen to run away instead of finishing the job and making her life easier, but that had been the problem with the cuco since she’d first introduced it to the dungeon: it was highly unpredictable.
She’d bought it from a monster trader who specialized in exotic creatures, with the idea that one cuco could easily take the place of a hundred other monsters, since it could take nearly any form. Marl had been hopeful that it was finally about to earn back what she’d paid for it by finishing off the irritating girl, but for some reason it ran away. The cuco had been a spectacular waste of money, mostly just killing other monsters and doing very little else. Still, there were other things to be optimistic about.
So far, Marl had seen fourteen people make it to the gates of the castle, and not one of them had gone a step farther. That was something. There were still hundreds of adventurers left in the dungeon, though, and it could take weeks to clear them all out. However, if the nagging feeling in her gut was right, the end would come much sooner than that.
The Overseer hadn’t left the blackdoor machine room since she’d taken the Master and tossed him into prison. And why should she? From here, she could watch over the entire dungeon. As far as she was concerned, she should’ve insisted that the blackdoor chamber be her office from the moment she’d arrived at the castle. Only the Master never would’ve allowed that. He was so set in his ways. Fortunately for her, he was rotting away in jail now while she was free to do whatever she pleased . . . with one impossibly irritating exception.
Marl had long since given up on attempting to use the blackdoor machine to create actual blackdoors. She could load up scrying spheres and watch events unfold, but creating actual blackdoors, let alone blackdoor beads, was far beyond her comprehension, and she’d been the best student in her class at the Grand College of Arcanology—go, Werewolves! What really drove her crazy was how someone as clueless as the Master had managed to figure out how to work the machine.
The Master had no intention of sharing his secret. Marl had tried to have some ghouls “extract” the information the hard way, but as simpering and pathetic as he might appear, the Master knew the value of this information, and Marl quickly become convinced he’d die before he ever gave it up. She decided to try again after the Wretched Scrattle was over, but for now she’d have to make do with just being able to watch.
A ghoul entered with her red tea and set it down by the door. Before Marl could even stand, he was gone. Too many times she’d flung the tray in his face for not having it the proper temperature or it not being sweet enough until they’d reached a sort of armistice that involved them never coming within twenty feet of each other or making direct eye contact. The ghoul would simply leave the tray by the door full and come back later to find an empty teacup. So far, the arrangement had worked fairly well for both parties.
Listening to the ghoul’s footsteps as he scurried away back to the kitchen, Marl came over and grabbed the tray. Not only had she not left the blackdoor machine room since the Master’s imprisonment, but she also hadn’t bathed or slept. She’d barely eaten, either. Tea had been her primary source of nourishment, and it was a poor one at that. Yet she hardly noticed her hunger with all the other things going on in the dungeon.
Every screen was a constant reminder of her abject failure as Overseer, but never was it worse than when she realized the gamekeeper was still alive. When Marl realized that Thisby had paired up with a conjurer, she’d broken a dozen scrying spheres in a fit of pure rage. That she’d made the mistake of omitting conjurers from the contest rules was infuriating. That Thisby had teamed up with that conjurer was more than she could handle. Marl didn’t believe in fate, but it was hard for her to shake the feeling that the plucky little gamekeeper with the big nose was destined to undo her. What Marl couldn’t figure out was why fate had it out for her to begin with.
After all, what had she done as Overseer that was so bad, really? She’d tried to bring a little law and order to t
he dungeon. So what? She’d hosted an event that brought more people to the Black Mountain than ever before. Was that a crime? Sure, she’d planned on robbing them blind, but she hadn’t done it yet. And if she was being fair, she was still planning on taking the dungeon by force and selling it off to the highest bidder, but that was just business. It wasn’t anything personal. Why shouldn’t the kingdom that paid more have the better army?
Marl paced around the chamber, looking at the bags of gold coins that she’d stockpiled. They lay around the blackdoor chamber like sandbags hoping to keep out the tide. She’d taken to using them for furniture, for all the good they were currently doing her. The time to cut and run had long passed. She had too much gold now to remove it from the mountain without the use of blackdoors. She was going to have to see this thing out to the bitter end.
