by Drew Hayes
“While in a city this large, you detect a few lingering trails in the streets, but none of it is coming from the kobold.” Russell didn’t dare look at his module more than needed. If he knew what actions would earn different results, his face might betray it, and he wanted Tim to work through this situation without any outside influence.
“I heal the kobold.” Tim double-checked his sheet once more. “I should still have enough magic for three health points, even after helping Wimberly in the rat fight.”
“You’re burning the last of your magic on a kobold?” Cheri asked. “I mean, sure, we’re going to rest, but what will that accomplish?”
“It will make someone who isn’t evil feel better,” Tim shot back. “That’s what paladins are supposed to do.”
A few notes on the pad of paper, and Russell permitted himself to see what happened if someone healed the kobold. His eyes went a touch wide, though he kept his voice neutral as he relayed the next scene. “Timanuel presses his hand to the kobold’s chest, and shining light ripples outward. Seconds later, the kobold’s eyes flutter open. It takes one look at you all—especially at the heavily-armored man pinning it down—and immediately begins to cower.”
Russell paused, moving his voice up a few octaves to try and properly capture the sound of a frightened kobold—or at least, what he imagined one would sound like.
“Please! No hurt! I sorry; I leave. Please, no more!”
“Now I feel like kind of an asshole for saying we shouldn’t heal it,” Cheri muttered.
“It’s okay, friend,” Tim said, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. “We mean you no harm. I mended your wounds, in fact. You are free to go, if you like, but I would like to ask who did this to you. Such a brutal attack has no place in the capital.”
Russell flipped the page to see what exactly the explanation was and winced inwardly. If he’d known what a long story the kobold was going to convey, he’d have picked a voice that was easier on his throat. Such was the burden of the GM, though.
“They... they came when I was leaving the temple,” Russell began.
* * *
In his years as a guard, Eric had read many books on the art of constructing locks and traps, since that was the best way he could see to shore up defenses and keep the goblins from kidnapping Gabrielle. Much as he’d tried to learn, however, there were only so many resources available—most of them borrowed from the mayor’s library or bought off the rare trader who traveled through Maplebark. Although he’d never gotten enough resources or confidence to try, there had been several defenses in the books that he’d desperately wished to build, certain that traps of that level would be more than enough to keep out a dragon, let alone a few goblins.
Staring at the mechanism that had been tucked away inside the fireplace, Eric was beginning to grasp just how incomplete his education was. The hardest device in his most complex book was a bucket of water balanced on top of an open door compared to what Elora was currently breaking through.
The inside of the building was strategically sparse. Anyone who glanced inside would think it to be nothing more than a waystation for a weary traveler with no other options. There was a rough cot, a small table, one chair, and the fireplace. Elora had noticed a loose floorboard and yanked it up to uncover four silver coins, which she explained was decoy loot. Any thief who happened upon this place would find the pittance, think themselves clever, and move on without bothering to search more thoroughly. Curiously, she hadn’t touched the silver coins, lowering the floorboard instead and continuing her investigation of the building. After some consideration, Eric realized that the coins themselves might be trapped, or at least rigged up to some sort of warning system that would let others know an intruder was present. After all, the actual guards would never bother picking them up.
“Almost there,” Elora muttered to herself. She’d pulled the inner wall of the fireplace free to reveal a mechanism of gears and rods with a single keyhole in the center. Even after sending Eric to go search the bodies of the guards, no keys had been found, which had led them both to conclude that the guards coming from below brought the key with them, handing it off to the guard they replaced. That way, even if someone defeated the guards, the barrier couldn’t be easily passed. It might actually have been impossible to break through—without making a parade’s worth of noise, at least—if one didn’t have a skilled rogue in the party.
