Chapter 522: Sixth Sense
Mason and the others stepped through surprisingly cool, dark passageways, doing their best to follow Wayfinder and the king’s map. The only sounds were dripping water, and the breaths and footsteps of the players.
“Fuck me.” Seamus half tripped again, straight into Demi, who shrieked then looked mortified, even in the gloom of the fire mage’s light. “Sorry, miss.”
It was a surprisingly polite thing to say for the Irishman. Mason had to assume he was too focused to be an ass. He wasn’t the only one. The ground here was sloped and rough, and everyone but Mason was struggling just to walk without stubbing toes or catching feet on cracks and rocks.
The physical players had become something like Olympic tumblers, able to recover no matter what from raw dexterity. But the caster types were slightly above average humans stumbling in a dark, rough tunnel. And they were pretty cranky about it.
“Nearly there,” Mason lied. “Just a little further.”
“Very good human friend,” said a goblin voice ahead. The players all clanged and rattled with surprise and drawn weapons. Mason squinted and saw the creature’s outline.
Their would-be ally Ikit slunk out from behind a rock with a toothy grin, holding something wrapped in cloth.
“Killed king, and she-demon, too. Good bargain. Good keeper of promises, yes?”
Mason glared. The creature didn’t frighten him, even if it now tried to kill him with a horde of goblin friends. But he was curious about the cloth.
“You didn’t mention a four armed she-demon, Ikit. That might have been useful. What else didn’t you tell me?”
“Ikit didn’t know.” The goblin looked like a crocodile trying to apologize. “Brought gift. Bygones, yes? Nice human. Nice gift.”
Mason’s eyes narrowed, but he walked forward, pleased when he saw the goblin start to tremble as he came closer. It held its ground, frightened eyes locked on his with a surprising will. Mason took the cloth and flipped it open, then stared at what looked like a smooth, rectangular piece of metal.
“Uh. Thanks?”
“Is key, human.” Ikit made an inserting gesture. “For tribe big machine. Haunted now. With demon voice.”
Mason sighed, resisting the hopefully Cerebus inspired and not natural urge to just palm the goblin’s head and crush.
“I’ll need more, Ikit. Explain…all of that.”
Yet again the dozen players sat around in boredom as the goblin talked. Mason hadn’t written this creature entirely off yet. He was certainly manipulating them to his own ends, but that was to be expected. And you didn’t necessarily want a stupid ally. Mason could handle greedy and ambitious. He’d been handling it his whole life.
“Every mountain tribe has special machine,” Ikit explained. “Pride, yes? Prestige. Stupid king let demons ‘help’. For special machine, special power, to beat other tribes. But demons come through. Needs kicking out.”
“Where is it? And does the machine do, exactly?”
“Do? Nothing do.” Ikit shrugged. “Heat makes things work in goblin tunnels. Oh! Shoots lava. Makes pretty lights.” Here he waved a hand as if to say ‘but who cares?’ When he saw Mason wasn’t happy he cleared his throat. “Machine with engineers. Key opens, shows juicy bits to humans. Good, yes? Kill demon with voice. Mountain cleansed, just like human wants.”
“Hmm.” Mason glared. He didn’t bother pointing out he could have told him this before, and that he probably could have avoided the king and his court altogether. “Your old ‘king’ mentioned children prisoners. Hostages in a vault. Know anything about that?”
Ikit frowned. “Host-age? Human word for slave? Many lowborn left in warrens. Always many goblins and tribes. No need for any children in vaults.”
Mason battled with his own conscious. He saw no reason in the damn world why he should care about goblin captives, whether they were two or eighty two years old. The demons had probably rounded up half the noble goblins’ kids and locked them away for leverage. And so what? It wasn’t Mason’s fucking problem. He clenched his jaw and shook his head.
“Just tell me where it is. Or maybe I’ll make the next goblin I find king.”
Ikit’s eyes popped open. “No need, human. No need for this. Two vaults in goblin tunnels. One in warrens—merchant vault, yes? The other with nobles. Demons everywhere. Not so good idea.”
“I saw a map with the king’s seal,” Mason said. “There were empty caverns, no names. What’s there?”
“Farms, human. Sunless crops and animal herds.”
Mason stared and decided the goblin wasn’t lying. The answer had come too quick and easy, the creature looking more confused at the interest than anything.
The fastest way out of the dungeon was pretty clearly the ‘big machine’ and the demon. It sounded very dungeon-bossy, and likely would be the end of things. But something tickled at the back of Mason’s neck about this ‘vault’, and especially the warrens.
