The Hidden Illusionist (Thieves of Chaos Book 1)

by Deck Davis

  Timber beams reinforced the tunnels, but it didn’t seem enough. What if a passageway caved? How would it feel to be buried under mounds of earth, to suffocate in heaps of foul-smelling soil? Or worse, what if a tunnel caved and they survived, but they were trapped, doomed to walk the dungeons passages until they died of thirst? Dantis would have hated it here. He would have lost his mind even thinking about a place like this.

  Zewn reminded him of Dantis most of them time, but he was much more confident in the dungeon. He moved in as low a crouch as possible, so he was like a dog sniffing the ground.

  He paused. His lifted his hand in the air, crossing his fingers and wiggling them side to side exactly three times. That couldn’t have been right – his signal meant there was a tavern ahead.

  Bander screwed his face up. He was silently asking what everyone thought - are you sure you got your signal right, Zewn?

  Zewn crossed his middle and index fingers, this time shaking them twice. Bander nodded. Ethan, not as versed in the guild’s signals, thought for a second before it came to him; pressure plate.

  The curly-haired recruit kneeled. He swept away dust, wiping it on his guild cloak, to reveal a circular mound of stone higher than the rest of the ground. He took a dagger from his belt, and gritting his teeth, he slid it under the plate.

  Ethan held his breath. Glen backed away from Zewn and leaned against the tunnel wall. Bander stroked Artifax’s blade. If plate was going to activate, it’d be now. Ethan waited for the telltale hiss, and for poisons gas to fog the tunnels, or a boulder to rumble from a hidden place.

  Everyone was silent. Even the wind dropped, as if it was watching.

  The plate slid away. Phew.

  Zewn looked back at them, grinning. He held the pressure plate aloft as a trophy. With one nod, Bander beckoned them on. Zewn seemed disappointed at the lack of recognition for his efforts, but Ethan understood why Bander was only concerned with pressing on. This wasn’t theory anymore. They weren’t in one of Saim, Reck or Yuren’s classes. A low-grade dungeon this might be, but the consequences were real, and there was no time for compliments or reward yet. That’d come later, when they sat in the common room and drank jugs of cold, mountain-brewed ale.

  Zewn stood up, and they heard another click. Everyone fell silent. They all knew what it meant – another trap. This time, they hadn’t seen it.

  A rushing sound met them from deep within the dungeon. It grew louder, until soon, Ethan saw a current of red, bubbling lava flow toward them through the tunnels.

  Zewn turned and sprinted back, while Bander grabbed Ethan. “Run. Now.”

  But Ethan paused, because he’d noticed something. “Look at the weeds on the wall – they’re not burning where the lava touches them.”

  The lava gushed closed now, steam rising off it.

  “Do you want to die, lad?” said Bander.

  Ethan was sure he was right. The lava looked like it was boiling, yet it made no effect on the walls, and even the flimsy weeds withstood it. This wasn’t right. And then it dawned on him.

  “It’s an illusion,” he said.

  “He’s gone crazy,” said Glen.

  Ethan strode forward to meet the lava, then dipped his sword in it. The lava dispersed, vanishing to leave behind nothing but the dungeon tunnels.

  “Clever boy,”” said Glen. “And clever dungeon master.”

  They pushed on through the left fork of the tunnel, where it widened. Dirt crumbled from the walls, and Ethan eyed the timber supporting them, expecting the wood to crack and the walls to cave. Whoever built this dungeon hadn’t done a great job, but heroes’ safety wasn’t at the forefront of a dungeon builder’s mind.

  Bander leaned so close to him that when he whispered, his breath blew in Ethan’s ear. “Too easy,” he said.

  “The trap was hidden.”

  “It appeared hidden. Just enough that we’d find it. False sense of security, lad.”

  As they pushed deeper into the dungeon, passing dew-covered tunnels and breathing in the stench of earth, a sound mingled with the gentle rattling of Glen’s bow, and the tap of their feet on the ground.

  Ethan’s wrist scar burned. He listened, trying to hear the noise clearer. Scuttling. So faint it could have been raindrops, but it grew louder until dozens of feet tip-tapped toward them.

