The Dungeoneers (30 page)

“Lots of people don't like
you
,” Wolfe countered.

“But you don't see them trying to stab me in the back, do you?”

“Only because they know they'd have to get through me first,” the ranger replied coolly.

Tye Thwodin looked as if he was about to say something else, but the ranger brought a finger to his lips, then quietly drew one of his swords. “I'm not sure all your mice are in their holes,” he said.

Colm quickly ducked back around the corner and stood up slowly, keeping his back to the wall, then started to tiptoe down the hall, toward his room, heart thundering in its cage. He wasn't sure what the ranger would do if he caught Colm spying. Better to just not get caught.
Ready for anything. Guilty of nothing.

Colm turned the corner leading to the boys' dormitory.

And ran straight into Anywhere, the tip of the sword leveled square at Colm's chest.

Master Wolfe stood in the middle of the hall with his hood thrown back, chin scruffed, black hair curled nearly into knots, and clothes layered with mud and dust and something darker. Two iron-gray eyes held Colm in place. Those, and the point of the ranger's sword.

“Hello, little mouse,” the ranger said in a hoarse voice. “You're up late, aren't you?”

Master Wolfe lowered his blade, but he didn't sheathe it. Colm wondered what wolves did to little mice. He had a guess. “Sorry, sir, I was . . . um . . .”

“Sneaking around? Eavesdropping? Or just searching for buried treasure?” The man's voice was calm, but Colm could
see the flash of anger in his eyes.
Maybe wolves just ignore mice,
Colm though.
Maybe they consider them not worth the trouble.
But it didn't look as if Grahm Wolfe was going to let him scurry off. Colm thought about the assassin who couldn't give the ranger his name because he was dead already. At least Colm got the courtesy of being asked questions first.

“Nobody buries their treasure, Master Wolfe. They just stash it behind locked doors,” Colm murmured.

The ranger smiled. “So just sneaking, then?” he concluded.

“Practicing, actually.”

Colm turned to see Finn standing at the other end of the corridor, blending with the shadows. The rogue's voice was casual, ho-hum; he seemed to be fussing with a button on his shirt. “It's part of our training.”

The ranger's scowl returned. “In the middle of the night?”

Finn shrugged. “Every good rogue needs to know how to work at night. I was just showing Colm here how to walk in shadow—out of light, out of sight—though obviously he still has a lot to learn.” Finn looked at Colm for confirmation. Caught between the ranger and the rogue, Colm took three steps back toward Finn.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “A lot to learn. Sorry.”

Finn sniffed dramatically. “Of course, it
might
help if you took a bath every once in a while, Colm. I could smell you from a hundred yards, and I'm not half the hunter Master Wolfe is.”

“It's been a while,” Colm said apologetically. He turned and
offered a weak smile to the ranger. Grahm Wolfe didn't look amused.

“There are plenty of shadowy places in this castle to skulk about during the day, Master Argos. Perhaps you should save this lesson for another time.”

“Certainly,” Finn said. “He's probably learned enough for one evening anyways. Why don't we call it a night, Colm, and pick up where we left off tomorrow—if that's all right by Master Wolfe?”

The two men gazed at each other across the corridor. Colm could hear the thunderous footsteps of Master Thwodin coming toward them through the great hall. Finally the ranger pointed down the hallway. “Scurry off, then. Quiet as you came.”

Colm turned back around to Finn, who nodded curtly. “It's all right. Master Wolfe isn't going to eat you,” he said.

Colm shoved his hands in his pockets and walked slowly down the hall, keeping his head bowed. As he passed alongside, though, the ranger reached out and put a hand roughly on his shoulder. Colm felt his whole body seize. He stared straight ahead, waiting for something terrible to happen, but Master Wolfe didn't say a word, only squeezed. It didn't hurt. If his father had done it, or Lena or even Finn, it might have been a comfort. But coming from Master Wolfe, it felt like something else. A message of some kind.

A warning.

The ranger let go with a little push, and Colm quickstepped
down the hall with his head bowed, looking back only once, to find Finn and Grahm Wolfe still staring at each other.

Colm disappeared into his room just as Tye Thwodin rounded the corner, demanding to know what was going on, but with the door shut, he couldn't hear a thing.

