The Dungeoneers (31 page)

“Drove them out like the gutless sheep they are,” Tye Thwodin proclaimed, then glanced apologetically at Renny. “I didn't mean you. You have very nice guts,” he said. “We emptied the place of all that glittered and left it as a home for
the rats and giant spiders.”

“
Giant
spiders?” Serene whispered.

Colm raised his hand to get Master Fimbly's attention. “Excuse me, sir,” he said, loud enough for the old man to hear. “But if you took all the treasure already, what's the point of going back there?”

All eyes looked at Finn. The rogue cleared his throat and looked across the table. “Recently, Master Wolfe has uncovered ogre tracks coming in and out of the entrance to dungeon one hundred twenty-seven. Furthermore, there have been reports of raids on the nearby villages, suggesting there are actually some new bits and baubles to be recovered.”

“So, the gold we're going after likely came from these raids?” Colm asked.

“Wouldn't that treasure belong to the villagers, then?” Quinn added.

“What's ours is ours,” Tye Thwodin said curtly. “We aren't in the charity business.”

“If there is coin to be had, then it's likely the ogres are hoarding it all here.” Master Fimbly pointed to a large circular room near the top of the leaf shape.

“What are those little skulls drawn all over the map?” Serene wanted to know.

“Those are traps,” Finn said. “At least, that's where they were the first time around, according to the records from Master Thwodin's expedition twenty years ago. Most of them are probably disabled by now, rusted or disenchanted from
neglect. Ogres are big and strong, but they aren't terribly smart. Their idea of a trap is usually to wait around the corner and hit you with a rock. That said, we should still be careful.”

Tye Thwodin grunted dismissively. “A handful of ogres, some twenty-year-old traps, and a potential for some real coin at the end. I think you've picked an excellent dungeon for these whelps to cut their teeth on, Master Argos. In fact, it's hardly worth our trouble. Whaddya say we just let the little ones take care of this themselves, and the rest of us go find a nice tavern to spend the afternoon.”

Colm looked at Finn—the rogue looked concerned for a moment. Then Tye Thwodin slammed his large, hairy fists on the table, strong enough to make it quiver. “Joking, of course,” he said. “The guild can't very well get its share if you all die before you make it out!”

“Of course not,” Finn said dryly.

“Well, then, what are we waiting for?” The founder of Thwodin's Legion turned to Master Velmoth. “To the regurgitator!”

Tye Thwodin stood and everyone else followed. Quinn tugged on Colm's arm. “What the heck is the regurgitator?”

It didn't take long to find out.

The regurgitator was just Master Thwodin's less-fancy word for the Crystallarium, the room where all of the guild's teleportation crystals were kept. Colm had seen drawings of it in the books Quinn begged him to look at, books that Quinn
had read twice over and probably Ravena Heartfall had too. He knew the Crystallarium was off-limits to everyone except master-class dungeoneers, and that anyone caught trying to use it without permission was kicked out of the guild.

He had no idea where the jewels had originally come from. He knew that it was Master Velmoth's job to tend them, to ensure that their magic was working properly and that they had enough power to get you where you wanted to go, but it was the ranger's job to set them, inscribing the runes that linked each crystal from one point to another. That way, when the time came to raid a dungeon, you didn't have to travel the hundreds or thousands of miles on horseback or ship to get there. You simply chanted the phrase that opened the crystal's gate and held on tight. Once you were there, you slew your monster, gathered your loot, and then used the same crystal to return. It was wizardry of the highest order. And it was the only way Tye Thwodin and his charges managed to raid so many dungeons in so little time, filling the treasury so quickly.

The chamber itself was little more than a circular vault, devoid of windows or proper furniture. A few empty trunks stood by the door. An alphabet of strange symbols was etched into a ring at the center of the room. Torches burned along three walls, providing light that was reflected off the dozens of crystals lining the shelf along the back wall, creating kaleidoscopes of color along the ceiling and the floor.

“I'll get the key,” Master Velmoth said, heading toward the back wall, but Wolfe had already beaten him to it.

“Number one hundred twenty-seven,” the ranger said, handing it over.

“Number one hundred twenty-seven,” Velmoth repeated.

