NPCs (26 page)

“Save only for the day we wed, many years later, I have never seen Madroria so beautiful as when the magic enveloped her, healing her wounds and driving the undead rot into oblivion. She glowed, not just with magic, but with life and vitality. Had the gods taken me in that moment, there would have been no heaven that could have equaled my joy. Then, as always happens, the tab came due. Madroria and I left the temple, our home, and put to the road with the adventurers. It was a very long time before our debt was paid, and perhaps we journeyed with them for a while longer. Those years with them, my first real job as a minion when I think about it, are how I have such knowledge about adventurers.”

“That does explain quite a bit, but there’s one thing I was hoping to hear about that you didn’t touch on,” Gabrielle said. “You constantly refer to Grumph as old friend, and I’m pretty certain you two knew each other before Maplebark. Where does he fit in with all that?”

Thistle and Grumph exchanged a short glance, and Grumph gave the barest of shakes of his large, half-orc skull.

“A story for another time,” Thistle replied. “My obligation is fulfilled, and we need to sleep while we can. When we rise, there is a very real chance it will be for the last time.”

“Thanks, Thistle, that’s not going to give me nightmares or anything,” Eric sighed. He laid his head on the bedroll anyway. Nightmares, at least, were illusionary, and therefore better than the terror waiting for him on the other side of the red-rune-inscribed door.

“Strangely, I think you’ll find that’s not true at all. When faced with near certain death, the mind has more than enough real fear to occupy it without conjuring up more. Usually, in times like this, I have the happiest dreams I can ever recall,” Thistle said.

“Agreed,” Grumph chimed in.

Gabrielle shot him a look, still clearly curious about his friendship with Thistle, but said nothing. The truth was that they did need rest. Whether it was filled with horror or happiness was irrelevant; they still had to get some. She laid her head on her pack, wondering how she would actually fall asleep in such a place and under such odd circumstances.

Within moments, she had passed out, snores gently joining into a chorus that the others had already begun.

22.

“Everyone ready?”

“Ready,” Thistle called, daggers out and anxious to be hurled.

“Ready,” Grumph said, magic spell firmly in mind as he stared at the door.

“Ready,” Eric said, hand resting on the hilt of his short sword.

“Then, let’s do this.” Gabrielle grabbed the handle of the door and jerked it open, surprised at how easy the motion was. Given the stone material it was constructed from, she’d expected it to be heavy and awkward; but it took almost no effort to move. It made sense, when she stopped to think about it: minions were usually small and weak, so a heavy door would be a big obstacle to them.

As soon as the door was ajar, everyone sprang into motion. They’d discussed the best strategy while eating the remains of their rations for breakfast. She would fling the door open, since her armor was the strongest and most likely to ward off any trap that might be on it. Eric would race through quickly, getting a lay of the land and hopefully finding a place he could hide. Grumph and Thistle would lead the charge, since they could handle monsters at a range or in close combat, and Gabrielle, if still alive, would follow and use her axe for any melee needs.

Eric dashed through the open door into the dull, crimson light streaming through. He leapt into a long hallway and took a good look at his surroundings. Eric was ready for anything — undead, demons, perhaps even a dragon — but what he found was nothing like he’d expected.

“Hey… um, you guys should probably come take a look at this.”

The others trickled in slowly, weapons at the ready, and then stood in dumb wonder at what they found.

There were no monsters, or demons, or beasts of any sort. The room was made of the same material as the rest of the dungeon, but here, they finally saw signs of filth. It was not dust or wear that met them, though; instead, there were half-eaten plates of food everywhere, dozens of bottles that had once held wine, and a rough mattress with sheets that were strewn about. The red light that enveloped the small room came from a small lantern shaped like an ale mug and the color of old wine.

“It looks like my cousin Eldreb’s place,” Gabrielle said. “He’s unmarried and lives by himself. We tend not to visit when we can avoid it.”

“Thistle, is this more minion stuff?” Eric asked.