Even with his ear pressed against the crack at the bottom.

That night, Colm dreamed—as he often did—of riches. Glorious rivers and lakes of gold, as far as the eye could see. Glittering landscapes of jewels and gleaming arms and armor, and chests of coin deep enough to sit in, stacked from floor to ceiling, each and every one unlocked.

But he also dreamed of wolves.

C
olm woke suddenly, sheathed in sweat, to find a pair of hands on him. Through the bleary lens of sleep he could just make out a figure looming over the bed.

He was sure it was a wolf.

He was certain he was about to be eaten.

“Wake up!”

Colm scrambled, clawing his way free of the blanket, free of the hands that held him, falling onto the floor with a muffled thud, reaching for his sword, his legs still tangled in the sheets. He blinked once and focused, finally, to see Lena standing over him. He took a moment to calm himself and appreciate the fact that he wasn't about to die.

“Still haven't lost your knack for falling,” she said. Colm smirked up at her. “Aren't you cold?” she asked.

He looked down, realized he was only in his underpants, and quickly wrapped the untangled tail of the sheet around him. “You shouldn't surprise people like that,” he barked.

“You should try waking up earlier,” Lena said, sitting on the edge of the bed in the space Colm had recently vacated. She was already plated in armor—not that that was unusual for her, even early in the morning—but Colm also noticed that her hair was brushed. Lena never brushed her hair. He assumed barbarians didn't believe in it as a practice. Colm rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, wiping away the sleep, feeling his heart begin to slow. He was about to ask her what she was doing charging into his room when the door opened and more people barged in.

“You missed breakfast,” Quinn said, tossing a biscuit that bounced off Colm's chest and landed at his bare feet. He was followed by Serene, who looked away and smiled when she saw Colm wrapped in the sheet, his pale shoulders poking free. She set two oranges on the desk by the window. They were both dressed already, Serene in pristine white robes, her black hair twisted into braids, Quinn looking much the same as ever in purple to match the spot of jelly on his chin. Something was up. Colm could tell by the looks on their faces. Finn had taught him to read expressions, flickers of eyelids, batting lashes, the way the mouth screws and twitches, the way a nose crinkles or cheeks cave. Telltale signs.

That, and Quinn was wearing a knife.

“What am I missing?” Colm asked, sitting up straighter.

Quinn looked at Serene. “Do you want to tell him?”

She rolled her eyes and nodded toward Lena, who was biting her lip, about to burst.

“Right,” the wannabe barbarian said, then paused to take a deep breath. “Okay. So.” Another deep breath. “Apparently Master Wolfe came back in the middle of the night last night and had a talk with Master Argos—I have no idea what they talked about, it's not important. What
is
important is, after
that
Master
Argos
talked to Master
Thwodin
and convinced him that it would be better to go on our adventure
sooner
rather than
later
, while Master Wolfe is here to accompany us. So Master Thwodin apparently had a talk with Master Wolfe and Master Wolfe agreed and told Master Stormbow, who told me, and
I
got to tell
them
, and now we are all here telling
you
. Isn't it
exciting
?”

Colm felt his head snap back and forth as Lena proceeded to shake him all over again, the sheet almost slipping free.

“Wait, what?”

He was sure he had heard her correctly, but he was having trouble piecing it together. Last night it certainly hadn't seemed like Finn was too happy to see the ranger, let alone eager to invite him along. In fact, standing in between them, Colm had felt a certain iciness. And it wasn't the first time.

“But we aren't supposed to go for two more days,” Colm protested.

“Make that two more hours.” Lena looked at her feet. “I hope I get to slay something bigger than a scorpion. Maybe
like a chimera or even a giant. Do they have giants in dungeons, or are the ceilings too low?” Her voice trailed off.

Colm shook his head.
Headed into the dungeon now? With Master Wolfe?
“But we haven't really trained together since the trials. I still have over half the locks on the door, and Quinn still doesn't even have his magic back yet, do you?”

