“Are we being attacked or toyed with?” Luke asks, taking a cautious step toward the bar. A tap on his shoulder makes him whirl around and he continues spinning like a top. “I’m definitely going with the second option. I want to throw up, but I’m really afraid of what will happen if I do.”
“Spiders breeches pomegranate,” Dariana blurts out, groaning at her own voice. She points emphatically at Timoran, her finger lancing out and curving to go into Nyx’s mouth. “Salty. Hag turtle door scratch sternum.”
“What can I do against something like this?” the barbarian asks, reaching for his axe. The weapon floats off his back and coyly bats his hand away. “If this is the guardian then it could be corrupted. Although it does not appear violent like some of the others. Perhaps there is a way to draw it out and kill it before things get worse.”
“So close to the answer!” screams a musical voice from every corner of the chamber. Luke stops spinning and Dariana can feel her mind relax, the suffocating influence leaving with a cackling laugh. “I was so happy to finally meet the champions. Sure, I’m missing the fun one and the smartest one. Though four out of six isn’t a terrible turnout. Too bad I now learn that my master is the dummy. Not the little one, but the big, burly one. All you can think about is killing me?”
“You did attack us,” Nyx mentions, creating a fireball in her palm. Her hand raises above her head and the spell becomes a chocolate pie that she mashes into her own face. “At least that tasted good. I get the feeling that this thing could have killed us by now. With very little effort too. So what do we do?”
“Don’t guests announce themselves?” the hidden guardian asks.
“Don’t proper hosts greet their guests at the door?” Luke contends with a grin. His lips keep stretching until the top of his head falls to the floor and he scrambles to put it back on. “We don’t want to hurt you if you’re friendly. You have to understand that two of the other guardians we ran into tried to kill us because they were corrupted. We figured the same challenge was happening here when strange things started happening. How am I still talking while in this state?”
A delightful laugh ripples through the air and is joined by a chorus of giggles from the furniture. “Oh, I was corrupted. Then I found it incredibly dull and decided to get better. Now I’m simply bored and hoping to let a champion into the real challenges. All I’ve had for centuries are barbarians who want a piece of jade and have no interest in fun. Walk through the front door, fight whatever monster I decide to create, pick up the fallen rock, and leave without even a thank you. The least those fleshy, hairy landmasses on legs could do is say hello.”
“Hello,” Timoran says, waving toward the bar. A tight grip catches his hand and shakes it emphatically. “Nice to meet you.”
“Manners at last! It’s been far too long. Coming right out!”
With creaking bones, the dead bard stands and dons its feathered hat, which drops several coins and two buttons to the floor. The corpse is about to step off the stage when it sees the skinless state of its foot. Snapping its fingers, the short creature regains its dark flesh and beaming smile that sends starry light around the room. Clothed in a colorful jester costume, the guardian does a small dance to make sure the bells on his boots are perfectly tuned. He molds his hair into a black and red cap with three sagging spires that are each tipped with a kaleidoscopic gem. Satisfied with his appearance, the strange being walks off the stage and keeps going without touching the floor. Coming eye to eye with Timoran, the guardian abruptly sticks his head in the man’s ear.
“Well there’s a working brain in here, so I’m going to assume you were slow because of what happened outside,” the flashy creature says, his voice coming out of the champion’s other ear. He notices Dariana backing up and moves completely through his master’s head to land in front of her. “The daughter of good and evil. Always knew I’d get to meet you, but that’s part of my job. How’s your mother? Your father still wanting to rule the world and undo the Law of Influence? That man really knows how to hold onto the past and I’m not just talking about his terrible fashion sense. Does anybody smell channeler around here? Oh, that must be the one that molested the front door. I don’t know where you were raised, young lady, but here we knock for entry.”
“I didn’t . . . Gabriel put a fake Compass Key on my chest and made me the key,” Nyx states, her cheeks bright red. She licks her lips at the taste of the guardian’s magic and stops herself from shuddering in ecstasy. “What are you? I’ve never heard of a creature like you. So much power and energy.”
