Nothing happened.
He said it again, speaking louder this time. It was a chant Colm had heard from Quinn a dozen times in training before. It usually resulted in ample amount of light, a bright yellow globe like a miniature sun sitting in the palm of the mageling’s hand. This time, all it produced was a single spark that disappeared the instant it came into being, like a firefly’s flash.
“Fizzled,” Quinn said, perplexed.
“It’s all right,” Lena said. “It happens to everyone.” She reached out for Quinn.
“That’s me,” Colm said.
“Oh.”
Colm couldn’t see Quinn, but he could hear the frustration in his voice. “I d-d-don’t know what’s happening. It’s not hard. It’s really a s-s-simple sp-sp-spell.”
He tried twice more to no effect, then groaned, his frustration echoing off the walls. Less than a minute into their first real test, and already their mageling had lost his magic. Colm put his hand out to comfort him. “Don’t worry about it.”
“That’s me,” Serene snipped.
“Oh. Right.”
“Well, we need to think of something. There’s no way I am wandering through here in pitch-black darkness,” Lena said. Then Colm remembered. Reaching into his bag, he dug around until he found it, nestled beneath his picks. He had even thought to charge it yesterday, keeping it on his windowsill all afternoon.
Colm rubbed the sunstone and held it in his palm, watching its inner glow seep out, growing stronger, until he could see the faces of his friends in its amber light. Quinn’s, he saw, was beet red. The light barely provided a pool for them all to stand in, but it was enough that they could continue. Lena drew her longest sword and held it out in front of her.
“All right, then,” she said. “Which way? I don’t suppose that little pet of yours has any thoughts?” Lena asked, but Serene shook her head.
“Mr. Tickletoes says he’s never been to this part of the dungeon before.”
“And to think we chose him as our mascot,” Lena scoffed. “Straight then,” pointing with her sword. “Until we have cause to go otherwise.” Serene dug into her robes for a chunk of white rock, then went over to the wall and scrawled the number one.
“To mark our path,” she said.
“That’s smart,” Quinn said. Even in the poor light, Colm could see the druid’s smile.
“Keep your eyes peeled, people. I’m pretty sure that twerpy little goblin’s got it out for me,” Lena said. She ventured into the darkness with uncharacteristic caution, and Colm followed right behind, holding the stone out over her shoulder to light their path. They came to a T, and Lena turned right, still leading them by sword point, it seemed, as if the blade was making the decisions. Serene marked the intersection with a two.
“So what do you think is down here?” Serene said. “You don’t think it’s wolves, do you? I really can’t deal with wolves today.”
“I hope it is a dragon,” Lena said. “You can’t be a proper barbarian without a dragon fang hanging around your neck.”
“I think we probably would have noticed if Tye Thwodin owned a dragon,” Colm remarked.
At the rear of the line, Quinn was still mumbling chants to himself and grunting with disappointment. Apparently none of his spells were working, even the simplest ones. It was probably just nerves, Colm thought, except even when he was nervous, Quinn’s magic did something. He only hoped Quinn got over it, whatever it was, before they encountered anything more dangerous than darkness and dead ends. They made several more turns, passing through curtains of cobwebs—Mr. Tickletoes insisted they were for decorative purposes—Serene marking their path, Colm’s eyes darting left and right for any sign of traps. Lena led them around another corner and stopped.
“Look.”
Colm peered down the corridor and saw two flickering torches set into the walls on either side of a metal door. The light seemed to beckon them.
“You think that’s where the treasure is?” Lena asked.
Colm shrugged. The torches were probably marking something. Knowing Master Bloodclaw, they were deliberately set there to lure them, like moths. Probably so they could perish. Like moths. Colm grabbed Lena’s arm, pulling her back.
“Let me go first,” he said. “It could be trapped.”
It was the right thing to say, of course, even though he knew she would refuse. She was a barbarian, after all. She was the wall. The shield. The one you stood behind. Rule number five. She would insist on taking the lead.
“Okay,” Lena said.
“Okay?” Colm repeated.
