Eventually, they’d fallen, of course. Everyone fell in these halls. The closer an adventurer came to the center, the more chance turned against them. By the fifth ring, they’d be fortunate to walk without falling to their deaths. Anywhere past the seventh and even that much was an impossibility.
The wraiths ran their claws over the newly-made corpses once more, just to be certain their prey was fully drained. None paid attention to the rune on the scroll that had fallen from a barbarian’s clutches. It was a small rune, positioned below a drawing of the very dungeon these wraiths inhabited. Before the party died it had been entirely invisible, but now it glowed with a dark green hue.
This was all irrelevant to the wraiths, which held no concern that information was being sent back to the king’s guards. All the wraiths cared for was eating life, and they could sense that there was still some in the dungeon to be had. They’d have to hurry, though; the lives were fading fast.
Of the seven clusters of adventurers who had entered the dungeon, only four were still drawing breath.
“Cozy fit,” Grumph muttered as he tried to ignore the sensation of tunnel walls closing in around him. He was already on his hands and knees, as was everyone aside from Thistle, inching along in the dim tunnel. Grumph, like the others, thought safely maneuvering down to the bottom of the pit would be the hard part. All things considered, he might have taken a poke from one of the spears if it meant a few inches’ more comfort on his trek.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Thistle said from his position at the front of the convoy. Gabrielle was behind him, then Grumph, and Eric was in the rear, listening for anything that might try to sneak up on them. “Minions tend to be my size most of the time. Makes us easier to kick around and discipline as needed. Occasionally, we get some bigger folks — since we gnomes are shit at heavy lifting — but they’re never weighed down by things like armor or weapons when they come through the tunnel.”
“I don’t want to hear any complaining from the half-orc not wearing armor,” Gabrielle snapped. “I’ve got this demon-scale and a giant axe weighing me down.”
“I’m very wide,” Grumph countered.
“He is robust,” Eric agreed. Since his armor was barely thicker than cloth, he was the least inconvenienced of anyone, save for Thistle. “Any idea how far we are from the center?”
“We’ve been passing exit hatches at regular intervals,” Thistle informed him. “I’d wager each one exits in a different ring of the dungeons, so right now, we’re somewhere between the fifth and sixth rings.”
“That would be a lot more helpful if we knew how many there were total,” Gabrielle said.
“Helpful, but unnecessary. If the minions built something this direct, it almost certainly will take us all the way to the center of the dungeon. We might not be right in the artifact’s chamber, but we’ll be quite close.” Thistle put his hands on his daggers unconsciously. No matter how far they got through the tunnel, there was bound to be some monsters guarding their prize. When they arrived, there would be bloodshed. He only hoped not all of it would be theirs.
“I wonder how the other teams are doing.” Gabrielle paused to reach back and adjust her axe, nearly banging Grumph’s skull in the process.
“Probably bad,” Grumph said. “Based on history.”
“We don’t know how many have gone before us,” Gabrielle said. “Maybe we’re the second or third expedition to attempt this. It’s always possible one of the other teams might actually make it through.”
“Perhaps they will,” Eric agreed. He didn’t have the heart to tell her what he’d figured out. If the king was courting adventurers who had done nothing more than kill off a few kobolds, he was not looking for the best adventurers around. For something this important, there was only one reason why the king would be using the dregs of the adventuring barreclass="underline" all the good ones he could find had already failed. No, they weren’t the first or second group of teams to try this. He doubted they were even in the first ten.
This place had already claimed the lives of countless adventurers. By the time the next sun rose, it would have certainly gotten the blood of more. All they could do was pray not to be among them.
A sickening howl filled the air as the drake plunged its teeth into the dwarf’s flesh. The dwarf refused to go down easily, grabbing the short sword from his hip and stabbing at the monster currently chewing on his leg. Surely, at this range, he would finally hit. He wouldn’t go down like the rest of his friends, who were all dead, or bleeding out around him. He would survive. He would hit this damned thing and make his escape.
The dwarf’s howl turned into a scream of rage as he thrust the blade forward, aiming right for the drake’s eye. It should have been a killing blow, but at the last moment, the drake turned its head to the side, causing the blade to bounce off its armored skull and stab the dwarf in his other leg.
“No… no. I can’t have…” Whatever final words the dwarf might have been ready to utter were lost to the ages, as this fresh wound was more than he could withstand. He toppled to the ground, unconscious.
The drake continued its meal undisturbed. By the time it had finished eating the dwarf’s meaty leg, its remaining victims had finished bleeding to death and were now simply dead, a set of three corpses in the sixth ring of the dungeon.
And with that, only two teams remained.
21.
No one was sure how many hours they’d been crawling on their knees; all they knew was that everyone except Thistle was sore from their shins to their toes. So when the tunnel finally opened up into a room large enough for everyone, even Grumph, to stand, it took a great deal of effort not to scream in joy at the act of getting up.
The room was simple and small, ten feet by ten feet, made of the same dark stone as the rest of the dungeon and sporting a large door at the far end. On the door were a variety of runes and symbols, each incredibly complex. Grumph took one look at them and knew he had no hope of deciphering any of it. Not that it would have changed things if he could; they’d come this far, and their only hope of salvation lay on the other side of that door. Even if it was rigged with enough magic to bring down a dragon, they still had to open it.
“We should rest,” Eric said, his voice hushed. “Everyone is worn out after that trek, and who knows what’s on the other side of that door.”
“I’d guess an artifact, a guardian, and more trouble than any sane man would want to deal with. Aye, resting is a fine idea.” Thistle also kept his voice quiet, though he showed less concern for stealth as he dropped his pack to the ground and rummaged about. He pulled out a waterskin and some dried meat for rations, biting off a large chunk that would take him ages to chew through.
The others followed suit, getting food and drink from their packs and digging in with more vigor than they’d expected. Fear, adrenaline, and pain had dulled them to the fact that it had been hours upon hours since their last meal. The first bite reawakened the voice of their biological needs, and soon everyone was devouring without a thought spared to manners.
Only as the pain of hunger was curbed did another realization begin sneaking up on each party member: they were exhausted. The simple beds of the barracks seemed years ago, and the fog of fatigue began descending on their minds almost immediately.
“How long do you think we’ve been in here?” Gabrielle asked, washing down the last bites of her dried meat.
“The moon is probably coming down and the sun will rise soon. So, almost a full night,” Thistle said. No one asked how he made his guesses; they were too tired to care.
“That means we’ve been up for almost a full day,” Eric surmised. “We’re going to have to get some sleep if we want to be even close to good in a fight.”