In the center of a damp cavern near the river, floor slimy with fungal growth, former Rat lieutenant Efa and escaped shadow mage Godol discuss their plans. The large, dim chamber is a shambles, the space between stalagmites littered with the remains of stalactites that fell when the building above collapsed back in spring. Some of those spear-like rock formations still remain overhead, poking down alongside the dangling roots of an ancient tree. The northern end of the space has worked stone, the remains of that manor’s basement. Among the rubble a few old wine casks poke out. The southern end opens to an abandoned well that leads up to the building’s courtyard. The River Weldyn flows somewhere to the west, and a tributary stream crosses the chamber headed toward it. A gap in the eastern wall leads further into the tunnels below South Tower. Near it stands a group of Efa’s minions, minor thugs armed with cudgels. One of them idly tosses a small stone with one hand, a sling held loosely in the other, eyes warily darting between the knot of undead creatures arrayed behind Godol and the clump standing on the far side of the tunnel entrance. Everyone in the chamber, alive and undead, turns to that entrance when a bright light shines from it.
Rhaessa seizes up at the sight of what is in the center of the large cave; the cluster of bloated creatures are all that remain of the streetfolk Heledd reported missing. The luckier of those maintain the form they had in life but with ashen skin and empty eyes. Worse, though, are the misshapen and patchwork bodies of the ghouls, gaping mouths and claws where none should be. This is the exact fate that Rhaessa has nightmares about, but one which she has never personally confronted. It takes her a few moments to collect herself.
Heppa has toughened up some over the past few months. Without a scream, she steps into the vast chamber, wand extended. She has worked her magic on the tree up in the courtyard once before. Now she spurs its growth yet again, this time coaxing the roots farther down where they ensnare a trio of standing corpses. There is a crunch of breaking bones, and one of the creatures goes completely limp in the tightening grip. “Don’t tell Mother,” Heppa quips to Tric, “she’ll think I’m a shaman.” Then she dodges back as a hail of stones, launched by slings, comes flying her way.
“Shadows, protect me!” Godol calls out from the center of the chamber. The area immediately around him grows even dimmer as inky darkness moves to shield him from attacks. He wraps an arm around the Book of Rhys, holding it against his chest, and it begins to pulse with a greenish glow. Then he reaches a hand out toward the intruders, sending a bolt of lighting crackling toward the elvish caster he remembers from the Grey Woods. “Go fix yourselves a snack,” he calls to the ghouls, and they begin to shuffle slowly forward.
Godol’s blast of energy strikes Tric, and Rhaessa is close enough that some of the electricity leaps across to her as well. From the squawk behind him, Tric figures Mate must have felt the effects, too. The magpie climbs out of the roost in Tric’s backpack and launches himself into the air. He circles a bit and then swoops down at the ruffians. They abandon pelting rocks at Heppa in favor of throwing their arms up to protect their heads.
As soon as the static around Tric clears, Efa is in his face, swinging her morningstar. To Tric, this feels very much like the Grey Woods all over again, except with no woses for backup. Squinting against the bright light of Tric’s vial, Efa lands no solid blows on his body, succeeding only in knocking his bow flying in one direction and, when he tries to pull them out, his willow knuckle dusters in another. Must run in the family, Tric reflects, remembering how Ash lost his weapons in the fight with the necrophages. “It’s been once, maybe twice that we’ve done this,” Tric jibes. “But can you keep on running, Efa? You think your new friends can help?” While not as big and chunky as the necrophages and ghast in the Heart Mountains, the ghouls are still a gruesome sight. “Those are not friends, trust me.”
Efa growls at the annoying elf and takes another swing, but he dances out of her reach. Sticky fungus grows up around her, holding her in place. That other elf is waving a stick in her direction, making the mushrooms do her bidding.
Rhaessa pulls herself together and concentrates her will through the crystal atop her staff to make casting harder for the shadow mage. Her sapphire pulses with a faint blue glow as the counterspell takes effect. Godol pushes through it, though, and mists rise around the trapped walking corpses. The roots entangling them wither and retract, pulling back up to the ceiling. The crushed corpse collapses to the ground, pieces scattering, but the mist pushes it back to its feet—most of it, anyway. The whole group slips and stumbles across the rough terrain towards Heppa.
“See you, Efa. Until next time!” Tric calls merrily as he slips away from the stuck bandit. Having gotten the hang of moving on these rough floors, he quickly dashes to his cousin’s aid. Tric leaps over a streamlet and flings himself feet first at the corpses, landing a solid drop kick on the closest one. His form is sloppy, and both of them hit the ground together. “Oh! I thought this ground was softer,” Tric groans. “Why is there no moss below?” The corpse, having already been mangled by tree roots, disintegrates into dust; it will not be getting up again.