Chapter 3.19 — Judicious Slaughter

Stories are a currency we often ignore. We crave them. We create them out of thin air if there’s nothing around to fire our imaginations. After so long in Xarinos, cut off from the rest of the world, when travelers come to us we descend on them like locusts. We want to strip them bare of their words, their memories, their experiences, not because we’re cruel, but because we’re hungry.

                                                                                          Excerpt from the Journal of the Emissary

Fourth of Striving 1142, Afternoon (Three days ago)

Ressssen studied Borin as he led her through the dungeon maze. Because he had perfect recall, it made sense to let him “map” the dungeon, though she doubted he was actually creating a visual image. He simply remembered every turn he took. Since salads were plants, they didn’t have brains, but instead stored each memory inside some sort of magical matrix. She had been stunned to learn of this only recently, and since then, had noticed how specific Borin’s recall of incidents was. Memory was imperfect, though the higher your level, the better your recall seemed to be. But still, if she had to trust her memory or Borin’s, she would trust his, in spite of their level difference.

And Borin seemed to be having a grand time. He wasn’t afraid—he was fascinated. They weren’t doing anything exciting. They’d encountered a couple of taladara, which they dispatched as they had the first. They encountered a demonling, who Borin had bargained with, and who had eventually allowed them to pass, and that was it. Other than that, it was a monotonous passage through a maze, with no actual indication they were making progress at all.

Still, she didn’t think she’d be able to navigate the maze better, but at some point they had to figure out a path through it, because their food wouldn’t last forever. For now, there was nothing to do but try to solve the maze, and she did. Using her own not inconsiderable memory, she tried to figure out some sort of pattern. Already, it was almost impossible. She had an idea, more than one really, but no way of knowing if any of them were right. She could only hope Borin had a better understanding of this place than she did. And then she realized, it was probably better to find out than hope.

“Borin, do you know where you’re going?”

The salad stopped and looked back at her, perplexed. “How could I? I’ve never been here before.”

“Then how do you know you’re going the right way?”

Borin thought about it. “When you’re in a maze, movement is important. You can’t solve a maze without information, and you can’t get information without moving. I’ve been trying to build a system that explains why this place has been set up the way that it is. I suspect, very soon, we’ll be meeting one of Morgan’s siblings.”

“Why?”

“This place is clearly designed. Morgan implied he had three siblings. If they’re spaced around the maze equally, we could assume that the maze is broken into quarters and, unless this place is immense, we should certainly be in the next quarter by now. Obviously I don’t know that’s the case, but it’s the best theory I have to test.”

Ressssen blinked, which, as a reptile, didn’t happen that often. “That’s remarkably astute.”

“Thank you. I don’t want to disappoint you.”

Ressssen’s chuckle had more hiss in it than usual. “Borin, you have been many things in our time together. A disappointment has never been one of them.”

Borin seemed to light up at that, and then continued down the corridor. It took several more turns before Borin proved right. Ahead of them was another demonling. It looked much like the first, but it wasn’t exactly identical. Like the first, it was short, squat, and slimy, but this one looked more female than male, though there was no one feature that Ressssen could pinpoint to back up that conclusion. Borin took the lead this time, and she let him.

“Hello, you must be one of the Morgans.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want to talk to her. The caster. And yes, I’m Morgan J. Gregory II, at your service.”

Ressssen stepped forward so she stood beside Borin. “Then you’ll let us pass.”

“What?”

“You said you were at our service. Demonlings don’t lie to my knowledge.”

“That’s true.”

“So if you wish to serve us, you need to let us pass.”

The demonling sputtered. “But that’s not what at your service means!”

“Oh? What does it mean then?”

“It’s an expression—it means I’m ready to help if I can, but doesn’t imply that I’ll obey blindly.”

“So you’re not actually at my service.”

“I’m here to make sure you get out of the maze, in my own demonic way. That is actually a service to you.”

“But you won’t just let us pass?”

“Not without payment, no.”

“And what would that payment look like?”

“What do you have to offer?”

Ressssen didn’t answer right away. Instead she considered. “I have a small red gem of considerable worth in my pack.”