“My name is Fortunatos and I’m a Jester. No, you can’t have another taste. Your kind were always trying to bite, which is why we never kept you as pets,” the guardian answers before smacking Nyx on the nose with his hat. The blow turns the half-elf into a long-haired puppy that whimpers and tries to hide behind Luke. “Strange. Channelers usually reverse that spell after a second. She must still be learning the defensive nuances. I don’t want any accidents in the temple, little one. Go outside and . . . never mind. You four destroyed the welcoming center and my door. Guess I’ll have to trust the crazy kid over here to clean up after his big sister. Do you know what you did when you refused the path to your full power?”
“Not really, but I don’t think I’ve suffered because of it,” Luke replies, leaning away from the Jester. Fearing the powerful entity, a chorus of voices from his spirits scream for him to run and hide. “Not to rush things, but I think we’re supposed to be tested. Our friends are waiting by another temple on the other side of the continent. No offense and I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to have fun later.”
“You threw everything into chaos, young man,” Fortunatos says, ignoring the forest tracker’s request. With a loud pop, he gives Luke a kiss on the lips and pinches the stunned mortal’s cheeks. “You’re so cute and innocent. No wonder you have so many problems and your suffering is inevitable. Enough of this pointless chatter, I have to toss the big one into a test, give him a stone, and then let the real fun begin. Please follow me. Do try to close your mouth, Dariana, or a fly will get in there.”
The sight of a giant insect crawling out from under the stage makes the silver-haired woman clench her jaws shut. As if offended by her actions, the bug crosses several of its arms and skitters into the shadows. Dariana carries Nyx as Fortunatos leads the champions behind the bar and opens a trapdoor with the flick of a finger. Everyone gathers around the entrance to see a splintery ladder leading down to a stone chamber. A cool breeze wafts from the lower level and Timoran picks up the faint aroma of wine. The guardian claps his hands to return Nyx to her normal form, leaving the groggy half-elf cradled in Dariana’s arms. The women separate and get closer to the trapdoor, but they are jerked back by invisible hands. A puff of crimson smoke drifts from the mirror and covers them before dispersing to reveal they are now wearing barmaid uniforms.
“The boys go down and the ladies stay here,” Fortunatos declares while gesturing to the entrance. He feels a spark of anger from Nyx and makes her skirt shorter to stop the half-elf from attacking. “It isn’t that I think you’re weaker than your friends. The opposite actually. Timoran and Luke must find my favorite bottle of wine while you two tend to the tavern. It’s almost time for the midday rush and I could use the help. This test would be too easy with a telepath and a channeler to pinpoint the correct vintage. Don’t worry. You two look beautiful, so you’ll make some extra money and can rest up for the real fights.”
“I get the feeling that arguing with you would be life-threatening,” Nyx replies, happy to see her skirt go back to its original length. A flood of voices erupts from around the room as specters appear at the tables, their ephemeral clothes coming from various periods of history. “I did spend a month working at a tavern when I was younger. Had to quit when Willow and Cyril found out about it. Unbecoming of a caster is what they said. So, who makes the drinks and who goes out there?”
“I tend bar and you two be nice to
the customers,” the guardian replies, transforming into a handsome, Dwarven barman. His bristling, rainbow-colored beard stretches to grab glasses and places them on the counter. “Watch out for Madison over there. He gets grabby with everyone, so try to take his order from across the table. What are you two boys still doing here? Get into the cellar and don’t come back without my wine.”
As their friends head into the ghostly crowd, Timoran and Luke start down the ladder. With a gentle hiss, the trapdoor slams shut and leaves them in darkness. They curse and growl as splinters pierce their hands, the wooden shards wiggling out of their flesh and dropping into the cellar. Throughout their descent, the two warriors hear the grand celebration upstairs, including the sudden appearance of an off-key bard. A chorus of boos drowns out the music for a few seconds before a bellow silences the complaints.
