The shadowmaze beckoned once more, and Wyz—still bearing the wicked scar across his belly from his previous near-death experience—gathered his “recalcitrant minions” for another descent into darkness. The goblin wizard’s eyes held that same cold fire that had burned there since his miraculous return from the depths, and his companions could sense that something fundamental had changed in their diminutive leader.
“We return to the chamber with the statues,” Wyz announced, his voice carrying an authority that brooked no argument. “There is a rat infestation that requires… methodical attention.”
Perch adjusted his fish-head helmet nervously, while Alandor checked his sling stones for the dozenth time. Morrigan, ever the professional thief, simply nodded and checked her lockpicks. They had all heard the stories of what had transpired in that cursed place—how Lessa had fallen, how the skeletons had nearly claimed them all.
The descent into the barrowmaze felt different this time. Where once there had been desperate flight and chaotic battle, now there was cold calculation. Wyz led them through the twisting passages with the confidence of one who had gazed beyond the veil and returned with terrible knowledge.
When they reached the chamber with the ancient statues, the sound of chittering and scurrying filled the air. The rat nest was exactly where they remembered it—a writhing mass of diseased rodents that had made their home among the refuse and bones.
“Behold,” Wyz said, raising his hands as arcane energy began to crackle around his fingers, “the proper way to deal with vermin.”
The first sleep spell washed over the nest like a gentle tide, and several rats simply collapsed where they stood, their tiny bodies going limp. But there were so many of them—far more than a single casting could affect.
“Again,” Wyz commanded, his voice taking on an almost hypnotic quality as he wove the magic once more. A rat made it past Perch, latching on to the goblin’s flesh through his tattered robes. Wyz kicked the creature away before its filthy bite could penetrate deeply into his flesh. “And again.”
Perch raised his shield, trying to position himself between the remaining conscious rats and his companions. “Come on then, you mangy—”
His words were cut short as a particularly large rat launched itself at his shield, its yellowed teeth finding purchase in the wood and leather. The dwarf warrior tried to shake it off, but more rats swarmed toward him, their claws scrabbling for purchase.
“My shield!” Perch cried out in dismay as the rats began to literally chew through his protection. “They’re eating my bloody shield!”
Alandor’s sling whirred through the air, stone after stone finding their mark as sleeping rats were dispatched with methodical efficiency. “Keep casting, Wyz! We’ve got this!”
But the rats were not entirely helpless. One particularly vicious specimen managed to sink its teeth into Perch’s arm, right through a gap in his armor. The dwarf roared in pain and anger, but when he pulled the creature away, he could see that the wound was already beginning to fester.
“Disgusting creatures,” Morrigan muttered, her dagger flashing as she joined the systematic extermination. But even her quick reflexes couldn’t save her from every attack. A rat’s bite found her leg, and she hissed as she felt the familiar burn of infection setting in.
The battle—if it could be called that—continued with grim efficiency. Wyz cast his sleep spell again and again, his magical reserves slowly depleting as more and more rats succumbed to his enchantments. His minions dispatched the sleeping vermin with cold professionalism, until the chamber floor was carpeted with tiny corpses.
The last rat, perhaps driven mad by the slaughter of its kin, refused to succumb to Wyz’s magic. It fought with desperate fury, managing to land one final bite on Morrigan before fleeing into the shadows.
“Let it go,” Wyz said dismissively. “One survivor will spread word of what happens to those who oppose us.”
As they searched through the rats’ nest, disturbing another rodent that scurried away into the darkness, their efforts were rewarded with a modest collection of treasures. Coins that might total a dozen gold pieces, a simple dagger, a beggar’s bowl, and a set of manacles—the detritus of previous adventurers who had met unfortunate ends.
But it was Morrigan who made the most significant discovery. “Wyz,” she called out, holding up a leather scrollcase that had somehow survived the rats’ depredations. “This looks important.”
The goblin wizard’s eyes lit up with avarice as he examined the case. “Indeed. My minions continue to prove their worth, despite their many failings.”
As they prepared to leave, Alandor pointed toward a section of wall that looked slightly different from the rest. “There’s another secret door here. Should we investigate?”
Wyz considered for a moment, then nodded. “Knowledge is power, and power is what separates the worthy from the fodder.”
Morrigan’s skilled fingers found the mechanism, and soon they were looking down into a pit that had been concealed behind the secret door. But this was no simple trap—something metallic gleamed in the depths, something that moved with unnatural purpose.
“I can disable the mechanism,” Morrigan said, already working at the trap’s components. “Just give me a moment…”
The pit opened with a soft click, revealing its contents. What emerged was a thing of brass and steel, a clockwork cobra that moved with serpentine grace despite its mechanical nature. Its jeweled eyes fixed on Alandor with malevolent intelligence, and it struck with lightning speed.
“Mechanical guardian!” Wyz shouted, already backing away from the pit. “Retreat! Tactical withdrawal!”
Morrigan needed no further encouragement. She was already moving, her thief’s instincts screaming at her to put distance between herself and the animated construct. Wyz followed close behind, muttering words of protection under his breath as arcane energy shimmered around him.
Alandor dodged the cobra’s strike by mere inches, the mechanical fangs scraping against his leather armor. “A little help here!” he called out, but his companions were already in full retreat.
“Perch!” Alandor shouted as he ran from the chamber. “The door!”
The dwarf warrior, despite his infected wound and ruined shield, moved with admirable speed. Together, he and Alandor slammed the secret door shut, the mechanism clicking back into place. Perch jammed his crowbar into the mechanism for good measure, wedging it so thoroughly that nothing short of a battering ram would open it again.
“Well,” Wyz said as they caught their breath in the corridor, “that was… educational.”
The journey back to the surface passed without incident, though each of them jumped at every shadow, every sound that might herald the approach of skeletal warriors or worse. The shadowmaze had taught them all to be cautious, to expect death around every corner.
Back at the inn, safe in the warm glow of the common room’s fireplace, Wyz carefully examined the scrollcase they had recovered. His scarred fingers traced the leather binding as his companions watched with anticipation.
“Tomorrow,” the goblin wizard announced, “we shall discover what secrets this contains. Tonight, we rest and tend our wounds. Even the most competent minions require maintenance.”
As Perch and Morrigan sought treatment for their infected bites, and Alandor counted their modest haul of coins, Wyz sat alone with the scrollcase. The cold fire in his eyes seemed to burn brighter as he contemplated the mysteries that lay within.
The shadowmaze had given him knowledge, and knowledge was indeed power. Soon, his minions would understand just how much their master had learned in those dark moments when death had seemed certain.
The scrollcase would wait until morning, but Wyz’s ambitions would not sleep.
