The Dungeoneers Page 10

  “Wouldn't it be easier to just, I don't know, yell and wave your arms a bit?”

  Thud nodded and then gave a 'whaddaya goin' ta do' shrug.

  “I figgers if Mungo keeps at it long enough, eventually he'll just remove the chicken entirely and we'll have some new li'l thingwhirly that might be good for somethin'.”

  Goin had distributed the harnessed chickens amongst the shield dwarves.

  “Release the chickens!” he yelled.

  The dwarves flung them down the stairwell and a great deal of squawking and flapping commenced.

  “One chicken down,” Ginny said. “Flaming dart trap at W915, trigger on FC2.”

  Mungo began scribbling in his notebook.

  A loud thump came from within the room.

  “Chicken two down,” Ginny said. “Block trap FD5.”

  A surprised squawk came from within. Ginny winced. “Ouch. Three down. Pivoting spear wall at W1220, trigger probably at FD8.”

  She waved her arm in the air.

  “All right, team, form up. One survivor. Looks like Miss Cluck at 4-1 odds.”

  Several of the shield dwarves muttered curses and began exchanging coins.

  Ginny and her team advanced slowly into the room. She poked her head out a few minutes later.

  “Clear!”

  Thud strolled down the steps, Durham and Ruby close behind.

  The first thing Durham saw was the glint of gold. It seemingly came from everywhere—the walls, the objects piled around the room, the massive sarcophagus in the center. The walls were hung with ornate tapestries, gold thread woven amongst bands of color and panels of sigils, shining from woven demonic faces. Vases, armor and chests were draped with strings of pearls and jewels, baubles and beads. Rolls of rotted silk were stacked in a far corner beside a massive weapon rack arrayed with glittering swords. A large stone block sat on the floor near the coffin with chicken oozing out from under it. A second chicken was impaled on a spear that extended from the room's far wall and the third was slumped smoking in the corner with a quizzical expression.

  The golden sarcophagus in the middle was shaped like a temple, arches, pillars and windows carved in detail along its sides. The lid was sloped and fashioned like a tiled roof, peaking in a jewel encrusted snake depicted in a sinuous weave along the coffin's length. Miss Cluck was standing awkwardly atop the sarcophagus. She'd managed to eat her worm, the string still leading from the rod to her beak and now just appeared to be confused by the array of lenses strapped to her head.

  Thud stood in the doorway, contemplating the room.

  “Ginny? Mungo?”

  “Traps disabled and clear. Take a look at this, though.” Ginny held out a lit candle. She stepped near the coffin with it and lowered it to the floor. The flame suddenly flickered and leaned in towards the base of the sarcophagus.

  “Somethin' under that thing, I figger. Hole of some kind.”

  Thud's grin split his face.

  “I knew there had to be more to this place.”

  Ginny shrugged.

  “Might just be some kinda oubliette. Maybe for his necessaries.”

  “Necessaries?” Durham asked. “What sort of necessaries would a lich have?”

  “Dunno. Moisturizer, mebbe?”

  “Well, we'll see in a bit,” Thud said. “Ready for you Nibbly!” he yelled. Ginny's team scurried out, leaving only Ginny and Mungo. Nibbly, Dadger and Leery appeared and began shuffling around the room, bags in hand, squinting at things and poking them. Ginny and Mungo were crawling around the base of the sarcophagus, prodding at it with rods.

  “Leaf and paste,” Nibbly said sadly after a minute or two.

  Thud arched his bushy eyebrows.

  “Most o' the gold here is leaf,” Nibbly said. “Scrape that coffin clean and ya might have enough to make a ring. Same with them chairs and such. Lotta them jools is glass and paste. Some real, mebbe. Tapestries is good, though.”

  Thud nodded but didn't look overly disappointed. In fact, if anything, his grin got bigger.

  “Show tomb for the locals. 'Nuff to make an amateur happy and send 'im on 'is way,” he said.

  They stepped out of the way as Nibbly's crew began carting out furnishings and loading their sacks. Nibbly himself was busy removing tapestries and rolling them up.