Lena stepped aside and gave him a little nudge forward.
“Okay. Go for it.”
So much for rule number five.
“Rule number twelve,” Lena whispered to Serene. “Always let the rogue go first.”
Serene nodded. “Number nine for me.”
“Fourteen,” Quinn added.
“Right,” Colm said, swallowing hard. He stepped in front of Lena, walking slowly, scanning the walls and the floor for the slightest irregularities, trying to remember everything Finn had taught him. Checking for thin strands of wire, no bigger than spider’s silk, looking for circles of dust or small engravings in the stone, trusting his other senses even as the corridor got brighter, listening for strange sounds, taking ginger steps, pretending he was trying to sneak past his sisters at night, until he stood before the door with the torches bracketing it.
It appeared to be one thick sheet of solid iron with a single latch. No keyhole or contraption. No runes or inscriptions. Completely smooth. Colm took one of the torches from its mooring and examined the door from top to bottom. It was odd, this door with no lock. It must be warded somehow, he thought. Or maybe the lock mechanism was embedded in the surrounding wall somewhere. Or even up in the ceiling. Colm shook his head. This was impossible. How was he expected to unlock it if he couldn’t even find the lock?
Lena reached over his shoulder and gave the door a push. It swung open easily.
“Ta-da,” she whispered.
“Seriously?” Colm hissed.
Lena bowed, then waved her arm. “After you, O talented rogue.”
“It could have been trapped, you know,” Colm said. “You might have just gotten us all killed.”
“Or we might still be standing there, waiting for you to figure out whether to push or pull,” she said. “Sometimes a door is just a door.”
Colm took a deep breath and then handed his torch to Serene. He grabbed the other one from the wall and stepped into a large, airy room. A round chamber of gray stone, much like the training halls in the castle above them. In the glow of his torch, Colm could make out two other doors on the opposite side. There was more than one way to get here, which meant that this probably was the place to get to, which meant it could be where the treasure was.
Which meant that they should all be especially careful.
Colm took a step into the chamber, moving cautiously, trying to look up and down at the same time. “Watch your step,” he said. “Look for any loose stones.” They circled around the chamber slowly, heading toward the doors on the far side, both of them open already. Colm noted that one was much larger than the other.
To his right, Serene started to dance. At first Colm thought that she had stepped onto a shock trap and was being electrocuted, the way she wriggled. “You all right?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” the druid said. “It’s Mr. Tickletoes. He just ran up my sleeve!” Serene brought the hem of the sleeve to her lips and whispered into it, then brought the sleeve up to her ear. Her eyes narrowed, then flew open again.
“What’d he say?” Lena asked.
“He’s says something’s coming. An old enemy. Something about claws and a tail and poison. He’s talking so fast, I can barely understand him.”
Colm tried to think, running through the list of creatures they’d been quizzing each other on the last few days. Which one had claws and a tail and would be a na
tural enemy to a spider? He snapped his fingers. “A scorpion!” he said.
“Oh, I hate scorpions,” Quinn mumbled.
Lena sheathed her sword and rested both hands defiantly on her hips. “No offense, Serene, but I think if Mr. Tickletoes can fight it, we really don’t need to worry.” She turned to Colm. “Do you want to step on it or should I?”
Colm looked at his boots. Outstanding boots. Perfect for squashing things.
Serene was still trying to calm the frantic spider buried in her sleeve. “He says it’s not the same as last time. He says . . . he says it’s bigger.”
“How much bigger?” Colm asked. Then he saw the look of terror on Serene’s face; she pointed with a trembling finger.
Colm turned and reached instinctively for Scratch’s paw with one hand and grabbed Lena with the other.
“I think you’re going to need a bigger boot,” he said.
Even at regular size, scorpions are hideous creatures. But this one had been magnified, enlarged through some arcane means, probably Master Velmoth’s doing. It was easily the size of a horse. Its pincers snapped open and shut with a sickening clicking clack as it advanced. The creature’s whole body was lined with spiky hairs, its brown armor plating crusted with ridges and horns. But the worst was its tail, arcing up over its back in scrunched segments, the hooked stinger already dripping with some noxious yellow liquid.
