It could have been worse.
Not much worse, but it could have been.
Probably.
Not that it was good. A giant rat was still a giant rat. Especially when there were nearly two dozen of them.
Did I mention they were gigantic?
Two feet in length at least, not including the tail. They came pouring through the holes in the wall as a single liquid mass, then stopped suddenly once they came in view. As one they raised onto their hind legs and began chirping and squeaking at me.
It was the synchronization which got me. It was unnatural. Disturbing. It should a level of coordination and intelligence I wasn’t comfortable attributing to rats.
I took an involuntary half step back.
The rats remained where they stood, staring at me.
“Are we going to have a problem?” I asked in my best “talking to large predators in the woods” voice.
The rats didn’t respond. Praise the everlasting rebirth of the sun for that.
I took a cautious step forward. My left hand was carefully woven through the pages of my spellbook, ready to call fire and destruction down on the swarm.
They didn’t react.
Cautious then. Simply investigating the noise.
Unfortunately, they were also blocking my path and I didn’t know if they’d continue to act with such passivity if I pushed the issue. I could weave around them through the patches of colourful mushrooms and hope the door to the south wasn’t also blocked by rats, I could try one of the two northern doors with my swords and hope the noise wouldn’t set the rats off, or I could kill the rats now and be done with it.
“Blarr!” I crouched (Sail my soul to sea!) suddenly and shouted at the rats, trying to scare them.
They hissed at me.
So much for taking the fourth option.
Four swords and sixteen rats. I didn’t fancy my odds of coming out of it unscathed unless I burned through a whole lot more spells. Despite the dark elves’ power, not only had their been far fewer of them, they’d also been much larger targets.
I knew where the door to the south came out, more or less, but I didn’t trust those mushrooms, even if my life sight assured me that I could control them.
I headed south anyway, maintaining eye contact with the horde. They shuffled on the spot to continue to face me in turn.
Creepy.
The sun rose.
My plan remained unchanged. Even if I wanted to risk remaking my Safe Teleport on the fly, I still planned to come back to this room with Conan. I’d kill the rats if necessary, but I didn’t want to risk losing spells to the dark magic when I had other options.
Instead, I crouched down behind a large piece of masonry which had once been part of the wall the rats now occupied. Then I sent my swords for the furthest of the two northern doors. I kept a careful eye on the rats as I sent my swords to work. If it sent them off, I’d need to cast some spells, regardless of the consequences.
I was betting on the fact that I now knew where north was, and that I’d initially headed south to get here.
Wood crashed and splintered. Hinges screamed and tore. Sparks flew. Stone hissed and chipped. Black smoke billowed up from nowhere.
Another acid trap.
This one seemed harsher than the last, though that might have simply been because my body wasn’t in the way to protect the floor. Deep furrows were dug into the stone floor and an ever widening gap spread from the doorframe. What remained of the door collapsed into the pit opening above it. The first stones of the wall separating the two northern doors hovered uncertainly above the pit, suspended only by the mortar attaching them to the other stones. The hissing became a fizz. The billow became a sputter. The acid spent itself a moment later.
I released a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My body relaxed. The map was safe. That would have been a disaster. I’d leave the closer door alone if at all possible.
Throughout it all the giant rats had remained unfazed. I was grateful, but it was almost creepier than if they had attacked me. They didn’t behave the way wild animals should. They were more like guards, directing me along a particular path.
That called into question if that was exactly what they were doing. The warlocks had their servants after all. They had their ways of breaking bonds of loyalty, perhaps even loyalty to an animalistic nature. Stranger things had been done.
It was also possible they had sorcerers in their employ. Men and women who could bind the rats to their will, much like Erin’s bear had been stolen from her. If these were servants of a sorcerer, that called into further question whether or not I should follow the path laid out for me. Not that it was a difficult question to answer. I’d already committed. I’d proceed with caution and keep an eye on the rats, but second guessing myself could be as dangerous as taking the wrong path. Who knew when the next volcanic eruption or swarm of rats would arrive?
I cautiously stepped over the hole in the ground and through what remained of the doorway. As I’d half expected, the two northern doors both led to the same hall running parallel to the room with the hall ending at the door I’d just come through, and turning northward at a right angle directly in front of the other door.
I followed the path north and then west for about fifty paces before it forked, presenting me with two options. One continued straight ahead to the west, the other was due south on my left. I set my swords carving on the north most wall before I lost track of the directions.
The straight path ended with a doorway on my right: north. That was the way I hoped to go. Before I’d even finished carving my ‘X’ in the stone a sound interrupted me. The sound of chanting and feet on stone coming down the now open door to my left.
***
It was a parade of men, old and bent by their years. Not a one had a beard which was shorter than my hair and all were white or grey. They wore long grey robes which concealed shuffling feet. Only in small flashes would a rag wrapped foot be revealed.
They chanted in a language long forgotten by those who danced by moonlight, and one never learned by those who worked under the sun. A language which was older than the stars in the sky. One which had seen the birth of the earth itself from the corpse of the old world.
The Language of the Gods.