  “So is there a lever or something that lifts the coffin?” Durham asked.

  “Yup,” Thud said. “Three of 'em.” He held up a crowbar and winked. “Nibbly, keep on with what yer doing but I also want that sarcophagus secured and prepped to be hauled out of here. No telling what sorta surprise might ‘ave been left inside of that thing and I wanna open it outdoors in the clear. Ginny, I want traps team to help. Lend dwarfpower where needed and supervise the sealing just in case there’s sumthin dodgy waiting.”

  He nodded at Durham. “Back into the fresh air, shall we?”

  -11-

  Durham and Ruby followed Thud back through the dungeon and outside into the field tent that had been erected behind the wagons. A large table filled most of it, a dozen or so chairs around it. The walls of the tent had been lowered against the evening breeze and the pixies and mosquitoes it brought with it. A large metal pot was on the ground next to the table, filled with water.

  “We aren't going further in tonight?” Durham asked.

  “Patience, lad,” Thud said. He lit a fresh cigar and blew a large smoke ring with a contented sigh. Gammi appeared with mugs of ale and began distributing them.

  “Got to take these sorta things slow and careful,” Thud said. “No such thing as 'too cautious' with these sortsa places. And it ain't all about delving in—we gots the clerical side o' things to handle also.”

  Nibbly arrived from the tomb with a bulging sack and hoisted it onto the table. He had donned thick leather smithing gloves, goggles and a half-mask that covered his mouth and nose. Thud stood and waved everyone back from the table.

  “Keep yer distance a bit here, 'til we knows it's clean.”

  “Clean?” Durham asked.

  “Aye, some o' these ol' timey bastards liked to dip their jools in various poisons before entombing them. This is the jewelry from the wives. Some rulers like using it when they’ve got a bunch o' still breathin' wives that's s'posed to be laid to rest with them. Give 'em some poison rings and out they go.”

  Nibbly upended the sack and jewelry spilled out across the table. Necklaces and rings, pearls and gold and gemstones. Durham's breath caught in his throat. Thud sucked on his cigar a moment, regarding the pile.

  “Seems Alaham liked glittery wives, eh?” Thud said. “Nice little haul for first day’s work.”

  “Little haul?” asked Durham incredulously. “I could buy a house with what's on that table.”

  “Not once it’s been split twenty-two ways,” Nibbly said. “And that's only what's left after we subtract expedition costs. Might be enough for you to get a small shed. I reckon there's more where this came from. Never know how deep these things are gonna go but ol' Alaham had plenty o' opportunity to hoard up some nice bits.”

  Ruby had begun sorting through the jewelry with a pair of tongs, examining each piece and making notes in her journal before dropping it into the pot of water next to the table.

  “Now we gotta boil these clean, record 'em for posterity and appraise 'em for prosperity,” Thud grinned. “That’ll keep us busy until supper.”

  ᴥᴥᴥ

  The boiled jewelry had been placed in one of the chicken cages, along with Miss Cluck, who proceeded to plop herself down on it like the world's most pathetic dragon. Her purpose was to determine if any danger remained from the jewelry. It provided an odd sort of suspenseful entertainment over dinner, everyone periodically glancing over at the cage to see if she'd toppled over dead yet. When Mungo stepped up and threw a blanket over the cage he immediately had everyone's attention.

  “A philosophical conundrum for your edification and perturbation; your discussion betwixt mastications,” he squeakily procla
imed.

  Thud's eyes narrowed. “Er...jest go behind a tree er sumthin' 'n' wash yer hands after, eh?”

  “A riddle to discuss while we eat,” Ruby translated.

  “Ah, go on then.” He winked at Durham.

  The gnome gestured grandly at the blanket covered cage.

  “Is the chicken alive or is it dead?”

  “Got five eagles says it's alive!” Nibbly called. “Less'n it keeled over in the last few seconds.”

  “Ah, but theoretically it could be either, yes?” the gnome said. “No one can know for sure.”

  “Reckon the chicken's got a solid notion on the matter,” Gryngo said.

  Goin put his ear next to the blanket. “I kin hear it movin'”

  “Ain't much as far's riddles go,” Thud muttered.

