Chapter 3.26 — Merck’s Discovery

There comes a time in every life when one must choose whether or not to trust. There is no way to prepare for these choices. Swindlers can sound confident and friendly; well-meaning people can be gruff or ornery. Even truth spells can’t guarantee you can tell that someone is lying.

Your only options during the hard times are to trust carefully or reject trust, but keep an open mind, because whatever you decide could be wrong. Don’t burn bridges if you don’t have to. Of course, that’s not always possible.

                                                                                             Excerpt from the Journal of the Emissary

Seventh of Striving 1142, Evening (Three days ago)

Maynor found himself in a tomb. A sealed room with no exits. He had no way to detect magic—or anything else for that matter. He had only the skills Sheba had given him and his long years of experience as a soldier and later a palace guard. Maynor wasn’t used to being part of an adventuring team, but he was used to being a member of the guard. He was used to having backup. Now, he was on his own.

And in that lay the irony. He wasn’t scared of starving to death—at his level, he no longer needed to eat. Even without air, he could live indefinitely and his natural healing wouldn’t allow him to suffocate—ambient magic could produce oxygen as easily as it could produce nutrients. But he couldn’t fight his way through a solid stone wall, nor could he hack his way to victory without an enemy. He had a single approach open to him, which was to painstakingly search the walls, floor, even the ceiling for a hidden door. An approach that had, thus far, not benefited him at all. But he also knew the dungeon changed, and the next search might turn up something that hadn’t been there before. It was infuriatingly tedious work.

Maynor wasn’t a secret door specialist, but as with most things, he had enough knowledge to understand the basics of searching for them and had practiced enough at the Adventurer’s Guild to be competent—which didn’t mean he wouldn’t miss something obvious if he wasn’t absolutely focused on what he was doing.

Which was hard because his mind kept wandering back to the Misfits and how he couldn’t aid them. He kept wondering what challenges they would face and whether all of them would make it. He was particularly worried about Merck, less experienced than the others and only Level 2. But there was nothing he could do about it, so he forced it from his thoughts—for five minutes give or take, before the subject returned unbidden.

He noticed the texture of the stonework. It was intricate, almost patterned. He’d never seen rock like that before. He didn’t remember seeing it in other rooms he’d passed through either. All the rooms had seemed to be made of the same stone, including this one, but here the stone looked different. That was odd. Why would the stone look different? Was it a clue?

Then, as he was searching, he caught sight of his hand. The way the veins lay just beneath the surface in some places and deeper in others. The slight variations in shade he’d never noticed before. The way the muscles worked beneath his skin as he pressed against the wall.

The stone hadn’t changed at all, his vision had. I Stand Alone—his newest skill! It had to be. He examined his armor, his pack, his boots. Everything looked clearer, more detailed, more textured. He’d never seen the world with this kind of clarity before.

Sheba had given him this skill just before they’d entered the dungeon. How had she known? How could she know? If this was one of the new dungeons…had one of her worshipers gotten in here before him and made it through? If so, why wasn’t it cleared, or did all the traps reset when someone had completed it? So many questions and no answers.

Maynor sighed as he realized he’d moved a couple of feet without actually paying attention. He tried to figure out where he had lost focus and, when he couldn’t, started to check the wall over from the beginning.

No more thinking. Check now, think later. That was his only priority. He summoned every ounce of discipline and this time finished the wall, then the rest of the room. He checked the floor and what he could of the ceiling, but it was no use. He was trapped in this room—at least until something changed.

At least that was possible, even likely. Change had been a feature of this dungeon all along. In the last room, the casters had been closing doors while he and his two fellow martials, as the dungeon had labeled them, fought for hours. At the time, he’d had no idea that the others, out of sight, had been helping them.

Maybe his exit wouldn’t appear until they finished whatever it was they were doing. Maynor took a break and sat on the floor. He wasn’t tired, though. He was bored and frustrated. After a short break, he’d try again, and then again, hoping against hope that next time, something in the room would be different.

*

Without Maynor, the Misfits were almost back to normal, though of course, they didn’t have Striker with them and that still felt wrong. At least Garne seemed to think so.

