Wily rolled over and tried burying his face in the cloth bundle he had been using as a pillow. It had been a tough sleep. He was accustomed to sleeping in pitch-blackness, and the moon and stars had been so bright that he had felt their light shining through his shut lids all night long. Now with dawn coming, keeping his eyes closed seemed impossible.
“You hungry?” Pryvyd called out to Wily.
Wily looked over to see Pryvyd holding a long skewer of orange mushrooms over a small crackling fire.
“Actually,” Wily said as he pulled a thin blanket off his legs, “I am.”
Crossing through the small campsite, Wily passed Odette and Roveeka, who were still quietly sleeping. Moshul, who had no need for rest, had spent the evening on the slight rise, scanning the tree line and rocky crevices for unwelcome visitors. Righteous circled the camp, holding the knight’s blade vigilantly in a clutched fist, ready to defend the group if the need presented itself.
Wily approached Pryvyd, who was reclining against a tree stump. The knight had removed his bronze armor for the evening, and Wily couldn’t help but think that he looked much less imposing without his chest plate. Pryvyd didn’t have the bulging muscles of a gwarven warrior or the tough skin of a slither troll.
Wily sat down to warm his hands by the fire. As he leaned closer to the flames, he spied the stump on Pryvyd’s right shoulder through the loose sleeve of his tunic. The skin where he had lost his arm was a pinkish brown and stretched extra tight over the remaining bone, much like Wily’s own burn mark. What could have possibly happened to Pryvyd?
Wily suddenly realized that he was staring and quickly turned away. Then he felt self-conscious for turning away too fast. Pryvyd’s eyes were on him.
“Did you scavenge for these mushrooms this morning?” Wily asked quickly, hoping to diffuse the situation with small talk.
“Plucked them right off Moshul’s leg,” Pryvyd said as he turned the spit. “He’s like a walking salad. No need to ever get hungry when he’s around.”
As the knight shifted position, Wily noticed that the cloth shirt that clung to his chest bore the same strange symbol that decorated the shields of the Knights of the Golden Sun.
“Why do you have a golden octopus on your shirt?” Wily asked, curious.
Pryvyd looked down at himself and chuckled.
“That’s how people here—the Panthasans—draw pictures of the sun,” Pryvyd said.
Wily looked over at the sun that had only a short time earlier climbed above the distant mountain peaks. While it was impossible to look directly at it, there was one thing Wily was certain of: it did not have eight golden arms reaching out from it.
“But the sun is just a circle,” Wily replied.
“It’s a symbol meant to represent not just the sun, but the light that it casts upon the land,” Pryvyd said, pulling his shirt tight. “And the group of knights I was once a part of believed that just like sunlight, kindness could warm all the land if given the chance to shine.”
“That’s a nice thought,” Wily said.
“And a bunch of twiddle dump,” Pryvyd continued. “I’ve been through enough to know.”
Righteous, who was circling past them, gave Pryvyd a sharp elbow to the side of the head.
“I’m allowed to think whatever I want,” Pryvyd called out to the arm as it floated along its patrol route. “You can go ahead and judge me.”
Pryvyd pulled the skewer from the fire and examined the slightly charred mushrooms.
“They look ready,” Pryvyd said as he offered one to Wily.
“I hope you’ve made plenty for everyone,” Odette said, bounding over.
The elf cartwheeled into a full split, landing right beside Wily. With her bare hand, she grabbed a hot mushroom off the spit and popped it into her mouth.
“You must have gotten a good night’s rest,” Wily said.
“She’s a morning elf,” Pryvyd commented. “Which is a bit annoying if you ask me.”
“The first hours of day have the most promise,” Odette said. “It’s when anything is possible.”
“It’s also when people should speak more quietly,” Pryvyd replied. “Your enthusiasm is hurting my ears.”
“Morning, Wily.”
Roveeka came up behind the others, moving slower than usual. Wily could tell she had not slept well either. Her normally droopy eye was practically shut.
“It was hard to fall asleep last night,” Roveeka said.
“Was it too bright for you as well?” Wily asked.
“Not at all,” Roveeka replied. “I was just too busy examining these.”
Roveeka held open her hand to reveal a dozen identical-looking pebbles.
Pryvyd slid another dozen mushrooms onto the skewer.
“We’ve been so busy running away,” Wily said, “you never told me where we are going.”
“Squalor Keep is first on our list,” Odette said through bites. “A really nasty dungeon that’s a day-and-a-half ride from here. The traps are rumored to be so tough that no one’s been able to get past the first chamber.”
“Which is why we’ve got you,” Pryvyd added.
“If the legend is true,” Odette gleamed, “great treasure stolen from the royal fortress is waiting in the final room of the keep. A dozen big raids like that and we’ll have enough to pay our way to the Salt Isles on the finest ship.”
