“I can’t do it,” she hissed, refusing to go a step closer. “It’s terrifying!”
Colm switched Scratch to his less sweaty hand and gave Serene a reassuring touch on the back that was actually more of a push. His idea wouldn’t work without her. She was the only one who could pull it off.
“Think of it like Mr. Tickletoes, only a hundred times bigger.”
“That is not Mr. Tickletoes!”
Colm looked at the giant spider skittering about in its oversized cage, its glassy black eyes reflecting the flash of the torches, its long, spindly legs tapping against the bars of its prison, its bloated, hairy black abdomen rocking up and down. She was right. Compared to this thing, Mr. Tickletoes was adorable. Colm wasn’t even sure what orcs used the giant spiders for, unless it was to torture prisoners. Or maybe they just had questionable taste in pets.
“You can do this, Serene,” Lena whispered. “I know you can. You just have to talk to it.”
Serene took a gingerly step forward. The giant spider in the last cage scuttled around to face her, its furry mandibles working furiously on the steel bars. Serene began mumbling to herself.
“This is just like back at the Grove. ‘It’s just a bear,’ they said. ‘Just another of nature’s beautiful creatures,’ they said. ‘Just talk to it,’ they said. But do you know how big bears are? Have you seen their claws? And those jaws? It had rabies, I’m sure of it. And this. There’s no way. That thing was twice my size. This thing is twice my size . . . ewwwwww . . .”
“You can do it,” Lena whispered again, but Serene just turned and glared at her. On the center podium, the drumming had reached a feverish tempo, the heart of the dungeon about to burst. Chief Gutshank was walking back and forth behind his prisoners now, as if taking stock, measuring necks, deciding which one to start with. Colm saw Serene kneel in front of the cage and look up at the gigantic spider. He could see her face in its four biggest eyes. She turned back to look at him, and Colm nodded. She shuddered and faced the spider again. He heard her whisper something to it, then louder, a language he couldn’t begin to understand.
But the spider understood. At first it raised up, arching its abdomen and raising its two front legs through the slats in its cage, but as she continued to talk, it lowered itself till, finally, it knelt down to her level. Almost as if it were bowing.
Serene turned to Colm, a surprised smile on her face.
“What did it say?” Colm asked.
“It said that if we let it out of its cage, it will do what we ask.”
“How do you know it won’t eat us?” Lena asked.
“Because the orcs are the ones who stuck it here to begin with,” she answered.
Colm wasn’t sure he could trust a giant spider, but the last hour had proved he wasn’t always the best judge of character. Besides, he trusted Serene, and she said it was all right. Colm stepped to the cage, keeping a wary eye on the creature’s jaws. He pulled Finn’s picks from his cloak and found one that looked like it might work. There was hardly anything to the lock; it took him less than ten seconds to undo. The door swung wide and the spider scurried out, stretching itself to its full height, taller than Colm by a head. For a moment he was certain he was about to be sucked dry, but the creature quickly bent down again, four of its legs curled beneath it. It made a strange clacking with its jaws.
“It says to get on,” Serene said.
Colm scrambled onto the back of the spider, trying not to pull too hard on the thick hairs that sprouted from the creature’s body, then motioned for Ravena and Lena to do the same. When all three were aboard, Serene whispered something else to the spider, then reached up and petted the slope of its head, just above its jaws.
“Take care of my friends, Mr. Fuzzyfangs,” Serene told it.
“Watch over Quinn,” Lena said, looking at the mageling left in the shadows with his back to the wall. He wasn’t shivering anymore. Colm didn’t know if that was good or not. He wrapped both hands around the spider’s thorax, Lena wrapping both her arms around his. Serene whispered one last thing into the spider’s ear, and the creature suddenly crawled toward the cavern wall.
And then straight up it.
Just like riding a horse, Colm told himself. A horse with giant fangs and eight legs that eats flesh and hangs upside down. He held on tight as he could as it scurried along the jagged stone. It was almost to the ceiling when the drumming suddenly stopped. Colm glanced down to see that the giant orc with the dragon-skull head stepped forward, holding his ax above him. The orc’s shouts reached up to the ceiling, where the giant spider had attached its silken thread.
