The Dungeoneers (33 page)

Colm dropped to one knee and fished out Finn's tools, laying them all out before him—then, with a subtle movement that any rogue would be proud of, he reached inside his pocket
and removed his sister's keepsake. He pressed close to the door so that Finn couldn't see exactly what he was doing, holding one of Finn's picks in one hand and the pin in the other. He felt the butterfly's slender tail slip in easily, just as it had on the empty chest before.

Colm felt it, that same sensation as that day on the square, the day this had all started. That feeling of exhilaration and danger, the knot of worry twisting round inside him as he tried so desperately to convince himself that what he was doing was right, even as he untied the purse strings of strangers and slipped their coins into his own pocket. He closed his eyes, weaving the pick through the maze, trying to find his way. He sensed the first pin fall. He could feel Finn standing behind him.

“One giant circle, Colm Candorly. What goes around comes around. The orcs steal the gold from hardworking people, people like your family. The dungeoneers steal the gold from the orcs. Tye Thwodin steals the gold from his dungeoneers. You steal the gold back from him. It's the first rule. The only rule, really.”

Colm maneuvered the pin, needling, digging in, till he felt the resistance give way. The second pin fell.

“You might feel guilty for a while, but I guarantee you, Tye Thwodin wouldn't hesitate for a moment to take your hard-earned gold from you. And the rest of them . . . they are all the same. Besides, the moment you see what's inside, you are going to forget all about the others. You will forget all about
Tye Thwodin and Grahm Wolfe. You will forget all about the guild. You will look at those mountains of gold, and you will realize that every problem you and your family have ever had, every problem that you ever
could
have, is already solved.”

Colm flexed, tensed, felt the release. The third pin dropped.

“I knew it the moment I met you,” Finn whispered. “A pickpocket from a backwater village, down a finger, down on his luck, but destined for greatness. Someone who knows the true meaning of family, the most important thing, having someone you can count on. I knew you, of all people, would understand.”

There went the fourth. He could almost hear Finn's quickened heartbeat behind him. If Colm remembered correctly, there were only five. But the fifth one was by far the hardest.

“I made a promise, Colm. I promised myself that when the opportunity came, I wouldn't hesitate. I would take what was mine.”

Colm paused. He could feel the resistance, a subtle shock that vibrated up through the hairpin and into his fingertips, working its way along his arms and clear down his spine. He had felt it before. This next part was the toughest, but he knew what he needed to do. He felt the resistance give way.

Colm took a deep breath, then removed Celia's hairpin, tucking it back into his pocket. He stood up and looked at Finn.

“Finished,” he said. The realization of what he was doing, what he'd done, made him dizzy, and he stumbled as he stood,
but Finn caught him. Colm grabbed ahold of the rogue's cloak for a moment to steady himself, then stepped back. Finn looked directly into his eyes, and Colm knew better than to look away.

Then, finally, a wry, wide grin spread over the rogue's face. Finn tucked his dagger into his belt, then wrapped four fingers around the door's steel handle. “You made the right choice,” he said.

He pulled the handle. He turned and looked at Colm.

Colm opened his hand to reveal the amethyst crystal he had just snatched from Finn's cloak pocket.

“I know,” he said.

He watched the corner of the rogue's mouth twitch, his eyes narrow and then explode in recognition. Saw him twist and try to pull away, except his right hand wouldn't let go of the door. It was stuck to the handle, fingers already turning to stone.

Colm took a step backward, out of reach of Finn's other hand, though the rogue made no effort to get to him. Instead he tried to pull his stone hand free of the door, but it was no use. The curse he had triggered by trying to open it with the last pin still in place worked its way up his arm to his elbow, spreading quickly to his shoulder and down his side. He tried desperately to pull away as it spread across his torso to his other half, turning him to solid rock, clothes, dagger, cloak, sword, everything. It covered him like a second skin. It was nearly to his neck.

Finn turned and stared at Colm, a mixture of surprise and despair, but mostly just disappointment. “Never make a promise you can't keep,” he said.

“There's a difference between
can't
and
won't
,” Colm replied.

