2

The Warrens

Cricket waited in a small antechamber seated on a stone chair. Oydd sat next to him, and then Beetle, followed by an empty chair. The lizardman—Agena, he remembered now—stood by the doorway at ready position.

After about an hour of discomfort and quiet, one of the doors to the chamber opened, and a black, tentacled creature slithered in. It held its weight so high it nearly seemed to walk upright despite having no legs. And then it rose completely off the ground, and Cricket realized it was not slithering at all, but levitating.

Two huge, grey humanoids stooped to enter the room after him. Clearly entranced thralls, based on their vacant looks and gratuitous muscles.

Words entered Cricket's mind and the insectoid knew they came from the black tentacled mass.

You will report...

A thin, sharp mosquito-like needle slowly protruded from the tentacles at about head height. The creature moved silently behind Cricket and out of sight. A moment later he felt the cold point of the proboscis on the back of his head. The insect choked down a scream as the plates of his exoskeleton shifted slightly to allow the needle to enter his cranium—a sensation that seemed too familiar. Memories bubbled up violently to the surface of his mind, against his control. He relived moments he had not yet recovered—a briefing for his current mission, climbing to the spiders' nest and fighting off the hungry monsters, tunneling into the vault. Then he watched Crab open the chest. Suddenly his mind's eye switched to the image of Beetle stuffing a small object into his tunic—a detail that Cricket might have overlooked or forgotten otherwise. The image hovered then grew more potent, as though pricking fingers pulled it from a puddle of his thoughts. And then the proboscis withdrew from his mind and from his body.

The tentacled horror floated behind the chairs. It paused by Oydd, but then reconsidered and continued on to the ratling. As the proboscis entered Beetle's skull, the ratling shouted "Wait..." but almost instantly garbled his words in a pool of saliva, paralyzed by the intrusive memory sweep.

Beetle's eyes widened. Spittle fell from his open mouth and tentacles slowly wrapped around his head from behind, crawling down his chest and tightening around his throat. The tentacles flexed and almost instantly the ratling's skull caved in, followed by the ghastly slurping sound of his brains being sucked through the proboscis.

The tentacles loosened and Beetle's remains slumped forward in his chair.

Teeaku! Cricket felt a word in his mind that he did not understand. But a thrall immediately stepped forward and retrieved an item from within Beetle's torn shirt.

I have a new mission for you, the voice continued.

Agena perked up, and Cricket assumed that the words were conveyed to the lizard and rudra as well.

Speak to your taskmaster for details. You will leave within the hour.

With that, the creature departed through the doorway with Agena, but one of the thralls remained to block the exit for a few minutes.

After he left, Oydd stood. "Come on. I want to rest as much as possible and we'll need time to be fitted with equipment as well."

Cricket nodded.

The passageway from the antechamber grew thinner and rougher as it wound down toward the Warrens—the living quarters of the slaves. Bed-sized cubbies lined the walls, bare but for scraps of trash and hay, occasionally occupied by a ratling. Cricket passed an armory but didn't get a good look, other than to see plenty of basic weaponry, some polished iron swords, some rusty daggers, and some makeshift spears.

Soon the two entered the main barracks, evident by the columns and columns of bunks carved into the rock, a large gathering of slaves, and a meager, candle-lit office set to the side full of small casks and dusty scrolls.

Oydd stopped at the doorway to the office and waited. "Are you certain you don't have any questions? You still look a little lost."

"Well, I was wondering... It's not very important though." Cricket said. "Do you have bones?"

The rudra raised a hairless brow.

"I mean, your head looks so soft. How does it protect your brain?"

"My race are the only current vertebrate mollusks. Though I have some thoughts on our evolution." Oydd caught the worried look on Cricket's face and returned to the initial question. "My skeleton is primarily cartilage. But some parts of me are stiffened by a pressurized fluid rather than a traditional skeleton. I only have the front half of what you would call a skull."

"So if I poke the back of your head, I could feel your brain?"

"Actually, that's where my heart is—one of them. My brain is up front." He tapped on his forehead. "It's not just sticking out the back. Is that really the main thing on your mind? You don't want to ask about yourself?"

"No," Cricket shook his head. "I want to be surprised."

A half-man, half-arachnid, slightly larger than Cricket scuttled from the office carrying a quill and parchment. He was humanoid from the waist up, with the thorax and abdomen of a spider below. His black carapace greyed slightly with age, and his dry, yellow eyes rustled as they darted about. His arms appeared atrophied, though they may have once been muscular, and at one time he must have had eight legs. But now two were missing entirely and a third hung limply below his thorax. However old these injuries were, he had not yet compensated for their loss, and walked a bit off-balance.

"Damien..." Oydd bowed.

Damien made two scratches on his parchment and then spoke hurriedly. "You'll need two more ratlings. Take... whatever ones you want." He indicated the wall of bunks with his quill. Of the sixty or so bunks, about half were occupied by ratlings of varying size and color.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Your target is a dhampir," Damien spoke directly to Oydd. "Which means there will be no record of this... task. He has fallen from favor. No one will ask questions. Noble line though..." Damien laughed which turned into a hacking cough. Flecks of blood dotted his parchment, but he continued to chuckle to himself.

"And Lordy, don't they have it comin' to 'em." He suddenly shot Cricket a suspicious glance and pulled Oydd into his office.

