Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
The burning in Braiden’s lungs made a fine and torturous match for the burning in his legs.
And the burning at his back, too, the combined flames of so many infernal messengers singeing and licking at the air. Stopping now meant being roasted alive. Tripping over a stone would mean certain death by incineration.
The seven messengers were in hot pursuit now, making no effort to slow down and cutting off all possibility of retreat, not that the party could have done much to save themselves in the other direction.
This had been the plan all along. The cubes blocked the way back to the surface not only with their oppressive fire, but with the wickedly sharp edges of their corners, as deadly as spinning blades.
Braiden knew they were being herded in a very specific direction. He hated knowing that this was the demon Valefour’s trap. But what choice did they have? What could his little party do to combat the fire of so many simultaneous messengers?
And even without the risk of injuring Augustin, should he cast his fleetfoot spell, how would he even aim it at their feet? They were moving too quickly, scattering all about the tunnel.
It was the wrong time, the wrong place. Tight quarters left them all at a grave disadvantage. Just how were experienced adventurers, never mind an unseasoned shopkeeper, supposed to know how to deal with flying boxes of fiery death?
If only they could make it into a wider space, a clearing of some sort. Wasn’t that the pattern they’d observed in the dungeon all along? Tight passages always opening into bigger caves and natural caverns.
They would be demolished by the messengers if they met them head-on, but with space to maneuver, perhaps their party stood a fighting chance. Elyssandra and Warren could fend off the cubes up front while Augustin and Braiden engaged them with magic.
And as for Elder Bahul? All the while, as they ran helter-skelter down and into the heart of danger, Braiden still couldn’t get over how nimbly the senior citizen former smuggler could run. Gods only knew how much weight in merchandise he was carrying on his back.
But Braiden couldn’t blame Warren for quite literally leaping ahead of the pack. He had to assume that the burrowfolk would be far more susceptible to injury by fire for his fur alone.
He wanted to shout for him to bound even farther, to not worry about leaving the party behind. Braiden sucked in all the breath his aching lungs could muster, but Warren’s head whipped around, shouting as he pointed ahead.
“There! Trees. Somehow. We’ll regroup there.”
Braiden frowned into the distance, frowning harder when he spotted what Warren was talking about. Trees would indeed be a puzzling sight this deep underground, deeper than even the luminous cavern, but as Braiden had seen for himself, reality worked differently in dungeons.
These trees, for example, seemed to bear no leaves, all the color of blackened bark already razed by fire. Some resembled the rough, cracked surface of coal, while others gleamed like onyx, or volcanic glass.
Gods, had the blazing heat of the dungeon depths already consumed these trees? Or did they grow that way because of the dungeon’s strange elemental properties?
Braiden might have time to puzzle it out later. First, he and his friends had to actually survive the chase.
Elder Bahul was already weaving his way between the slender tree trunks, head bowed as he dodged their black, brittle branches. Warren waited where the trees grew thickest, waving and beckoning at the party.
“Through the trees,” Warren shouted.
No time to explain, but he knew that they all understood well enough.
With any luck, the messengers would snag on the branches.
If nothing else, the presence of a physical barrier, fragile as it may be, could slow them down.
All the fuel had been burnt out of these trees already, anyway.
What more damage could the messengers’ flames do to them?
Braiden covered his head as he rushed past Warren and pushed through the thicket. The cavern grew darker around him, almost as if traveling under the thick canopy of an actual forest. Leaves rustled underfoot as he ran.
Leaves? He glanced down, gasping at the forest floor and its leaves that flickered like little flames.
They didn’t scorch his boots or the hem of his trousers, only burning with their warm, benevolent glow.
Each of his frantic footsteps kicked up more of the fallen leaves, which rustled and spun before they fell again like cinders to the forest floor.
This was far prettier than he’d imagined, and not quite as deadly, either. Well, except for the part where he and his party were so close to being mowed down by a small platoon of sadistic machines from hell.
The beating of footfalls to either side of him told Braiden that the others had made it through. He caught a glimpse of Augustin’s face, his skin amber and orange in the soft glow of the forest floor.
Braiden could see it in his eyes, in the little wrinkle in the corner of Augustin’s mouth. This was where he truly thrived and lived, in the heart of daring and adventure. Despite the imminent danger and the equally imminent threat of his lungs exploding, Braiden found himself smiling.
Warren sprang ahead of the group, his powerful legs kicking up great sprays of flaming leaves with every leap.
Elyssandra’s hair gleamed golden in the firelight of forest detritus, her golden pins flickering like embers.
Elder Bahul, somehow the speediest of them all even without his flutterbutter, was nowhere in sight.
And behind them — far enough that Braiden knew his party was finally gaining ground — branches crunched and twigs snapped as the messengers smacked into the trees again and again. Their monotone voices cursed and snarled in frustration. Braiden allowed himself a tiny chuckle.
But just up ahead: light piercing through the trees. What awaited them on the other side? Did it really matter? Trap or no trap, it still had to be better than death by messenger.