Everyone else was standing back, weapons at the ready as they watched Elora work. No one knew what would happen when she finished or what enemies might be waiting for them on the other side. Eric imagined it had to be nerve-racking for them, feeling helpless with no way to lend aid or prepare for what came next. Bad as it might be, he assumed that his task was worse. He had to watch every move Elora made, trying desperately to understand what she was doing. Next time the party ran into this sort of obstacle, she wouldn’t be around to deal with it, meaning that he needed to become very capable, very quickly.
“I think I got it.” Elora’s words came only a few seconds before a soft thunk echoed from somewhere deep in the depths of the fireplace. Seconds later, the stones around it slid forward, revealing a narrow stairwell lit by dim, flickering light.
“Very impressive,” Thistle told her. Eric still wasn’t sure whether or not Thistle was actually warming to her, or whether he just felt it prudent to pretend.
Either way, Elora gave short nod, and then materialized a dagger in her right hand. She pressed her left index finger to her lips—the quietest way possible to tell everyone to shut up—and motioned for Eric to follow. Unsheathing his short sword, he fell into step only inches behind her, and together, they began to descend into the unknown.
Chapter 29
As far as dim, imposing tunnels went, Gabrielle had seen worse. Compared to worming their way through the catacombs near Briarwillow, this was positively pleasant. There was even enough room for everyone to stand, unlike the dungeon where they’d found the first piece of the Bridge. Still, Gabrielle was far from comfortable as she and Grumph slunk along, staying ten feet behind Elora and Eric. The narrow walls made her feel pressed in upon, and she wasn’t sure how well she’d be able to wield her axe in such a confined space. The weapon burned in her hands, aching to be used, yet she pushed its dark thoughts out of her mind. Now was the time for caution, for stealth. If the time for battle arrived, she wouldn’t hesitate, but neither would she be the one to bring it down upon them.
Next to her, Grumph had drawn his own blade—the chipped sword made from demon-bone and scoured by lightning magic. No one was sure how well it would fare in battle after being heavily damaged during the mage trial, but it would certainly serve him better than nothing at all. Plus, unlike his spells, Grumph didn’t use mana when slicing people with a sword.
Gabrielle couldn’t hear Timuscor and Thistle yet, which was no surprise since they’d been ordered to keep back a good distance. Every moment they could stretch their element of surprise was as precious as gold.
Ahead of her, Elora and Eric came to a halt. Wordlessly, Gabrielle and Grumph followed suit. They stood, weapons ready, waiting for any sign that trouble had found them. Instead, Elora leaned down, grabbing Eric’s shoulder and dragging him with her to a small section of the floor. She whipped her dagger along the ground a few times, and then both rogues stood and continued once more.
When she and Grumph passed the section of floor that had garnered so much attention, Gabrielle paused just long enough to get a good look at what had caused the delay. She saw a small metal plate, almost entirely covered in dirt, with a deep gouge from Elora’s dagger along the sides. Exchanging a confused glance with Grumph, Gabrielle followed the half-orc’s eyes to the wall, where she could just barely perceive a dozen small holes in the shadows between hanging lanterns. It had been a trap, some sort of pressure sensor to trigger darts or arrows shooting from the wall. Whatever else Gabrielle could say about Elora, at least the elf was earning her keep.
Tha
t was how it went for the next several minutes. Elora and Eric would pause intermittently to examine some area of the tunnel, Elora would make a few slices or jab at something with her lock pick, and then the trek would continue forward. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Gabrielle wondered how long this tunnel was. It was impossible to say how far they’d walked, but she had a feeling it was well past the edge of the forest.
Elora stopped suddenly, but motioned for Gabrielle and Grumph to keep walking. By the time they reached her side, it was evident what had caused the delay. They’d finally reached something other than traps and endless tunnel. Just ahead was a single metal door, standing slightly ajar. With as well-defended as everything else had been, Gabrielle didn’t trust an open door. It felt like—no, it almost certainly was a trap. But it was also the only way forward, unless they’d missed some hidden turnoff in the tunnel’s walls. It was possible; though, given the near-invisible status of some of the traps Elora had found, it seemed unlikely. No, this had to be their destination. Trap or not, they would need to press on.