The mageling shrugged. “Master Merribell says it should come back anytime now, and if we have to choose between me having my magic back and having Master Wolfe by our side, I know which one
I'd
prefer. Besides, Lena let me borrow this.” He pointed to the intricately engraved, silver-handled dagger at his side. “She calls it a looking-at dagger. But I think it works just fine.” To demonstrate, he actually managed to cut himself just pulling the knife free of its sheath. Lena stared for a moment at the drop of blood welling up on Quinn's fingertip, then turned back to Colm, unfazed.

“I thought he wasn't supposed to carry one of those,” Colm said.

Lena leaned in and whispered. “I don't actually expect him to use it. It's just for peace of mind. Besides,” she added, straightening up. “He's got us. And I, for one, am
more
than ready. It will be nice to finally step foot in a real dungeon.” Her eyes sparkled like her armor.

Colm returned her smile, but he felt uneasy. It wasn't like Finn to change plans on a whim; the rogue was nothing if not methodical. Then again, maybe it wasn't his call. Maybe this was really Master Wolfe's doing.

For some reason, that idea made Colm even more anxious.

“Do you not
want
to go?” Lena asked.

All three of them were looking at him.
Staring
at him. Waiting for him. He could see Quinn pleading with his eyes. How could he say no?

“Of course I want to go,” he said. “Are you kidding? This is what we were made for.”

“Exactly!” Lena said. “So hurry up and get dressed. We'll meet you in the hall.” Lena headed toward the door, Serene following her. The would-be barbarian turned back and pointed. “And you better eat that biscuit before Nibbles beats you to it,” she warned.

Colm looked over at Quinn, who nodded, confirming that his breakfast was in imminent danger.

Colm hoped it was the only thing.

As Colm laced up his boots, his apprehension slowly gave way to excitement. Lena was right, of course. Not about the biscuit—Colm managed to scarf that down before Quinn could grab it—but about this being their chance,
his chance
. To see if he was as talented as Finn seemed to think he was. And to see if there was a way to step outside the life of a shoe-sole stitcher, to dip not into the pockets of nobles, but into the deep caverns of the earth, returning with not just coin, but a story. It wasn't enough simply to have the gold, Colm thought. Not if you couldn't be proud of how'd you'd gotten it.

It was hard to listen to the masters spin their own tales and
not think about what his own might be. He wondered what they might say about him. Colm Candorly. The rogue who picked the unpickable lock and ventured into the dankest, most detestable dungeons, battling the most nefarious creatures, disarming the most notorious traps, and coming out rich as a lord. It was better than Boy Who Fell Off Things. What if he became famous? Stories, Colm knew, moved faster than feet. Faster than horses. They moved on whispers. He wondered if someone might mention his name as far as Felhaven. If his mother might be standing at the market and hear about a young rogue who had picked his way to riches. If, someday, he would pass by the nobles in the town square and have them nod in respect, or even look away out of fear. It was possible. It was more than possible. It was a promise.

Colm checked his bag once more. It was probably unnecessary. Finn would be with them, after all, and while it was true that there was one lock Colm had picked that Finn hadn't, there were hundreds more the other way round. Finn had been lockpicking when Colm was still learning to button his pants.

Pants that he now stuffed with a hairpin and a silver coin.

“I'm n-nervous. Are you nervous?” Quinn said, splitting the hide of an orange—one of Colm's oranges—with his looking-at dagger.

Colm nodded. “But there's nothing to worry about. Remember what Finn said, that very first day? What's the most important thing we need? The thing that we always have?”

Quinn knew the answer, though he didn't say it. Instead he wrapped his skinny arms around Colm and hugged him the way Celia always did, with his head on Colm's shoulder. When he was finished, he held up the orange. “Wanna split it?”

They finished the fruit on the way, following the corridor—the same corridor from which he had listened to Wolfe's and Thwodin's whispers only hours before—to the great hall, where Lena and Serene were waiting for them, standing next to Finn. The rogue was wearing his studded leather, his ivory-handled blade, and his smile, complete with two armored teeth.

“Look at you,” Lena remarked, giving Colm a once-over.

Colm looked down at his clothes. Shirt and pants. Black cloak. Father's boots. “What? This is what I always wear.”

“Exactly,” she said with a sigh. “When we get back, I'm going to have to teach you a thing or two about your wardrobe. Do you even own a pair of greaves?”

