Dungeon 42

Blessed Fortune

Chapter 153

As Jonus and his team progressed along the path, he felt a kind of contentment settle in his bones. He had seen the demi take the arrow and fall, only to be carried. Whichever of its band had elected to do so must have been monstrously strong even by the standards of its kind. A mistake now supplying him with an easy path. The blood trail was sporadic, but easy to follow, even as the trail began to narrow and the day wore on. It was also getting just a little fresher the longer they continued.

Finally, the trail narrowed too much for the horses to continue. Jonus ordered a brief halt to hobble and provision them in a spur of the route they were following. He also had his men take a quick meal. They'd been snacking when it suited them from their provision of jerky and hardtack, but he wanted them all focused and fighting fit, so something light was in order.

Going by what he'd seen, Jonus was confident they would soon find the last of the band and finish them. The blood had been wet, and the amount was larger than before. He wouldn't be surprised if they came upon an abandoned body soon.

"Sir, should we send up a flare?" Darrow asked. He was in charge of them, and it was procedure to release them in anticipation of a battle. The others would keep their paths unless they dead-ended without connecting to ensure none of the demi-humans found a way out.

Jonus considered it for a moment but shook his head. On another day, he might have. Given the circumstances, he had more than enough men to deal with the demis. It might let him keep a bit of an element of surprise, not that he would need it.

"No, we'll press on now. Secure your gear, it's unlikely we'll sneak up on them, but they're exhausted," Jonus said to his men. They all nodded and did as he bid.

The path they continued on was rocky and narrow, scraping the unaware as they went. The blood trail continued, though, turning into fresh rivulets on the ground. Seeing that, the indignities of navigating the stone corridor were forgotten.

Jonus was certain the demi-human trash was too worn down and panicked to cover their trail. They likely wouldn't put up much of a fight, but he didn't mind. Purging the unclean in service of Stromholt was honor enough, even without tales of glory.

Without warning, the path led to a larger space dominated by a massive boulder. On its surface was something odd. It took Jonus a few moments to understand what he was looking at. A crude smiling face, like a child might draw, rendered in blood.

The smile leered, and Jonus signaled for his men to form up as they followed him out into the open. He expected an ambush, but nothing happened as the moments ticked by. There wasn't so much a breath of wind in the maze to rustle the spartan plant life or whistle through the stones.

"They must be going mad," someone said. Jonus was startled after the profound silence preceding the outburst, but didn't let it show. Instead, he gave a light laugh, encouraging his men to chuckle as well. He would have preferred they remain silent, but he'd been too caught up in the eerie atmosphere of the moment to direct them quickly enough.

"Split into two groups, we'll see if we can't catch them by the tail," Jonus said. His men obeyed, and they began to walk around the stone.

Despite his training and faith, Jonus couldn't shake the image of the smile from his head. It was bizarre and seemed to mark the trail's end. He couldn't shake the sense they were being mocked.

Jonus hadn't been pursuing that large of a group in the first place, and demis weren't known for tactics. Still, as they walked around the stone, his unease grew. There were more paths here, four he counted on his side by the time they met up with the other half of their group.

A possibility occurred to Jonuss somewhat belatedly. The group they had been pursuing was in bad shape, and he'd assumed they were running blind. An idea seemingly supported by the fact they took off into the Malthus desert like absolute fools.

Few creatures could survive in the Strom-cursed place for long, and it didn't provide anything in the way of cover. Jonus thought back to something he'd only heard of in whispers, that the hero's party led by that ridiculous archer had perished.

Details had been limited, and few knew much about the group, but Jonus had known enough to realize they were describing Riener and his lot. He could still vaguely recall Reiner, the stripling of a boy who'd started as an archer.

Unlike most, Jonus had interacted with them a few times when his company had been chosen to train them. Or rather make sure their training had taken properly once the temple was done with them. His task had been to observe how they behaved during adventures rather than help.

The memory still rankled Jonus a bit. Reiner had been selected because of decent mana reserves and his status as an orphan. He'd had no faith, no noble standing, nothing. Trash like him shouldn't have been selected for such an honor.

Shaking the unpleasant memory of the boy and his companions from his head, Jonus focused. There had been a detail he'd all but completely forgotten about the incident. The party had supposedly died somewhere in the vicinity of the desert and the foot of the mountain range.

Knowing Reiner was rather timid, Jonus assumed the group had perished near a town or oasis. Some place more easily accessed and with comforts for a soft bunch like them. The training should have ensured the boy wouldn't go far from traveled roads without reason.

It could have been a coincidence, but Jonus couldn't help but acknowledge the location of the stone maze fit the description of where they'd likely died. Without any civilization to attract the party into the desert, someone must have lured them explicitly. It also wasn't lost on him that within the maze, a large force would have little chance to bring their full strength to bear.

"Halt!" Jonus called out. "We're going to send up a flare."

Jonus's men were disappointed, their eagerness for blood commendable. However, he didn't relent, his fear of what might be lying in wait for them overpowering his desire. If he wasn't just being paranoid, there was likely another band or two in the maze ahead waiting to ambush them. But, unlike the group he'd been chasing, they'd be well-provisioned, rested, and familiar with the terrain. It wouldn't do to be caught unaware by such a group.

The flares were precious, and Darrow took a few minutes to set one up. Finally, the lofting tube was set, and a fuse was inserted. He lit it and moved back with the rest of us. That was when Jonus heard something, a faint but familiar sound. The lofting tube tipped and the flare flew out, bouncing off the walls momentarily before hitting the ground and rushing about like an angry hornet.

The signal smoke quickly filled the air, making it difficult for Jonus to see more than a few feet in front of himself. What he'd heard finally clarified in his memory. It was the whirring of a sling.

Hardly able to see and choking on the smoke, Jonus drew his sword. He expected an attack, but in the next moment, the man beside him fell, an arrow piercing his chest. Everything was chaos then as the initial surprise gave way to terror, and his men panicked.

Jonus was knocked down before he could speak a word to try and calm them, and the whistle of arrows kept up a steady pace. They'd wandered into what might as well have been a shooting gallery.

Scrambling to his feet, Jonus ran and took the first path he could find. It was narrower than the prior one. Every step he took seemed to cost him a scrap of fabric or skin. It branched quickly, and he plunged ahead. His only thought was to keep the mountain ahead of him as the only reliable landmark.

Without warning, the path opened into a blind alley, the slanting light of late afternoon barely reaching within. The chill of it hit Jonus like a physical force, and he stopped. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but as they did, he realized he wasn't alone.

Two bright spots of green twinkled slowly as a figure stepped out of the deeper shadows. Lightly armored with long pale hair, the lithe figure was strange, weak looking even as it advanced with a thin blade in hand.

Jonus wasn't a small man, and his sword was heavier. He shouldn't have felt dread welling up, but the being in front of him recalled the scriptures to him, and he stood frozen, watching in fearful anticipation. It was hardly a few yards from him when he could finally make out enough detail for his fear to coalesce into true terror.

Long thin ears came to a point just past the creature's skull, declaring it entirely inhuman despite the rest of its features carrying an angular nobility. Demi-humans were a vulgar existence, hailing from an ancestry tainted with bestiality. This was something born unholy by its very nature. Jonus knew he was looking at a demon.