“Behold, my brothers and sisters,” the orc chief bellowed. “The pack of murderous thieves!”
There was a tremendous cheer from the frenzied crowd of orcs. Chief Gutshank gave Tye Thwodin a swift kick in the back, causing him to topple forward. No one bothered to look up. If they had done so, they might have seen Colm about to tumble off the back of the spider, which was slowly descending along its own crystal-silk thread. Ravena and Lena were both pressed up behind him, digging in with their heels.
“For continued crimes against all orckind,” the dragon skull continued below them, “I, Gutshank, chief of the Bloodtooth Clan, sentence these trespassers to death!”
There was another wave of hollers, accompanied by the banging of weapons on shields and helms. Colm could see the whole lot of them clearly now. Master Stormbow straining at her chains. Master Velmoth trying to shake free of a collar that glowed a soft blue and must be stifling his power somehow. Tye’s muscles bursting through his torn shirt. Only the ranger didn’t seem to struggle, though Colm was certain he saw Master Wolfe glance up briefly, then cast his eyes back down to the floor.
“But who should be first?” Gutshank roared. “Do we start with the wolf?” He kicked the ranger hard enough that he toppled over. “Or the lion?” The orc chief held his ax above Tye Thwodin’s head, but the crowd began chanting the ranger’s name. “Wolfe. Wolfe. Wolfe.” He remembered what Quinn had told him once—that there were plenty of nasty things that would love to see Grahm Wolfe’s head on a pike.
They were about to have their chance.
Colm heard Lena gasp as Master Wolfe was forced to his feet by two other orcs, then pushed to the edge of the platform in the center and back on his knees. It took three orcs to hold him down. Another stood by with one of those ten-foot pikes, ready to collect the ranger’s head once it rolled free. The orc chief raised his ax again and gave it a few practice swings, whipping the already frenzied crowd into a froth. Down below, Tye Thwodin made another attempt to escape, but with his hands and feet in chains, he was easily subdued by the trio of orcs guarding him.
The spider was still fifty feet away, descending slowly, no doubt used to sneaking up on its prey. As a rogue, Colm could admire the approach, but they were out of time.
“We need to do something!” Ravena hissed from behind him. The drummers suddenly took up their pounding again. Colm saw the chief take his ax in both hands, raising it above his head. Heard the collective growl from the many hundreds of orcs who were watching. He saw a few of them with their fingers pointing up toward the ceiling.
He heard Lena say, “Hang on!” Heard the metallic tang of her sword coming free.
Then he said good-bye to his stomach, leaving it somewhere in the air above him as the spider’s silken thread snapped, severed by a blow from Lena’s sword.
They dropped the full fifty feet, the spider landing awkwardly, several of its legs buckling underneath it, but its otherwise soft body cushioning the blow for its three passengers. Both Lena and Ravena rolled off its back, landing on their feet, swords in hand. Colm clumsily slid off onto his backside. It was, he painfully realized, his signature move.
The drums stopped, and the cavern was suddenly filled with the growls of a thousand orcs. Their chief turned away from Master Wolfe, bellowing and swiping at Lena, who ducked his executioner’s ax just in time. The blow caught the s
pider instead, taking off one of its legs. Mr. Fuzzyfangs instantly swung around and attacked, driving Gutshank backward and leaping on him till spider and orc were just one giant ball writhing and tumbling across the platform.
Colm saw Ravena beside him, fending off four orcs at once. Saw Master Wolfe strike out with manacled feet, kicking one of his captors clear into the throbbing mob below. Heard Lena’s voice above the chaos. “Colm! What are you waiting for?”
Colm pulled the first pick he could find from his cloak and scrambled over to Master Wolfe, digging into the locks that bound the man’s hands and feet.
“Hello there, little mouse.”
“Hello, Master Wolfe,” Colm grunted, shoving the pick into the cuffs around the ranger’s wrists, working frantically, faster than he ever had in Finn’s workshop. He felt the lever give, and the manacles clicked open just in time. Master Wolfe pushed Colm out of the way of a hatchet’s blow, then drove his shoulder into the attacking orc’s gut, slamming him to the ground.
