Chapter 20
The sound of Goon’s frustrated chirping arose from my cell as he tried desperately to pick the lock. Though he had been at it for almost an hour, Goon wasn’t having much success at breaking me free.
“It’s okay, Goon, you’re doing your best,” Miles said, nodding encouragingly at the armadillo. Ignoring Miles’s praise, Goon continued clawing at the lock.
We had all been separated into individual rooms in the dungeons somewhere deep below the city. Three of the walls were cast iron bars fastened to the floor and ceiling, while the fourth wall at the rear was made of solid stone. The dungeon was cold and wet and, with only a couple of candles glowing at either end of the long aisle, it was difficult to see. Taking a risk to warm myself, I pulled out the torch, and it lit up the room with soft, radiant light.
“Careful with that, Lucas,” Jasmine warned.
“I know,” I said. “I’m not going to let Raspaard take this.”
A snuffling sound arose from the cell next to Sierra as a runty dwarf stood up and leaned into his bars.
“Now where did you get that from?” the dwarf asked.
His name was Wopper, and he had introduced himself after we were first forced into the dungeon by members of Raspaard’s Nightmare Legion. Standing about a foot shorter than Miles, Wopper had forearms as thick as my thighs and a wiry black beard that could have easily scraped paint off metal. After his introduction, Wopper had stretched back out upon his pile of straw and had fallen asleep.
“That there is far from ordinary, my friend,” Wopper said, now very much awake and showing undeniable interest in my torch.
“Do you know what this does?” I asked, peering at the dwarf through the torchlight. For a moment, I wondered what sort of creature I might discover on the other side and was relieved when only Wopper’s wrinkled face smiled back at me through the flames.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he replied. “With that torch, you could never be deceived. It shows you what’s really there, you see? And often what isn’t—a torch like that can spy through even Raspaard’s deceptive trickery.”
“What do you know about Raspaard?” Miles asked.
“Only that he’s not who he says he is. And while Raspaard may have fooled most of Dunedaveen, I know who really loosed the Nightmare Legion upon this city.”
“And I suppose you’re the only one who knew this?” Jasmine scoffed, narrowing her eyes at the dwarf.
“Never said I was the only one,” Wopper grunted. “But in my line of work, it takes a sneak to recognize a sneak.”
“What is it you do?” I asked.
“I’m a smuggler.” He proudly pressed a hand against his chest. “One of the best in the business. I’ve known about Raspaard for years, and I know all about his prisoner as well.”
“Madge,” Miles whispered.
Wopper snapped his fingers. “That’s the one, yes. Now, that Madge is a powerful being, and from what I hear, she might even be able to do the unthinkable—to cross the great Abysmal. Once Raspaard has found a way to crack into her deepest magical secrets, then he’ll be able to cross over as well. Madge is a special prisoner, that’s for certain. And that’s why ole Raspy always keeps her close. Not like us, eh? Not down here in this dungeon.”
“But we saw Madge walking around in the courtyard,” Jasmine said. “Why won’t she leave?”
“Maybe that wasn’t actually her,” I said, remembering Madge’s strange behavior from before. Somehow, Madge had used the peddler woman to send us a message, which would explain why she had disappeared the moment I looked at her through the torch.
“You’re going to want to hear this,” Sierra said, leaping up from the floor and clinging to Barfitzgal’s journal.
“Not that again,” Jasmine groaned.
“Just listen. Please!” Sierra begged. “Day Fifty-Six. We know the location of the treasure, but I am frightened of what I have learned. It is no treasure at all, but a curse. And I now know why they have come together. The wizards believe whoever lays hold upon the box shall have control over the Lower Etchlands . . .” Rapidly shuffling pages, Sierra didn’t stop reading. “Day Sixty. She came from the box. A sly creature, calling herself by the name of Madge Crockery.” Sierra looked up, checking to see if we were still listening, and we were. Even Wopper seemed interested. “I heard an awful crack, as if the very world had split into two, then the walls of the cavern collapsed all around us. I thought for sure this was the end, but when the dust finally settled, and I emerged alive and miraculously uninjured from the rubble, I discovered an awful truth. I was all alone. There were no bodies. No broken, crumpled wizards lying upon the floor. Bogie, Hobsequious, and Mystery had simply vanished. Only I remained. That is, of course, I and the mysterious Madge Crockery. Madge told me the wizards had made a horrible mistake. She spoke about how they in their greed had unleashed the Abysmal. I knew not the meaning of the word. I begged her to rescue me, for there was no way to leave with an entire mountain of rock penning me in. It was then that Madge shared her strangest words yet. She said the way for me to leave was simple. That all I had to do was place my finger upon the box, and I would be set free. I would be like the other three, sent away, never to return to the Lower Etchlands as I knew it. Why couldn’t she turn away this horrid abomination, I asked her, for clearly, she had unmatched power, more so than the wizards. But Madge told me dark magic held her back. That should she ever set foot within the depths of the Abysmal, it would destroy her, along with all those dwelling among the Lower Etchlands. Now I am all alone. Madge has gone along with the others, and I cannot dig my way out, for the rocks are too heavy. Be it known to whoever may one day hold this journal that my name is Barfitzgal. I am the grandson of the great goblin Libberow. I am a wizard apprentice, and I think I might follow Madge’s advice and touch that box. And should I blink out of existence like the rest of those troublesome wizards, then so be it . . .”