“Excuse me, Master Wolfe,” Finn interrupted, “but I believe this is the crystal we need.” He took a slender amethyst from the shelf and held it out to the mage, whose ears, Colm noticed, were completely back to normal.

“So it is,” Master Velmoth replied. “Thank you, Master Argos.” The ranger cast Finn a piercing look.

Tye Thwodin rubbed his hands together. “Still sure this is the one you want now, Finn? We could always pony up and go tackle that harpies' hive again.”

“I think this one will do just fine,” Finn replied.

The rogue stepped into the circle of runes, and it immediately erupted in a low ring of purple fire to match the crystal's hue. The other masters stepped into the circle as well. “Well, come on, then,” Velmoth prodded. “It's not going to hurt you.”

Colm stepped tentatively into the violet ring, feeling a surge, his hair standing on end. He reached out and took Lena's left hand, his four fingers interlocking with all five of hers, falling right into the spaces she made for him.

“We simply rode to the castle the first time, Quinn and I,” she whispered anxiously.

“It's all right,” Colm whispered back. “It's not that bad. It just feels like your whole world is being torn apart and then slowly pieced back together.”

“Oh. Well. If that's all.” She held on even tighter. Finn took Colm's other hand, holding the crystal in his right. Across the circle, both Serene and Quinn had their eyes shut.

“Stay close to me,” Finn said. Then he muttered something under his breath, words that Colm didn't recognize, just as he had back in the forest outside Felhaven.

The crystal blazed even brighter.

And the regurgitator expelled them, hurtling them out of the castle and into the darkness.

Colm was still holding Lena's hand when he emerged, or reassembled, or whatever it was called, everything blinking slowly back into focus, the world reshaping itself before him, the purple light receding into the shadows. He still felt dizzy and disoriented, but he had known what to expect this time, at least, and it only took a moment to recover his balance and catch his breath.

There was a sudden burst of light, and Colm looked to see Master Velmoth holding a bright orange globe that hovered above his open palm, casting an enormous umbrella that illuminated the walls around them—the same spell Quinn had failed to cast in the last dungeon Colm had found himself in. Finn and Master Wolfe both lit the torches that they had brought, bathing the whole party in their collective glow.

Lena looked at Colm once and then pulled her hand away, kneeling down and helping Quinn, who was on the floor, doubled over, losing his breakfast.

“There's always a heaver,” the goblin said, standing over Quinn, shaking his head.

“Give the lad a break,” Master Stormbow said, bending to help Quinn to his feet. “I seem to recall
you
vomiting all over yourself the first time you used a crystal.
And
the second.”

The goblin huffed. Colm looked around, first just counting bodies to see if they had all made it. Lena and Quinn and Serene. Masters Velmoth and Stormbow. Thwodin and Bloodclaw. The ranger, of course. And Finn, who was crouched beside a stone pillar, running his finger along a rune that had been etched into it near the bottom.

“Master Wolfe, are you certain this is the mark for dungeon one hundred twenty-seven?” he asked.

Grahm Wolfe begrudgingly eyed the spot on the stone where Finn was pointing. “It must be,” he snipped. “I don't see any of you traveling halfway across the world to find these places.”

“Grahm's uncovered more dungeons than any ranger in history. Can't be expected to remember them all,” Tye Thwodin remarked. “Besides, the only marks that matter are the ones we make on an ogre's ugly face, am I right?”

Lena nodded eagerly. Serene and Quinn huddled close together. Master Stormbow peered into corners with narrow eyes. The goblin kept sniffing at the air. There were actual monsters in here. Actual traps.

Actual treasure.

Though at first glance it really didn't look very different from the tunnels beneath the castle. The walls were darker,
carved from a different kind of stone, but the floor was just as hard, the ceiling still dripping. The only real difference was the smell. The guild's underbelly smelled musty—the aroma of damp dirt that isn't unpleasant so much as old. This dungeon still had that same earthiness, but there was something else underneath, something sour, something
rotten
.

Tye Thwodin took a deep breath and rubbed his armor-plated chest like a man about to sit down to a feast. “It
has
been a while,” he said rather loudly.

