by Drew Hayes
Grumph stared at the gnome, not moving so much as a massive foot in the direction Thistle was pointing. There was more to this—he could tell just from the expression on his friend’s face—and given the stakes, he didn’t plan on following until he was all the way up to speed. Thistle was getting a little too comfortable with keeping things close to the vest, and while that was fine around the others, he wouldn’t tolerate it. They were partners, equals, and Grumph had no intention of letting Thistle forget that.
After a long moment—so lengthy that Thistle began to grow visibly uncomfortable under the fearsome, half-orc stare—Grumph finally rumbled out a couple of clipped words.
“What else?”
“Nothing else. That is to say, nothing else of substance,” Thistle admitted. “Perhaps I might have the slightest of hunches, but even for a hunch, it is unsubstantiated and quite flimsy. More visual similarity than actual observation, if I’m being forthright.”
“Tell me anyway.” Grumph trusted Thistle with his very life and had for many years. But with that trust came the knowledge that Thistle, like most people too smart for their own good, could often twist logic to suit what he already thought. The rationale for going down the path with the shield seemed solid enough, but Grumph wanted to know all the factors that had gone into forming the decision. He would judge for himself just how sound they were.
“Very well; though, bear in mind that I warned you how insubstantial of a hunch this is.” Thistle gestured up to the shield, pointing to the lower half of it. “Do you see how the shield is curved on its lower half, almost elliptical? Granted, this was drawn countless years ago, but to me, the shape seems a bit off. Added to that, if you mentally flip it over, the symbol looks far less like any sort of shield I’ve ever encountered and begins to look more like . . . well, like a gravestone.”
Grumph could see the resemblance as soon as Thistle pointed it out—in fact, he couldn’t unsee it no matter how he turned his head. It was strange, certainly, but far from inexplicable. It wasn’t until Grumph thought back to Thistle telling him of his vision-meeting with Grumble that the pieces finally fell into place.
“He took you to a graveyard.”
“Aye, that he did. Perhaps—no, probably—that fact and the symbol’s appearance are nothing more than a coincidence. All the same, when coupled with our earlier analysis of what the most likely path to be chosen is, I can’t shake the sense that this is the one we’re meant to head down.”
With the sound of heavy footsteps echoing off the stone walls, Grumph began moving toward the door with the shield over it, Thistle quickly falling into place at his side. It might be just a coincidence, Thistle hadn’t been wrong about that, but it didn’t feel like one. In fact, the more Grumph thought about it, the less like a coincidence any of this seemed. A hidden catacomb with an altar to Grumble, and when it finally opened, one of the few paladins of Grumble just happened to be outside the door?
“I think Grumble played us.”
“Such was my suspicion when we laid eyes on the altar,” Thistle agreed. “Though, when gods do it, it’s called ‘divine guidance’ rather than hoodwinking, even if the latter is a far more accurate description.”
“How long?”
“Hard to say; we are talking about a god, after all. Probably not before the goblin camp, since up ‘til then I wasn’t even a pawn. Almost certainly since we crossed into Alcatham, though. I’ve no doubt we were herded toward Briarwillow. Perhaps one of the roads we thought too risky wasn’t actually so bad, or reports of trolls blocking a pass were exaggerated. Knowing Grumble, I’m sure he used a light touch, but we’d be fools to believe we came upon this place by ourselves.”
“True.” Grumph nodded. He tried to cast his mind back to their journey. As dangerous as things were on the open road, their path to Briarwillow had been almost boring. It should have struck him then that perhaps the only reason they were finding such an easy way was because it suited someone else’s desires. “Lot of effort to get us here.”
“Do you think so? I actually just had a far more disturbing thought, old friend. One that I will happily keep to myself, if you’d prefer not to lose any sleep should we survive this.” Thistle looked up at Grumph and waited, not continuing until the half-orc chose to hear what came next.