Sierra stopped reading. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s the last of the journal.”
“But what does that mean?” I asked.
Sierra snapped the book closed, her eyes wide and desperate. “What do you think it means?”
“Will Madge really be destroyed if she gets near the Abysmal?” Miles asked, his chest heaving.
“Then that’s what Mystery wanted,” I said. “If Raspaard succeeds in taking Madge into the Abysmal, the game will end, and the Lower Etchlands will be destroyed.”
We heard the clopping of hooves echoing outside the hallway. Then the door opened, and Raspaard ducked his head through. Falling silent, Wopper crept back into the shadows, but the centaur ignored the dwarf as he trotted past.
“Lucas Silver,” Raspaard said, peering into my cell. “It is an honor to finally meet you. And all the rest of you. What brings the Wild Crows to Dunedaveen?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied. “We heard there was some creepy centaur up this way, and we decided to check it out.”
Raspaard paused, studying me through the bars, but then he began to chuckle. “Then you have come to cause me mischief. This is yours, is it not?” he asked, holding up a large dirty sack and pulling my crossbow out from the bottom.
I lunged for the weapon, but he easily kept it out of reach. Then, with a look of concentration, Raspaard spoke a few incoherent phrases, and the crossbow once again reformed as my Tether.
“Dangerous in the right hands,” Raspaard said. “In your hands.”
“What are you going to do with our weapons?” Miles asked.
Dipping his chin, Raspaard sighed. “No matter what I do—smash them, melt them, toss them into the Abysmal—it’s only a matter of time until they return to their rightful owners. Heroes’ Devices have always been loyal to their masters. What I do need from you, however, is far more valuable than Spades and Sparks and Tethers.”
Whispering more strange words under his breath, Raspaard pointed a finger at Miles.
“Hey!” Miles cried, as his leather pouch suddenly snapped open.
“Now, what do we have in here?” Raspaard asked. “My, my, you do have a lot of things.”
I felt a rush of panic as I realized Raspaard had somehow accessed Miles’s Dispenser and was now perusing the items from his inventory, like what had happened when those two thieves had robbed Miles and Jasmine. If Raspaard could open our Dispensers at will, that meant he could take possession of the torch as well. I knew I couldn’t let that happen. But what could I do? We no longer had our weapons, and we were trapped inside the dungeon. We were simply out of luck.
Or were we?
I then remembered the Fortune Trinket hidden within my Dispenser. What had Pugwit told me to do? If dire circumstances ever arose, all I had to do was smash the Trinket in my palm, and the Luck contained within would be released. It was worth a shot.
While Raspaard rifled through Miles’s possessions, I secretly opened my Dispenser and removed the Fortune Trinket. The tiny metal mini-figurine pulsed warmly in my hand, and my heart began to pound.
“Forks and spoons and berries. Bags of herbs, I suppose, but nothing I want.” Raspaard’s eyes gleamed viciously as he abandoned Miles’s Dispenser and pointed at Jasmine. “How about you?”
“Stay out of there!” Jasmine snapped. “You don’t have my permission to look through my things.”
“My dear Jasmine, as you can see, I do not need your permission.” After only a moment of searching her Dispenser, however, Raspaard let out a grumble of disappointment. “What would it matter anyway? You haven’t collected anything of value on your journey. No treasure, no artifacts or special items. What do you even offer to your Band?”
Jasmine crossed her arms and glared defiantly at the centaur. “You know what? I don’t think I like you very much.”
“What a shame.” With a sniff of boredom, Raspaard turned toward Sierra’s cell, but unlike Jasmine, she had quite a few items in her inventory.