The demonling chuckled. “And what would I do with a gem here? I’m stuck at this intersection, quite possibly for all of eternity. Which means that I would have no way to sell or spend it. You need to offer something that I can use here and now. A bit of your blood, for example. A small amount will do.”

“You will not be getting any of my blood. You’d use it to conjure, and I like being in control of my own actions.”

At this, the demonling broke into laughter. “Oh sweet summer child. That you believe, even for a moment, that you’re in charge of your own actions is delightful. Never change.”

Ressssen didn’t respond. Morgan J. Gregory II was trying to get a rise out of her, and she wasn’t going to be manipulated by a demon. She thought about how they’d gotten past the first demonling.

“I could tell you a story. One about my rage?”

“Ah, no. Rage is so much more my brother’s thing. I don’t care about that. However, I wouldn’t mind hearing a story about your envy. Envy is delicious.”

“Delicious?” interrupted Borin. “Do you eat emotions?”

The demonling turned a dismissive gaze toward him. “I thought I said I didn’t want to speak to you.”

“You did,” said Borin. “But it was I who was speaking to you.”

Ressssen held up a hand, indicating that Borin should remain silent. “He brings up a good point, though. Do you consume the envy I share?”

“Probably not in the way you’re thinking, Ressssen. If I consumed it, you’d no longer have it, but I’m not averse to you suffering.”

“I see. Very well then, a story for passage. Agreed?”

The demonling leaned forward eagerly. “Yes.”

“My name is Ressssen, and I’m a serpent lord. Were I a human, you’d call me a princess, though serpent lords don’t have royalty in the human sense of the word. My family was wealthy, not in coin, but in power and knowledge. This is what serpent lords value.

“I was the youngest child in the family, and as such received the least attention. So many of my many siblings grew into their positions and power, but I did not. I was different. I was interested in magic and learning, but also interested in exploring the world, which most serpent lords have no interest in. When I left my home in Gloomhearth, I left with three goals in mind. Join the Adventurer’s Guild, form my own team, and do something so incredible, so outstanding, that my parents would have to notice that I existed.”

“That doesn’t sound like envy,” said Morgan, disappointment evident in her gravelly voice.

“But it is envy. Because my brothers and sisters, each successful in our society, enjoyed our parents’ pride and attention whereas I did not. I was what humans would call the black sheep of my family. Never good enough. And I vowed that one day I would do something substantial enough that my parents would finally have to pay attention to me. But I still look at the others and think, why couldn’t I be like them? Why did I have to be different?”

“Interesting. And acceptable, even if it is a bit bland. Still, a deal is a deal. You may pass.”

“Thank you, Morgan.”

Ressssen walked past her with a casual wave of her clawed hand and waited for Borin to catch up.

“Have a good day,” said Borin as he passed.

The demonling growled. “How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t want to talk to you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Borin. “You’re responsible for your behavior. I’m responsible for mine. And I think it’s rude to just walk off without wishing someone well. Sorry if that offended you, though.”

“You’re insufferable!”

Ressssen cut Borin off before he could respond. “Don’t engage. Which way from here?”

Borin pointed down the center corridor, and they walked away, leaving the demonling behind them, cursing and shouting insults at their backs.

*

Seventh of Striving 1142, Late Afternoon

They reached the border of Karmenon late that afternoon, having marched hard during the day to make it before nightfall. The tents were visible from quite a distance, more of them than Terrence had imagined. Like the Kingdom of Twyl, Karmenon was all in.

King Terrence rode beside General Shinto, leading the rest of the long column. Even from this far away, they could hear the cheers of men as they approached—warriors excited for war. Terrence’s face tightened into a frown. People should be cautious, afraid, fearful even. No one should be happy. This wasn’t going to be a joyous outing—it was going to be a bloodbath. Many who lived today would not be coming back. They might not even be victorious, but by all the gods he would do his damnedest to take the fight to the undead. For everything they had done to Death’s Doorstep. For everything that they had put the world through, the Undead King needed to pay.

Terrence forced himself to school his expression, as he didn’t want to dampen the men’s spirits, even though he disapproved. They were still young, many of them anyway, and hadn’t fought in a war against the undead. They were as entitled to their foolhardiness as Terrence had been fifteen years ago when he’d ridden off to the Undead War. There was little point in trying to teach them a lesson that the war itself would pound into them. If only they knew what they were in for.