After a few seconds of contemplation, Grumph nodded for Thistle to continue. No matter how bad things might be, there was no situation Grumph could conceive of where ignorance kept him safer than knowledge.
“It occurs to me that yes, Grumble might have gone to all this trouble to get us here, thus fulfilling some sort task for him, but there’s also another option. Perhaps we are nowhere near what he ultimately wants us to do, and this is simply another step on the path he’s herding us down.”
Thistle had been right: that one was going to cost Grumph some sleep.
* * *
“Three doors,” Gabrielle announced. “Sword, shield, and a book.” She glanced back over her shoulder as Eric and Fritz entered the room, eyes catching the crudely etched drawing above their door. “And a sun above ours. So, quick thinking, people: which one did the evil priest take off down?”
“Seeing as he was wielding a wand and magic, I’m taking a wild guess that he’s the book type,” Eric said.
“Maybe, but after Gabrielle chopped his arm off, he might be looking to upgrade his defense,” Fritz pointed out. “Shield seems like a solid bet to me.”
“We don’t know that these indicate what lies down the tunnels. It could be monsters, or magic that test the skills associated with the symbol. I doubt he wants anyone testing his defense right now.” Eric paused, remembering that he was talking about a mage. “Or probably ever. The guy was only wearing robes.”
“Robes, and a magic shield that I chopped through,” Gabrielle reminded him. “But I’m with you; he seems like the type to grab a weapon before armor. Book is probably our best guess.”
“Let’s just hope that if there is some sort of magic down there, he hasn’t found it yet,” Fritz said. “He seemed awfully skilled with magic already.”
“All the more reason to hurry.” Gabrielle didn’t wait for the others to bring up any more points of discussion. She started jogging for the doorway, quickening her step as she entered the tunnel.
Faced with the options of continued debate, thus leaving Gabrielle to charge through a labyrinth alone, or simply just following the barbarian, Eric and Fritz made the choice that, while not exceptionally rational, was as rational as they could manage under the circumstances. They broke into a light run, hurrying to catch up to Gabrielle before she found another split in the path and left them on their own.
* * *
Talcia, Timuscor, and the summoned boar all entered the new chamber with great hesitance, even after Talcia cast another of his danger flash-spells and found it completely safe. Bolting across an entire room of deadly traps left one’s nerves a bit on edge. This was especially so for Timuscor and the boar, who hugged the sides of the room while Talcia tried to decide which path they should go down.
“The book seems the most personally interesting for me, but we’re supposed to be looking for either artifacts or the priest, so I’ve got no idea which way either of those might be,” Talcia admitted after several moments of contemplation. “Any thoughts?”
“It’s all the same to me,” Timuscor said. “I tend to let the others figure this sort of problem out. We could always let Mr. Peppers choose; he seems to have good instincts.”
“Who in the nine hells . . . wait, did you name the pig?”
“Well, he looks like a Mr. Peppers, doesn’t he?” Timuscor nodded to the snorting boar, which was currently sniffing the ground in front of the door with a sword over it.
“You do know that within the hour he’ll dissolve back into the mana he was conjured from, right?” Talcia looked back and forth between the knight and the pig, wondering if he’d accidently let himself be paired with a madman. “I just don’t want you
to get attached.”
“Who’s getting attached? Things have names; now the boar does, too. Come on, I think he wants to go down the sword one.”
“I don’t recall ever agreeing that letting the pig choose was a good idea,” Talcia pointed out.
“Mr. Peppers likes the sword tunnel, and I want to trust his instincts. He was the only one of the five to make it out of that room, you know. That makes it two to one, so we out-vote you.” The matter evidently settled in his mind, Timuscor headed toward the tunnel under the sword symbol, pausing to scratch Mr. Peppers on the top of the head as he passed.
Talcia weighed his options carefully. He could argue the point, insisting that they not follow a summoned pig down a mysterious tunnel, but the truth of the matter was that he didn’t have any idea which path would be a better alternative. Plus, strange as Timuscor might be, he’d tried to save Talcia’s life when he thought they were both about to die. That certainly earned him a bit of leeway, at the very least.