After waiting a moment to see if he would be required, Cricket wandered into the barracks. Three ratlings squatted in a circle rolling dice. Cricket didn't know the game, but by the squeaks and chittering laughter, the largest had made a bad roll. Rather than pay up, he contested his loss by clamping his teeth over one of the smaller ratlings ears.

Near ground level, a scraggly tan ratling slept face-down on a shallow shelf but opened an eye as Cricket encroached on his space. "Glad to see you're in one piece." The ratling rolled onto his back and closed his eyes again.

From several bunks above, a red-furred ratling shouted, "Oi, Cricket's back."

Numerous rat paws pulled aside the threadbare cloths that covered their holes, and several rat heads poked out to greet him.

"Hey Cricket!" A yellow-stained white rat vied for his attention. "You'll never guess where I been."

"He doesn't want to hear it," the red-furred rat snapped.

"He does," the yellowed rat defended sheepishly.

"Sorry, boys," Cricket said. "My brain's running at about half."

"What you off, bug?" A shrill voice joined.

Given the cordial tone of the rat, Cricket questioned whether the term 'bug' was meant to be offensive. Regardless, he looked confused. "What?"

"Uh..." the rat struggled to rephrase. "What 'appened?"

Cricket scratched his antennae. "I was fighting some spiders and Oydd says I lost my memory. I'm supposed to collect two rats for a mission."

"Oo's Oydd?—"

"Was you poisoned?—"

“Where's you bit?"

Cricket struggled to answer all the questions at once. He settled with "It's temporary" then took a step back from the wall to expand his view. "Do I... do I have a bunk? I'm still kind of coming to grips with being... a slave, I presume?"

The red-furred rat let out a squealing chuckle. "Only mercenaries get bunks. You sleep on the floor."

"Well that doesn't seem fair."

"You for real? You like it that way. Um... holes make you feel... trapped."

"I could see that," Cricket conceded. "What's everyone's names?"

"You're the only one that ever asked, mate. I'm Raccoon." The red-furred ratling sat up and draped his feet and tail out of the cubby. "To Damien we're just rats. To the lizards, we're just rats. Even the slaves just call us rats."

The other ratlings introduced themselves. Scorpion, Ladder, Nail and Bats. The names continued to trickle in but it was a bit much to remember.

"Not to be rude, but what makes you different from the other slaves?"

"Well for one," Bats, the yellow stained rat answered, "We're not slaves. We're for hire."

"You're paid?"

"Er... we're paid in food and lodging," Nail said.

"Not money?" Cricket asked.

"What am I going to do with money," said a voice out of Cricket's sight. "Difference is, we're here because we choose to be. It may be cuz they don't value us. But you run off and they'll come after you. You're a commodity. We run off, there's nothing they can do, cuz they can't catch us anyway."

Cricket nodded, but still thought they seemed an awful lot like slaves. "I recognize most of your names, but what's a Raccoon?"

Raccoon answered. "It's an animal on the surface. I head up there for food sometimes, so it sticks." Noting the confused look on Cricket's face, Raccoon added, "You remember what the surface is, bug?"

Cricket shook his head. "It sounds vaguely familiar. Have I been?"

"No, you wouldn't like it. But the surface is... if you go up enough, that is... maybe dig a little bit... you run out of rock. And then there's nothing but air."

"There's no more rock?"

"None. Just open nothing."

"Do you... fall into it." Cricket asked in awe.

"What a stupid question. Do you fall into it? Who ever fell up?"

"Well," Cricket thought for a moment. "I figure if you run out of rock digging up, you might run out of rock digging down. And people fall down all the time."

"Okay," Raccoon smirked. "Maybe not so stupid. But you don't run out of rock if you dig down. The surface is only up."

"How do you know?"

"I don't know how I know. I just know."

"Why wouldn't I like it?"

"Well, for one thing," Raccoon continued, "there's a blazing orb in the sky that would burn your eyes out. Second, you wouldn't be welcome. You'd be hunted and killed by surface people."

"They're that bad?" Cricket asked.

"Hmm... maybe not as bad as down here. But they don't like us coming into their world. You don't belong up there."

"The people down here don't seem so bad." Cricket's thought's wandered off. "Why—"

"Hey, I gotta sleep." Raccoon withdrew into his cubby, but Cricket could still see his eyes glowing in the dark.

"But why—"

"Skunk!" Raccoon yelled. "Skunk... get your bug."

A scrawny, black ratling rolled out from a low bunk with a yawn. "Huh?" He stared at Cricket for a few seconds then yawned again.

Raccoon closed his eyes. "Cricket needs two hires and he wants to hear about the surface."

Skunk nodded sleepily then took a few steadying steps out of his bunk and turned back to face the wall. "Bats, you're with me."

The yellow rat skipped about the floor. "Oh, yes, oh yes... to the surface."

"No, cuz." Skunk shook his head patiently. He grabbed Bats by the tail and headed toward the armory. Bats skipped playfully in the opposite direction, but slowly lost ground as he was dragged across the polished floor.

"Cricket." Oydd approached from behind, looking a bit haggard. At his voice, several of the rats withdrew their heads back into their cubbies, and a few even hissed.

Bats glared when he noticed the rudra.

"I have more details to share with you," Oydd continued. "But there are parts of this mission that only you and I are to know. We can... discuss on the road." He turned to follow Skunk and Bats, then sighed and looked back at Cricket. "I would have killed for five minutes of rest."