Terrence glanced at General Shinto, riding in his saddle as if he were born to it. Terrence was about to speak, when Shinto beat him to it.

“They don’t understand, but they will, and by then it will be too late.”

Terrence nodded. “The young are immortal, ask them if you don’t believe me.”

Shinto chuckled, a dark sound that spoke volumes about how much loss he’d suffered during the Undead War.

“Ah well. Time to act like the chosen of the gods.”

Shinto raised his eyebrows. “Act like? Terrence, you are the chosen of the gods. As much as I think there were better choices, the gods have their reasons. Ride into camp with your head up, and whatever doubt you feel, bury it. The army doesn’t need a man. They don’t need a king. They need the voice of Sheba.”

Terrence’s head jerked up. The voice of Sheba. Not just the High King. And he had a skill to prove it. Without taking time to think about it, he looked around and spoke, still far enough away that the army awaiting their arrival shouldn’t have heard it, but they did.

“Soldiers of Karmenon, stand proud, for we are about to march on our most ancient enemy. Raise your weapons, raise your voices. Let me hear you roar. Let them hear it all the way in Xarinos, for we are coming, and the Undead King should be afraid.”

For a moment, all was silent, but for the echoes of Terrence’s god-gifted voice. Then the cheer began and it grew and grew and grew until the hills around them echoed with the thunder of approval.

And when Terrence finally reached that camp, they surrounded him, knelt to him, bowed their heads as if he himself were a god. And Shinto, sitting on the horse beside him, clapped him on the back.

“They’ll follow you anywhere now. Don’t make them regret it.”

Terrence steeled himself against the fear that began to form in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t asked for this. He’d never wanted it.

“It should have been you,” he whispered to Shinto.

But General Shinto was already shaking his head. “No, High King Terrence. I’m too smart to have ever accepted the position.”

Terrence looked at the men kneeling around him. People knelt to him all the time in his throne room and that was fine. He was their king. But he’d spoken with Sheba’s Voice as Sheba’s servant. Here, he was an extension of her. This felt very much like stealing from her.

He was about to dismount, when Sheba’s voice popped into his head.

No. Sit up straight. Stay in the saddle.

“But why?” he whispered. “These people should be worshiping you, not me.”

You are correct, but you are my voice, a position I gave you. To them, it makes you holy. These aren’t your subjects who see you every day. Their priests told them you were my chosen, and their priests were correct. I chose you. That sets you above them. But more than that, all six of the greater gods, the gods of order, appointed you High King of all Thysandrika for the duration of the war. And if I don’t miss my guess, the seventh god of order would agree as well.

Terrence opened his mouth to protest, but stopped dead. “What do you mean the seventh god of order? There are only six.”

Sheba chuckled. There were only six. The situation has changed.

“Tell me you’re not talking about Treya.”

I would, High King Terrence, but as the goddess of honor, I refuse to lie. Keep this between us. This is not for mortal consumption, yet. She must grow into her role.

“If she’s a goddess of order, what is she goddess of?”

Resilience. And she’s already tethered her first worshiper.

Terrence didn’t answer. There was nothing to say to that. The Karmenon army remained kneeling, heads bowed, as if it were his due. It made his skin crawl.

“How could that happen?”

Sheba chuckled again. You know Treya. Who could stop her? By the way, you should bless them.

“Me?”

Terrence, you’re my voice. You can bless them in my name. It’s your god-given right.

Terrence thought about that for a long beat before using Sheba’s voice one final time.

“Arise all of you,” he boomed. “In the name of Sheba, I bless this army. When you ride forth from this place, know that the goddess of honor, combat and the hunt rides with us. From here, all the way to Xarinos.”

“To Xarinos!” shouted those around them. “To Xarinos! To Xarinos!”

It became a chant. A mantra. A prayer. A battle cry. And Terrence, who knew what awaited them, sat straight in his saddle, and let them lie to themselves, because that was what his goddess required of him.

*

Fourth of Striving 1142, Late Afternoon (Three days ago)

Borin walked through corridor after corridor. He counted his steps the entire time. He pictured the maze as a giant square or at least a rectangle, and he’d already discovered what he suspected were two quarters. This gave him the ability to estimate the size of the maze, though of course, his estimations only worked if the maze was a regular shape. He couldn’t know if that was true or not. Regardless, he was having fun.