Dreek still scouted ahead but in this dungeon that meant he was still only just in front of them, checking for traps. Garne followed with Merck behind him, Borin came next and finally Ressssen bringing up the rear. Merck was surprised Ressssen had elected to follow the party. As it had been explained to him, the last place in the marching order was almost as vulnerable as the first, and if the party was attacked from behind, Ressssen would end up being on the front line. That worried him. Of course, it was better than him being on the front line, but it was a concern.

Still, there was nothing he could do about it. So he watched Dreek check for traps, watched Garne be dramatically bored at the slow pace, and made sure he stayed in the middle, which kept him as safe as he was going to be in a place like this. Having already proven his bravery once, he wasn’t all that anxious to test it again.

The Misfits had found themselves in a straight stone corridor that ran as far as the eye could see. With nothing to fight, Garne was miserable and complained regularly. Even when he wasn’t complaining, he sighed, frowned or otherwise expressed displeasure. Merck was sure Maynor would have been completely relaxed and ready. He himself was just happy that Dreek was checking for traps, because this place was full of them.

“Easy,” said Ressssen, and though she didn’t direct the comment to anyone in particular, Merck was certain she was talking to Garne. And somehow, Garne settled down. How did she do that?

Because the corridor was long, and because Dreek was careful, it took them forever to traverse it. Even Merck was getting antsy by that point, and Garne looked like he wanted to jump out of his skin. Worse yet, Dreek hadn’t found anything at all, which meant all that time was wasted. At least they’d reached a door.

Merck watched closely while Dreek examined it, trying to see exactly what he was doing. Anything he learned might benefit him later. Dreek seemed to be scanning first with his eyes, then feeling with his hands. He paid particular attention to the floor, the seams of the door, and the place where it presumably hinged. He also studied and checked the handle quite carefully. Finally, Dreek pulled open the door and looked inside.

Garne looked past him, then looked at Dreek and looked back again. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“It depends on what you’re seeing.”

“Someone built something here, but I have no idea what it is.”

“Then probably, yes. I’m seeing that too.”

Dreek entered and everyone else piled in behind him, but no one moved from the entrance. This was Merck’s first good look at what was inside, as Garne’s huge frame had blocked his view until now. The entire room was one giant mechanical device. It had springs and metal balls, ramps, stairways, and strange curved pathways. If the device had been operating, he might have a better idea of how it functioned, assuming he could follow it. He wondered what it was supposed to do.

Merck laughed. “This is amazing.”

Garne frowned. “It’s madness. What’s amazing about it?”

“Okay, see that metal ball at the very top in the back corner?”

Garne nodded. Others positioned themselves so they could see it.

“I think that ball has to move through the entire path until it gets to one of the pressure plates on the floor.”

“So how do we get it there?” asked Ressssen.

“No idea, but I’m sure that’s what’s meant to happen. I can trace many of the paths already.”

Garne turned to look at him. “You can trace the paths?”

Merck looked surprised. “I mean yeah. I can.”

Borin nodded. “I can too. Maybe not quite as well as Merck, he seems quite taken with puzzles, but there’s definitely an internal logic here.”

“There’s only one ball, one moving part,” said Dreek. “So I guess that if the ball goes the right way, gets on the right pressure plate and we get out of here.”

“And if it lands on another one?” asked Garne.

“Who knows?” replied Dreek. “It releases a monster or sets off a trap? One guess is as good as another.”

“Ah,” said Garne. “Dungeon stuff—finally.”

Dreek seemed distracted. He kept gazing into the opposite corner of the room, but when Merck looked over he couldn’t see anything.

Ressssen must have noticed too. “Dreek, is everything okay?”

“Not really. There’s a ghost in this room.”

“A ghost!” shouted Borin. “You said you could see them. That’s amazing.”

“Not really,” said Dreek. “It means, most likely, someone died in this room before we arrived.”

“Ah,” said Merck. “So, not the best news after all.”

“It could mean that it has information about the test. You said you could talk to ghosts, Dreek,” said Ressssen.

“I can. I also said that most of them were mad. I’d be very cautious trusting anything a ghost said.”

“I think you should try. It may or may not help, but I think we should have all the information we can gather.”

Dreek sighed, but he wouldn’t disobey Ressssen, that much Merck knew. Merck smiled. The sigh was such a human reaction, and looked funny coming from a phase-shifter. Dreek walked toward the corner. He spoke with something in a low voice for about five minutes and returned to the group.