Glancing over her shoulder, Gabrielle could make out the gleaming forms of Thistle and Timuscor in the flickering light of the hanging lanterns. Mr. Peppers trotted along just behind them. If a fight started, Timuscor could reach them relatively quickly, and Thistle would be within throwing distance not long after. On the other hand, if they waited for them to arrive at the current pace, the clanking and clunking of the armor would surely destroy whatever small chance at stealth the party still had. Better to move now and trust their friends.
Gabrielle raised a hand and pointed at the door, then gripped her axe hard. Grumph nodded, moving his sword into a ready position. Eric hunkered down, clearly ready to dash ahead, and Elora pulled her crossbow into her free hand. There was nothing else to say; nothing else they could risk saying, anyway. All that was left was action.
Eric took the lead, which irked Gabrielle more than a bit, as she wished Elora would have occupied that dangerous position. As the only rogue with a free hand, however, it made a certain amount of sense for Eric to be in front, no matter how much Gabrielle might dislike it. He raced ahead, yanking the door open, darting in, and then immediately jumping to the right. Elora was two steps behind him, and once she crossed the threshold, she leapt to the left, clearing the way for Gabrielle, who raced in with her axe raised high. If anything was prepared to strike at them from further down the tunnel, it would hit her and not Grumph. She wore the hide of a demon, while he had only the protection of sturdy traveling garments.
As she burst into the room, Gabrielle’s eyes naturally tracked movement. Eric and Elora were behind her, which made the figure moving into view the only thing that dominated her sight. It was another guard. This one had short hair, dark leather armor, and a stunned expression as he caught sight of her. His hands were wrapped around his waist, holding a belt with attached sheath that was only halfway buckled as he froze in shock. Instantly, the pieces fell into place. He’d been heading out to change with another guard and had forgotten his blade. That was why the door stood open, and his sword wasn’t yet properly donned. For a moment, she thought the group lucky at this turn of events. If they’d met him in the tunnel, he’d have seen them coming and been prepared. It was only when he opened his mouth that Gabrielle realized this was far worse.
After all, if they’d met in the tunnel, his screams of “Intruders!” might not have seemed so incredibly loud.
* * *
The sickening crunch of Gabrielle’s axe meeting the side of the guard’s head cut off his scream, but the damage was already done. There was no way such a ruckus had gone unheard, and the sounds of thudding metal from outside the door was proof enough. If Timuscor and Thistle had heard the guard raise the alarm, it was best to assume everyone else down here had as well.
Eric took deep breaths, forcing himself to keep a calm head as he assessed the situation. First up was grasping the layout of the room around them, since it seemed likely they’d soon be fighting inside of it. The cavern was somewhat large, with a pot over in one corner that seemed to be bubbling despite there being no fire underneath. Magic, probably; that seemed as good a guess as any. Not far from the pot was a large table with eight chairs and a stack of bowls. By all accounts, this was the kitchen they used when not on guard duty. Not the worst place to fight in, although Eric wouldn’t have said no to a little more cover.
Aside from the doorway they’d entered, there were three other openings leading out of the cavern, but none with doors that might have managed to muffle the guard’s screams. Eric strained his ears and was almost certain he heard something coming from the center opening, although it was hard to be certain of anything with the loud approach of his armored friends.
They had perhaps seconds to act; much too short a time to wait and consult Thistle for a strategy. As far as Eric could tell, there were only three options: flee back down the tunnel, stay in the cavern and fight everyone who gathered, or pick one of the other three openings and hope for better circumstances. The third was risky—they might very well be racing right into more traps, or they could charge directly into whatever passed for barracks down here. But then again, if they could get themselves into a smaller room, or even one where enemies couldn’t flood in from three different directions, they stood a much better chance of living through the next ten minutes.