“Not sure which of us is in a worse situation,” Luke mutters with a smirk.
“Stop yapping and get to work!” Fortunatos shouts, his shining face appearing out of the ladder. With a yelp, the half-elf loses his grip and falls into Timoran, which sends both of them plummeting down the shaft. “You break anything and you’re fired! And I’m not talking about your bones. Those you’re free to damage if that’s how you get your kicks. I’m really going to have to talk to someone about the hiring standards around here.”
*****
Gasping for air, the two warriors burst from the water, which is colored to resemble a stone floor. They climb onto solid ground and wipe the thick, oily liquid off their faces. A crunching noise makes them jump and they watch the deep pool transform into rock. Luke cautiously taps it with his foot, which comes away with thick drops falling off his toe. Reacting to a strong shove to his shoulder, the half-elf turns to see that they are standing in the entrance of a huge wine cellar. There are thirty rows that go back at least fifty yards and are illuminated by statues of flame that dance mockingly on top of the seven-foot tall wine racks. The ceiling is marked up by a collection of scratches, making the champions wonder if there are traps or monsters hidden within the basement.
“Your temple is definitely the strangest one yet,” Luke says, stepping into the room. A thud beneath his feet gives enough of a warning for him to leap away from a maw of fire that attacks from above. “Pressure plate traps, which isn’t too surprising. So, where do we find this favorite wine? What clue did he give us?”
“Fortunatos did not give us any clues,” Timoran replies, cautiously moving ahead of his friend. He sniffs at the bouquet of sweet aromas and wipes a line of drool from his chin. “I did not even think to ask. We are jumping in blind and hoping to find the right one before walking into a lethal trap that we cannot escape. I do not understand why you are grinning.”
“Because this type of mess is my specialty,” the forest tracker claims, his eyes sparkling with excitement. He cracks his knuckles, the sound louder than normal, which makes him worry that the guardian is about to play a trick. “He mentioned vintage, which means something that is old and classic. I know a little about wines, but not enough to be entirely sure of things. Look for anything with a lot of dust or a yellowed label.”
“What if he drinks it often and there is no dust?”
“Then I’m wrong and we’re wasting time.”
Not waiting for a response, Luke goes down the first row of racks and pulls one of the wines out of the middle shelf. The label is faded and flakes at his touch, which makes him pray that they already solved the mystery and can return to the bar. As soon as it clears the wooden cabinet, the cork fires out of the bottle and bounces into a dusty corner. Two gangly, clawed hands squeeze out of the mouth and a slimy-skinned creature frees itself from the narrow container. Webbed feet touch the floor and a barbed tail slaps Luke’s hands, causing him to drop the fragile bottle. The amber-colored monster’s wide ears flap with enough strength to carry it to the top of the rack where it hisses and grinds its gnarled, blue teeth.
“That is an imp. They used to run wild through the mountains about seven hundred years ago,” Timoran whispers as he avoid making any sudden movements. He watches the creature investigate one of the dancing flames, the beast screeching when it burns its nose on the pirouetting figure. “I believe it was King Homrin who drove them across the Stone Asp Mountains and into the ocean, but that is an old children’s story. It is possible that he made a deal with Fortunatos to contain the imps in return for a favor. All I know is that they can be a lot of trouble because of their speed and foul temper. We must be more careful when searching for the correct wine.”
“If there’s any wine in the first place,” Luke mutters, taking a careful step to his right. An arrow flies from the far wall and skims the top of his head as he ducks. “I get the feeling that some of these traps are for people of your size. If I was any taller, I’d have lowered my face into that. We can’t waste any more time, but rushing is dangerous. Walk carefully, check bottles without removing them, and keep an eye on that imp.”
“Let us wait and think, my friend,” the barbarian insists while gradually putting his hand on his axe. He lets go of the weapon when the creature jumps up and down in anger. “We do not want to risk freeing any more of them. They could set off pressure plates and turn this place into a bigger death trap. We need a plan to get out of here alive.”