Killing taladara was fun too. He got to practice his fighting ability with little chance of being seriously injured. They weren’t that hard to kill, not with Ressssen by his side. He liked pretending that he was a Warrior instead of a Healer. Garne would make fun of him if he were here. Borin missed the big man, and hoped he was well wherever he was. Why was he thinking of Garne? Oh, of course, because he’d told the story of attacking Garne earlier. Well, that was a small enough price to pay for passage.

Such were his thoughts when ahead appeared a demonling, the third they’d seen, pretty much where he thought it would be. He walked forward and waited for a moment till Ressssen stood beside him.

“Well?” said the demonling.

“My name is…”

“I know your name, stupid. You were here not that long ago. Are you suggesting something is wrong with my memory?”

“Excuse me? Did you say I was just here?”

“I did. Seems like you might have got yourself turned around. Unfortunately.”

Borin thought. He didn’t see how he could have possibly turned around. “Does this maze change?”

“That would be telling.”

“So it does.”

Morgan, whichever one it was, growled. “I didn’t say that.”

“But if it didn’t, you would have.”

Morgan pursed his lips and glared. “So, just because you think it changes, doesn’t mean you know the mechanism.”

“Ah, so there’s a mechanism. Thank you for confirming that.”

“I never said there was a mechanism.”

“Of course you did,” said Ressssen. “I thought demonlings were smarter than this.”

Borin wasn’t paying attention. He was deep in thought. There were no switches. No pressure plates. And as he was sensitive to magic, he didn’t think there were confusion spells. What did that leave?

He traced their path back to the last taladara they’d killed. “It’s the monsters. That’s brilliant!”

“What are you talking about?” asked Ressssen.

Borin, excited now, spoke quickly. “The last taladara we killed was one we’d already killed. They come back.”

“We prefer respawn,” said Morgan.

“But while they’re gone, the dungeon changes, probably just out of sight.”

“What does that mean for us?”

“If I’m right, it means we have to find the right combination of creatures to kill to reveal the exit.”

Morgan laughed, unpleasantly. “You have a theory, but no way to prove it.”

“It’s funny,” said Borin. “We’ve killed lots of taladara, but no demonlings.”

“That’s true,” said Ressssen.

“I don’t like where this is going,” said Morgan.

“Tell me, Morgan, do you… respawn also?” asked Borin.

Morgan opened his mouth to answer and closed it.

“He can’t lie,” said Ressssen. “So he probably doesn’t, or he’d tell us.”

“Morgan, will I be able to find my way out of this maze if I kill every demonling?”

“Those are my siblings you’re talking about.”

“Ressssen, I think we need to test this.”

Morgan, for the first time, looked scared. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“What do you have to offer in trade?” asked Ressssen. “Can you show us another way out?”

Morgan opened his mouth, then cast his eyes around desperately.

“Do you have any last words?” asked Ressssen.

“Go bite yourself.”

Ressssen pulled out her scepter, but Borin was faster. He leapt forward and plunged his sword into the demonling. It screamed a curse, then vanished as if it had never been there.

“Good work,” said Ressssen.

“I feel a bit bad.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think I like killing. Not something sentient anyway. No, that’s not true. I’m a healer. I don’t like killing anything, not even taladara. I guess I don’t belong on the front line after all.”

“I think you’ve always known that.”

“No, Ressssen. I didn’t know. I couldn’t until I tried it. And if I didn’t try, I would be guessing forever. I suppose I have to be nice to Garne from now on.”

Ressssen laughed. “You’re always nice to everyone.”

“That’s not true. Sometimes, when I’m talking to Garne,” Borin paused as if he were about to confess some terrible secret, “I don’t say please when I ask him for something.”

Ressssen burst out laughing. “So how do we get out of here?”

Borin thought for a moment. “Use Ice Storm to slow the taladara we run into and then we run past and keep going. We’ll still have to find the exit, but not yet. First we have to find all the Morgans.”

Ressssen nodded. “And then, it’s time for some judicious slaughter.”