“Get the others,” Wolfe commanded. The ranger took up the nearest blade he could find and did that little twirly thing that Colm had never learned how to do before launching himself at the swarming mass. Colm worked his way down the line, freeing one master after another, barely undoing their locks before they leaped into the battle. First Tye Thwodin, who let out a lion-worthy roar, then Master Stormbow.
The moment the collar came off Master Velmoth, his eyes started to glow and little bolts of electricity crackled between his fingers. Master Wolfe had joined both Ravena and Lena in a line that held the surging horde of orcs at bay, though Colm could see they wouldn’t hold for long. He quickly undid the lock on Renny’s cage and helped pull out the goblin.
“Save the goblin for last, eh?” he spit. “I’ll remember that.”
Colm might have protested, but he was too busy ducking out of the way of thrown spears determined to put holes through him. He drew Scratch and joined the others, forming a little knot in the center of the hall, the masters and their apprentices felling orcs by the dozens, but still barely holding their ground. Lena and Ravena fought side by side, grunting in admiration.
“Nice octave.”
“Thanks. Nice flunge.”
“I’ve done better.”
Master Velmoth was doing his best to create a fissure in the ground to give them some space, but his concentration was broken by the fighting around him. Even Herren Bloodclaw was fiercely engaged, swinging a sword that was much too large for him, wreaking havoc on the kneecaps of the nearest orc.
“We’ve got to make our way back to the tunnels,” Master Wolfe said. “We need to clear a path.”
That had been the plan, but Colm couldn’t see how it was possible now. Not unless Master Velmoth could conjure wings and fly them out. They were too greatly outnumbered. Colm saw Master Stormbow stumble. Saw Tye Thwodin’s borrowed sword splinter in two from a blow, the guild’s founder resorting to head butting the orc that had split it. Watched as Lena stepped in front of Thwodin, protecting him long enough for him to find something else to swing.
Behind him, Colm heard a screech as Chief Gutshank emerged from beneath the carcass of the now-dead spider, his dragon-skull helmet gone, his arms and legs bloodied, but his ax still in hand. The spider’s body quivered, its legs curling. Colm took Scratch in both hands, held it defiantly before him.
He’d told Ravena he would at least get one. Might as well make it a big one.
Gutshank raised his ax, mouthful of yellow teeth and bloody foam, charging for Colm. Screaming. Leaping. Swinging.
And then, quite surprisingly, exploding.
The fireball hit the orc chief square in the chest, driving him backward, clear off the platform and into the crowd below. Colm turned to Master Velmoth, expecting to see the wizard in full bloom, casting spells right and left, but the once-bunny-eared mage was clutching at a wound on his side, being protected by Master Wolfe, who was clashing with five orcs at once.
Five orcs who were suddenly scorched by a wall of flame.
Followed by another searing fireball that sizzled through the air, splashing into the cluster of orcs at the front of the surge. Colm saw Lena glance up at the far wall of the vaulted chamber, to the brilliant orange light bursting out of the shadows like a sunrise.
It was Quinn.
And he was on fire.
Standing on a rocky ledge, robes fanned out behind him, hands reaching for the ceiling as if he was pulling down the heavens themselves. It came from all directions. The flames shot from his eyes and his ears, from his fingers and his mouth, scorching the air, creating plumes of plummeting comets with bright orange tendrils that rocketed forth, striking the ground, leaving smoking craters in their wake. They went everywhere, these balls of bright flame. Colliding with the ceiling and the cavern walls, smashing into pockets of orcs, knocking them backward. The mageling was erupting, every bit of pent-up magic that had been stifled by one heavily iced roll finally being unleashed in a great and furious conflagration.
Colm watched in awe as the orcs were driven back, howling in retreat, escaping into tunnels behind them, leaving an open path back the way they’d come. Colm saw Serene beckoning to them from the other side.
“Time to go!” Tye Thwodin bellowed, leading the charge, striking out at the few orcs who hadn’t had the sense to escape from Quinn’s rain of fire. Colm ran behind Lena, watching as the very last fireball was spit from Quinn’s ear, whizzing in a circle before harmlessly sputtering against the wall just as the whole party made its way across the floor of the chamber to where Serene stood, waiting for them, urging them on.