He knew his luck score was nothing special. But he had…something. A little voice that guided him. Not towards the best outcome, that was clear. It was something else. An intuition for…abuse, and corruption. For lies and danger. For a lack of a better word—evil.
And there was something unfinished in this place. Something that wouldn’t just go away if they left it.
“OK, Ikit.” Mason pocketed the key. “We’ll take it from here.”
The goblin blinked and glanced back and forth, fidgeting with its hands.
“Does…human friends go to…big machine? Or…”
Mason stared until the goblin smiled awkwardly and crept away, vanishing behind some other rock. He heard it skitter down another, much smaller tunnel, the pittering of hands and feet moving further and further away.
Phuong stepped beside him and raised a brow. When the old warrior saw his face he frowned like a man who’d heard bad news.
“Warrens first,” Mason said, pointing down a branch in the tunnels. “There’s probably goblins and demons everywhere. And I’m not sure how to get where I’m going.”
“Good thing we brought twelve players, then,” Phuong said with a wink, moving back to collect the others.
Mason watched him go and felt the warm relief of trust and support. The old soldier had the others back and lined up in a few seconds, and after a bit of banter and goblin trash talk, it became clear no one really cared where they went.
“We trust ya, city boy,” Becky said with a grin. “Anyway I bet Big Johnny we’d be down here two days. My chances are lookin’ mighty fine.”
“Christ Jesus I can’t be underground two days.” Seamus’ shoulders slumped, and John the Scot slapped a hand on his shoulder.
“Stop whinin’, I’m the one who hits my head on every bleedin’ rock in the roof, ya wee bastard.”
A few others laughed and made their own jokes or comments. Mason breathed a sigh of relief. It was still strange not to be alone while he dealt with a dungeon. But definitely good strange. And he was slowly getting over worrying about the others. Though he knew he never would completely.
He led them on through the turning passage, the thing getting even rougher and narrower as they went. As they moved closer to the warrens, he started to hear a lot more noise coming through tunnel holes and gaps, bouncing along some kind of hidden stream.
He stopped and held up a hand, closing his eyes to focus on One with Nature. Hidden life swirled all around him, insects and lichen, fungus and rodents. There were other, larger things deeper down—something like devourer worms, huge beasts that hid and hunted each other a thousand feet beneath the earth.
And there was some predator that didn’t belong. A hunter driven mad, maybe trapped. Trying to get out. Hungry, so hungry…
He sensed the goblins, too. Hundreds, thousands maybe, as natural to this place as the simpler creatures. Mason felt…strange as he sensed them. Like he stood apart but not opposed. Like goblins, too, needed druids and rangers to tend them. That they could thrive or corrupt, tilt towards life or death…
He shivered at the strangeness, and at the…interference that followed. He couldn’t ‘sense’ demons with his power technically. But he could sense their influence. Their destruction. They were like holes in a piece of fabric—the absence they left marked them out.
“You alright, Patron? Do you hear something?” Phuong squinted and turned his head, doing his best to see or hear at Mason’s side.
How did you explain a ‘sense’ to someone when they didn’t have it? He almost grinned when he thought of Stag trying to tell him a name that was really a scent. It made him think of RoboGod and their failure to communicate. Was that how the machine god felt? Like it was trying to talk to plants, or animals?
“We aren’t here to kill goblins,” Mason said, looking at his players. “These ones aren’t…” he shrugged. “They aren’t raiders. They mind their business. They don’t need culling. The demons are the targets.”
“Sure, kid.” Carl looked at him like he was a bit crazy or at least being ridiculous, and so did a few others. Mason was tempted to repeat it, to make sure they knew he was serious, but he didn’t bother for now. He had a feeling these goblins wouldn’t fight them unless they had no choice.
A few more minutes and the tunnel opened to a cave with ten or more branches, the circular paths all made with craftsman-like precision. All were blocked with metal grates. Mason didn’t know where to go. He imagined he could pull the metal apart, but expected they all led to different parts of a larger dwelling.
He was about to pick one randomly when he heard a screech from above. His ‘other’ sense flared with recognition. The starving predator he’d sensed came screaming with desperate need. He looked up and saw another long tunnel filled with spider web.
The hunter came barreling down, bulbous torso descending behind a dozen scurrying legs. There was no time for arrows. No time for anything. Mason shouted ‘above!’ in warning, then summoned his Claws.