Colm drew Scratch and held it in front of him unsteadily. Up till now, he had used it only in practice duels with Lena or Finn. He had yet to win any of those. Lena already had her sword back out and a second blade in her other hand, circling around to the opposite side of the gruesome beast. “On second thought, let’s make this a joint effort,” she said.
Quinn had backed against the far wall and was mumbling to himself, still trying to get his magic to cooperate. The giant scorpion scuttled forward, its terrifying spidery legs quivering. It struck out with one claw, knocking Lena backward. She slashed out with both swords, but they only bounced off the creature’s thick hide. Colm saw her back up next to Serene, the druid clutching her torch with both hands, feet stuck to the stone beneath her, it seemed.
“Maybe you could try talking to it,” Lena grunted. “It’s just another one of nature’s beautiful creatures, after all.”
The druid shook her head emphatically. “Oh, I don’t think so,” she said.
“You talk to spiders!”
“Size matters! That thing is terrifying!”
“Just pretend it’s a kitten!” Lena shouted, then turned just in time to dodge a strike from the scorpion’s tail, slashing at it and nearly taking off its tip. She advanced toward the beast, swinging at it with each grunted word. “An evil . . . ugly . . . oversized . . . armor-plated . . . bug-eyed . . . lobster-clawed . . . poison-dripping kitten!”
The last blow clanged off the monster’s thick plating. The scorpion scampered sideways and caught Lena in one pincer, squeezing her tight.
“Lena!” Colm rolled sideways as the other claw swept over his head, and he made an ineffectual jab with Scratch. He could see chinks in the monster’s armor, soft fleshy parts that would invite a more effective blow. He dodged another swipe and then lunged—the way Finn had taught him—aiming for the spot where the claw attached to the body. He felt Scratch sink in, saw the scorpion arch backward, then felt a blow to his side.
Colm spun and hit the stone floor, turning to see the creature’s mandibles working angrily above his face, dripping with scorpion drool, which, for all Colm knew, was probably designed to dissolve his skin and melt his bones. He tried to swing Scratch, but one of the monster’s pincers had him pinned to the floor. Colm turned his head—he couldn’t bear to look at those dripping jaws opening and closing, reaching down for him. Then he felt a flash of heat, everything exploding in a burst of orange and red. The weight lifted, the scorpion retreating a step, its grip on Lena loosening just enough for her to wriggle free as well.
He looked up to see Quinn standing over him, torch in hand.
“You make do,” he said. Then the mageling shrieked and fell backward as the scorpion jabbed again with its stinger, just missing but causing Quinn to drop his torch. Colm shouted to get the monster’s attention, giving Quinn a chance to escape.
The scorpion turned and advanced, causing Colm to scrabble backward on feet and elbows. The creature was right on top of him again. For a split second, Colm thought about home. He could almost see Celia waiting for him at the door. He thought of Finn’s promise.
There was a flash of silver as Lena leaped over Colm, sword in hand. Colm watched the scorpion’s tail strike, jabbing her in the shoulder, in the chink of her own armor, as she lunged. He heard a horrible sound as her blade found its mark between the creature’s eyes. It reeled in pain, tail thrashing, legs wavering, then turned and scurried back through the archway and into the shadows.
Lena stood there for a moment, sword in hand. Then she looked at her shoulder and the spot of red blossoming between the plates of steel.
Colm saw her eyes roll into the back of her head just before she hit the floor.
It wasn’t a lot of blood. But it didn’t take much. The scorpion’s stinger had caught her just above the armpit, finding her weak spot the same way she had found its—a small puncture, as if she had been jabbed with a quill. Except it was quickly turning black.
“What’s happening?” Quinn asked as the three of them huddled over Lena’s stiffening body.