All of those things aside, though, Talcia was not a rookie on his first adventure. He knew well that a mage’s lifespan was often defined by how motivated those with physical prowess were to keep them alive. Given that Timuscor was the one with the armor, shield, and muscles, it seemed prudent to stay on his good side for as long as possible.
“Wait up, I need to check for danger,” Talcia called as he followed the knight and the boar down the tunnel. He watched his steps carefully, for while he was reasonably sure summoned animals didn’t go to the restroom, it wasn’t an incorrect assumption he wanted to coat the bottom of his boot with.
* * *
Blood stained the priest’s gray robes, testaments to injuries that had been incurred in crossing the bridge and later sealed away by magic. That power was running low; by his estimate, he might be able to mend one more small wound, but anything serious would have to be handled the old-fashioned way. In his current state, there was a good chance those damned adventurers could get the better of him if they caught up, especially if they were able to manage a half-competent strategy. Given how well their ambush had gone, he’d have been a fool to discount such a possibility, and the priest of Kalzidar was not a fool. A merciless, twisted, self-absorbed sociopath, certainly, but not a fool.
All that remained now was to try and fulfill his mission. If there were artifacts to be had in these trapped tunnels’ depths, then perhaps one would allow him to turn the tables on his pursuers. If they were useless to him, he could only hope that Kalzidar would reward him with more magic for completing his task. Gods, wicked or just, had to reward those who did their duty, for no mortal served without proper compensation. How he would revel in using his master’s power to turn the adventurers to ash. First would be the woman in the red armor, that bitch who’d taken his arm. She would be first and last, as he would make her spend decades cursing the day she had ever crossed him.
Another turn in the tunnel’s winding depths and suddenly, he had arrived at his destination. The priest stepped carefully into the new room, wand at the ready, and examined his surroundings. As he gazed upon the splendor before him, a dark, curved smile sliced its way across his face.
He’d been hoping for power, and he was not disappointed.
Chapter 34
It became apparent that, though there were many paths through the tunnel they’d taken, Thistle and Grumph were slowly closing on one of the few possible destinations. This was demonstrated by the half-dozen tunnels that merged into their own as they continued downward, continuing on their trek to whatever awaited them at the path’s end. Both were alert, lest they be mistaken for enemies by their friends or caught off guard by the priest, but with every tunnel that joined into theirs, it seemed more apparent that Thistle had been right about at least one thing: no one cared to go down the path of the shield.
At last, the ground beneath their feet leveled off, and stretched out before them was the largest room they’d seen since entering the catacombs. With high ceilings and broad walls, it felt almost like stepping back out into the world above, where one wasn’t entirely surrounded by a mountain. Thick stone rectangles jutted up from the ground at regular intervals, wrapping their way around the entire length of the room. Each was slightly taller than Grumph, and nearly twice as wide. Resting in the center of the floor, surrounded on all sides by those rectangles, was a stone table. Though neither Thistle nor Grumph could make out the top of it from the end of the tunnel, they both immediately headed for it. Each was aware the room might be trapped, just as they understood that both of their skillsets were better suited to reacting to such threats rather than trying to discern them.
Nothing sprang at them as they walked noisily across the floor, only the echoes of their footsteps caring enough to greet them. In no time, they reached the table, and wordlessly, Grumph reached down, gently gripping Thistle by the back of his belt and lifting him onto the structure. It was a testament to how absorbed Thistle was by their surroundings that he didn’t even bother to mumble complaints, but instead merely fixed his gaze on the table’s surface as soon as it was in view.