“Would it be okay if I just sat this one out?”

Ressssen placed a clawed hand on his shoulder. “If they don’t put up a fight, sure. But be ready to jump in, just in case.”

“Thank you, Ressssen.”

“No, thank you. I’d never have figured this place out without you.”

Borin beamed. “It was my pleasure.”

*

Ressssen and Borin walked away from that place, and everything, for once, went exactly according to plan. Ressssen used Ice Storm to slow the taladara, and then the two of them ran past, leaving the creature behind. It seemed to Ressssen that the creatures were stuck at the intersections they guarded, as much a part of the puzzle as the endless corridors, which meant they remained at their posts, rather than pursuing. Her spell allowed them to pass without much danger of getting hit, while Borin’s memory and apparent mapping abilities, a thing she didn’t know he possessed, kept them moving in the proper direction.

There was very little backtracking, and that only because Borin confirmed that the dungeon itself had changed from the first time they’d passed that way. She tried to keep track of where they were, but the twists and turns in a corridor with no landmarks proved to be beyond her mapping abilities. Borin, on the other hand, always seemed to have an idea of where they were. He led her infallibly back to Morgan J. Gregory II.

“If you’re here to kill me, you might as well get it over with.”

Ressssen would have raised an eyebrow if she’d had one. It looked so strange when humans did it. “Tell me, demon, would killing you hurt our chances of escaping this place?”

“No. And you’d be doing me a favor.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I’m stuck here, aren’t I? Imprisoned for all eternity, until you free me, and I can return to the Other Realm.”

“So you want me to kill you?”

Morgan laughed. “I mean not as long as I can enjoy watching you suffer. That’s at least entertaining. But since you’ve figured out the puzzle, there’s not much left for me, other than to wait until the dungeon resets and the next group of stalwart explorers find their way in. And Dammit knows how long that will be.”

“Dammit?”

“God of minor annoyances. Nice guy, for a lesser god.”

“You’ve met him?”

“One of my siblings has. We’ve talked about it.”

“You can communicate with them?”

“I can. Otherwise, this would have been the most boring post in history. Now, can we get on with this? I have places to be in the Other Realm.”

“Very well.”

Ressssen removed her scepter and started firing bursts of magic into the demonling until it, like her brother, faded from existence. When the demonling was gone, she stared at the spot where it had been.

“I feel bad for it,” said Borin.

Ressssen placed a clawed hand on his shoulder. “Borin, it’s a demon. It doesn’t deserve your sympathy.”

“Do you think it chose to be a demon, Ressssen, or was it born that way? How much choice do you think it had?”

Ressssen had never considered that before and stopped to do so now. Finally, she spoke. “Very little, I suspect. Perhaps even demons are deserving of sympathy.”

Borin smiled, or at least the hole in his purple head sort of flattened out and twisted a bit. “Shall we move on?”

“Yes. I’d like to get out of this place and see if we can find the others.”

She started walking and Borin followed, though a few steps later she moved aside to allow him to take the lead. He passed her and continued on, and Ressssen watched him.

Once again she was forced to update her mental profile of a salad who wasn’t even a decade old, but was already wiser than most of the serpent lords she’d met in her life.

*

Merck and Maynor had painstakingly searched the dead-end room they were in for secret doors, or traps, or anything, but it was just an empty room with a single door. A door leading back to a room filled with giggler spores that would kill them should they enter. All they could do to survive as long as they could was to ration food and water, and hope. They couldn’t even pray, for in this place, they were cut off from their gods.

There was nothing to do but sit and talk, but there wasn’t much to talk about. Both men seemed content to brood on their own personal failures rather than share with each other, so the sullen silence that hung between them was acceptable.

What neither of the men expected was a new door to appear in the same wall as the door they’d entered through, but further along. Nor did they expect it to open without warning. Maynor was on his feet first, sword drawn, but he relaxed almost immediately. By the time Merck was standing beside him, Ressssen and Borin had already entered.

Maynor breathed a sigh of relief, then thought better of it. “I don’t know if I should be grateful that you’re here or not. This room seems to be a dead end. Unless there’s a way to go back through that door, we’re stuck in this room. We can’t go through the other door, unless you know how long giggler spores take to dissipate.”

