“It seemed that she would. The clerics said the only thing they could do for her was to cut off her head and spare her the indignity of returning as an undead. I lost my mind at that, socked one of them right in the jaw. Crippled as I was, I don’t think it ever occurred to him that I might have some fight in me.”
“That sounds more like the you we know,” Gabrielle said.
“Thank you. After that, the adventurers had to pull me away, and that is when they told me of the last hope for Madroria. On one of their previous excursions, they’d come across a magic elixir that could heal any wound, lift any curse, cure any disease. It could reverse the ravages of all but death itself. They’d neglected to tell me about it because it was precious beyond value and was not something they would use lightly. As fond as they’d grown of Madroria and me, it was still an item they hesitated to relinquish.”
“Greedy bastards.” Gabrielle spat in the dirt.
“No, I don’t begrudge them their reluctance. These were people who saw danger every day. They would need that elixir themselves, sooner or later, and giving it away could mean the death of one of their own. It was a great kindness of them to even make me a deal, which they did. Madroria and I would serve them, follow as their guides, pack mules, whatever was needed, paying forth our portion of all treasures found until the elixir had been purchased. Needless to say, I leapt at the opportunity. The wizard of their group, a willowy woman with silken hair, produced a bottle that resembled stopped sunshine and poured it down Madroria’s throat.”
Thistle’s eyes grew moist, the battled back tears finally breaking through. He let them this time, for he was now to the part of the tale that filled him with joy. Thistle had no qualms about crying happy tears for his wife; he only avoided those of sadness.
“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.