“Well?” asked Garne impatiently.

“He says there are four levers hidden around the room and each of them starts the machine, but each changes the configuration so it runs differently. If you pull the right lever, you open the door. He chose the lever his party pulled—and got them all killed.”

“All of them?” asked Merck.

“That’s what he said. As I said, you can’t necessarily trust a ghost to tell the truth.”

Merck went back to studying the machine. This was something he could do. He could help. He let the others debate while he traced the possible trajectories the ball might take. While he was doing that, his mind was racing. Four levers and, presumably, one correct solution. A seventy-five percent chance they’d end up dead. Too high by far. So his job, as he saw it, was to find something, anything, that would reduce that percentage.

When Dreek walked back to the ghost, Merck followed, and though he couldn’t see it, it took Dreek around the room and showed him each of the four levers. The problem was, the levers were completely detached from the puzzle. There was no way to tell what any of them did to the machine.

“This is the one that they chose to pull,” said Dreek. “Because our ghost had made the choice, he’s bound here by his own guilt.”

“Does he have a name?” asked Garne. “You can’t just keep calling him ghost.”

“He says his name is Michael, but we can call him Mike. He also said, not only does he know what lever not to pull, but he’s figured out which one will get us through.”

“Well, that’s good,” said Garne.

“Is it?” asked Dreek. “I’ve told you already, ghosts are not trustworthy. Maybe he’s telling the truth and maybe, he’s so angry he died, he doesn’t want anyone else solving the puzzle.”

“I don’t like this,” said Ressssen.

“Me either,” said Garne. “Merck, you figure this thing out yet?”

“Not yet. It’s very complicated.”

Merck moved around to the far end of the room and back again. The drone of the conversation, which was rapidly becoming an argument, became background noise. His entire focus was on the machine itself. Finally, he returned to the group.

“Dreek, do you know how many people were in Mike’s group?”

The conversation stopped and they all looked at him. “Four, why?”

“I think we’ve been going about this the wrong way.”

“How so?” asked Ressssen.

“Think about the other rooms we’ve been in. Every single one of those rooms was solvable by skill. None of them required luck or guesswork.”

“That’s true.”

“But there’s more,” said Merck. “Each room has also provided puzzles we were able to solve based on who we were. While we were standing on the pillars at first, each of us had to trigger our own devices. Am I right in thinking not everyone could do that?”

Ressssen nodded. “I see your point. We had to be able to trigger those devices, though the door only allowed casters through.”

“Sure, but I’m not a caster, technically, right? And what about the first room. It had a greater fire elemental. I’m not sure any of you could have beaten it, but Maynor was there.”

“I see what you’re getting at,” said Dreek. “Borin was able to solve the maze because of his memory. I was able to survive traps because of my phase shifting ability. I guess the question is, are we just using the abilities we have to solve these rooms, or are the puzzles in the room being provided because the dungeon can somehow read us? If that’s the case, that’s far more disturbing. I’ve never heard of a dungeon like this.”

“The point is, Borin told us dungeons are designed. That means they are created by someone deliberately, a single mind. The pattern so far is that we can solve every room with logic or skill. So we should be able to do the same here.”

“But there are four levers, and we have to choose one of them,” said Garne.

“Wrong,” said Merck. “There were four levers for them. I found a fifth. What if we need to pull them all at the same time?”

“Like the device on the pillar,” said Ressssen. “The same mind designed it, so maybe it’s the same idea. On the pillar puzzle, each step of the way taught us what we might expect from the next step.”

“Same with the room Maynor and I were first in,” said Merck.

“Okay, so we each get to a lever, pull them all at the same time, and see what happens,” said Ressssen.

“And if we’re wrong, we die a painful death. Excellent,” said Garne.

“Garne, you don’t worship Sarith, do you?” asked Merck.

“No, why? I’m just happy we’re finally doing something.”

“Ah, okay. Carry on.”

“Do you think the ghost was lying to us about not finding a fifth lever?” asked Garne.

“No,” said Merck, “I don’t think that lever was here until we entered, a party of five.”