“I highly doubt it. Minions rarely get luxuries such as beds, and we are never given indulgences like wine or decent cooking.” Thistle turned to look at the door they’d come through and found that on this side it looked like nothing more than a section of wall behind a chamber pot. The chamber pot had, thankfully, slid with the wall and was not turned over. Definitely a minion access point: no adventurers ever went rooting around near the toilet.

“We should go.” Grumph pointed down the hallway that led out of the room, toward a turn that curved to the left. There was more light coming from down the hall, soft and inconstant, flickering about. The others nodded in agreement and shifted back into ready stances.

Eric took the lead, moving quietly, thankful as the red lantern’s light faded and he was once more amidst darkness. He didn’t notice the way his veilpanther armor seemed to shimmer with shadow and cloak him; all he knew was that he felt safer when he was harder to spot. Eric rounded the corner carefully, silently, and motioned for the others to follow. This hall led to a room where the light was brighter, and as his boots moved softly across the stone floor, Eric slowly pulled his short sword from its scabbard. When he stepped into the light, it would be almost impossible to hide. He needed to be ready to strike, quickly and efficiently, against anything that might be waiting. With a darting stride forward, Eric closed the last of the distance and peered around the corner into this new room.

Staring right back at him, mere inches away, was a set of pale-yellow eyes in a wide, round face, topped off by a set of long and pointed ears.

“You know, there’s a ward on that door that sounds whenever you open it.” The voice was male and lower than most elven voices; even the men usually sounded like singing flutes. It belonged to an elf wearing long, red robes that didn’t fit his expansive stomach and holding a wooden staff with symbols carved across it.

Eric braced for attack, but instead, the elf turned around and walked back into the room. “Come on then, may as well chat for a bit. I haven’t had any company in ages. Tell your friends they’re welcome, too.”

Eric swallowed hard, trying to gulp down his nerves and uncertainty at the oddness of this situation. “Aren’t you going to demand we sheath our weapons or something?”

“Why? It’s not like they’ll do you any good.”

Briefly, Eric considered testing that theory and rushing the elf. It was only the robes and staff that made him hesitate. That was the garb of a wizard, and if he knew they were coming, he’d had ample time to cast trap or protection spells. Only fools and gods fought a prepared wizard.

“My name is Eric.” He sheathed his blade and motioned for the others. Strange as this was, no blood had been spilt yet, and he wanted to see if that trend could continue.

“Good to meet you, Eric. You may call me Aldron. Please, take a seat. It will be nice to have someone to talk to for a bit.”

For the first time, Eric noticed the rest of the room. It was large, expansive, filled with bookshelves along the walls. In the center were various workbenches, along with a table that still held scraps of meal on it. In one corner sat several large chairs, each filled with cushions and appearing quite comfortable. At the far end was a small stove and cabinet, presumably filled with food, next to a low table with various cooking tools atop it. Beside the kitchen area was a large wooden chest that hosted no lock, and directly across from the chest was a pedestal. It was carved from some sort of white marble, inscribed with all manner of runes to the point where it practically glowed with magic.

Sitting atop it was a strange object, misshapen to Eric’s eye, yet beautiful. It was forged from crystal and clear as day, save only for a design on the top that he couldn’t make out. Unlike the pedestal that supported it, the object gave off no glow or light, yet Eric found himself unable to look away. It didn’t present its magic like the things he was accustomed to seeing. No, this object somehow spoke to a part of him he’d never known about before, whispering that he was looking at a piece of the world beyond his comprehension. This artifact was not powerful. It
was
power.

As soon as his eyes fell upon it, Eric knew he’d found what the king sent them after.

“Quite pretty, isn’t it?” Aldron said. He had taken one of the soft chairs and was sitting comfortably in it. “Of course, someone like you can’t appreciate the real beauty of it. That’s a privilege reserved for folks purely of our world.”

“Of our world?”

Thistle’s voice snapped Eric out of his fugue, and he realized the others had caught up to him while he was gazing at the artifact. He turned his gaze away from the pedestal and the prize it held, determined to keep his wits about him while dealing with this mage.

“Yes, of our world. Didn’t expect me to know about that, did you? My time with this magical object — The Bridge, I’ve come to call it — has opened my mind to many of the secrets normally veiled from our kind.”

