T Lain - Plague of Ice

The pit was not warmed by the magical heat in the hallway above. Frost clung to the black walls, the fortunate result being that the corpse was not badly decomposed and barely stank.

“Another of the other party,” said Hennet. “You’re quite lucky to be alive, Regdar.”

“I don’t suppose any of you have rope?” said the fighter.

The three of them each shook their heads to each other.

“Does he?” suggested Sonja.

“Uh…” Regdar bent over and gave the corpse a quick search. “I don’t think I feel anything like that. He has a few potions or something. We may as well keep those.”

“Fine,” said Hennet. “Toss them up here.”

Regdar pulled three small flasks from the dead adventurer’s belt and threw them upward. The sorcerer grabbed them, one after another, and held them up to the torch for closer inspection. When he did, he almost screamed at the revelation.

“Be careful with that stuff! You can’t just toss it around like that. You’ll kill us all!”

“You’re the one who told me to,” Regdar protested. “What is it?”

“It’s alchemist fire,” Hennet explained. “I’ve never seen it used, but I’ve heard very impressive stories about it. It’s the liquid equivalent of a fireball spell and just as destructive. You throw it, the flask breaks, and the stuff ignites on contact with air. Fools have been known to open a flask of this, not realizing what it was, and destroy buildings along with themselves.”

“This is all very fascinating,” Regdar noted as Hennet carefully hid the vials in his cloak. “Unfortunately, I’m still down here in the pit. If anyone has any other ideas, I’m listening.”

Lidda looked briefly at Hennet and Sonja before fishing reluctantly in her pocket. “I have just the thing,” she admitted, a note of sadness clear in her voice. She pulled out a small bottle of greenish liquid.

“Catch this,” she said, before tossing it to Regdar in the pit.

“What is it?” Regdar inspected it carefully.

“It’s a potion of flight,” explained the halfling. “They were selling them at the magic shop in Vasaria. They weren’t cheap, but I decided to get one, on a lark. I thought it would be fun to fly, if only for a little while.”

“Vasaria?” said Regdar. “That was more than a month ago. Why didn’t you mention this?”

“I thought you might think it was silly,” said Lidda. “The halfling who wanted to he a bird.”

Regdar smiled at the thought. She meant to use it for fun. “You should have told me. I would have bought one, too.”

“Flying inside a dungeon may not be the freest feeling ever,” Lidda noted, “but at least the potion will be put to good use. Better than what I intended it for. Drink away!”

The fighter uncorked the bottle and downed its thin, nearly tasteless contents. Nothing happened. “Are you sure that magic store didn’t rob you?” Regdar asked, looking up at Lidda, who peered back down into the pit.

Regdar’s feet lifted off the icy stone floor. “Oh my,” he gasped. He was flying! He kicked his legs but that didn’t stop his upward rise. Instead it knocked him into a slow, horizonal spin. He tried waving his arms to steady himself, but this only made him bump against the sides of the pit as he rose. He steadied himself in the center and realized that struggling only made it worse, so he allowed himself to float gently back to the level of the hallway.

He dangled up above the pit, extending a hand upward to keep himself from bumping into the ceiling. He smiled at Lidda as he drifted past her.

“What’s it like?” the halfling asked.

“Why not find out?” Regdar was getting the hang of maneuvering now, and he swung his body around until his back was to Lidda. She climbed onto his shoulders, then he leveled himself out parallel to the floor. They flew past Sonja and Hennet and back up the hallway they’d just come through, which Regdar knew was safe from traps. The warrior’s heavy armor kept him from going very fast, but that was fine. They were barely five feet off the ground, but the thrill remained as the two of them glided through the dungeon with grace and majesty, like a dragon rider on her mighty steed.

“How much longer will this last?” asked Regdar.

“Probably a few more minutes,” said Lidda. Noting that Hennet and Sonja were well out of earshot, she went on, “You have to promise me you’re not going to do anything like that again. I know you miss Naull and you don’t think Hennet is worthy of Sonja. That doesn’t matter. You staying alive is what matters.”

The fighter began to object, but Lidda silenced him. “You don’t have to apologize. Just remember—Naull may have loved you, but other people still care about you. We’d better get back now.”

They floated back up to the others just in time for the spell to fade and Regdar to settle slowly to the floor.

“That’s impressive,” said Hennet with a smile. “I’m going to have to add a flight spell to my repertoire.”

Sonja, too, seemed much more at ease after the playful interlude. Nobody felt the need to castigate Regdar for what he’d done.

Having cleared the pit, they found no more traps for a good length down the hallway. This worried Lidda greatly. She understood all too well why the designer of a dungeon like this would do such a thing: to lure looters, or at least looters less canny than she, into a false sense of security.

She was sure of it when the featureless walls were suddenly interrupted by a mural almost as detailed as those adorning the subterranean mall above. It showed a hand clutching an ungainly black lump with a simple chain hanging below it. There was no body with this hand, only part of an arm in an ornately embroidered sleeve. Radiating out from the lump were shimmering waves of frost, which looked so familiar that the artist could only have witnessed this phenomenon firsthand. The waves rippled over a vast, sandy expanse, leaving the image of a frozen desert kingdom dimly recognizable in the back of the image.

Beyond the image, the corridor came to an end. A forbidding, black door filled the wall ahead. The only two choices were to turn back or open the door.

“It seems your mother wasn’t making up that story after all,” said Lidda, holding a hand over the intricate display but careful not to touch it.

“I guess not,” said Sonja. “The Frozen Pendant must rest beyond this door. Can you pick the lock?”

“Oh, probably,” said Lidda, looking carefully into the keyhole. “Ancient locks, modern locks, they’re pretty much all the same. Isn’t it funny? The rest of the dungeon is made of whatever this black substance is—basalt, perhaps?—yet the locks are still made of good old-fashioned iron.”

“Just be careful,” said Regdar, and Lidda shot him a look as if to say, You don’t have to remind me to be careful.

Lidda worked at the lock for a few minutes while the others stood back, half expecting the door to explode or some monster to smash through. As it was, Lidda cracked the lock with no surprises, and the door swung slowly open, revealing a large, empty room. It was much wider than the passageway and with a higher ceiling. In fact, it looked to be a single, large, night-black cube. Another closed door stood opposite the entranceway.

“After you, noble warriors,” said Lidda. She gave a little bow and ushered the others through. Regdar and Hennet looked at each other, and the fighter took the lead, stepping cautiously over the threshold into the bizarre room. He sniffed the air.

Regdar’s brow furrowed. “Smells sort of like… meat?”

“I think you’re right. What is this place?” asked Hennet as he stepped through behind him. Lidda helped Sonja through last of all. Hennet scanned the room and found that every wall, ceiling, and floor was composed of the same material and every inch of it was a uniform, jet black—all but a faint discoloration near one of the corners. He stepped over and ran his foot through it, spreading something across the floor. He held the torch down to it.