“That’s remarkably sophisticated for a dungeon,” said Ressssen. “And exactly in line with what we’ve already seen. I agree with Merck, let’s get into position.”

Each of the members took a lever, though Borin and Merck had to exchange levers, because Borin was smaller and could more easily reach one of the levers hidden behind some of the structure of the device. It was likely they only had one chance to get this right.

“Right,” said Ressssen. “On the count of three…when I say the number three we pull. One. Two. Three.”

Merck pulled his lever and from his vantage he could see Garne pulling his. Both levers disappeared. Nothing else happened.

They all converged in the middle of the room.

“What happened?” asked Garne.

“Nothing I think,” said Borin, “except that my lever is gone.”

“Mine too,” said Ressssen. “This is not unusual for this place. The dungeon keeps changing. Perhaps there is something new in this room that hasn’t been here before.”

Merck nodded. “That’s true, but it’s just as likely that this didn’t affect this room at all.”

“You think we’re influencing whatever’s happening to Maynor?”

“We’ve already seen that happen. In the early rooms, we affected each other in the same room. More recently each group affected the other. The mages slowed the flow of creatures that the martials had to fight by triggering machines with magic. The martials carried the fight below long enough for us to recharge our magic to finish the job.”

They all looked at each other.

“Wherever Maynor is now, I wish him luck,” said Ressssen.

Merck nodded. “I don’t think Maynor needs luck. I think he makes his own.”

“Though if Merck is right,” said Dreek, “then neither luck nor ability will help Maynor at all. He has to depend on our skill.”

“Gods help him,” said Garne. Everyone, predictably, ignored him.

“We’ll search the room,” said Ressssen, “see if we can find any differences. If we can’t, we’ll rest and conserve our strength.”

Merck nodded and set off to start checking the room, after all, he probably knew it better at this point than any of the others.

*

Eighth of Striving 1142, Early Morning (Three days ago)

Maynor had searched the room completely four times. Between those times, he sat and thought. He reviewed the dungeon in his head, looking for clues. He thought about the Misfits constantly, and wondered what strangeness they had encountered, because of a certainty they had encountered something strange.

Maynor may not have been in many dungeons, but he’d read about them, listened to countless stories and talked to many experienced dungeon crawlers. It was part of his education as a Warrior. He kept up on anything that might come in handy, even though he never thought he’d set foot in a dungeon again.

Yet this was nothing like any dungeon he’d ever experienced or even heard of—not even close. The whole design of this place bordered on insanity. It had an internal logic, but it was so different from other dungeons that he couldn’t imagine a human designing it. It was insane.

And here he was, alone, trapped in a room where his skills didn’t matter at all because he couldn’t get out. It was infuriating. What was the point of being Level 24 if you couldn’t get to the next room of a dungeon?

Too much sitting, time to stretch. He needed to be ready in case something changed. This too was part of his routine. Maynor was still using dual scimitars, which he now drew as he went through his forms. Basic, grounding, comforting. He poured all his focus into the familiar ritual and let it calm his mind. This is what he needed—activity. Not just sitting around doing more thinking. That had led nowhere.

He was still going through the process, when he heard a wall slide open. Now, well familiar with the sound, he spun and watched. He didn’t approach the opening yet, but noted it was large enough to let a sizable creature through. He didn’t have long to wait.

Maynor drew a breath as it emerged. He’d never seen anything like it. It was big, twice, maybe three times bigger than him, though it walked on four legs so it was hard to tell. Its scaled body gleamed, as if it had its own internal lighting. Green and gold and orange. It seemed like it was a serpent with legs and wings, though its head was disproportionately large. How did that small neck support a head that big? It had glowing amber eyes and a mouthful of teeth, a large pair of fangs, and every now and again a forked tongue darted out from between those fangs.

Maynor looked up at it and saluted with his sword.

“Greetings, Maynor.”

Okay, that he hadn’t expected. “Hello. We seem to be at a disadvantage. I don’t know your name.”

“I am called Achilles.”

“Achilles,” repeated Maynor, tasting the name on his tongue. “And what manner of beast are you? Or are you a beast?”

“Some would say I am a beast. But I’m a dragon, of course.”

“I don’t know what that is?”

“No, I don’t suppose you would. Still, here we are.”