The small window Eric had to assess things closed as Timuscor barreled in, followed by Thistle and Mr. Peppers close behind. Stealth was essentially out of the question with these two so close, but Eric’s brain was lit aflame with an idea. Silly though it might be, it could perhaps buy them a few precious seconds.
“To the left!” Eric yelled as loudly as he could. Before any of the others so much as moved, he clapped his hands together and jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the opening on their right. Daring to risk no more than that gesture, Eric took off toward the doorway, running with all he could muster.
Given the way noise echoed through the cavern, all he could do was hope that Timuscor and Thistle’s clanking would be hard to pin down, at least for a little while. If he was lucky, the approaching guards would buy the ruse, giving Eric and his friends the chance to regroup in some new location. If the will of the gods was with them, the path he’d chosen at random would be clear of enemies and traps. Eric wasn’t counting on any of that, though. As it stood, he’d be happy to find a room with one doorway and a wall to put their back against.
Elora seemed to materialize at his side, moving so swiftly he was certain she could have effortlessly darted past him if she so desired. She was so damn fast and nimble; he wondered if it was from her rogue training or some natural aspect of being an elf. Or perhaps it was due to an item, like her vials of choking fog or the eyeglasses that allowed him to see in the dark. Tossing a furtive glance over his shoulder to see if everyone was following, Eric chanced a short whisper.
“Don’t suppose you have some trinket to stop an entire crew of mercenaries from following and killing us, do you?”
“If I did, it would be much too expensive to use in a situation like this.” Despite the distance, Eric felt as though Elora had muttered directly into his ear.
“Dead rogues can’t spend their gold,” Eric countered. “Better to use it and live.”
“Perhaps, although I still haven’t confirmed I have any such trinket,” Elora said. “And anyway, it’s a poor habit to try and bust out your best tools without being certain you need them. We don’t even know where this leads. Maybe it’s an armory, filled to the ceiling with magical weapons and armor we can use to repel our pursuers.”
Eric strained his ears again. Despite the noise of his friends following them, he was sure he could make out more footsteps, probably from within the cavern. “Any clue how many there are?”
“Six by my count, although there could always be more,” Elora said. “And they’re standing around confused, too. Bickering about which way to go. The echoes are making it har
d to track us, and your false scream muddled things further. Quick thinking, by the way.”
“Nothing like desperation to spur on ingenuity.” Eric saw that the tunnel they’d chosen was coming to a bend. Much as he’d have loved to pause and scout what waited around the blind corner, their pursuers would only be stalled for so long. With a gulp of air and a quick prayer for luck, he bolted ahead of Elora and rounded the corner, feet moving without bothering to get the brain’s input.
It was fortunate that he’d been mentally prepared for anything, as it was only swift reactions and strong boots that let him skid to a sudden stop along the stone ground. Eric stared at the looming, massive doorway before him, a mechanism as complex as the fireplace entrance and at least five times as large. Seconds later, Elora arrived at his side, letting out a deep sigh once she took in the obstacle barring their path. Her head bobbed as she looked it up and down before she finally turned to Eric.
“Guess we should have gone left, huh?”
Chapter 30
The pursuers were finally following them down the right tunnel; Thistle could hear their movements from his position at the rear of the party. He dearly hoped they’d picked a useful path—a notion he held on to for exactly as long as it took for him to turn the corner and find everyone else staring at a massive mechanical doorway. Elora was running her hands along it, knocking on seemingly random pieces as she assessed the obstacle.
“Yeah, there’s no way I’m getting through this,” she declared, stepping back from the door. “Maybe if I had a few days, then we could talk, but whoever built this thing was a pro. Cracking it would take a lot of time and effort, far more than we’ll have before the rest of the guards arrive.”
“Then we fight.” Thistle wished he’d managed to put a little more confidence into his declaration, rather than saying it like a man resigned to the gallows, but what was done was done. “Defend the corner, put our backs to the wall, and hope for the best.”