  Mungo sighed. “Don’t you see? It could be either! And therefore, until we observe it, both answers are correct! It leads to speculation of parallel realms with every possible outcome, each echoes of the others!”

  “Like mirrors, kinda?” Goin asked.

  “Precisely! Except each reflection has a minuscule difference. Imagine an infinity of other worlds, each just slightly different but sharing most of the same things. Events, people, even such small things as words. Even our words which seem obscure and strange could be commonly used in the world next door and they’d know immediately what you were talking about!”

  “Like slintwhiff or banglypang?” Thud asked. “Never did think them words was proper.”

  “Exactly!”

  “Mooshwort!”

  “Precisely!”

  “Chinfig!”

  “Undoubtedly!”

  “Kangaroo and boomerang!”

  “Well,” Mungo said. “Not sure I’d quite push it that far.”

  Durham tuned the discussion out and turned to Ruby. “What exactly is the point of building a dungeon?” Some big underground maze full of traps and monsters. Seems like a lot of unnecessary expense and effort. And why are they called ‘dungeons’? I thought dungeons were places where prisoners were kept.”

  Ruby looked up with the spark in her eyes that Durham had come to realize appeared whenever a question was asked that fell anywhere near the history category.

  “Well, once you place prisoners somewhere, you place guards and locks there as well,” she said. “Eventually someone realized that they could save a bit of coin on guards by replacing them here and there with a few deathtraps in choice spots. Now you’ve got an underground place with locks, guards and traps — only natural for it to start looking like an ideal place to keep your valuables as well. Once you start keeping valuables down there, it makes a certain sort of sense to move the criminals elsewhere. Or to maybe just lop their heads off. The idea caught on well in Keine. They think whatever is buried with you goes with you beyond. They fill their tombs with treasure and virgins…”

  “Virgins?” Durham asked. “People virgins? Alive ones?”

  “Well, they don’t stay alive for too long once the tomb is sealed, but yes, people virgins. Well, maybe some other varieties of virgins too but that isn’t something they tend to advertise. Afterlives, regardless of their religion, tend to have a common theme in that they last a very long time. One needs to pass the time somehow and un-virgining virgins might seem a more appealing prospect than rereading all of your books again. You give them poison jewelry, light them on fire or wait a few weeks for them to starve to death. The notion is that if someone robs your tomb that you lose your treasure in the afterlife as well. But even if someone takes all of your gold it’s pretty good odds that they’ll leave you your virgins. Far lower resale value.

  “No one wants to lose the gold, however, Keine or elsewhere. Paying guards to watch your tomb for the length of an afterlife is cost prohibitive, not to mention that it greatly increases the likelihood of prematurely losing your virgins. Owners of dungeons took pretty readily to the idea of filling the places with traps, tricks and puzzles as a means to guard their treasure. What’s more secure than a locked vault full of gold? A locked vault full of gold at the end of a maze filled with spiky bits that slam down on anyone trying the maze.

  “After a time someone figured out a way to add guards of a sort. There are plenty of dangerous things out and about in the world and many of them are perfectly happy living underground. If you included habitats for them in your dungeon then you get free guards. Likewise, some of the fae races that prefer living underground figured out that if they could move in to part of a dungeon that it gave their homes quite a bit of free security. The idea spread to underground lairs that weren’t tombs. Since the fae races tend to have belongings, outsiders came to view their homes as dungeons as well. Break in, dodge the traps, kill the monsters and you could maybe haul off enough treasure to retire on. Particularly after the daemonwars when the remnants of the hordes scattered and hid, often in the same places their fae allies were living. Going in and slaughtering anything that moved was encouraged as an act of public service.”

  “That’s us,” Thud said. “Public servants.” He’d wandered over from Mungo’s chicken audience and stood just behind and to the left of Ruby, sipping at a mug.

  “There are going to be demons in there?” Durham asked, looking toward the crypt. A bit of his stomach seemed to have relocated itself into his throat, leaving him queasy and swallowing.