“Am I meant to fight you?”

The dragon chuckled, an evil sound if ever Maynor heard one. “No. You are meant to die. I am meant to kill you.”

“Then why stop to talk?”

“It gets lonely here, waiting for my next meal.”

“I can see that. So would you like to chat for a bit?”

The dragon considered. “I see you’re Level 24.”

“I am.”

“You realize I’d be rated higher than that. I’m a Level 30 dragon. You really don’t stand a chance.”

Though he had every reason to feel fear, Maynor forced himself not to visibly react. Showing fear didn’t often improve your chances of success. The equivalent of Tier 4. An impossible challenge. “Pretty sure that just means I’ll probably level if I kill you.”

“Pure bravado. I love that,” said the dragon. “I don’t suppose I can talk you into remaining here with me.”

“I have to meet up with friends.”

“Of course you do. They’re very clever, your friends.”

“You know of them?”

“I know enough.”

“Are they well?”

“They have completed their task. That is why I am here. But they won’t escape this dungeon unless you defeat me.”

“How can you know them?”

“It’s an AI thing. The lead programmer was experimenting with including it in dungeons. You wouldn’t understand.”

Maynor nodded. “Lead programmer? AI? You’re right. I don’t understand.”

The dragon sighed and a wisp of smoke emerged from its mouth.

“Do you breathe fire?”

“Yes, why?”

Maynor frowned. “I keep getting burned by this dungeon. In more ways than one.”

The dragon chuckled again. “Well, I guess it’s time. Farewell, Maynor.”

“Goodbye, Achilles.”

Maynor dropped into second form, a defensive stance that positioned him to move quickly in any direction should the need arise, and waited to see what the dragon would do. He wouldn’t rush it without at least seeing some of its attacks first. While he was waiting, he cast a spell on each sword to buff it. He knew many modifiers for the spell, though nothing for a dragon. He buffed it for serpents instead and hoped that would be close enough.

The dragon, in the meantime, seemed to be in no rush. It obviously didn’t have any fear of Maynor, who was in theory far less powerful than it was. Then a loud voice he didn’t recognize spoke. “Survive Achilles’ attack for five minutes. Reward: 5000 Soulsplit tokens. Bonus, avoid being burned by Achilles’ flame attack. Reward: 2500 Soulsplit tokens.”

Maynor looked around.

“Did that make sense to you?”

Achilles looked at him. “Make sense?”

“That voice? What’s a Soulsplit token?”

“It’s the dungeon currency for Soulsplit.”

“Dungeon currency?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, Maynor. You won’t survive long enough to spend it.” And with those words, the dragon’s head lunged forward, propelled by its powerful neck muscles. It was fast. So horribly fast. Maynor dodged to the side as that enormous head crashed into the wall behind him—not that collision seemed to affect it.

“You’re fast for your level.”

“Thanks.”

Maynor moved to the side of the creature. He didn’t want to stand in front and risk getting hit by that fire breath. After all, there were 2500 Soulsplit tokens on offer, whatever they were. He wondered if he could trade for beer.

The dragon turned to attack him, and Maynor moved, staying beside it instead of in front of it. At one point, he went a bit too far, and the dragon struck with its tail, again, an attack so fast, he barely had time to get out of the way. When he looked back, the wall behind him had formed a crack as wide as his body. Gods, that thing was powerful.

The dragon, he realized, was toying with him. It had a full five minutes to kill him, and it was just letting him know that it could if he didn’t respond perfectly.

Maynor did make a few attempts at cuts early on, but nothing penetrated the scaly hide. Frustrated, Maynor engaged in a game of cat and mouse where, unfortunately, he was the mouse. He tried to keep himself beside the dragon, while the dragon did everything it could to fool him, and succeeded a couple of times. But Maynor always recovered and dove out of the way.

Time felt like it passed slowly. So slowly. And then the dragon raised its head for another strike, and Maynor took a chance. He used Tremendous Leap to jump onto the dragon’s back and scissored its neck with both swords. Then he backflipped off the dragon’s body and retreated. And the mysterious voice was back.

“You have scored a hit on Achilles. You will be awarded 1000 bonus Soulsplit tokens on successful completion of this challenge. New stretch goal: Kill Achilles. Reward: 20,000 Soulsplit tokens.”

