myself: ‘how will I get to see if Xaven’s idea might actually work?’”
“So you did think about deserting!”
“Xaven, do you think maybe we can tend to your insecurities after we get us out of this deathtrap?”
“Okay, okay. Let’s go over the timing once more.”
Hrokon repeated the final steps once more for Xaven as he pulled out a pair of manacles from his pack. He knew by now that the halfling trusted no one, even at the best of times. “When I hear the ‘ready,’ I count to three. On three exactly, I whip the horse team and we race as fast as we possibly can. There’s a bit of a downward slope from the entrance, actually, so we’ll get a good start. You ready?”
“I’ve been ready for twelve hours,” Xaven said, slowly holding out his left arm for the manacle.
“Good,” said Hrokon, snapping one clasp around Xaven’s wrist and then the other to the sled’s metal handle. The key was left in the lock. “Now don’t miss the sled with your jump off the plate or you’ll lose your arm.”
“My arm?” Xaven snorted. “Hrokon, if I miss the sled, the Pathfinders will be digging up my pulverized skeleton a hundred years from now.”
The half-orc grinned. “Then don’t miss it.” He paused. “You’ve been still an awful long while, Xaven. Your muscles won’t react quite like they should.”
Xaven grit his teeth. “I won’t miss. You just make sure the horses accelerate to a gallop right out of the gate. How many did you get?”
“Eight. I already told you, I got everything on the list. They’re good ones too—Andoren breeds, mostly.”
“Alright then, let’s do this. Head topside and call me for the countdown when you’re in position.”
And then Xaven was alone again. He breathed and sweated in the newly bright corridor. That’s all he had done for the last twelve hours, but apparently he still had more sweat to give. He hadn’t told the half-orc how poor the odds were that his plan would actually work. If the ceiling came down all at once, it wouldn’t matter how fast the horses were.
But if there was anything Xaven knew, it was how trapsmiths worked, and temple engineers always had a flair for the dramatic. The ceiling would come down in sections. If he could just stay ahead of each chunk, it was possible he could make it to the bottom of the ladder in time.
The half-orc’s shout reverberated down the hall. “I’m in position. The horses are ready to run!”
Xaven used to really enjoy working with traps…
Xaven closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again. This was it. He sucked in a breath to respond, hoping his throat was up to it.
“Ready!” he called. “Go!”
At first he wasn’t sure the half-orc heard him. Then he heard the count.
Xaven dove for the sled. If he was too early, he was dead. If he missed it, he was dead.
The sled shot forward as soon as Xaven crashed down on its wooden bed. He clawed for the handle with both hands and felt a tear in the sockets of his arms.
Pulled by the horse team above, the ropes connected to the sled had gone taut instantly, and the sled was now flying down the corridor. Rather than rolling across the ground as planned, it bounced off the flagstones. A half-moment later, Xaven’s world became infinitely smaller as a cascade of granite blocks suddenly fell from the ceiling in massive chunks. The deadfalls exploded right behind him with a shock wave of deafening force.
Xaven’s sled flipped over. The halfling hung on for his life. He was still flying forward, the stone floor scraping his back raw as he slid. As best he could determine, he was fractionally ahead of the falling rock. A split-second later he was enveloped by a cloud of dust, and could see nothing.
There was a huge crash as the sled smashed into the end of the hall, slamming straight into the ladder. At the same instant, the ceiling directly above Xaven came loose and began to fall apart above him. Even the walls gave way.
Still dragged by the
“So you did think about deserting!”
“Xaven, do you think maybe we can tend to your insecurities after we get us out of this deathtrap?”
“Okay, okay. Let’s go over the timing once more.”
Hrokon repeated the final steps once more for Xaven as he pulled out a pair of manacles from his pack. He knew by now that the halfling trusted no one, even at the best of times. “When I hear the ‘ready,’ I count to three. On three exactly, I whip the horse team and we race as fast as we possibly can. There’s a bit of a downward slope from the entrance, actually, so we’ll get a good start. You ready?”
“I’ve been ready for twelve hours,” Xaven said, slowly holding out his left arm for the manacle.
“Good,” said Hrokon, snapping one clasp around Xaven’s wrist and then the other to the sled’s metal handle. The key was left in the lock. “Now don’t miss the sled with your jump off the plate or you’ll lose your arm.”
“My arm?” Xaven snorted. “Hrokon, if I miss the sled, the Pathfinders will be digging up my pulverized skeleton a hundred years from now.”
The half-orc grinned. “Then don’t miss it.” He paused. “You’ve been still an awful long while, Xaven. Your muscles won’t react quite like they should.”
Xaven grit his teeth. “I won’t miss. You just make sure the horses accelerate to a gallop right out of the gate. How many did you get?”
“Eight. I already told you, I got everything on the list. They’re good ones too—Andoren breeds, mostly.”
“Alright then, let’s do this. Head topside and call me for the countdown when you’re in position.”
And then Xaven was alone again. He breathed and sweated in the newly bright corridor. That’s all he had done for the last twelve hours, but apparently he still had more sweat to give. He hadn’t told the half-orc how poor the odds were that his plan would actually work. If the ceiling came down all at once, it wouldn’t matter how fast the horses were.
But if there was anything Xaven knew, it was how trapsmiths worked, and temple engineers always had a flair for the dramatic. The ceiling would come down in sections. If he could just stay ahead of each chunk, it was possible he could make it to the bottom of the ladder in time.
The half-orc’s shout reverberated down the hall. “I’m in position. The horses are ready to run!”
Xaven used to really enjoy working with traps…
Xaven closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again. This was it. He sucked in a breath to respond, hoping his throat was up to it.
“Ready!” he called. “Go!”
At first he wasn’t sure the half-orc heard him. Then he heard the count.
Xaven dove for the sled. If he was too early, he was dead. If he missed it, he was dead.
The sled shot forward as soon as Xaven crashed down on its wooden bed. He clawed for the handle with both hands and felt a tear in the sockets of his arms.
Pulled by the horse team above, the ropes connected to the sled had gone taut instantly, and the sled was now flying down the corridor. Rather than rolling across the ground as planned, it bounced off the flagstones. A half-moment later, Xaven’s world became infinitely smaller as a cascade of granite blocks suddenly fell from the ceiling in massive chunks. The deadfalls exploded right behind him with a shock wave of deafening force.
Xaven’s sled flipped over. The halfling hung on for his life. He was still flying forward, the stone floor scraping his back raw as he slid. As best he could determine, he was fractionally ahead of the falling rock. A split-second later he was enveloped by a cloud of dust, and could see nothing.
There was a huge crash as the sled smashed into the end of the hall, slamming straight into the ladder. At the same instant, the ceiling directly above Xaven came loose and began to fall apart above him. Even the walls gave way.
Still dragged by the
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