Except... Logan wasn’t getting very much Apothos. After taking out two B-Class dungeoneers he should’ve been rocketing up in rank, but he would be lucky to even get a single rank off of these kills. Then it occurred to him—neither he nor Inga were in charge of the dungeon. Kyvandry would get the lion’s share of the kills since they were in his domain.
One of the walls swiveled open, and everyone’s favorite blade ghoul stepped forward. “Hey, guys! Funny that you tripped into my trap room at the same time as the raiders. But dang, you took care of them in a hurry.”
Kyvandry knelt and turned up the cleric’s lantern. “You guys won’t mind if I keep their bodies and equipment, right? It’s nice to have a couple extra corpses to throw around here and there. And I love me a good knickknack or three. However, I will give you all a little something-something. You earned it.” He bent down, rifled through the cleric’s pouch, and removed the ghoul tooth. From the pocket of his leather butcher’s apron, he removed a little tin, which he shook, smiling at the rattle. “You get the cleric’s goodie, but I’ll throw in three more. I imbued them with Morta Apothos, so they should be perfect for a couple of you guys. Watch out, though, because they pack a helluva punch, believe you me. There’s a reason why the tank was so hot to get her hands on one.”
Inga took the tin and stuck it in a pocket. Idly Logan wondered if there were fly larvae or baby centipedes in the pocket. He promptly decided it was probably best not to think about that. Also, Logan was a little wary of swallowing teeth. That was rather disturbing. But then, pretty much everything that had happened since being eaten by the Reaper Box was disturbing.
The wall to the corridor opened on the central hinge, and Professor Arketa stood there, sunglasses tipped, her headscarf writhing. “Oh, there you four are. Goodness. Is Treacle okay? What happened?”
Logan knew what happened. Chadrigoth had forced them into the trap room. Somehow, the Abyss Lord had timed it perfectly so the raiders would kill them.
But what proof did Logan have? None. None at all.
The blade ghoul bent and touched the minotaur, who was slowly coming around.
“Well, that was terrible,” Treacle moaned. “Did I break a horn? I hope not. That would be so depressing. I like having a matching pair, and my life has so few pleasures in it.”
Marko went over and helped their friend up.
Inga scowled. “An invisible wall pushed us into this room. At the same time, these two found us. We managed to best them, but if they’d have been at full power, we’d surely be dead.”
“Unlikely,” Kyvandry said. “I didn’t catch all the fight, but I caught enough. They never had a chance. Not only were they not the sharpest tools in the shed, but you dungeon cores working together would’ve given even Linraist Erejam a run for his money.” He nodded conspiratorially. “These are monsters to watch, Arketa.”
The professor slipped her sunglasses back onto her face before adjusting her bulging headscarf. “I agree, Mr. Spencer. But you didn’t have any random traps, did you?”
“Every bit of torture, every trap in my dungeon, is meticulously planned, A. You know me. I’m not sure what happened, but I’m glad we didn’t lose any students on this field trip. Remember last time?” He winced and shook his head. “Ouch.”
The professor frowned. “We try not to focus on the students who die.” She turned cheerful. “Well, all’s well that ends well. Come on, you four.”
The blade ghoul waved enthusiastically. “Bye, guys! If you see Erejam outside, make sure you kill him good.” He turned to take care of the fresh corpses.
Logan and his friends returned to the corridors, stairs, and ladders out of the Slaughter Pits.
Logan did take a moment to punch Marko lightly on the arm. “Nice going back there. For a second, while you were casting that maniacal dancing spell, you looked like a true dungeon lord.”
“That was awesome!” The satyr smiled. “It was fun using some of my other abilities... other than drinking, of course. I’m just glad that Nataraja’s Wretched Rhythm worked. There was a percentage chance that the cleric would’ve ignored me. That would’ve been embarrassing... clapping like an idiot while you two were cut down. Not sure I could’ve lived with myself.” Those last words came out with a little more emotion than the satyr probably would’ve wanted.
“Well, the important thing is that your spell did work,” Inga called over her shoulder. “You saved us. You’re something of a hero in my book. Though, Logan’s Spore Wargs were quite impressive as well.”
Treacle sighed. “Not only did I get knocked out, but I can’t get that damn rhythm out of my head.” He patted his thigh as they made their way out of the Slaughter Pits.
The Terrible Twelfth found the rest of the group standing on the rocky ledge of the back door.
Chadrigoth didn’t even throw them a glance. The Abyss Lord stood with an arm around his undead girlfriend, chatting with the rocky Jimi Magmarty. Tet, though, had another look for Logan. She tilted her head, widened her eyes, and shrugged.
He nodded, and she nodded back.
Maybe she knew more about what had happened.
Logan would ask her once they got back to the relative safety of Shadowcroft Castle on Arborea. He was learning, though, that the life of a dungeon core was anything but safe.
Chapter Twenty-Six
IT TOOK SIX WEEKS FOR Logan to talk with Tet Akhat alone. The cat woman was always either out of sight, in her room, or with the First Cohort. And if he went to her room, or asked to talk with her in private, that might raise all sorts of red flags and put her in an awkward position. Something shady had definitely gone down at the Slaughter Pits, and Logan suspected Chadrigoth was behind the incident. Logan had seen the Abyss Lord use a variant of the invisible wall spell more than once during their Core Calisthenics class, but outside of that he had no real proof, and the last thing he wanted to do was make Tet’s life more difficult.
Logan finally timed it so that he and Tet were alone in the Codex Athenaeum together. He found her in periodicals. She had swung across a bottomless chasm using one of the ropes—a real rope, not a snake mimic. Logan had learned about the snake mimics the hard way during his third trip through the library.
Tet was pursuing the magazines—Dungeon Core Quarterly, Monsters Weekly, The Inside Tree—which were bound into books on the other side of the pit.
“Hey, Tet, can I talk to you for a minute?” Logan asked from the edge of the chasm, since swinging across was always a serious health risk. He was willing to do it, sure, but not if she was going to turn him away without an answer.
She turned, her eyes flashing. “That might not be a good idea.”
“You knew this was coming,” Logan said.
“I did.” That admission was followed by a heavy sigh.
Logan checked a dangling rope for teeth before swinging across. He was strong enough to swing across without losing a limb or falling. He did wobble a little on the dismount—certainly enough for him to get a low score from the Russian judge—but he’d come a long way since he first started at Shadowcroft’s. As a lowly Toadstool, he wouldn’t have been able to pull off that little display unassisted—not in a million years. He straightened and brushed his palms against his rough linen trousers.