  “Probably not here,” Thud said. “See, dungeons tend to develop based on what started ‘em. Here we got a crypt with a lich in it. Place is as much its home as it is a dungeon and they can be right particular about anyone else livin’ there. Demons ain’t known for their suitability as tombmates. Demons ain’t big fans of the undead, either, considering how the daemonwars ended.”

  Durham frowned. “The whole Bonebin thing? Isn’t that just a bard tale?”

  Ruby shook her head. “Not according to the histories we have in the Athenaeum.

  “Five centuries ago, when the daemons came, the kingdoms fell quickly. No army could stand against their numbers. The Hermits gathered in council and determined that their best course was an even larger army. An army that grew for every loss it took and for every enemy it defeated. What they had in that number were the dead. They tasked the grey Hermits with it. Not only was death under their domain but their neutrality insured that balance would remain after the war. They crafted a set of bone weapons and armor and bestowed them on one of the Archons of Grimm, raising him to be the first of the Avatars. Though the grey Hermits directed the crafting, all of the Hermits lent their aid. Each of the items they made was an artifact greater than any before or since and, as a set, they made the wearer almost a god. But the greatest of all of them was the crown. It allowed the wearer to control the dead as an army. If one fell, it rose again. Anything the army killed rose and joined its ranks. They were unstoppable and they destroyed the daemon army in less than a month. Afterward the dead were laid to rest in a secret place that came to be called the Bonebin and the bone artifacts hidden away in guarded places known only to the gray Hermits. Should the daemons ever return, the dead are still there, in numbers far, far greater than what we saw here, waiting to be called again.”

  “And there’s where the avatar’s name came from? The bonebin?”

  Ruby nodded. “Only the grey Hermits know who he was before he was raised.”

  “Odd earned-name, Bonebin,” Thud mused, “but guess it’s better than ‘Larry’ or whatever it was beforehand.”

  “Liches aren’t concerned with keeping their treasure for the afterlife as they’ve chosen to remain in this world for their afterlife,” Ruby said. “All liches were necromancers when they had a heartbeat as it’s the only line of magic that allows someone to figure out how to become a lich. What drives necromancers, initially, at least, is the lure of forbidden knowledge. You tell them that they’re not to know something and they immediately want to know it, partly so they can figure out why they’re not meant to know it. There’s power in knowledge and a little power feeds th
e desire for more of it. If the knowledge is something that few others have then it makes the power rare and especially seductive. The thing about knowledge and power is that there’s always more of both to be had and each increases the other. Suddenly a human lifespan begins to look ridiculously short compared to the amount of knowledge and power left to acquire. And so the necromancer first conspires to extend his life. A common aspiration among wizards as sorcery offers many ways to artificially stretch your life thin to cover more years. Necromancy goes a step further in that it offers the possibility to keep going, even after death. It’s not an easy thing, however, and most necromancers fail. Liches are fortunately quite rare. Unfortunately, it is only the most powerful of necromancers that achieve it. Add in the knowledge and power that they acquire after death and they become increasingly dangerous as their years add up. Alaham has been a lich for centuries. He will not be an easy foe. Every lich has a critical weakness, however.”

  “The phylactery?” Durham asked.

  Thud nodded. “If I have me way we won’t even see the lich. Grab the mace, smash the phylactery and get out. Probably won’t work that way, however. A lich guards his phylactery like an elf guards his salad.”

  “And there lies his motivation for creating a dungeon,” Ruby said. “It’s a place hidden away, to continue the pursuit of forbidden knowledge and power and, more importantly, a way to guard the phylactery that allows him to do so.”

  “Lich dungeons grow o’er the years,” Thud said. “The necromancers got all them skellies wandering around, doin’ whatever they tells ‘em to do. They never tire, they never need feeding or paying. You just set ‘em to work, digging, building. East, beyond the Hammerfells, there’s a land where necromancy ain’t forbidden and the dwarves have always found less work there as they’re competin’ with skeleton crews which come a lot cheaper and build faster. Alaham’s had a lot o’ years secreted away underground. We ain’t see it yet but I’m guessing he’s put a load o’ work into the place.”