The petrification spread down the rogue's legs, to his feet, to the boots that looked much the same as the ones tucked behind a different door with even more locks, though none as dangerous and difficult as this. Almost his entire body was made of stone now.

“You're going to make a great rogue someday,” Finn said. Then, as the curse inched up his neck, he managed to turn and face the door, the one he could never have opened on his own, and smiled as if he had. As if he were standing inside, looking at all the glorious gold. “It's beautiful, isn't it?” he whispered.

Finn blinked once.

And then it was over.

C
olm stood there for a moment, incapable of moving or speaking or even breathing, it seemed, just staring at the unblinking figure of Finn Argos, mottled gray like Grahm Wolfe's eyes, cold as the stone walls all around.

“I'm sorry,” Colm said. “I know you, of all people, would understand.”

He quickly bent down and reached across Finn's granite feet to grab the lockpick set and tuck it into his cloak alongside the hairpin and the crystal key. He knew he had to get back to the dungeon. There was no telling what had happened to his friends and the other masters. Of course, there was a chance they'd made it out—fought their way through. More likely, they had been taken prisoner. Even more likely still . . .

He had to hope. Trouble was, he wasn't sure how to get back there. Finn had never taught him how to use the crystals,
what to say. His only hope was that he would find someone, anyone, who hadn't fallen victim to Finn's sleeping potion. He wound his way up the stairs and back through the castle corridors, bursting into the great hall. He looked toward the dining hall and stopped cold.

There they all were, passed out across their tables, some on the floor, others propped against one another, chins wet with drool. If it weren't for the syncopated hum of their breathing, Colm might have guessed them to be dead. Colm spotted the body of Master Merribell crumpled up halfway between the dining hall and the kitchen, robes bunched around her, snoring fitfully. In her hand was a vial of some kind, its contents emptied and staining the stones in front of her. A remedy or antidote, probably, except she hadn't been able to take it in time. Maybe somebody had stopped her, or maybe Finn's potion worked too quickly. Colm ran over to her and shook her, shouting in her ear, but it was no use.

Colm tried to rouse some of the others, even slapped Tyren across his properly apportioned head, but nobody stirred. He couldn't wait for them to wake. He was probably too late already. Perhaps there was something in the Crystallarium that could help him figure out how to get back.

Colm made his way through the castle, calling down every hall. “Hello! If you're here, I need help! The whole party is trapped in a dungeon! Please!” There was no answer. He threw open the doors of the chamber, with its rainbow array of rare gems along the wall and its circle of purple fire
promising a trip to anyone who knew the magic words. He looked around for some instructions, a big, moldy tome full of mystical incantations, anything, but the room contained little more than crystals and candelabras. Colm stepped into the center and held the amethyst in his hand. He closed his eyes.

“Go!” he said.

“Vamoose!”

“Fly!”

“Teleport! Transport! Portalify! Transferus bodius!”

The crystal sat cold and lifeless in his hand. It was useless. Colm called up to the ceiling. “If there is anybody out there who can help me, please!”

He heard a grunted breath behind him and turned.

“Oh . . . fungus.”

Two beefy arms instantly wrapped around Colm like tentacles, squeezing, threatening to snap his spine. Colm struggled to free himself but only managed to twist so that it was his rib cage threatening to splinter. His eyes shot around the room and landed on Scratch, only a few feet away. Not that he could get to it now. Colm wondered if there had ever been a more useless sword in all of creation.

“Where's Finn?” Fungus growled, somehow squeezing even harder.

“Not . . . going . . . anywhere . . . ,” Colm said, in between heaving gasps. He kicked out with his feet, banging helplessly on the cook's shins. Fungus was nearly Master Thwodin's equal in size. He wasn't a dungeoneer, didn't carry any
weapons, but when you have arms thick as logs, it doesn't matter. Colm's vision darkened. His lungs burned; his guts threatened to shoot out both ends as Fungus pressed him closer. Colm couldn't believe it. After all of this, to be crushed to death by the cook.

He heard a soft thud. Then he felt everything go limp as those giant hairy hands released him. Colm flopped to the floor, the air rushing back in a great, long, rasping gasp. He turned to see Fungus standing there above him, a stupid, confused look on his face, eyes rolling up into his head. He wavered for just a moment, then pitched forward like a felled tree, Colm barely managing to roll out of the way as the body of the cook landed with a shuddering thunk.