  Artifax’s gem glimmered green. Before the sword could speak, Bander stroked him, and the gem dimmed. Ethan was glad Bander could control his foul-mouthed sword; no use having a blade that gave away your position.

  The tunnel widened into a cavern-like room. Luminous moss lit the roof above them, which rose into a point. The aroma of moss was cloying, and it made the air thick. From certain parts of the roof, sharp shards of rock hung down, thick at the top and weak at the base and so thin they looked like they could crack away and impale anyone unlucky enough to walk underneath. Water dripped down the slick stone walls, luminous from where they’d touched the glowing moss.

  Ahead of them, the glowing moss formed words on the wall. When Ethan read it, he couldn’t believe it.

  When the eyes of suspicion cast dark tides, doth glimpse the evil in the moon light rides…

  It was his poem, the one he was going to make his ‘thing’ when he killed people, even though deep down he’d known he’d never kill a man again. But what was it doing here? Ethan thought he’d made the poem up himself. Maybe he’d read it something. That had to be it.

  The scuttling stopped, and a silent dread settled through the cavern. There were two exits; a gaping hole across the cavern, and the tunnel they’d just left. The dungeon’s treasures lay in just one direction.

  “Bander,” said Glen, breaking the silence.

  Why wasn’t he using signals? Had he missed an announcement that they didn’t have to be quiet anymore?

  His answer came seconds later, when the scuttling sound grew. Ethan turned in circle. The walls were moving! Dark shapes emerged from holes and scurried around.

  Bander lifted Artifax. The hilt gem shone green, then red, and a crimson light surrounded the blade. “Draw your swords, lads,” Bander said.

  “Just what I’ve been waiting for!” said Artifax. “Come ‘ere you warm, delicious blood.”

  The crimson glow of Bander’s sword met with the luminous moss, casting light on dozens of giant bugs crawling along the wall. Although their bodies were shaped like beetles, with oblong and misshapen heads full of bumps and capped with claws big and sharp enough to make Ethan wish for leather armor. On their obsidian backs were little nubs, as though they had potential to grow wings but hadn’t managed it. It could have meant they were young, or that the dungeon master had clipped them to suit his plans. Either way, the insects signaled trouble.

  “Giant beetles?” said Zewn. “Easy.”

  “Horn-bugs, actually” said Glen. “Don’t worry, lads. If they get close, their claws are weak at the joints. They can’t grip too hard. But there’s something I’m forgetting…something about them. Come on, what did Dad used to say…”

  Glen approached to five feet away from one. Using a dagger, he jabbed one on the side. A watery-brown liquid seeped out, dripping on the floor where it hissed, and smoke rose up.

  “No swords, boys. They have acid in their blood.”

  Artifax’s hilt rune glowed green. “Lemme stab them!”

  Bander sheathed Artifax for the first time that day. “I trust Glen’s bug knowledge. There’s no a recruit who knows more. Horn bugs have acid blood, Artie. Can’t have you slashing through them.”

  “Pah,” said Artifax, muffled by the sheath. “A bit of acid can’t hurt me.”

  “No…but my skin isn’t made of metal. There tends to be a lot of splash-back when you get going.”

  “Who cares about you? Get me out of this bloody sheath!”

  “Glen, Zewn, draw your bows, please.”

  Glen nodded. He kneeled, drew his bow, and nocked an arrow. He aimed around the room, one eye shut, and took stock of how many horn-
bugs they faced.

  Zewn drew a bow of his own. This was smaller than Glen’s, and he looked much less comfortable with it than the older recruit. Despite that, Ethan knew what he could do. In the training yard, only an easterner named Fishwick was a better shot.

  Ethan wished he could use a bow. Swords were great, but this was an example of their limits. With his finger injury, he hadn’t been able to practice with a bow because it hurt to draw the string. Next time we’re in the yard, I’m firing a few arrows.

  No time to think about it now. The bugs, free from their holes and scurrying along the walls, clacked their claws in unison, until it became a rhythm matching the pounding of Ethan’s pulse. A few rasped, others chirped like birds. Whatever their choice of communication, the meaning was the same. They crawled from the walls, one by one, and onto the ground.

  At the onset of the bugs, Ethan felt useless. As he gripped his sword, Bander’s hand touched his shoulder.