“Oh, and what sort of secrets might those be?” Thistle walked over and took a seat of his own. Gabrielle followed, but Grumph and Eric stayed standing. Pleasant as the atmosphere was, it wouldn’t do to have them all clustered together in an easy target.

“The Bridge has whispered to me of countless things since I discovered it all those months ago. But the most important one is that I know you people, adventurers, are not truly beings of our world. Sure, you may look and feel like flesh from this plane, but the spirit guiding you is separate. It dwells in another place altogether.” Aldron pulled out a pipe and lit it with a flick of his wrist.

“The magic crystal told you that, did it?” Gabrielle didn’t bother keeping the incredulous doubt from her face.

“It isn’t a crystal,” Aldron corrected. “Truthfully, I’m not entirely sure what it is. All I’ve discerned in my time is that it is a piece of a larger whole, an artifact of untold power that will finally allow us to fight back.”

“Why don’t we back up a bit,” Thistle suggested. “Just who are you, and how did you come across this Bridge, as you call it?”

“I was a wizard working under the king’s thumb, aiding the excavation team that first uncovered this dungeon. The others scampered off to report their findings, but I was tasked with exploring and mapping duties. After several days, I eventually made my way to this chamber, where I found The Bridge. From that moment on, I’ve lived here, provided for by the dungeon’s magic, tirelessly studying the effects and power of this magnificent artifact.”

“Bugbearshit. There’s no way one wizard fought through this entire dungeon,” Gabrielle said. “Not when countless adventurers have died trying to get past the halfway point.”

“Ah, silly adventurer, there were no monsters when I came through. It was my discovery of The Bridge that led to the dungeon’s reawakening. The dungeon and The Bridge were in states of dormancy… they were sleeping. I awoke one, which roused the other. That is how I made it here unscathed.” Aldron rose from his comfy chair and ambled across the room, stopped at a table and picked up a half-full glass of old mead.

“As to why none of you can press through the dungeon, I did tell you already, The Bridge allows us to fight back against you invaders.”

“Fight back how?” Eric asked. His eyes were on the artifact once more. He could hear it, a keening note that filled up his soul. It was almost as if it was speaking to him, yet he knew not the language.

“Your world pushes into ours like a river flowing into a lake. The lake has no recourse; it must accept what the river sends. The Bridge changes that. It allows our world to push back. Not much, in its incomplete state, but enough to render adventurers in its proximity powerless. The term I believe you use is ‘critical failure’. None of you can so much as a land a blow on me right now; The Bridge is calibrated to cause catastrophic results from all but the most mundane of actions.” Aldron finished off his glass of old mead and set the empty container down on the table. “Does it terrify you, brave adventurers, to know that the river no longer flows in a single direction?”

“More intrigues us, really,” Thistle replied. “So all adventurers come from this other place, and your crystal there can make it so nothing they try to do succeeds. It’s a neat trick, but it seems a bit limited in its capacity.”

“I’ll give you that, but remember, this piece of The Bridge is just that: a piece. When fully assembled, there is no telling what havoc we can wreak on your world.” Aldron’s face fell a bit, his elf ears drooping slowly. “Even if there is cost to our own.”

“Cost?” Grumph asked. In his mind, he began calling up spells. As a fellow wizard, it was his job to knock out as much of the magical might of their attackers as possible.

“Yes, horrible cost, not that you care.” Aldron shook his head slowly. “The Bridge is not perfect, not yet. For using its power, there are repercussions in our world. I’ve tried to keep them minimal; unfortunately, a few have slipped through. The cost of altering the world of the adventurers is that it compounds the repercussions of adventurers meddling in our world.”

“Forgive me, I don’t quite understand,” Thistle said.

“Of course, you don’t.” Aldron’s sadness seemed to evaporate, replaced by a bubbling sense of anger. “You act as if our entire realm exists purely for your amusement. It would never occur to you that some of the monsters you see are neither of your world nor of ours. The Bridge links more than one world, and using its power causes them to bleed together, often in horrible, bloody ways.”