“What do you think? She fainted,” Colm said. Lena was still breathing, but he could tell there was something else wrong. He looked over at Serene, who had removed the pauldron that hadn’t covered enough of Lena’s shoulder and was now bent over, studying the wound. She wiped away the spot of blood and touched it gingerly. Lena’s eyes shot open.
“I’ll kill them! I’ll tackle them all!” Her eyeballs danced back and forth from Colm to Serene to Quinn; then they shot down to her feet. “Wait. Why can’t I move my legs?”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Serene said, giving the wound another prod. “Scorpion venom varies by type. Some are poisons meant to kill, others to cause pain. Some are just meant to paralyze.”
“Well, I guess it could be worse,” Colm said.
It got worse.
“I can’t move my arms either.” Lena shouted. Her eyes flew wide with panic. “How am I supposed to slay anything if I can’t move my mrrfm frrfermrrfer. . . .”
Colm kept his hand over Lena’s mouth, then turned back to Serene. “You’re up,” he said.
The druid tugged on her braids, her face full of worry. “I know, I know,” she hissed. “Don’t rush me! It’s not magic, it’s poison, so blessings or countercurses won’t work. You need a natural remedy.” She slipped her bag off her shoulder and frantically started digging through the jars she kept there, pulling out little vials of ground-up powders and multicolored pastes. “Stupid! I brought all of this stuff, but I don’t have anything that specifically counteracts paralyzing scorpion venom.”
“All that and you’ve got nothing?” Quinn remarked.
“I don’t see you doing anything to help!” Serene snapped.
Colm tried to get her to focus. “Counteracts? Like what?”
“I don’t know,” Serene said. “Like . . . telarium root, or stimsickle juice, or even if I just had some ballum balm.”
“Wait, what was that middle part again?” Colm said.
“Stimsickle?”
Colm smiled and held up a finger, then fished in his own bag for the package, still tied with twine. He handed it to Serene.
“Where did you—” she started to ask, but Colm shook his head.
“Rogues’ motto,” he said. He grabbed Lena’s hand and watched as Serene frantically tore the stimsickle leaf to bits, dropping those into a vial of clear liquid from her own pack. It instantly turned yellow and gave off a rankled smell as the leaf dissolved—something like pickled onions. The concoction fizzed for a moment, then settled. Serene hande
d it to Colm, who brought it to Lena’s nose.
Lena shook her head vehemently, clamping her lips as tight as scorpion pincers.
“You have to drink it,” Colm insisted.
“Mm-mm!” Lena insisted right back. Serene put a finger to Lena’s lips.
“You need to trust me,” she said. “This is my thing.”
Lena took a deep breath, then nodded. “This better work.”
“If it doesn’t, it’s not like you’ll be able to do much about it,” Colm pointed out. Lena shut her eyes and he tipped the vial, emptying the reeking contents down her throat. She choked once but managed to swallow most of it.
“How long will it take to work, do you think?” Quinn asked, but before Serene could even answer, Lena’s eyes shot back open and she bolted upright. Then she turned and gave Colm a shove, knocking him backward.
“Hey! What was that for?”
“Just testing,” she said.
She kicked with both legs and wiggled her fingers. “That was, by far, the nastiest stuff I have ever tasted,” she concluded. “Makes squirrel innard stew sound appealing.”
“You could just say thanks, you know,” Serene said.
“Guys,” Quinn said, holding one of the torches and pointing it at the smaller of the two entries on the far wall. “You’re not going to believe this.”
Colm helped Lena to her feet, and they all walked to where Quinn was standing. It was another room, much smaller than the chamber they stood in now. The only light came from the torches they carried. Colm glanced up, but the ceiling was too high and shrouded in darkness. The back wall, on the other hand, was clearly visible. As was what sat against it.
“We found it,” Lena said.
A chest. Solid oak, by the look of it, with gold hasps and bracings and black iron chain handles. It looked huge, large enough to hold all of Lena’s weapons, and much too heavy for even two of them to lift together. An elaborate-looking lock was set into its center, like a solitary eye staring at Colm, almost mocking him. All four of them stepped gingerly into the close chamber.
The Dungeoneers Page 23