Etched into the stone top were dozens of tiles, all with various runes and symbols carved into them. Lining the edge of the tiled surface were solid squares, each with their own unique marker. Additionally, there was one other solid square in the center, this one being the only blank piece present. At a glance, it was clear that this was a puzzle meant to resemble the very room they were standing in. Thistle reached out slowly, gripping one of the tiles with his small fingers. He found that he could slide the stone puzzle piece freely, but that it refused to lift even the slightest of inches away from the surface. Releasing it, he turned his attention back to the board as a whole, taking it in and trying to see the patterns that lurked within the chaos.
“I suspect,” Thistle said at last, gesturing absentmindedly to the stone rectangles, “that these are all meant to be treasure chests. From what I can see, this puzzle can be solved in any number of ways, but each one only allows the center piece to be linked to a single other rectangle. Presumably, that opens our metaphorical chest, allowing its contents to be plundered, and likely triggers some sort of resetting mechanism that kicks us out, tries to kill us, or simply bars us from opening any others.”
“So, we guess?”
“That was my first instinct, I’ll admit, but as I studied, another thought occurred to me: this puzzle is exceedingly easy. Too easy, if we’re being frank. It’s like filling your house with silver so robbers will be too busy plundering to notice the gold under the floorboards.” Thistle leaned forward, nearly toppling from his perch on the table’s edge as he studied the pieces carefully. “I think that, just maybe, there is another puzzle hidden within this . . . that I might be able to loop the pieces in such a way that the center piece connects back to the center piece.”
Grumph reached forward, ready to grab the gnome if his eagerness proved greater than his balance. “What will that do?”
“Possibly nothing. Perhaps kill us. But if the gods are on our side, then there is the slightest chance it might open up something the common grave-robbers and looters were never meant to uncover. The only way to find out is to give it a go.”
They were already deep in a hidden catacomb that might or might not be housing countless relics of dangerous power, guarded by a horde of barely restrained undead outside, and trapped in the labyrinth with a powerful servant of a wicked god. Really, what was one more chance at death compared to what they were already facing?
“Do it,” Grumph rumbled.
Thistle, needing no more encouragement than that, knit his eyebrows together as his forehead creased and his brain went to work. Seconds later, he moved the first tile and became utterly absorbed in his task.
* * *
Gabrielle was only saved by the glimmer of movement she caught out of the corner of her eye. Reacting without thinking, she jerked back around the corner and into the tunnel they’d been emerging from. The blast of what look
ed like black lightning struck where her foot had been only moments before, cracking and singeing the stone. Before the others could say a word, Gabrielle barreled forward, sprinting past the entrance and into this new room. If they stayed in the tunnel, whatever was attacking them could pin them there and have easy shots to pick them off. Better to keep the targets spread out and moving. Plus, if it went for her, then the others would have time to slip out as well.
The room around her was massive, filled with a half-dozen unnatural contraptions. Each was wide and complex, comprised of metal parts with arcane runes scrawled across them. The only element she recognized was drawn over the tops of holes in the contraptions’ fronts: crude images of body parts.
“Elegant idea, isn’t it? A very practical way to limit how much anyone can take from here.”
The priest’s voice drew Gabrielle’s attention, and she jerked her head around to find his location. It was easily discovered, as the man in blood-stained gray robes was making no effort to hide. He stood proudly, slightly off-center in the middle of the room, cocky smile fixed firmly in place once more. For once, however, his arrogance was not his most striking feature.
No, that honor went to the skeletal black arm fixed in place where his left one had once been. It ran all the way from the shoulder to the fingertips and seemed to crackle with pulsing, dark energy that zipped between the symbols carved into the dark bone.
“How . . . ?” Gabrielle didn’t know what words would finish that question, but she did understand, on an instinctual level, that this would change the fight she’d been expecting into something dangerous and different.
“The machines don’t actually check to see that the whole limb is there. They just make the cut and give you your prize. As I said, ingenious and brutal, which is fitting. Magic like this always comes at a price.” The priest nodded to a machine near him, one showing an image of an arm over a hole that was, unlike the others, completely sealed up. “You actually did me a favor, you know. If not for your crude attack, I might have hesitated in doing what was necessary.”