Finn put up a finger. “It might be best if we don't draw the whole family of ogres down upon us
immediately
. Perhaps we could try to exercise some stealth.”

Tye Thwodin looked at Finn and snorted. Even his snorts seemed to echo. He turned to Lena. “How'd we get thrown in with such a bunch of shadow-stalking, nambsy-pants, limp-daggered momma's boys? Let 'em come, am I right, girl?”

Lena nodded. Quinn shook his head vigorously. Tye turned back to the rogue. “Have it your way, Master Argos. We will
try
to be quiet.” He turned and gave Lena a sly wink.

Finn shot a look at Master Wolfe, who took the lead, Master Thwodin right behind. Lena tried to shoulder to the front as well but was told by Master Velmoth to stay back a ways, just in case. She ended up next to Colm, fuming.

“Men,” she snipped.

Bringing up the rear, Sasha Stormbow overheard. “Patience, Lena. Let
them
be the ones to walk into trouble. I'd like to see the looks on their faces when they step in it all the way up to their knees and have to rely on
us
to pull them out.”

“Still not sure why
I
had to be here.” Herren Bloodclaw snorted. “I should be cleaning up the mess you all made in my dungeon. I've got scorpion carcasses everywhere.”

“Renny's not terribly fond of ogres,” Master Velmoth whispered over his shoulder. “Turns out they use goblins as footstools.”

Colm wondered who
was
terribly fond of ogres. From the descriptions he'd read, there wasn't a whole lot to like. Giant, hideous beasts with gnarled knob noses and sharp, crooked teeth, feet and hands matted with fur like wild animals. They were known to eat just about anything, bones included. Colm stumbled a step, but Lena reached out to steady him. Toward the back, Quinn muttered something to himself, probably testing to see if Magic Dan's had vacated his system yet, or maybe he was just trying to get the taste of backward breakfast out of his mouth. Serene fiddled with the charm around her neck, glancing nervously down every hallway.

“There's something strange about this place,” Lena said, keeping step with Colm.

“You mean besides the fact that it is the home of flesh-eating ogres?”

“No. I meant the quiet. I didn't expect it to be so quiet. Did you?”

“That's how rogues like it,” Colm said. Though he knew what she meant. The place seemed deserted. Though maybe that wasn't a bad thing either.

Up ahead, the ranger had come to a T. He paused and took
out the map that Master Fimbly had given him. “This doesn't make any sense,” he said. “According to the map, we should be standing right in front of the main chamber by now.”

“That map's twenty years old,” Master Thwodin suggested. “Maybe the ogres have renovated.”

“You're a bloody ranger,” the goblin snarled. “Isn't finding your way around supposed to be your
job
?”

“You're a bloody goblin,” Master Wolfe replied. “Isn't falling on the tip of my sword supposed to be yours?”

“Let me take a look,” Finn said, snatching the parchment from Master Wolfe's hand and studying it for a moment. “I think we go this way.” Finn pressed his torch into the wall of darkness on the right and continued on. Colm noted a quick glance that passed between Grahm Wolfe and Tye Thwodin, the two of them falling in behind the rogue, the rest of the party trailing behind. He noticed Master Stormbow now had a hand on her sword, glancing from side to side.

They came to a much wider corridor than the others, this one big enough for a wagon to roll through, though everyone still clustered close together. Colm could feel Quinn behind him, clutching fistfuls of cloak. Lena was right. There was something out of place here. The quiet, of course, but something else. Like the ceilings, ten feet tall—plenty big enough for Master Thwodin to pass through with Quinn on his shoulders, but ogres stood nine or ten feet on their own. They would skin the tops of their heads coming through the archways. And the smell, even stronger now, even worse than Tyren's feet.

“This reminds me of the dungeon of Vanom Tarth,” Tye Thwodin mused, the only one in the party who didn't appear to be on edge. “Remember that one, Grahm? Wasn't hardly a thing to it until you hit that last chamber and then,
fwoosh,
those flames spit out at you on all sides. We were positively broiled by the time we crawled out of there.”

“It was warm,” Master Wolfe said, putting his hands against the wall as he took slow, calculated, catlike steps.