“Unless your sharp ears or my sound sight can figure this puzzle out, we’re kind of stuck.”
“What about a keen nose?”
“I don’t follow.”
Timoran closes his eyes and takes a deep sniff, absorbing all of the scents. “There are many aromas here that I am trying to sort through. My nose is more for precision and distance, so I do not know if it will work in this enclosed space. It is worth a try.”
Luke’s body shudders and a tail sprouts from his rear, the appendage wagging happily as Stiletto comes to the surface of his mind. Leaning forward and growing thick fur, the half-elf’s hands become paws that tap on the floor. With a happy bark, the noble shepherd spins in a circle and stretches his back before eagerly sniffing the nearest bottle. The dog licks at the cork and spits at the bad taste before moving on to the next one.
“I did think of that, but there is a reason I did not suggest it,” Timoran says, drawing his weapon and facing the drooling imp. The creature is inching along the racks, its black eyes hungrily locked on Stiletto. “Wolves and dogs are an imp’s favorite meal. If they are not hungry when they find such animals then they injured the animal to kill later. This one seems to be famished. I do not think it will let you concentrate.”
“It’s only one imp, so focus on finding that wine,” Luke tells Stiletto, calming the dog’s nerves. He helps his friend sift through the odors, eventually pinpointing a faint scent that he recognizes. “Something smells like Fortunatos. That’s probably the one we’re looking for, so track it carefully. Watch out for traps and I’ll keep my attention on the imp.”
Stiletto barks to let Timoran know that he may have located the wine and waits for the barbarian to get closer. With his nose to the ground, the dog leads the way down the row and weaves around anything that reeks of oil from hidden machinery. He can hear the imp following above, the creature making several attempts to pounce, but always retreating from the barbarian’s axe. As he rounds the corner, Stiletto stops and whines because of a horrid smell under the floor. Backing up, the dog makes a running leap over the traps, but lands with a thud on another pressure plate. Spikes erupt from the wall and the section barrels down the row with its target racing a few steps ahead. Arrows, fire blasts, and other projectiles erupt from every direction as Stiletto sprints over more triggers. He hears the smashing of wood before the deadly barrier shudders to a stop and the chamber is filled with a chorus of hisses.
“The good news is that the projection part of the trap was a collection of beams that I destroyed,” Timoran calls from the other end of the row. He carefully inches around to the next set of racks, pausing when he sees imps crawling out of the shelves and kno
cking over more of the bottles. “The bad news is that the wall broke opened all of the bottles it passed. The imps are freeing more of their kind, so you might want to return to your true form and borrow Stiletto’s sensitive nose.”
A high-pitched yelp drives the barbarian to race toward his friend, which results in him taking an arrow to his shoulder. When he finds Stiletto, the dog is battling several imps that will not give him a chance to revert back to Luke. Three of the slimy creatures lay dead on the ground and the rest flee when Timoran roars. He is about to bend down and pick up the snarling dog, but the animal suddenly rushing between the big man’s legs. All the barbarian can do is grip his axe and follow his companion while the imps rush about smashing more bottles. Timoran notes that none of the containers have more than a few drops of alcohol inside them, which he assumes were kept to trick anyone with an acute sense of smell.
Refusing to let go of the scent, Stiletto charges through the rows that are teeming with slimy bodies and barbed tails. Borrowing Luke’s sound sight, the dog is able to avoid the imps and traps without slowing down. The few that dare to pounce find themselves clinging an angry beast that twists around to crush them in his jaws. Skidding around a corner, Stiletto bounces off the wall and skips a few rows down before turning again. He stops at a thin decanter that sits backwards in its holder, a jester cap in place of a cork. Confident in his decision, the dog uses his teeth to pull the container from the rack. Nothing happens to the bottle, but they hear the loud bang of the traps turning off.
Tribe of the Snow Tiger (Legends of Windemere Book 10) Page 37