The Dungeoneers (25 page)

“And don't come whining to me when it's over saying that it was too hard or it was unfair, because there's nothing fair about any of it. It's not fair your kind going in and stealing our gold in the first place, and it's not fair me getting kicked out of my clan and having to come work for you meat sacks. And it's certainly not fair how much taller you are, or how I have to put up with the smell of your—”

Master Thwodin placed a hand over the goblin's face, shutting him up, then looked over the crowd of dungeoneers. “Do we have any volunteers?”

As soon as he said it, Colm knew what was coming. He quickly reached across Quinn and tried to pull her arm down, but it was too late. Lena's hand was already dancing above her.

“Very well, Miss Proudmore. Bring your team up.”

“Seriously, I d-d-don't feel right at all,” Quinn whispered. Colm gave Lena a dirty look, but she ignored him, striding toward the makeshift stage, pausing only to glare mockingly at Tyren. Colm followed her up the stairs and onto the velvet rug, facing the masters.

“Since you were brave enough to volunteer to go first,” Master Thwodin said, “I'm going to give you all a piece of advice. . . .”

Colm stole a glance at Finn, who nodded. Or maybe he looked down at the floor. Colm instinctively reached out and took Lena's hand. It was cold and half covered in metal, but it comforted him anyway.

“Watch the first step. It's a doozy.”

Master Thwodin gave a short tug on his beard. Herren Bloodclaw stepped off his stool.

And Colm felt the rug give out beneath them.

The velvet carpet careened down an angled slab of smooth stone, with the four of them clutching it with white-knuckled ferocity. In between Quinn's screams, Colm could hear some of Lena's armor scraping against the rock as they plummeted into the darkness, though it did little to slow her down. They weren't
going
to slow down, Colm thought. They were only going to stop. Abruptly. At the end.

The ground came up quickly to meet them, and all four of them tumbled over one another, somehow getting tangled up in the rug. Colm felt something jabbing him in the side and assumed it was one of Lena's pointier parts. He pulled something out of his mouth, realized it was Serene's hair, and then noticed Quinn's face was squished under his armpit.

“Wffff wrrf frf fwff.”

Colm managed to untangle himself and stand up, then pulled Quinn to his feet.

“I said, when's the last t-time you had a b-b-bath?”

Colm didn't answer; he was too busy watching Lena roll
around on the cold stone floor of the dungeon, her armor and weapons making it impossible for her to stand on her own. She looked like a flipped beetle.

“Are you just going to stand there and watch?” she sniped. The three of them worked together to pull her to her feet. “I hadn't planned on getting knocked down,” she explained.

“Always the optimist,” Colm said. He looked around. The guild's practice dungeon seemed much the same as it had the first time they were all there. The air still carried the tang of moss and mold, and prickled with cold. They stood in a gray hallway stretching off in four different directions leading into four interminable shadows, except this time the only light came from the dim circle above them, illuminating the long stone slide that had led them here—a dim circle that slowly disappeared as the trapdoor above closed, leaving them in almost total darkness. Colm could barely see his four fingers held in front of him.

“I don't suppose anyone thought to bring a torch,” Lena remarked.

“No, but we do have more
weapons
than we could possibly hope to hold,” Serene said.

“Hang on, g-g-guys. I g-g-got this,” Quinn said. The mageling took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together. Colm instinctively took a step away from the sound of Quinn's voice. He trusted Quinn, but a rogue's got rules. Quinn muttered something under his breath.

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 natural 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.