“Are those the things that cover your elbows or your buttocks?” Colm asked.

“You're hopeless.”

“He's a rogue,” Finn said. “Our idea of armor is being where the sword isn't. Preferably behind the person wielding it.”

“So you can stab him in the back?” Quinn asked.

“So you can take his gold while he's not looking,” Finn answered. “Sorry to spring this on you so suddenly,” he continued, looking specifically at Colm, “but sometimes everything falls into place and the door opens unexpectedly. Does everyone have what they need? We can't come back just
because you left your good-luck charm in your other pants.” He winked.

Colm felt in his pockets for his silver coin, half expecting it to be gone already. But Finn hadn't taken it this time. Maybe they were done with that game.

“Very well, then,” he said. “The masters are waiting for us.”

Lena tugged on the rogue's sleeve. “It
will
be dangerous, won't it?”

“There will likely be a few surprises,” Finn answered.

Quinn tugged on the other. “But not too dangerous?”

“Not half as dangerous as you, Mr. Frostfoot.”

Finn led them past the dining hall, stopping only briefly to mention something to Fungus, who was busy boiling up lunch. “Probably a good thing we won't be here,” the rogue whispered from behind his hand, pointing toward the steaming pots. “Apparently Fungus caught some rats in the cellar. The stew will have some chew to it this afternoon.” Serene covered her mouth with both hands.

Colm quickened his step to stand beside Finn. “You're sure I'm ready for this?”

The rogue offered a reassuring smile. “Any single reservation I might have had about bringing you along was quelled the moment you unlocked that chest of mine. You are as ready as you need to be.”

“And Master Wolfe,” Colm began hesitantly. “Lena says it was your idea to bring him along?” He gave Finn a sharp look. It was a suggestion. The kind of look that passes between
people who know more than they let on. Colm's way of saying,
You can tell me if there's something I should know.

Finn just nodded—unconcerned. “Having Grahm Wolfe with us will make this easier, I promise.”

Finn pulled up in front of a large door that sat directly across from the armory. Colm was a little surprised Lena didn't duck inside to snag an extra mace or something. After all, she was only wearing the one sword today.

“Welcome to the war room,” Finn said, then threw open the door to reveal a circular table and several chairs, half of them already filled. Herren Bloodclaw was there, and Masters Velmoth and Stormbow, the one looking sour as always and the other as neatly decked out as Lena in a fine set of chain mail, her sword slung across her back, as was her preference. Master Fimbly was fumbling around with several pieces of parchment, mumbling to himself.

In the corner stood the ranger, staring out the window at the overcast sky. Just seeing him brought a lump to Colm's throat.

Tye Thwodin stood in the center, stuffed into his gaudy golden armor. Smashy Two lay across the table, taking up most of it so everyone else barely had room to set their hands.

“There's our budding adventurers,” he said. “A fine-looking party. And so
young
.” He reached out and ruffled Quinn's hair so roughly, Colm was afraid he'd snap the boy's neck. “Just think, Renny, you won't be the shortest one this time.” The goblin sniffed and slouched in his chair. “Come on, then.
Gather round. Let's get the boring stuff over with so we can go skull splitting.”

Grahm Wolfe took the seat on Master Thwodin's right. Colm sat between Finn and Lena, as far from Master Wolfe as he could get. Only Master Fimbly remained standing, holding up a map. On closer look, Colm could see it was the layout of a dungeon. Their dungeon.

“Number one hundred and twenty-seven,” the old man said. “Located beneath the Harbinger Hills in the North Sea corridor, approximately forty leagues from here. A standard multichambered stone affair. Asymmetrical branching pattern that, when last mapped, took on the shape of a leaf, as you can see.” The old man traced the figure on the parchment with one crooked finger. Colm studied the honeycombed network of passages, trying to commit to memory every door and corridor, every nook and cranny, but it was impossible to keep it all straight. The dungeon looked huge. Much bigger than the one Master Bloodclaw tended beneath their feet.

Master Fimbly continued. “This particular stronghold was held by goblins for hundreds of years, until they were driven out by none other than our own Master Thwodin, accompanied by yours truly, nearly twenty years ago, isn't that right, Tye?”