Colm shook his head, feeling the blood rushing back to all the places it belonged, then looked at the figure standing over Fungus's prone body. She was more beautiful than he could ever imagine, with one eyebrow cocked, eyes like pinholes, mouth set in a determined scowl.

“You want to tell me what's going on here?” Ravena Heartfall demanded. In her hand she held a sword, the hilt of which had taken down the hulking cook with a blow to the back of the head. “Where is Master Thwodin? Why is Fungus trying to kill you?” The tip of that sword was pointed at Colm. She didn't trust him.

He couldn't blame her.

Still gasping for air, he reached into his pocket for the crystal and held it up for her to see. “Finn. Betrayed us. Sleeping
potion. Treasure. Trap,” he croaked, rubbing his bruised chest. It was the highly abridged version, but she seemed to get the idea. Ravena lowered her sword.

“And the others?”

“Dungeon. Orcs. I don't know.”

Ravena nodded, as if she hadn't expected any less.

Colm was finally able to take a full breath again. “The last thing I saw was the whole party being surrounded. Then Finn transported us here. We have to go back.” Colm held the crystal out to her, then drew back. “Wait a minute,” he said, suddenly suspicious, “how come
you're
not asleep?”

Ravena stared at the unconscious body of Fungus in disgust. “Have you ever seen me eat
anything
that man cooks?” She snatched the crystal from Colm's hand and stepped back into the illuminated circle. “How many orcs did you say there were?”

“Hundreds,” Colm said.

“And how many can you handle?”

Colm considered the question carefully. “Three.”

“That's more than I thought you'd say.” She pointed to the sword still sitting on the floor. “Three with or without that?”

“With, probably,” Colm said. He picked Scratch up by its paw, then grabbed hold of Ravena. “Wait a minute. I don't know what to do.”

“That's all right. I do,” she said. “It comes with having to do everything yourself.”

They appeared the same place as earlier, except this time the halls were all well lit and no longer quiet. The trap had been sprung, and the dungeon seemed to have developed a heartbeat, a steady thumping that rebounded from every stone.

“Drums,” Ravena cursed.

“And drums are bad?”

“They are preparing a ritual.”

“You mean like a sacrifice?” Colm asked.

“Well, they're probably not celebrating Master Thwodin's birthing day.”

Colm hadn't realized Ravena Heartfall had a sense of humor. He'd kind of assumed she had used some spell to have it removed. She handed the crystal key back to Colm, who tucked it away. “I trust you at least learned how to walk quietly?”

Colm nodded. That part he could handle. With any luck, maybe they could sneak past the first hundred guards, leaving only three hundred or so for her to fight. They crept side by side, swords leading the way, constantly glancing behind them but following the dungeon's heartbeat. Sometimes the percussion was accompanied by the sound of feet clopping across stone, and they would duck into the shadows as a patrol stomped by. One group of orcs carried a set of iron pikes ten feet tall.

“For the heads,” Ravena explained. She wasn't being funny this time.

They ducked down two more halls, Colm wishing he had
Serene's chalk numbers to go by, trusting Ravena's instincts even though he was the one who had been here before. At one point they reached a corridor that was darker than the others, and Ravena muttered something under her breath, her fingertips suddenly glowing with a bright white light that spread out in front of them.

Colm let out a squeak. “I forgot you could do that,” he whispered. Cast spells, pick locks, and clobber cooks. He wondered if she could talk to spiders as well. “You really are talented.”

“Let me ask you something,” she whispered back as they inched along the hall, pausing in between breaths to listen. “During the trials. That lock on the chest. How did you get through it so fast?”

“It was Finn,” Colm admitted. “He made me practice it. Over and over.”

Ravena nodded. “I knew he liked you best,” she said.

“I trusted him,” Colm said bitterly.

“Maybe he trusted you too.”

Colm was about to say something to that when the sound of shouting—human shouting—from a chamber ahead caused them both to stop, their backs pressed against the walls in between the halos of the torchlights. The voice was clearly agitated.