I’d never heard another soul speak it save my master. I’d only seen it written in his books and on ancient cairns. And I’d seen it written in this dungeon. Carved into walls and carved at the base of a statue which had now saved my life countless times. A language which was known only by scholars, and—perhaps—dwarves.
They carried a large chest between them, balanced on two long poles. Dread emanated from the chest. A feeling of rot and disease, of twisted purpose and selfish desire. Black magic of the sort wielded by the dark altar I’d taken shelter on, but more immediate, more powerful.
Not all men were good or evil, and so too it was for dwarves. The dwarves which worshipped the goddess, the dwarves which carved her statue and imbued it with her power were not the same who now bore an idol of such dark purpose.
Those few stories I’d heard of dwarves found them more often evil than not.
I’d have to keep my wits about me.
“Hail, masters. Wither you go?” I called out to them in the Language of the Gods.
Both the chanting and procession stopped. The chest was set on the ground and all turned to peer around the corner at me. The lead dwarf to my left spoke. His voice was deep and powerful despite his age, befitting more a king than an old man in rags.
“We travel beyond, wise one. Step aside that we may pass.”
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I strode with measured steps from one hallway to another. Fear had a way of setting any on edge, supernatural or not.
The lead dwarf bowed his head at me, “Thank you, wise one. Blessings on your travels.”
“Wind whistle and rain fall,” I returned his blessing.
The dwarves re-shouldered their burden and the lead dwarf took up the strange guttural chant. The others joined in. It was almost a dirge so mournful and low were their voices. The only difference was its strength, so strong I felt it reverberating in my chest.
The procession shuffled forward once more. They were somewhat spaced out, with the first reaching the unopened door at the end of the hall shortly after the last cleared the corner. I watched with some curiosity as the leader traced his finger along the door itself seemly at random, and then along the frame before withdrawing a large key which he set in the door’s lock. I was stood over twenty feet away and could still hear the click of a heavy bolt releasing. The door swung open and the procession slowly shuffled inside. A mystery for another time. It was time for me to move on.
***
The door the dwarves had come through led directly back into the pentagonal prison cell. In turn, that meant Brace and the others were only several minutes walk away.
Conan had gone off mapping and had yet to return. In light of his absence I took the time to restore one of my lost spells.
Clothes Hanger. Safe TeleportII. I cast the spells simultaneously. Eight Seconds later I found myself on the far side of the hall I was recording in, completely clothed.
True Teleport II: The caster and his gear moves 150 ft over the course of eight seconds, but does not exist in the intervening space.
I felt a burden lift with the final flourish of my bar of wax. Every teleport available to me made me that much safer. Especially if said teleports allowed me to keep my grip on my spellbook.
Will-’o-Wisp
A quick stop back in what had become our headquarters revealed Conan had yet to return. We were worried, but not more than usual. Both Conan and myself had been gone for much longer time periods, even if you didn’t count our stay in Elysium.
I decided to check out the room the dwarves had gone into while I waited. They hadn’t seemed hostile and the place was close by. If I was lucky the dwarves had also disabled all traps along the path.
It was a matter of minutes to return back to the door they’d disappeared behind. They’d close the door behind themselves, which meant I’d probably have to break it down with some swords to be safe, but for the moment I was content to eavesdrop.
No light came from around the edges of the door, nor through the grill set near the top. I’d left my own light behind as I’d crept forward. Despite the lack of light, I was sure the dwarves were in there. I could hear them chanting. If the chanting was in the Language of the Gods it used words or phrases I didn’t recognize. Perhaps a chant specific dialect, or an even more ancient variant of the tongue. Legends claimed dwarves had carved the caves and caverns of the new world the moment the old one had died. Some even said they had carved the new world from the corpse of the old. The legends didn’t say where they had been before then, but the fact alone suggested they were older than the gods themselves.
My lights crept closer, half to announce my presence, half to let me see into the dark cell beyond. The light was dim, no more than a candle, but the dwarves had demonstrated an ability to navigate in total darkness. Even if the light didn’t illuminate their surroundings they could surely see the light itself creeping around the cracks in their door. And yet, they didn’t react, content to stand in their circle around the altar they’d carried.
More disturbing still was their choice of ally. In each corner of the room crouched a giant frog. They had reacted to my light, though with far more restraint than I was used to from the creatures. All eight of their eyes were locked on the door I stood behind, and two of them were puffing their throats nervously.
At the far end of the room was a chute descending deeper into the earth. The dwarves (presumably it wasn’t the frogs) had laid garlands of strange flowers about the lip of the chute. Flowers which I’d never seen nor heard of in all my years nor any of my education. There was something sacred about the act, made profane by the presence of the altar.
Eric wasn’t here. Not unless the he’d been imprisoned down at the bottom of the chute. It was time to move on.
He could be imprisoned at the bottom of the chute.
Sky quake and earth splint asunder, he could be at the bottom of the chute.
I’d wait until the dwarves were done with their ritual. Then I’d slip past the frogs and see. The fact that the ritual could be harmful gnawed at me as I turned away from the cell, but the odds it weren’t had to be higher than the odds that I could defeat the dwarves and frogs together in their seat of power.