“What’s so great about the Salt Isles?” Roveeka asked.
“Not very much from what I hear,” Odette answered. “It’s a desolate place with jungles overrun by savage beasts. But there is one thing that makes it worth the trip. The air is so full of brine that it rusts metal within minutes. None of the Infernal King’s machines work there.”
“Why would you want to get away from the Infernal King?” Wily asked curiously.
The group stared at him. Wily shifted uncomfortably under their silence. Finally Pryvyd said, “He’s an awful tyrant hated by all. He imprisons the innocent and destroys all that he cannot control.”
Wily should have guessed this. Stalag had stuffed his head with a thousand lies about the Above. The sun didn’t melt skin. Squirrels were not actually disguised evil magicians. He hadn’t seen a single skullsucker eating a person’s brains (if there was such a thing as a skullsucker at all). And the Infernal King was not the kind and generous ruler that Stalag had described.
Wily had many questions about the Infernal King.
“Why does the Infernal King do such terrible—”
“No,” Odette snapped. “We’re not talking about him. Not on such a beautiful morning.”
“But I was just curious—”
“I said no,” Odette cut him off again. “Save your questions about him for a rainy afternoon in a swamp. Enjoy the scent of the dawn blossoms.”
With a hop and a skip, Odette bounded back to her sleeping blanket. In one quick movement, she folded it up and shoved it into her satchel.
“What’s everyone waiting for?” Odette said impatiently. “If we move swiftly, we should be able to get to Squalor Keep before sundown tomorrow.”
“Thankfully, she only stays this perky till noon,” Pryvyd said under his breath to Wily and Roveeka. “Now, who wants seconds?”
* * *
AFTER A FEW hours travel, the group came upon a stone structure that fascinated Wily. It had four walls with a door and open holes at about shoulder height that could be used for looking in and out. The structure appeared positively inviting, not spooky or scary at all. He wondered if their trapsmith had grown ill or if they were just neglecting their duties.
As the group continued farther down the path, they began passing more of the small aboveground dungeons. Pryvyd told him they were actually called “houses.”
The dirt path became cobblestone and the houses began to appear closer and closer together. Yet there was not a person in sight.
“Where is everyone?” Pryvyd asked with a tinge of concern.
Ahead, a wooden sign was suspended from two poles on either side of the road.
“The Vale Village Willow Festival begins today,” Odette said, eyeing the carved letters in the sign. “They must all be in the square.”
“Is that what the sign says?” Wily asked, amazed. “You can read?”
“You can’t?” Odette asked.
“Not a word.”
“I would ask what cave you’ve been living in, but I already know the answer to that.”
“Oh, for spike’s sake,” Wily said, suddenly aggravated. “I knew I should have grabbed all my books.”
Then he remembered the gwarf’s journal in his bag and a big smile burst across his face.
“I’ve got one! You can read it to me!”
“I don’t do bedtime stories,” she said with a shake of her head. “Ask Pryvyd.”
Wily turned to the knight in awe.
“You can read, too?”
As they came over the rise, Wily could see all of Vale Village, a maze of buildings with orange- and black-shingled rooftops nestled into a narrow valley. Pink and pale yellow banners embroidered with drooping trees stretched across the streets. In the center square, hundreds of people were gathered, dancing in circles and shouting happily.
“I certainly could use a drink,” Pryvyd said with a smile. “And we need to pass through anyway.”
“Fine,” Odette said with a sigh, “but we’re not sticking around for the puppet show.”
As the group proceeded into the heart of Vale Village, Wily’s eyes darted about, taking in this strange new place. Peeking through a window, Wily was amazed that there was an entire house that seemed to have shelves filled with only cooking utensils.
“How many spoons can one person possibly use?” Wily asked as they moved along to the next building. “Even if you were the greatest chef, you’d probably only need a few.”
“It’s a store,” Pryvyd explained. “People come here to buy spoons.”
“Buy?” Wily was unfamiliar with the concept.
“Yeah,” Odette said. “What do you think gold coins are for?”
“Hoarding. Decorating your crypt. Letting them run through your fingers when you are coming up with an evil plan.”
Odette rolled her eyes. Wily could tell she had a different answer to her question.
They passed a few more stores. One was filled with shields. Another with farming equipment. But Wily nearly tripped over himself when he looked inside the last building on the block.
Inside there were thousands of books of all shapes and sizes. Some were wrapped in leather, others were bound together with thin strips of parchment or metal clamps. He had never seen anything so wonderful in his life. (Except maybe the sunset. That was fairly impressive, too.)
“Look at them all,” Wily said with his mouth agape.