As one, the party burst out of the ebony forest, fiery leaves swirling at their feet. The sudden radiance of open space filled Braiden’s chest with hope — but with wonder as well.
His heart longed to absorb the new beauty of his surroundings, but he ordered his muscles to keep running. But his eyes — well, he couldn’t very well stop them from wandering, could he?
This place was a parallel of the luminous cavern, only painted in flame. Grass flickered like candle wicks, growing out of the soil as if nature had always intended for the earth itself to birth fire.
Ferns tipped in flame wavered in a balmy breeze, ever smoldering but never burning, faint smoke wafting from their leaves, smelling of sweet, subtle incense.
Spherical fruit dangled from the trees, glowing berries in the bushes, all amber and afire. Braiden wondered if a burned tongue and singed lips would be worth a taste.
And true to the mirroring of the luminous cavern, this place had its own pool of water, but Braiden could already tell it wasn’t worth the drink when he saw the sizzle and steam on its bubbling surface.
“Wait,” Warren said. He held his paw up, his ears swiveling this way and that. “Do you hear that?”
They stopped running. Elyssandra tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, its sharp point wavering as she, too, listened.
“Nothing. I hear nothing. Where did our pursuers go?”
Braiden clutched his chest, grateful for the chance to rest and refill his burning lungs. He turned toward the coal and ebony trees. There was nothing there in the forest, not a single brass box, much less seven.
“Did they give up?” Augustin asked, his bare torso slick with perspiration. “Or perhaps they retreated. Out here in the open, we can fan out and properly fight them. Maybe. Better than in close quarters, at least.”
“All part of the plan,” said Elder Bahul.
Braiden had nearly forgotten about him, too engaged by the twin distractions of death-by-messenger and the fiery cavern. The elder was sitting on his treasure chest, puffing away on a wooden pipe.
“Said so yourself. It’s a trap.”
Braiden threw his hands up. “Sure. We guessed that on the way here. I just don’t know how we’re going to deal with it. I’m not sure it makes me feel any better.”
“It’s not how you feel.” Elder Bahul shrugged. “It’s how you react to the situation. You’re not trapped unless you want to be.”
The elder had a point. Braiden and his friends had dealt with surprises on their adventures, and there had always been space to improvise. If Valefour had something awful prepared for them, they’d just have to be extra awful about beating him into submission, too.
“That pipe can’t be good for you,” Augustin panted, still catching his breath. “Especially after all that running.”
“Helps me relax,” Bahul muttered. “Anyway, hardly broke a sweat.”
Braiden could feel the beginnings of a snippy retort in his chest, but a bloodcurdling cry pierced the air before he could answer.
“That was Bones,” Warren said, glaring at the far end of the cavern. “Definitely. I’d recognize his whining anywhere.”
There was an edge of fondness to the way Warren had said that, and the way he quickly reached for his quarterstaff spoke enough of his affection for their undead friend.
He gave the party a single nod, and they all understood. Exhausted as they were from their flight, they were too close to stop now. Bones needed their help.
They surged forward, sprinting around the fringes of the bubbling pool as they cut the shortest line between them and the distant screaming. They’d only started running when something rustled in the undergrowth.
Brass boxes sprang out of the tall grass, out of treetops, out of the bushes. Somehow the messengers had stealthily maneuvered through the cavern, suppressing their terrible personalities and obnoxious declarations long enough to sneak into position.
Braiden would have expected a giant net, at least something attached to a tripwire. Maybe Valefour wasn’t a fan of setting snares like Warren and the burrowfolk.
“Surrender,” the messengers said as one, encircling them. “Or be boiled alive.”
Braiden licked his lips, his mouth parched, tasting sweat. He glanced over his shoulder at the bubbling water, his heart pounding.
“You’re planning to knock us in?” he asked, trying to buy some time.
“We could simply roast you, too,” said the lead messenger. “Your method of preparation is irrelevant. Master Valefour isn’t picky about his prey.”
Elyssandra retched. “Your master plans to eat us? Hah. Over my dead body.”
“It was only a turn of phrase,” the messenger said. “But that can be arranged. Now, if you would please follow.”
That was the politest thing the messenger had ever said to them. And somehow, this was the first time Braiden actually believed it.
Or perhaps it was only wishful thinking. Valefour didn’t lure them all this way just to eat them — or did he?
The messengers hovered in a ring around the party, herding them away from the bubbling pool and closer to the source of Bones’s scream.
What if it was only another messenger? Could these boxes mimic voices? Was Bones even here to begin with?
Braiden bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. There had to be a way for them to break out of this and find out. Chin held high, he scanned ahead for any sign of a dark abode befitting a demon lord.
Was it a deep pit packed to the brim with the bones of his victims? A spike-filled fortress out here in the underground woods?
No. It was, as it turned out, a sparse encampment, three simple tents arranged around a campfire. Valefour stood before the fire, flanked by two demons, casting a menacing silhouette with the flames at his back.
And in his arms squirmed a yowling, terrified skeleton.
“It’s a trap!” Bones shrieked.
As if they didn’t know already.