“When I get out of this cage, I am going to rain steel on your leathery little hides! I am going to unleash a whirlwind of wrath so furious you will turn inside out just trying to see
where I'm coming from! I will stick you so full of holes, your friends will use you to pan for gold!”

“Lena?” Ravena whispered.

Colm nodded.

“I won't even
need
my sword,” the voice continued. “You can keep it. I'll just shove my hands so far down your orcish throat that I'll pull out what you had for breakfast last week and feed it to your friends!”

There was a clang of metal on metal, followed by a grunt. Colm heard a gruff and unfamiliar voice say something about wanting to eat the loud one first, and Lena's voice suddenly went silent.

Ravena pointed to the open archway the voices were coming from. “Stick close and follow my lead.” Colm put a hand on Ravena's shirt and trailed behind her, both of them keeping to the shadows and craning their necks to get a look inside the room.

They were there, the three of them—Lena, Quinn, and Serene—locked in separate steel cages suspended from the ceiling. Lena had been stripped of her weapons, though that wasn't stopping her from trying to chew through the metal bars. Serene had her knees pulled up and one hand thrust through both her cage and the one beside her, resting it on Quinn's head, running her fingers through his wild hair. The boy was curled fetal, eyes closed. His whole body shook.

Colm started to get Lena's attention, but Ravena pulled down his arm and nodded to the other side of the room and
the six orcs standing there.

She held up three fingers and pointed at him. Colm looked at the orcs, at least twice the size of a goblin, battle scarred and uglier than Fungus even, many of them with necklaces of polished white bones hanging from their necks. Maybe three had been a little ambitious. He shook his head and held up one finger. Ravena rolled her eyes. Then she closed them and mumbled something under her breath.

Suddenly the room started to fill with smoke, billowing up from the floor in thick white clouds. Climbing up the walls, reaching even to the suspended cages. The orcs drew their swords and axes, spinning around and sniffing at the white fog, but in three heartbeats the room was filled with a haze as dense as packed snow, impossible to see through. Colm felt Ravena brush past him, tiptoeing into the room, then lost sight of her altogether.

“Ravena!” he hissed as loud as he dared, but he got no response. He groped around the floor beside him. Then he heard the orcs cursing, heard scraping, something hitting the wall. There was a series of grunts. One orc shouted, knocked something over. Colm took Scratch and jabbed into the fog tentatively, afraid of hitting Ravena but hitting nothing after all. There were several more
thud
s from different places in the room, a long groan, and then silence.

In the space of another breath, the smoke started to disappear, absorbed back into the walls or the ether or the floor, revealing the bodies of all six orcs stretched across the stone,
their attacker throwing her braid of black hair behind her again. She glanced over at Colm, who couldn't help but stare. “What? You never learn how to fight with your eyes closed?”

Colm couldn't even pee with his eyes closed. Not and still hit the bucket.

Ravena sheathed her sword, bent down to retrieve a set of keys from one of the orc's belts, and started unlocking the cages. Serene was speechless. Quinn was out of it. Ravena threw the keys to Colm to unlock Lena's door.

They looked at each other through the bars. Colm offered her a weak smile. She didn't return it. He opened the door to her hanging prison. She punched him.

A right hook across the jaw, sending him spinning backward.

“Where have you
been
?” she shouted. “Do you have any idea what has happened to us? We were ambushed! There were hundreds of them! And you just slunk through that door and
locked
it behind you, like a coward! We could have been
killed
. We
were
going to be killed. They were going to
eat
us! Do you understand?
Eeeaaaat
us!”

“Good to see you too,” Colm said, doubled over and holding his chin in his hand.

“It wasn't his fault,” Ravena said. “It was Finn. Something about treasure and a trap. I didn't exactly get the whole story.”

Lena looked to Colm for confirmation. He nodded.

“Oh, I see. Are you okay?” she asked, suddenly concerned.

Colm shrugged. “Well, my
jaw
hurts now.” He looked at
Serene, who had Quinn leaning against her, eyes shut, body still convulsing. “What happened to him?”

Serene shook her head. “He's sick, but it's not like anything I've seen before. He's burning up. Poison, maybe? But I don't have anything to give him. They took our weapons and supplies.”