Maynor took in the information without slowing. He could see he’d hurt the dragon and had hoped that would affect its mobility. Unfortunately, all it seemed to affect was Achilles’s mood.

The dragon roared and the sound in the small area hit like a physical blow. Maynor wanted to put his hands to his ears, but he avoided doing so, choosing to keep his sword ready instead.

He used his leap skill again to get on the dragon’s back, once again scissoring its neck. Then he jumped off, but this time, the dragon was ready for him. It had snaked its head around to face him and now breathed a stream of fire directly at him. The heat was intense. He wasn’t sure whether he’d been hit or not.

Maynor used his jump skill one last time to get behind the dragon where he struck at its tail. The dragon roared again and spun so quickly it made Maynor dizzy. He was right in front of the dragon’s maw.

Maynor lunged forward and slashed the inside of the dragon’s mouth, cutting off its forked tongue in one mighty swipe. If it had used its breath weapon at that moment, he’d have been hit for sure, but Achilles, perhaps stunned by his audacity, moved its head first left then right, and struck him cleanly, propelling him into a nearby wall. Maynor hit hard and forced himself to roll before the dragon had a chance to follow up the attack.

Everything hurt now. He wanted to take some of the healing potion in his pouch, but he didn’t have time to get it out. He’d have to tough it out. How much time had passed? Surely he had to be getting close to the five minutes. What happened after that, he had no idea. As if in answer to his question, the voice returned.

“You have one minute remaining. Good luck, warrior.”

Maynor, in pain throughout his entire body, wasn’t sure he could make it another minute. Not the way the dragon was moving. He made one last leap onto the dragon’s back, slashing with one sword as hard as he could at the wound on the neck. He screamed in pain, but forced himself to follow through.

And then, miraculously, the dragon’s head parted from its body and fell to the ground. Its body writhed, throwing Maynor off for a second time. He saw it coming and managed to land on his feet, though he stumbled before regaining his balance. And just like that it was over. Maynor collapsed against the wall and closed his eyes, breathing heavily. He’d killed a dragon. He might tell this story a million times, and no one on Thysandrika would understand what that actually meant. He still wasn’t sure he did.

“Congratulations. You have killed Achilles, a lesser dragon. You will be awarded 20,000 Soulsplit tokens on completion of this dungeon. Congratulations, you have successfully avoided the dragon’s fire breath. You will receive an additional 2500 Soulsplit tokens on completion of this dungeon. Congratulations, you have survived the encounter, if barely, for five minutes. You will be rewarded 5000 Soulsplit tokens on completion of this dungeon.”

Maynor could barely move. He reached into his pouch, removed the healing potion and sipped it. He let himself feel his body heal. Slowly, a bit at a time. Don’t take too much. Stop before you use it all. You never know when you might need it again.

Maynor fell asleep without realizing it and dreamt not of battle, but of Striker, who had gotten away and had made him look bad in front of High King Terrence. And even in his sleep, he realized he still desired her, though, of course, he could never trust her. He wondered if he’d ever see her again.

*

They heard the door open before any of them saw it. Garne was closest and looked around.

“Here.”

The others all came to him. The door was half-hidden behind a piece of the giant device, but that hardly mattered. What mattered was that they could finally get out of this place. Of course, that didn’t mean they knew what to expect next.

The door opened onto a large room with a dead creature in the middle of it, the likes of which they’d never seen.

“That thing is huge,” said Garne. “Let’s hope whatever killed it isn’t still around.”

The others followed close behind him, no one wanting to drift too far away.

Then Garne passed the body and stopped dead. “I don’t believe it.”

Dreek stepped beside him, and then moved forward. Garne did as well so they could all get a look.

“Maynor? Is he…”

“He’s fine,” said Dreek, who’d already reached him. “He’s breathing, anyway.”

Maynor opened his eyes. “What does a Warrior have to do to get some sleep around here?”

“Never mind that,” Garne broke in. “What in the name of the gods is that thing?”

“It was a dragon named Achilles.”

“You killed it?”

“I did. It claimed to be Level 30.”

“You killed a Tier 4 monster?”

Maynor moved his legs. They didn’t hurt so he climbed slowly to his feet. “Actually, I don’t know that it is a monster. It spoke to me.”