On the screen above her was the scrying sphere that showed the path to Grimstone Castle. Marl sighed deeply as she watched Thisby walk on-screen.
“This is it,” she said to herself.
Marl knew there was nothing to do now but watch the end play itself out. She hoped it would at least make for a good show.
If Thisby made it through the gates, if the gamekeeper won, she knew that her career as the Overseer would be, well, over. Anyone else, she may have been able to manipulate into keeping her around. With Thisby there would be no convincing. It would be risky and possibly lead to a full-blown revolt, but if she found the opportunity there was always murder, she supposed, if it came to that.
You will not kill the gamekeeper, said the voice that had become all too familiar since she’d come to the Black Mountain.
Marl finished the last sip of her tea and scowled at the bottom of her empty cup.
“Oh, go away!” she screeched “You and your bad advice!”
She cursed and threw the teacup against the blackdoor machine, where it shattered into hundreds of tiny pieces, before she sat down on a pile of gold coins to feel sorry for herself.
Thisby stood at the base of the tall ladder that led up three hundred and four rungs to the wooden gangway. If she followed the gangway to the right, she would end up at her bedroom, and if she followed it to the left, there was a path that would take her straight to the castle. By the time she reached the top of the ladder, it was all she could do not to follow the gangway to the right, to open her bedroom door, to crawl into bed, get good and snugly, and fall fast asleep. But there was still work to do. After she became the Master of the Black Mountain, there’d doubtless be even more.
Despite her better judgment, Thisby had allowed herself to fantasize about what it meant to become the new Master. She knew that her only real choice was to abdicate the title to Grunda, but there was no harm in daydreaming about what it might be like to have some real power for once. Maybe it’d be nice to boss people around. Unfortunately, she knew that wasn’t true. The little taste she’d had of being a boss under Marl’s new rules had been a miserable experience. It might’ve been a nice thing to dream about in theory, but the reality was something else entirely.
She was still toying with the idea, however, when they approached the gates into Castle Grimstone.
The gleaming skulls cast mocking grimaces out from between the twisted spikes as Thisby tried to open the door. Unsurprisingly, it was locked. She knew the odds of the door being unlocked was roughly a bajillion to one, but you never knew unless you tried. Thisby was a firm believer in always trying the obvious thing first. She shrugged and started looking for another way in.
She combed the area. The only thing that struck her as odd were the thousands of char marks on the floor and walls. Little ones. Like someone had sprayed the walls with fireworks. She followed the path where they seemed most concentrated and discovered a pile of ash in the corner of the room that’d previously gone unnoticed, as it had blended in with the mottled gray floor.
Thisby kicked the ash with her toe.
“What is it?” asked Mingus.
“I don’t think you want to know,” said a familiar voice.
Thisby spun around to see Elfriede. She held Bero with one arm, the other being used to point the tip of her dagger at his Adam’s apple.
“Where’s Vas?’ asked Thisby.
“Dead,” said Elfriede.
“She’s lying!” yelled Bero, but she pressed the dagger into his throat and he shut up. A thin ribbon of blood began to trickle down his neck.
“You’re ruining my fun,” she sighed. “He’s with my men. He’s safe. For now.”
“Thisby! She’s a traitor!” blurted Bero.
“Another word and you die,” rasped Elfriede.
“Leave him alone!” said Thisby.
“I will. When I’m done,” said Elfriede.
“You’re from Umberfall,” said Thisby.
“Don’t be stupid, girl,” said Elfriede. “I just need him to open this door. If he helps me, he lives. It’s not complicated.”
“Why do you need him?” asked Thisby.
“Think about it. You said it yourself when we first met. The Overseer doesn’t want anybody to win the Wretched Scrattle. So why do you think she excluded magic users?”
Thisby took another look around at the chamber. She was no wizard, but she could practically smell the magic in the air. The entrance into Castle Grimstone had to be a trap that could only be solved with magic.
“You need him to open the door,” said Thisby.
“There it is. Now you’re using your brain.”
Elfriede prodded Bero forward.
“Step back or he dies,” Elfriede commanded.
Thisby did as she said.
