“We were friends until the end. Until the very end. At the big holiday party filled with peaches, Marko and Emilio happened to run into some old university acquaintances—the Dukane brothers and some of their cousins. We all go way back, though I never cared much for the Dukanes. Anyway, they talked about the Calavera Caves down the coast, and the riches therein. So much gold. Fame awaiting the bold and the brave. A den of wicked, monstrous things that needed slaying.
“And before you can ask, my little mushroom friend, the Calaveras Caves were actually one of Shadowcroft’s reaping dungeons. And now that I’ve spent nine months learning about dungeons, I can definitively tell you a Toad King ruled there. The Dukanes painted me an exquisite picture of his cruelty. He raided the nearby towns, they said. Burned vineyards, pillaged crops. Ate the choicest cows and dumped out the rum! At least according to them, though now I understand that was just the story they used to justify their raid. It wasn’t true. How do I know? We’ll get to that, Logan Murray. We’ll get to that.”
Marko took a moment to sip his water, while Logan took another swallow of the Liverkill. Enrico Kagster should be put in prison for crimes against humanity.
The satyr took in another breath and rattled off more of his story. “After too much peach wine, our bumbling hero reluctantly agrees to join the raid and finds himself in the Calaveras Caves. He comes out of a blackout, and there, dead on the ground in a pool of his own blood, is his best friend in the world, Emilio Joesha Kradenza, the duke of the Emerald Coast. Did I mention I was royalty? I mean, I was disgraced royalty, but I still got invited to all the nicest Forevergreen Festivals.”
“I’m sorry,” Logan said.
“You and me both, brother,” Marko said in a lost little voice. “Never raid dungeons drunk. Both me and Emilio knew how to use a sword, we’d be trained, and we knew some simple spells, but we shouldn’t have been there. We weren’t powerful cultivators or members of one of the dungeoneer guilds. The Dukanes put in for membership with the Serpent Shields but got shot down with a form letter. I think raiding the caves was their way to prove they were good enough. Obviously, they weren’t. We weren’t.
“The Dukanes said I tried to save Emilio from bullywogs—those are Toad King minions—but I don’t remember any of that. It’s all just this ugly black space in my mind. All I know is that I failed my best friend in the world. Then? It got worse. I couldn’t leave the dungeon. The Dukanes said if I tried to bail, they’d kill me and blame it on the dungeon. I had no choice.
“But I knew the bullywogs weren’t bad. I found one, wounded, and he begged me to stop my friends. They weren’t my friends. I never liked the Dukane brothers or any of their kin. Then the bullywog talked about the Tree of Souls. I’d heard stories... never believed them... until right at that moment. Long story short?” He inhaled, held the breath, and closed his eyes. “I helped the Toad King wipe out the raiders. I turned on them, killed Danzi Dukane, but not before he stabbed me, right there in the inner sanctum. I did so well that I wound up here. By accident.”
“Like Treacle,” Logan whispered. “Like me.”
“You’re right,” Marko agreed. “And as your reward, you don’t have to take another sip of the Liverkill.”
The satyr got to his feet, walked away, and then came back. Logan peeked into the basket. It was full of cheese, crackers, and grapes. The satyr had packed a picnic, but hadn’t touched a bite. Logan stood next to his friend. It was getting dark, the air wet and cool. This was fungal weather all right.
Marko turned and looked Logan right in the eyes. “I was devasted over Emilio. I didn’t want to be a dungeon. I didn’t want more flippin’ school. I was never good at school, you know. Only the parties. Yet here I was, determined not to take it seriously.”
Logan could argue that point. Marko had gotten up early, day after day, to cultivate. He’d hung out with the Terrible Twelfth at night, in the library, before he went to party in Vralkag. It was clear that some part of Marko did want to do well. It was only his sadness that held him back.
Marko finished his story. “Things changed after the field trip, though. I save you in the Slaughter Pits, so I think to myself, maybe I can do something to save the Tree of Souls. Maybe my life can mean something. So I try. I commit for the first time ever. I’m doing it for Emilio. I’m doing it for you guys, because, come on, Logan, I love the Terrible Twelfth. Then? I fail.” He slumped forward, broken and defeated. “Miserably.”
“What happened in the Tartarucha Cells?” Logan asked.
He shrugged and shook his head. “I got lost in the art. I made this gorgeous dungeon, intricate, elegant, with a unified theme. Aesthetically, it was perfect. Professor Arketa reached out to me, you know. She told me she appreciated my efforts. She also warned me that next time, it has to be function over form. Though it won’t matter. I’m done, Logan. There’s no way I can build a decent dungeon in the SandScream in four hours.”
Logan searched Marko’s face. A million thoughts hit the fungaloid’s mind at the same time. He pressed his lips together and stopped himself from grumbling out loud. He then sank back down, drumming his heels against the stone wall. Logan opened the basket, took out a piece of cheese, and unleashed his digestive spores on it. It grew into a fuzzy little snack. He popped it into his mouth and chewed.
Marko stood over him. “Well?”
Logan kept chewing. He took out another piece of cheese and went to town.
The satyr tapped his foot. “You can’t just sit there eating. For one, what you’re doing to that fine cheese is disgusting. For another? I just told you my situation is hopeless.”
“So are you giving up?” Logan asked.
“I should.”
“But are you?” Logan tried a stale cracker. The cheese was better.
Marko waved a finger at him. “Oh, so that’s the game, is it? You want me to give myself the cheerleader speech? This is the real cheerleader speech?”
“That’s up to you,” Logan replied around a mouthful of delectable cheese.
Marko grumbled and narrowed his eyes. “Well, I’m one step ahead of you. What would I say if I were you, eh?” He tapped at his chin. “I would say, ‘We have two weeks until the Final Exam. Between you, Inga, and Treacle, I’m thinking we might figure out a way for me to survive the Final.’”
“You’re right.” Logan nodded. “That’s exactly what I’d say. But you need to believe it. I can’t believe it for you. So, what’s it going to be? Do you believe?”
He huffed and folded his arms across his chest, goat ears twitching madly in annoyance. “Fine. I believe. I’m not giving up. Also, for what it’s worth, cheese is mostly mold anyway. So what you’re doing isn’t that impressive.”
Logan grinned. “Best. Cheerleader speech. Ever.”
Two weeks wasn’t much time, but with a sober Marko, anything was possible.
Chapter Thirty-Two
THEY HAD FIFTEEN DAYS to prep their Final Exam dungeons. That evening, the studying started in earnest, and it didn’t stop for a solid week. They barely left their seats in the back of the Codex Athenaeum, and the piles of books grew steadily higher around them.