Raspaard pulled out a rope, several pieces of chalk, and a couple of old, weathered maps from her Dispenser. None of that interested the centaur, but the next item he removed brought a gleam to his eye.
“Now this is a curious find,” he said, allowing the silver necklace to dangle from his fingers. “How did you ever acquire such a deadly artifact?”
“Deadly?” Sierra forced a laugh. “What are you talking about?”
“Come now, do not play games with me. You know what this does.” Raspaard’s lips twisted into a wry smirk as he glanced at the rest of us. “Oh my—you have no idea what this is, do you?”
“It’s just a necklace, right?” Sierra asked, her voice cracking.
“In the same way that I am just a centaur,” he said. “I dare say this may be the last of its kind in the Lower Etchlands. But these are not mere gemstones. These are Astral Stones, taken from the lost Starfall Caverns a long, long time ago.”
“Astral Stones?” Miles’s head perked up. “Like the ones Mystery gave us?”
Upon hearing that, Raspaard began to laugh. “You poor souls. I have never been one for trickery myself, but then again, I would have never been so foolish as to consume one of these. What did Mystery tell you? That you would grow in strength and power?”
“We did,” I said. My mind may have been reeling over the fact Raspaard somehow knew what had happened to us back at the pizzeria, but I wasn’t about to let him revel in our misery. “Those stones increased our Level to Sapphire.”
“And how are you faring with that these days?” Raspaard asked, flicking the iron bars with his finger. “However, you do speak the truth, Lucas. I have no doubt your Level has increased, and you have these stones to thank for it. But while consuming Astral Stones where you come from may indeed increase your Level, as you say,” he twisted the necklace with his fingers, “in the Lower Etchlands they are poisonous. Instead of granting power, they have a withering effect. Throughout our history, there are many stories of those who gain an upper hand over an enemy by tricking them into taking an Astral Stone. When I found this necklace in your possession, I assumed that might have been part of your plan for me—which would have been clever, had you realized the value of what you carried.”
“I told you that necklace was cursed,” Jasmine hissed, glaring at Sierra through the bars.
“Okay, but I didn’t know that,” Sierra said, “and it’s not like we used it.”
“What is this?” Raspaard asked after returning the necklace to Sierra’s Dispenser, holding up a scroll of thick paper tied with string.
It took Sierra a moment to realize what he was holding, but when she did, her eyes widened with panic. “Give me that back! That’s nothing!”
Raspaard untied the string and began reading. “A Champion’s Quest Certificate of Alternate Participation,” he announced, his head bobbling as he read from the unwinding scroll. “This certificate hereby declares that I, Sierra—”
“Don’t!” Sierra pleaded, interrupting him before he could finish. “Please stop!”
“What are you even looking for?” I demanded, my heartbeat thumping in my ears. I could feel the Fortune Trinket heating up, as if it knew I would be unleashing its power at any moment. “Why don’t you leave her alone?”
“What’s wrong with saying your name?” Raspaard asked, ignoring my question and leveling his eyes upon Sierra suspiciously. “Will I be able to take control of your mind if I utter it aloud?”
“No, it’s not that,” Sierra said. “I just don’t think it’s important right now. With everyone else listening, okay?”
Despite her pleading, Raspaard cleared his throat and continued. “I, Sierra McDonald, have agreed to play the game of Champion’s Quest as an Alternate.” Frowning with disappointment, he turned the paper over to see if there was anything else written on the back. “There, that wasn’t so horrible, was it?”
Shoulders drooping, Sierra seemed to wilt right before our eyes. What was the big deal? She had already told us at the beginning of our Quest that she was an alternate. I didn’t think anything less of her because of it. Why was she acting so ashamed?
“Your last name’s McDonald?” Miles asked, approaching the bars of his cell. “Lucas, don’t we know a McDonald?”
Come to think of it, that name did sound familiar. Had there been a McDonald at school? Maybe a teacher, or someone from the Aquatic Center? Miles and I both jumped as Jasmine let out a gasping shriek.
“Avery McDonald!” Jasmine snapped, her jaw dropping. “As in the leader of the Orc Slayers?”
Sierra heaved a mournful sigh. “I didn’t want to say anything to you guys because I knew you didn’t like her,” she said.
Didn’t like her? That was kind of an understatement. Avery McDonald had almost single-handedly ruined our very first Quest.
“Are you . . . are you related to her?” I asked, blinking in bewilderment.
Despite being all the way across the room in the dimly lit dungeon, I could see tears gleaming in Sierra’s eyes. “Yes,” she whispered. “She’s my sister.”