Magic Swords II
I used the ‘X’ I’d carved at the intersection to carve another at the far end of the pentagonal room, and then another opposite its exit.
Beetles arrived from the south as my swords started carving the second ‘X’.
Thankfully I noticed them before they got too close. There was four of them, large as boar-hounds though thankfully not nearly as tall. Each appeared as though it had been carved from an enormous ruby, beautiful and glittering even in the weak light, and all four were charging toward me.
I retreated back to my swords and moved my swords around and in front of me, angled to catch the charging beetles like spears.
The swords brought the front two beetles to a skittering stop which in turn forced the two beetles behind them to slow as they skittered around their companions. Neither blade had succeeded in piercing the beetles’ carapaces. They hadn’t even been scratched. Rubies indeed. That was concerning.
On the plus side, the strength of my swords was greater than the beetles’ own weight. I could keep them at bay simply by pushing them aside with my blades.
In fact... that gave me an idea. I was going to need more swords. Fortunately, I knew a guy.
Sword Storm
Two blades rushed out to each beetle, aiming low, no longer seeking a kill. I continued to retreat as I manipulated the blades, trying to keep distance between the insects and myself.
The magical swords threaded their way between the beetles’ ruby clad legs and pressed up lengthwise against their underbellies. They were too low to the ground to get a good stab in from this angle, and too close to get the windup needed to attempt to break their legs.
Instead, I simply lifted the swords into the air, beetles along with them. Two of the beetles slid free from my precarious arrangement. They hit the ground with a series of clacking thugs, legs already churning, ready to push forward against me. The other two I brought up as high as I dared, and then heaved about with a spin and a twist as if I was operating a particularly dangerous and unwieldy diabolla.
The beetles spun about and crashed into the ground on their backs where they began to lash and flail about.
I’d have loved to finished them off there and then, but the other two were getting awfully close, so I settled for laying a single sword across each of their stomachs to prevent them from flipping back over, and then sent the other two swords to reinforce.
It soon turned out that was not significantly easier to flip a beetle over with three swords instead of two, as the hardest part was getting the swords into position in the first place, and extra swords simply meant extra points of failure.
The swords didn’t even slow them. Instead their legs flipped up like an archery target and tickered over the blades tickety-tack. Once their rear claws cleared the swords the legs snapped down as fast as they had tucked away and the frantic and inevitable pursuit continued.
They also moved incredibly fast for their size, more like dogs than the tortoises they more closely resembled. I was already backed up into the next room with my retreating heels pressed dangerously close to the pit in the centre of the room.
I was out of space and they were on me.
I was bowled over in an instant. The speed and weight of the beetles was irresistible, even with my greatly enhanced strength.
Not that I planned to stay down.
True Teleport II
My destinations were limited to the extent of my senses meaning I had to twist as I fell to see the opposite side of the pit behind me. Just before I vanished I sent my swords to hacking and stabbing at the creatures legs and abdomens, hoping to break what I could not cut.
The beetles were no worse for wear when I reappeared several seconds later. I’d taken my time to give my swords time to act (not that it had done me any good), but also to hopefully throw the beetles off my scent.
In that it had worked. The beetles (all four of them somehow) had gathered together into an outward facing ring by the far door and were lashing out at random, trying to contend with their invisible assailants.
They hadn’t noticed me yet and so I used said time to retreat back down the hall towards the goblin horde room. I didn’t want to return all the way back to hideout. Given Brace’s party’s showing against the goblins I wouldn’t receive any help there, I’d just get people killed.
Ideally, the beetles wouldn’t follow me at all and I’d be able to rest and recuperate while I decided how best to deal with them. When you were a wizard, there was always a way.
Not following me was exactly what the beetles did, much to my surprise and relief. I’d have to warn the others off of going near the lift room, but for now it appeared we were safe.
I used the suddenly lull to fully appreciate the burning sensation in my chest where the wounds had ripped as the beetles had tackled me. Thankfully they hadn’t managed to climb atop me. With their weight and their durability, I bet their legs were like spears.
Conan still hadn’t returned by the time I’d gotten back, though to be fair it had been less than half an hour since I last checked. I warned the others about the beetles while Cillian swore to me it was only mid afternoon. Apparently the man had a talent for keeping track of time. A quick review of my day and the number of spells I’d written roughly matched his estimate. If we were correct Conan might not be back for hours yet, if he returned today at all.
My master had had me play a large number of strategy games, both board and physical. I’d failed to see the relevance to the rest of my training until much later when I finally got sick of losing and decided to sit down and see what I was doing wrong. I’d been overextending. Too often I’d force myself to act a turn early, or chase after a ball when I could have waited for it to come to me. Always, I’d been seeking an edge. But there were times for action and times for rest. I’d seen the pattern in my life as well. Sometimes—not always—but sometimes taking a moment to gather my strength or fortify my position was more effective than the most bombastic assault.
And so I waited.
Perhaps if my chest didn’t ache or if my spells weren’t depleted it might be different, but it wasn’t. When Conan returned it would be my job to guide us past the beetles, and that was something I couldn’t do at the moment.
The sun rose.
Serendipity.
Fireball. Fireball II.
I wondered if rubies burned.