Gweldagren nodded in approval. “Good entrance. I like their style.”
The Dungeon-Heart’s fury subsided for a heartbeat. Then it came roaring back.
“There are rules,” the fairy said, trying to project calming thoughts. It was useless. Meklang did not listen.
In their ready cavern, the faceplates of a long row of animated suits of armor lit up. Their feet began to move in perfect unison. One step forward, away from the wall. Turn right. Then a thunderous stomp into ready position. The cavern rang as thirty armored feet struck the ground at once, the sound echoing ominously through the dungeon.
“We can’t do that! We mustn’t do that!” Gweldagren protested. “We’ve never broken dungeon etiquette. Not once. Not ever. We’re better than that!”
The fury dissolved into grief. Orders turned incoherent. The shieldknights faltered as their commands scrambled.
Gweldagren felt the Dungeon-Heart’s attention waver, then slip away from the floor entirely. She sighed and began issuing counter-orders, sending the reserves back to their waiting positions. She checked the patrol routes to make sure they were still intact. She would try to kill a few delvers. That would probably calm him. For a while.
“Stitch. Wait until they reach the crossing of the two paths. Then strike the bard. Hide inside the hollow column until they’ve passed.”
The flesh-golem stared at the half-giant in the mirror and swallowed. “That woman is humongous. I’ll barely be able to reach any vulnerable body parts.”
“All trees are felled at knee height, as the dwarves say,” Gweldagren replied calmly. “Break her kneecaps. Bash in her head when she falls.”
Stitch still looked doubtful at the powerful figure in the mirror. “I still don’t understand what bothers you so much about her. She…”
She stopped as the half-giantess inflated the bagpipes. A wailing sound rolled through the cavern. The ceiling vibrated. The nearest shieldknight patrol halted and turned toward the intruders. They formed a wedge and advanced at a trot.
Then Rhea pressed her mighty arm into the bag. The sound intensified. Bardic magic took shape, the music slamming into the advancing shieldknights. The Half-Brothers formed a less elegant but far more effective combat formation, with the halfling barbarian taking point, ready to absorb the first blows.
Rhea’s fingers danced over the chanter, the melody pipe. The pitch rose. Stitch refused to call it music. The armor suits began to resonate. Hairline cracks appeared across the faceplates.
The sorcerer began casting. Shimmering globes shot from his hands, slamming into the lead shieldknight before it could raise its shield. The impact thundered. The blue crystal shattered, and the construct collapsed face-first onto the floor.
Stitch stared at the mirror. “He just one-spelled a level six dungeon monster. How?”
Gweldagren removed her hands from her ears. “What? Oh. You’re wondering how a level seven sorcerer can drop a shieldknight that easily. Sonic Ball is only moderately effective against living targets and nearly useless against steel monsters. That’s why it’s uncommon. It’s also too loud and attracts too much attention.”
She gestured toward the mirror. “But against brittle material like faceplate crystal? It’s devastating. Oh, and their bardic magic causes a resonance effect, weakening the armor and amplifying sound damage. I overheard the sorcerer bragging about learning that spell specifically for our dungeon.”
She smiled thinly. “According to ancient dungeon etiquette, using foreknowledge not gained through personally delving allows a slight increase in difficulty. That includes targeted counters and the deployment of dungeon retainers.”
Stitch grimaced. “How about I just cut open her bagpipes?”
The fairy’s eyes lit up. “Well, dungeon fairies are technically not supposed to suggest attacking class tools. It is also the most ignored guideline on record. But since you suggested it… go for it.”
She pressed against an unremarkable section of wall. Stone slid aside, revealing a concealed cabinet filled with weapons. Daggers, swords, warhammers, even a sickle and a wooden club.
“Take whatever you need. And wear this.”
Gweldagren held up an amulet on a chain. A polished copper disc etched with concentric circles that were broken by fine cuts.
“It blocks all sound around you. You’ll be completely silent but also completely deaf. Do not let them take it. And try not to get killed so they can loot it.”
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Stitch froze, realizing something for the first time. “Wait. If they kill me… don’t I respawn?”
The fairy laughed softly. “Why would you? You’re not a dungeon monster. Or a revenant. If you die, you stay dead. That’s why retainers are so hard to hire.”
Stitch threw up her hands in exasperation. “I didn’t know any of this! I’d never even heard of dungeon retainers. Or dungeon fairies. Or dungeon hearts!”
Gweldagren landed beside her and placed a calming hand on her thigh. “You’re a flesh-golem. You should be able to survive almost anything. At least long enough for extraction. We would gladly sacrifice a dozen respawnable monsters to save a retainer. Losing you would hurt our reputation.”
Using a secret tunnel, Stitch climbed into a hollow column. She pulled up the trapdoor and bolted it shut. Part of the stone wall was enchanted, allowing her to see through it.
The Half-Brothers followed a complex route, clearly planned to avoid engaging multiple patrols of shieldknights at once. At the crossing, a confrontation with one of the patrols was inevitable. And they knew it.
The halfling charged first, slamming into the shieldknights formation in an attempt to knock at least one of them down. The shieldknights set their mirror shields locked together and braced themselves. He bounced off without effect.
Sonic Balls followed, reflected by the shields but leaving faint fractures behind.