  “Too dangerous,” he said. “Listen to Glen; there’s a reason he’s here.”

  “I wasn’t going to use it.”

  “Let Zewn and Len work,” said Bander. He loved to use his own nicknames for recruits, yet Ethan hadn’t earned one yet.

  “There’s too many,” said Ethan. “They’ll never get through them one at a time.”

  The bugs scuttled toward them now, their legs tapping on the dew-wet stone, their claws clacking. They moved in a formation, with the burlier bugs at the tip of an arrow-shape, the smaller and weaker at the back.

  “Glen?” said Bander. “Loose an arrow, then fall back. We’ll head back down the tunnels if we must. If we keep their distance, we’ll take them one by one.”

  It was so frustrating. Ethan’s sword burned hot in his grip, but he couldn’t use it. He knew how Artifax felt now; the adrenaline building inside him made him yearn to swing his blade, but he couldn’t. Maybe he didn’t have to watch uselessly. There was something he could do.

  “Do you have more mana candles?” he asked Bander.

  “It’s light enough already. We might need them further down the line.”

  “Could I have just one? Trust me.”

  Banded gave him a mana candle. Ethan had never held one before and was surprised that although it resembled a candle in appearance, it felt viscous, like jelly squelching between his fingers when he squeezed, before reforming into the candle shape.

  The horn-bugs scurried closer now, their pace slow and cautious, but pressing on toward Glen and Zewn. Glen loosen an arrow, missing a bulky bug at the tip of the formation, but piercing the hide of one near to it. Brown blood splashed back on the bugs behind it, but it didn’t hurt them. When it touched the ground, it sizzled.

  Zewn fired an arrow, then grunted when he missed. Glen touched his shoulder, and he moved back. They put more distance between them and the bugs, and kneeled again, with arrows nocked.

  They could repeat this a hundred times, and we’ll have backed our way out of the dungeon before we get anywhere.

  Two bugs leaped from behind, landing on the lead bug. They punctured his black hide again and again, until rivulets of brown acid blood coated him. With that, the acid-covered bug broke away from its formation and sprinted toward Glen.

  Glen panicked. He let an arrow loose, clipping the bug’s side. It charged on. Zewn squinted and let a shot go, hitting it square in the face. The bug flopped to the ground. Glen let out a long sigh of relief, and when he stood, the moss illuminated his now-pale face.

  “I’ve never heard of them doing that before,” said Glen. “Clever little bastards.”

  The formation of bugs squirmed and crawled. Taps and hisses echoed in the caves as they began to mutilate each other, stabbing their bug mates enough to coat each other in toxic blood.

  “Time’s up. Out of here,” said Bander. “Treasure isn’t worth shit if we die.”

  Ethan wasn’t ready to give up the dungeon raid at the first sign of critters. He pinched the mana candle between his fingers, and the viscous blue liquid bended around him. What had Lillian said when he gave them the mana balls to practice on in the yard?

  “Mana is at its most volatile in liquid form, so you brats keep your grubby fingers off it. I have attuned the illusion sphere to Reck’s mind, so whatever creature he needs to use, will appear. Do not touch it!”

  “Run down the tunnel,” he told Bander.

  “Aye lad. Retreat. Len, Zewn, come on.”

  “We can take ‘em!” said Glen.

  “Get your arse here. That’s an order.”

  At this, the spine of discipline the guild ingrained in its recruits took hold, and Glen and Zewn joined them. Ethan pushed them further toward the tunnel. “Stay back.”

  Mana is at its most volatile in liquid form, so you brats keep your grubby fingers off it.

  With Lillian’s words echoing in his head, Ethan tossed the mana candle into the middle of the horn-bug pack. He was going to ask Glen to shoot it, but there was no need.

  Acid poured out from a bug, coating the candle. Ethan ran down the tunnel. Behind him, the mana candle popped, and he heard the zap of mana in the air. The stench of it reached him even twenty feet away from the cavern opening. Sour, like the smell of fire.

  Glen went to go look, but Bander held him back. “Give it a sec, lad.”

  When it was safe, they went back into the cavern, where the husks of dead horn-bugs littered the ground, with mana scorching their husks. The cavern smelled of brimstone.