Ressssen shook her head. “I am afraid there is no way out the way we came. We passed through a maze with a single exit that led us to this room. And of course this place would have a giggler.” Ressssen stopped and studied him. “Maynor, you’ve looked better. What happened?”

“Greater fire elemental. I killed it. I’m just burned, so I can’t complain too much. It’s going to heal. I wouldn’t waste healing potions on it. I heal fast at this level, and it’s unlikely to get infected.”

“We don’t need to waste potions, we have Borin.”

“Wait… Borin, you can still feel Sylinar?”

“No, Maynor, I can’t. But I do know some healing spells that will still work.”

“Oh. That’s… unusual.”

“I thought it would be a good idea to learn them, just in case.”

“Okay then. I could use some relief, if you’re offering.”

“Of course,” said Borin. He started to cast. The casting was fast, which is what you want with a healing spell, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t complicated. There was no way to tell, because spells could be cast many different ways. They could be triggered from precasting, abbreviated, even condensed, though Maynor didn’t really understand how any of that worked. Perhaps he should ask Ressssen later.

The relief was almost instantaneous. He felt his burns vanish. He closed his eyes and sighed. “Thank you, Borin. I didn’t relish the thought of dying in pain.”

Borin looked confused. “You could still die in pain. This only cures your burns.”

Maynor chuckled, but Merck had another question. “Have you heard from the others?”

“No. Dreek and Garne, if they’re together, are elsewhere.”

“I suspect,” said Merck, “that if they finish their task, they’ll end up here, like we did. All we need to do is wait and hope.”

“What if they do finish it? Then what?”

“Perhaps nothing, but if I don’t miss my guess, a door will appear and we’ll be able to leave this place.”

“Why do you think so?” asked Ressssen.

“Because Soulsplit has been set up for us to solve it, or it seems that way to me. What’s the point of making us go through a puzzle we had a chance to solve, only for us to starve to death on the other side of it?”

Borin looked thoughtful. “You know a lot of people who designed dungeons were insane, right?”

Merck blinked. “No. I didn’t know that. So what are you saying?”

“They may have designed the dungeon to work illogically. Or started designing it and then gotten bored and left it half completed.”

Maynor shook his head. “I don’t think so. The gods sent us here. If this was a dungeon we couldn’t beat, I don’t think they would have.”

“Maybe they didn’t know because they can’t reach us here,” said Borin.

For several long moments, no one spoke. When Maynor did, his voice was firm.

“We’re on a holy quest. The gods put us here. I understand that protecting us is not their first priority, but I refuse to believe they’d be that cavalier with our lives. Maybe George would, I don’t know, but Sheba? Sylinar? Iorana? No, I don’t believe they would sacrifice us without good reason.”

“How do you know they don’t have a good reason?” asked Borin.

Maynor glared at him. “Let’s just wait and see what happens when Garne and Dreek get here.”

“What makes you think they’ll make it?” asked Merck.

“Because Dreek is competent, and Garne is…well…Garne,” he finished lamely.

Ressssen chuckled. “That is the most astute thing I think I’ve heard from you since you’ve joined us.”

Maynor laughed. “Well, it’s hardly the best-kept secret.”

With those words he sat back down and took a tiny sip of water. Ressssen nodded approvingly.

“Maynor has the right idea. We need to think about rationing. Also, I think we should distribute the healing potions I have to each member of the party, so that if we get separated again, you’re not without healing.”

Maynor was already shaking his head. “Save them for the people less likely to survive.”

“We have five potions and five of us who can’t use magic to heal ourselves. There’s enough for everyone.”

“Very well, then.”

Ressssen took off her pack and started rummaging, producing two of the healing potions, one of which she gave to Merck and the other to Maynor.

“Use them sparingly. Don’t take them all at once. You can drink them to heal, but it’s sometimes more efficient to use them as a salve. Just pour a drop on a small wound.”

“Got it,” said Merck. “So what do we do while we wait?”

“We rest,” said Ressssen, “and share our stories. Because we have no idea what’s coming next, but maybe there’s a pattern in what’s happened so far.”

With those words, she sat on the ground and breathed a sigh of what he took to be relief, though what she had to be relieved about, Maynor couldn’t imagine.