The team rushed past the column into melee. The bard remained behind, pumping her pipes. The music invigorated her allies and further weakened the armor of the shieldknights.
The half-orc broke away, tossing a smoke bomb and vanishing behind a column and flanking the shieldknight formation. With their attention to the front and their trademark limited vision, the flank worked. He struck a faceplate, cracking it.
The shieldknight did not drop immediately, as he’d expected though.
Its head snapped toward his attacker. Blue light flared. The crystal exploded outward in a cone of shards. Gronk screamed as fragments tore into his face and the arm, that he’d barely raised in time to protect his eyes.
The construct collapsed, but the surprise attack’s momentum was gone. Two shieldknights turned toward the rogue. The others closed ranks as the rest of the team collided with them.
With the path clear, Stitch donned the amulet. Sound vanished.
She pushed against the wall. A section of the column opened like a door. Low to the ground, cloaked in shifting colors, she approached her target.
The half-giant did not notice her.
Stitch swung her warhammer with full force against the bard’s knee from the side.
Because of her silence aura, she didn’t notice the lack of a cracking sound or yelp of pain. The female bard turned, her legs still fully functionally. Her facial expression was more surprise than outrage.
Stitch noticed her lack of weapons, as the bard still held her bagpipes. She stepped forward and hurled the warhammer at her face. Hands flew up reflexively and the bagpipes dropped. Right into the path of Stitch’s knife. The knife she’d gotten from the fairy wasn’t enchanted, but of good quality and sharp. It sliced cleanly through the sheepskin bag. Stitch could not hear the sad blurt of dying music, but she saw the bard’s expression shift from confusion to fury.
The female bard opened her mouth in an unheard scream, followed by a visible wave of distorted air that rippled outward as she cast a spell.
Immune to sound attacks, Stitch ignored it and tried to retreat.
She didn’t get far.
Long legs closed the distance in three strides. She ducked an unarmed strike. There was no escape. She had to stand her ground.
She raised her knife. It looked pitiful against the size of the half-giant. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to throw away her weapon. It had been a spur of the moment thing.
Rhea drew a long-handled warhammer from her back and swung it full force. Stitch barely dodged. The backhand immediately forced her to jump back. The bard’s warhammer had a handle almost two steps long and together with the long arms of the half-giantess, the flesh-golem didn’t have a chance to get even close enough to attack back with her pitiful knife. Not that her warhammer would have made a lot of difference. The half-giant’s reach was overwhelming.
Something slammed into Stitch’s arm.
She looked down. A dagger protruded from her upper arm.
Wild-eyed, she searched for the attacker while dodging another swing. The half-orc. He was throwing knives between his own strikes.
Stitch cursed. She had failed to cripple the bard. She couldn’t escape. Now she had a ranged attacker as well.
* * *
Gweldagren saw the hit and reached the same conclusion.
Time for an extraction.
She sighed. The contract existed mainly to keep Stitch from spilling secrets, but still. Losing a retainer was bad business.
She ordered two hidden shieldknights to break cover and distract the half-giantess to enable the retainer to escape. They broke from hidden alcoves through paper thin stone walls only a dungeon could create. The constructs charged Rhea’s flank.
Gweldagren turned back to the main fight.
The rogue shouted a coded command she didn’t understand and hurled a fist-sized bag into the melee. It burst into a web of binding strands, ensnaring the shieldknights. The delvers disengaged instantly.
The sorcerer, already clear, turned and began casting.
Gweldagren frowned. Netballs were rare and expensive. And they would only hold her monsters for a few frantic heartbeats.
Then she understood.
A moment of respite was enough.
The delvers enacted their pre-arranged plan with precise coordination. The rogue, with his massive but nimble frame, launched a grappling hook with expert precision. It snagged the shoulder of one of the shieldknights, yanking the armored figure off balance. The rogue jerked the rope taut, sending the knight tumbling to the floor, its mirror shield clattering noisily against the stone.
Bambam, the halfling barbarian, surged forward with a wild battle cry, his powerful legs propelling him into the fray. His broad warhammer swung like an unstoppable force, smashing into the chest of another shieldknight. The impact sent the knight sprawling, its armor denting and cracking under the force. Bambam didn't pause. He slammed his weapon down again, this time driving it into the head of a fallen knight, caving in the blue crystal faceplate with a deafening crack.
The sorcerer, standing a safe distance behind the chaos, flicked his wrist and conjured a pair of molten magma projectiles. They shot forward, sizzling with heat, and collided with the two shieldknights trying to distract the bardess. Their faceplates shattered instantly under the fiery barrage, their bodies crumpling to the ground. The sorcerer wasted no time, his eyes glowing with cold calculation as he readied the next spell.
Gweldagren looked at the mirror, completely dumbfounded. They’d used that hidden alcove a mere handful of times during the dungeon’s whole existence. How had its position made it into the information packages the vendors sold outside?
She frantically tried to come up with another extraction plan, but came up empty. There just wasn’t any monster near enough. And with the main force stalled by the netball, they too were unable to break through and get to her retainer.
The fairy turned the view closer to the half-giant bard. The flesh-golem girl managed to dodge a few times, then the bard started to hit. Again. And again...