  “It should be safe to walk over them in a minute,” said Glen. “The acid dilutes after it’s exposed for a while.”

  “We better give it five minutes,” said Bander. “We all know how bad your judgement of time is.” He turned to Ethan and rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Good job, Ethaniel. Bloody cracking job. How did you know that would happen?”

  “Ethaniel? That’s your nickname for me?”

  “It could be worse, lad. Trust me. C’mon, how did you think this up?”

  “Something Lillian said.”

  “Oh?” said a voice, with a metallic tint to it.

  Lillian was standing in the tunnel behind them. Orange dirt covered the hems of his robe, and he’d caught sunburn on his hands. In the dim tunnels, his eye gems glowed redder than Artifax’s gem.

  Bander jumped when he saw him. “Bloody hell, you iron-faced shit! Why do you always do that?”

  “A spell to mute my steps in the dungeon, is all,” said Lillian.

  Ethan hadn’t heard the mage approach, but he was certain he’d have seen him if he was paying attention to that direction. After all, what good was a muting spell if your eye gems shone like a beacon?

  “Have fun on your stroll while we cleared the dungeon?”

  “Unless I’m mistaken, you haven’t cleared it until you reach the treasure, and worse things await. Nevertheless, I found something delightfully interesting.”

  “Oh? What?” said Bander.

  At this, the guild master and the mage held each other’s gazes for seconds. Time stretched out indefinitely, as if neither man would break away. Something was passing here, but Ethan couldn’t figure out what. What are you up to, Lillian?

  “Are…are you guys going to kiss, or something?” said Glen.

  Lillian shoved the lanky recruit against the wall and strode on into the cavern. “Treasure awaits, and we’ll leave once we have it. There’s more to this barren pit of hell than you realize.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ethan

  Glen kneeled next to a scattering of horn-bug corpses and picked one up.

  “Are you crazy?” said Ethan.

  “Relax. I told you, their blood is harmless after they die.”

  He gritted his teeth and tore a bug corpse apart, and the crack of its husk echoed in the cavern. He grinned at Zewn, who stood next to him. “They have two stomachs. See-one here, one here. Not only that, they…”

  Zewn watched with rapt attention as Glen explained the anatomy of the bugs. The deeper
into his explanation he went, the more his voice changed. Ethan got the sense this was what Glen’s father sounded like when he explained his hobby to his son.

  Bander paced. “Gabreel has a lot to answer for. Low grade dungeon, my arse. Whoever made this has tricks up his sleeve. If I’d known, I would have brought seniors. And more weapons.”

  “I suspect a mage of some sort,” said Lillian.

  “What gives you that idea?”

  “Something I saw outside. Come, we better press on. I suspect the Barrens are a lonely place at night, and my guild bed seems more attractive than ever, even if Saim never washes the sheets.”

  “Hate to bear shitty news,” said Bander, “But we’ll never make it to the guild before nightfall. Besides, the last thing you do in a dangerous dungeon is rush. We’ll be careful, take our time, and leave with the treasure. A few bugs won’t turn me back empty-handed.”

  The pushed on through the cavern, their boots crunching on bug shells. Ethan felt blood make his socks wet as it squelched through a hole near his big toe. His boots were hand-me-downs from a recently-graduated recruit, and he was thankful the bugs’ acid was ineffective now. The guild really need to loosen the purse strings.

  As they walked through another cramped passageway, a dim wailing sound met them. Ahead, Glen signaled to stop. They paused, and the wailing swirled around them, seeming to come from miles away, as if carried by the wind. Hearing no footsteps to accompany it, Bander signaled them on.

  They emerged into another cavern, this one large than the last. Here, there was only a narrow stone pathway, surrounded on both sides by a chasm. Peering over, Ethan felt like he stared into the depths of darkness itself. He couldn’t see anything moving, but the wailing drifted from the chasm. It sounded like voices. Lost and lonely, as if they were moaning in a language he didn’t understand, like phantoms lamenting their deaths from behind a spectral shroud.

  Soon, something else caught his attention. Something large and shiny. At the end of the narrow pathway, illuminated by cavern moss, lay a chest. It was larger than a casket, with so much gold glinting inside that the lid wasn’t shut properly.