An obvious trap. The question was, were the mannequins the trap or were the paintings? Marko did have the Living Artistry Skill from the College of Shadows. It was possible that both statues and paintings were rigged, but considering Logan and company had a limited time frame and stunted Apothos reserves, Rockheart found it unlikely.
Before he could determine where the danger lay, Lyndagg the Skinner let out a ferocious roar and charged, slashing apart mannequin after mannequin with Ekli’s glowing scimitar and her razor-sharp buckler.
Flynn Corry winced. “Oof. I hate raiding dungeons with orcs, she or otherwise.”
None of the mannequins had come to life. They were simply statues.
“You’re welcome,” Lyndagg said over one shoulder.
Corry turned up the smarm. “Well, Miss Skinner, you definitely showed the plaster people who was boss. How can I ever thank you?”
The half-orc growled, “You just thanked me, idiot, by asking the question.”
“Of course, such a blundering oaf I am at times.” Corry caught Rockheart’s gaze and shrugged.
The rector prime found himself liking this thief. However, Rockheart still didn’t entirely trust the hallway. “This still feels like a trap.”
The half-elf laughed. “Lyndagg is halfway down it. Nothing has happened. Keep walking to the end, Miss Half-orc. And good for you. You were probably happy your whole life. Not me. To be caught... between two worlds. Alone.”
“Or perhaps you’re just a delicate, arrogant elf child. I, on the other hand, am a ferocious warrior, and I have a warrior’s heart.” The half-orc strutted the rest of the way, smug and self-satisfied. She’d made it to the other end without incident.
“See, idiot?” Ekli smirked at Rockheart. “How did you even make it to Azure Branch being so timid?”
Flynn Corry went to the mural of the cherubs in the clouds. “There isn’t any canvas, just stone. We could wash off the paint. That would be the safest bet, since we’re dealing with a Dark Muse.”
“I agree,” Rockheart said. “It will slow us down further, but it’s better than being caught unprepared.”
“This is stupid! You’re wasting our time. Obviously, it’s safe.” The half-elf called to Lyndagg—“And for your information, I have a warrior’s heart too!” The Wood Warden went storming after the half-orc in a huff. That, it appeared, was the wrong choice.
The wall art shimmered and morphed. The demons changed into laughing people, the lake of fire became a beach, and the tortured people turned into happy satyrs drinking wine and eating mushroom canapes without a care in the world. In seconds, the mural went from a hellish eternity of torture to a Sangretta beach party. Because of course it did.
On the right? The happy cherubs turned into fat little imps, their fluffy wings becoming leathery bat wings and the golden harps transforming into wicked bows.
A barrage of arrows shot out of the painting.
Lyndagg and Orem had their shields to protect them.
As for Flynn Corry, his armor ring flashed, and shafts bounced off his black lacquer armor.
The arrows might as well have been sticks on Rockheart’s reinforced skin.
The tragic half-elf wasn’t so lucky. The arrows pin-cushioned her. She hit the ground, eyes glazed over in death, feathered by a dozen shafts. That was no coincidence, Rockheart was sure. Once again, the dungeon cores were aiming well, eliminating the most powerful raider first, and the healer second. A textbook play executed to perfection.
Once the imps ran out of arrows, they froze in place, and the music started again, deranged and deafeningly loud. Drums and piping and laughter.
Flynn Corry strutted over, seemingly without a care in the world, and riffled through Ekli Oreniel’s pockets. He took the roseflower amulet, but he tossed it to Rockheart. He had to shout over the thunderous music. “You’re our last spell-caster, Tearclaw! I’m hoping you can use this to heal!”
Rockheart turned the item over in his hands, letting his senses delve into its magic. The amulet was a simple core enhancer for a C-Class druidic spell-caster. It wouldn’t help him at all. Nor would it help the other raiders since they weren’t magic-users. Technically the Earthbinder was a body and elemental cultivator, but his skills were focused in the wrong areas. Rockheart tossed it back to the thief. “I’m no healer, and that amulet is worthless to me. If we get out of here, you can sell it.”
The rogue brightened. “I misjudged you, Tearclaw. Thanks. When I buy my next wench with the proceeds, I’ll think of you.” He laughed and shot Rockheart a wink. “I’m hoping to get another wench at some point, though things seem dire. We’re down to a party of—”
A groan cut the thief off before he could finish. Flynn Corry sprang back, executing a perfect backflip, as the sandstone floor tipped. In a heartbeat, the Wood Warden’s body slid down and was gone, the floor sliding back into place on well-oiled hinges. There must be such hidden passageways tucked away all over the place. It reeked of Treacle’s handiwork.
Corry closed an eye and rubbed at his temples. “Alright. So, I’m thinking that losing the bodies of our comrades is not helping our cause, yes? The fungaloid is eating them, growing stronger, isn’t he?”
“You’re not wrong,” Rockheart growled, hands balling into fists.
Lyndagg had ventured forward, and she came sprinting back, eyes wide as teacups. “I found the center of the maze. Looks to be a trap room, or maybe some sort of puzzle.”
“Finally, some good news.” Rockheart scowled. “So far, this dungeon has been one step ahead of us the entire time. But if there is one thing I know, it’s trap rooms.” Then, under his breath, “I’ve spent the year teaching traps to these whelps.”
The central room of the labyrinth wasn’t the inner sanctum—there had to be a second level tucked away below, since that was where they’d taken Ekli’s body. Instead, Rockheart and the three raiders found themselves in the middle room of the maze, facing an iron cube the size of a normal dungeon room. The walls were welded together and studded by brass rivets. There was a door leading inside the cube, but it was closed.
Lyndagg burst forward to pull open the iron hatch. Unbelievably, she was going to waltz into the iron cube without a second thought. The stupidity of these dungeoneers was impressive. Perhaps he had been too hard on the goat boy, considering just how moronic their competition was.
Rockheart caught her arm. “No. One does not simply walk into a trap room. Not without consulting me first. I’m taking command of this party. We’ve lost our wizard and our healer, all because of blundering and impatience.”
“Ah won’t miss that woman.” The dwarf’s frown was lost in his beard. He gripped his stony hammer tighter. “And Ah say we let our last Azure Branch lead us.”
“Fine.” Lyndagg shoved Rockheart away. “It will be as you say.”
Corry nodded. “I’m assuming you want me to go into the room first. Check it for traps? Leap out if anything goes boom?”
“Do it,” Rockheart ordered.
Corry carefully opened the metal door and slipped inside. He came out a handful of minutes later, scratching his head in bewilderment. “I scanned the floors, ceilings, and walls for pressure plates, trip wires, and hidden runes. Nothing. From what I can tell, it’s as much a puzzle room as a trap room. There are musical instruments welded all over the floor and walls. There’s also another sign, courtesy of the Dark Muse: THE LUCKY PIPER CALLS THE UNLUCKIEST OF TUNES. There’s a door on the other, side but it’s locked tight. Seems we have to solve his little riddle before we can move on.”