The mageling looked down at them from his little precipice and belched a bit of smoke.
“I feel better now,” he said.
“That’s great,” Lena said breathlessly. “Now please get down here before you hurt yourself.”
On the other side of the vaulted room, several hundred orcs were slowly coming to the realization that Quinn had finished his onslaught and were preparing to charge all over again.
“What do you think?” Master Stormbow posed. “Stay and fight?”
Lena nodded eagerly, but the ranger shook his head.
“Rule number thirty-seven,” he said. “Never take on more enemies than you have fingers to count them on.” Another reason not to miss the one he’d lost, Colm thought. “We’ll come back another time,” Wolfe added. Then the ranger led them back through the tunnel and up the stairs, where they met up with Quinn. He had scorch marks on his arms and white ash thick as snowfall in his hair, and his face was beet red, but at least he was smiling. Behind them, they could hear the war cry of the orcs swarming, clamoring, pouring into the tunnels. Colm fished in his pocket for the crystal and handed it to Master Wolfe.
“I hope it works,” he said.
“Only one way to find out.”
Everyone gathered around in a circle, instantly clasping hands.
Everyone except for Tye Thwodin.
The founder was standing at the entryway to a small chamber, eyes glazed, mouth open. Colm ran to get him, pulled on his armored sleeve, then took a glance into the room that Master Thwodin stood before.
He had to put up a hand to shield his eyes. The view was blinding.
Gold. Piles of it. Mounds and heaps. Not even in chests. Just pushed together in hills that reached up the corners of the room. Here was the orc’s stash. The very thing they had come for. The very thing he had come for.
“Just look at it,” Tye Thwodin said. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
Colm stood beside him and looked. It was gorgeous. So much gold. Enough to bury yourself in. He could almost hear it calling to him. Colm. Colm.
“Colm!”
He blinked twice. Then turned to see Lena reaching out.
“Colm, come on!”
“I already got what I came for,” Colm said. Then he dragged Tye Thwodin away by the back of his armor. Away from the chamber with its golden piles and back into the circle
of dungeoneers pressed close together. Behind them, the shouts echoed off the walls.
The ranger held the key with one hand and reached out for Colm with the other. In a moment, the corridor would vomit a wave of teeth-gnashing, ax-waving monsters. If the crystal was out of power, they would be stuck here, with barely any room to fight. And this time the orcs probably wouldn’t even bother with chains and cages. They would go straight for the pikes.
Colm grabbed hold of Lena. He watched Master Thwodin push into the circle on the other side. He felt the ranger’s hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Master Wolfe said the words just as the first wave of orcs appeared. Colm looked across the room at Ravena. Then he shut his eyes and thought of home.
18
THE BEST PART
The chair was uncomfortable. Almost painfully so. It dug into every muscle, forcing Colm to try and sit on as little of it as possible, so that he was nearly standing. This was intentional, he knew. He wasn’t here to relax. He was here to prove his innocence. To prove that he wasn’t a traitor and a thief.
The traitor part he was sure of, at least.
Colm stared at the eyes staring back at him. There were a few empty seats behind the crescent-shaped table. Master Merribell was busy trying to prepare enough food for a hundred hungry guild members who had slept through their last meal, and she had dragged Master Bloodclaw with her to assist, for which Colm was exceedingly thankful. Not that Colm was afraid of him, but the goblin had a way of making anyone uncomfortable. The only other empty seat was the last one on the right. Colm blinked at the four masters who remained.
“I told you,” he said again, “I had no idea Finn Argos was planning to rob the guild.”
It was true, but it was a rogue’s truth. The kind of truth that required the right perspective. Did he know what Finn was up to? Colm had trusted him more than any of the masters sitting across from him. The man had saved his hand and then his life. Had taught him how to pick locks and disarm traps, to stop and look and listen. He had taught Colm the rules. And the corollaries to the rules. He had taught him to see the things that nobody else could see.
The Dungeoneers Page 32