“That thing spoke to you?” asked Garne incredulously.

“Yes, it seemed quite intelligent.”

“Okay. What’s a dragon?”

Maynor pointed.

“Yeah, I can see that, but what is it?”

“I don’t know,” said Maynor.

Briefly he told the story of the fight and the disembodied voice, the Soulsplit tokens being of particular interest to Borin. When he was done, they realized a new door had appeared right next to them.

“This place is weird,” said Garne.

“It is,” said Maynor. “I can’t wait to tell this story to Andeon Walsh.”

Dreek checked the door for traps, opened it and inside was a small room with a huge chest in it. As Dreek entered, the voice Garne assumed was the one Maynor had heard before came back.

“Congratulations, adventurers. You have completed the Soulsplit dungeon. Enjoy your reward.”

The chest slowly opened of its own accord. Maynor and Garne both drew weapons at the same time, but nothing emerged from it.

Dreek shrugged and walked over. Garne followed, and everyone else joined them.

“Okay, this is unexpected,” said Dreek.

“What is it?” asked Garne.

“Loot. But more loot than I’ve ever seen in one chest.”

“It’s a higher level dungeon,” said Maynor. “I’d expect a reasonable payoff at least.”

There were three obviously magical weapons inside—a greatsword, a mace and a battle axe—as well as three spell scrolls, which they didn’t stop to examine. The entire bottom of the chest was littered with unfamiliar gold and silver coins. Garne bent down and lifted a silver one from the chest.

“What the hell is this?” He squinted. “It says Soulsplit on it.”

“Maybe those are Maynor’s Soulsplit tokens,” said Merck. “How many are there?”

Garne looked at Borin. “You count them. Seems like the kind of thing you’d be good at.”

“No one is counting anything,” said Maynor. “We’ve completed our quest. We’ll take everything with us and figure out what we’re supposed to bring to Queen Treya later, though frankly, I can’t understand why she’d need any of this.”

Maynor put his pack on the ground, removed several cloth sacks and started scooping out coins. “You know, if Queen Treya doesn’t need the gold, you guys are going to be embarrassingly rich.” He pulled the mace out of the chest. “This is really light, and obviously magical. Merck, you should take this. You need an actual weapon.”

“I was hoping for something that would be more… ranged.”

Maynor chuckled. “Take it for now, at least. I’m not so sure this isn’t the thing we’re supposed to bring the queen, but until we get there, we might as well get some use out of it.”

“You should take the sword, Maynor,” said Ressssen. “You lost yours in the fight with the shatterwraith.”

“We’ll see. Right now, no one takes anything permanently. We don’t know what we’ll be allowed to keep.”

Ressssen didn’t argue, so no one else did, which was exactly how the Misfits operated. It was one of the things that Garne liked best about the Misfits. He couldn’t begin to imagine the chaos that would ensue if he was in charge—though it might be fun for an hour or two.

When the chest was emptied, and they were about to leave, Merck stopped, turned and cast Detect Suite on the chest.

“There’s still something in there,” he said.

Dreek walked back and started checking it. It didn’t take him long to locate a false bottom. Beneath was a leather-bound book that looked very old, though it was in good condition. Dreek lifted it out of the chest, turned it over and read the title aloud.

“The Book of Lost Wisdom.”

“What? That doesn’t exist. It’s just a story told to children,” said Maynor.

Merck shrugged. “I mean, it clearly exists, we’re looking at it.”

Ressssen held out her hand, and Dreek, without hesitation, handed the book to her. She opened it.

“I can’t read this.”

They looked, but the language inside was strange to all of them.

“What good is a book of lost wisdom no one can read?” asked Merck.

“Maybe Queen Treya can, or knows someone who can. I’m pretty sure this is what we were meant to find, though,” said Maynor. “Now the question is how do we get out?”

At that moment, a door appeared on the wall opposite from where they had entered, directly behind the chest.

“Right, so, get to the surface, head back to Rish, hand the book off to Queen Treya and decide what to do after that.”

Ressssen nodded. “That’s the plan. Let’s get out of here.”

There was no argument. At this point, every one of them was happy to get as far from the Soulsplit dungeon as they possibly could.