Elfriede marched Bero across the sooty floor until they reached the door, where she motioned to a small skull that was inset, like a button, to the right of the door.
“Press it,” she ordered. There was no waver in her voice.
Bero did as she said, and a loud buzz filled the chamber, followed by a voice that sounded like two sheets of metal rubbing together.
“What is the secret of magic?” it asked.
“Well, what is it?” demanded Elfriede.
Bero remained silent.
“Say something, curse you!” she shouted.
There was a mechanical clicking sound, followed by dozens of tiny balls of light flooding into the chamber. The first one that whizzed by Thisby made the air sparkle with electric heat and the second one actually touched her cheek, causing her to cry out in pain. Thisby dove for the floor as more balls of light zoomed into the room.
“Wisps!” Mingus yelled over the intense buzzing noise.
“Say something right now or you die!” screamed Elfriede.
More wisps shot by Thisby and stung her with their electric jolts as several smacked into the wall, leaving behind tiny scorch marks where they made contact with the stone. She flinched away from their stings, which were growing more painful by the second.
Everything around her was a swarm of glowing light as the wisps zipped around the chamber, stinging her. The only thing she was able to focus on was Mingus, who for some reason was as visible as ever through the chaos. Distracted as she was by the pain of the stinging, it took her a few seconds to figure out why.
“Mingus! Ow! They’re avoiding your—ow!—light! Glow—ow!—brighter!”
“Mingus! Ow! They’re avoiding your—ow!—light! Glow—ow!—brighter!”
There was a burst of intense light from her lantern, and the wisps scattered. The light that emanated off him was so bright that Thisby couldn’t look at Mingus directly. She had to shield her eyes as she and Mingus parted the sea of wisps and made their way back to the door.
“I can’t keep this up for long!” shouted Mingus. “We need to run! The other way!”
“I can do this!” said Thisby. “I have to!”
Mingus’s light faded a bit, and the bubble of wisps around them constricted. There was no way to see Bero and Elfriede through the swarm. They could’ve been right next to her for all she knew. Th
isby pushed through the swarm toward the door.
Mingus’s light faded, and the bubble of light grew smaller. The wisps drew close. Thisby reached out her hand blindly through the chaos, feeling around for the button near the door. At last her fingers found it, and she pressed the button a second time. Barely audible over the din of the room was the metallic voice.
“What is the secret of magic?”
Mingus’s light faded a bit more, so only a thin layer of space separated them from the wisps, who swarmed like hungry piranhas around the legs of a cow fording a river.
This was it. She had to think. Magic was always some sort of riddle. A logic problem. Last year, the spell on the Darkwell had been broken because something passed through an impassable gate. It was about opposites. What was the opposite of the secret of magic?
Mingus’s light gave out, and the bubble of wisps collapsed. They singed Thisby’s flesh and burned holes in her tunic. She was dizzy with pain, nearly delirious, when something popped into her head. It was stupid. It was illogical. It was something only a wizard would come up with.
“There is no secret of magic!” Thisby shouted at the top of her lungs.
As quickly as they had arrived, the wisps vanished back into the wall.
The room went silent and Thisby collapsed, dropping Mingus. His lantern rolled a few feet forward and bumped into the door, which had slowly begun to open.
Thisby lay on the chamber floor, her skin hot and tingling from the wisps’ stings, for a full minute before she pulled herself to her feet. She picked up Mingus and surveyed the damage. The entire room was covered in ash, and Elfriede was lying motionless in the center of it all, at least what was left of her. She was darkened and skeletal, but Bero was beneath her, seemingly having used her body as a shield.
There was nothing to be done for Elfriede, but Bero still seemed to be breathing, if just barely. Thisby pushed Elfriede off and knelt down beside Bero’s body.
“Mingus, can you . . .” She trailed off.
“I’m weak but I’ll try,” he said.
Thisby slid the barely glowing Mingus out of his lantern onto Bero’s badly burned body. The conjurer was so covered with welts that it was hard to tell where to start. Mingus glowed faintly as he passed over the worst of it. He was just as surprised as Thisby when after a few minutes Bero opened his eyes.