He was at once lost in a dream of what these new books could tell him … imagining himself sitting under a tree’s long arms, flipping pages as the tall ground moss tickled his toes.
“I know what you’re going to be spending your gold on,” Pryvyd said with a smile.
When they reached the edge of the square, they tied the two horses to a post and moved into the crowd.
Wily had never realized that there were so many people—humans, elves, gwarfs, or squatlings—in the whole world, let alone so many in a single town. They were all dressed in tunics and skirts colored the same pink and pale yellow as the banners hanging overhead. Everyone wore crowns and necklaces of wispy green leaves. Even more amazing was the fact that they were all smiling and laughing. He looked around trying to figure out what they were so happy about.
“Did they just find lost treasure or catch an enemy in a trap?” Wily asked Pryvyd as a circle of dancers swept past them.
“No,” Pryvyd said. “They’re celebrating the flowering of the willow tree. And the joy of being alive in this beautiful world.”
Wily found this to be a strange but pleasant idea. Life was a constant slog in Carrion Tomb. Is it possible that here in Panthasos happiness isn’t as rare as finding a pearl in the mouth of a cave oyster? He suddenly felt very bad for all the invaders he had helped trap in the mine below Carrion Tomb. He had believed their lives would be better working underground. But glancing around, he was quite certain that he had been wrong.
“Look, Wily,” Roveeka said, pointing into the crowd. “It’s a hobgoblet that looks just like you.”
Following his half sister’s line of sight, Wily spied a figure that did bear a modest resemblance to him. He was the same height and build. He held his back straight and had a row of tiny white teeth. He was sharing a bag of puffy yellow food with an older man and woman who greatly resembled him. Parents.
“Introduce yourself,” Roveeka said to Wily, excited. “Maybe you’re related.”
“That’s a human boy,” Odette said.
Roveeka shook her head like that couldn’t be possible. She moved through the crowd and tugged on the stranger’s sleeve.
“I was wondering what breed of hobgoblet you are.”
The boy let out a chuckle.
“I think you must be mistaken. I’m not a hobgoblet.…”
Wily knew what he was going to say even before the words came out of his mouth.
“I’m a human.”
A huge lump formed in Wily’s chest. It felt like he had just swallowed a boulder.
Roveeka furrowed her brow in confusion, but Wily felt like he had finally found clarity. This was the final piece of evidence. A truth that Wily could no longer ignore. He had always dreamed that there were hobgoblets just like him out here beyond the entrance of Carrion Tomb. He had just never thought that those hobgoblets were actually humans. Wily looked all around him. These were his kind. He had been lied to his entire life. He was torn between joy and loss. The heaviness in his chest eased slightly, and Wily had the strange sensation that his feet might lift off the ground.
“Are you okay?” Roveeka asked.
Wily was too busy pondering to answer. He couldn’t trust anything Stalag had told him. If my parents are human, are they alive? Are they out here somewhere in the Above? Was I kidnapped or did they give me away? Are they looking for me? Or do they know where I was taken? The thoughts kept circling like eels trapped in a puddle. Or like the dancers spinning about him.
CLANG. CHUG. BANG.
Loud metallic sounds rang out in the distance.
Every person in the town square froze. The musicians stopped playing their instruments. A hand shot into the air and pointed to the hills.
“SNAGGLECARTS!” a woman screamed.
Four black beasts, each as large as a giant slug, rumbled down the streets of the village with their giant mouths agape. As Wily continued to stare in horror, he realized the black beasts weren’t living creatures, but mechanical constructs made of cast iron.
All the villagers began running in terror. The Willow Festival had come to a horrible end.
“This,” Odette said, “is the reason that we need to leave Panthasos and never return.”
“What are they?” Roveeka asked.
Wily could now see that the metal beasts’ mouths were like giant snap traps. He watched as one swallowed up a pair of fleeing villagers and thrust them into its caged belly. Through the bars, Wily could see people weeping and comforting their loved ones. The snagglecart was a trap on wheels.
“The Infernal King uses them to catch people and bring them … there…”
Pryvyd gestured to the mountain overlooking the village. Only it wasn’t a mountain at all. Just the size of one.
“The prisonaut,” Pryvyd continued.
The “mountain” was a slick metal structure on wheels with guard towers and walls a hundred feet tall. Spikes jutting from the sides of it rose and fell with every turn of the wheel. Armored figures patrolled the tops of the walls with crossbows.
Wily watched as a snagglecart filled with wailing villagers rolled up the prisonaut’s extended ramp and through its open iron gate.
“Once you go in,” Odette said grimly, “you never come out. We must leave here quickly!”
Wily felt a shiver go down his spine. Perhaps Carrion Tomb wasn’t so bad after all.