“There! Trees. Somehow. We’ll regroup there.”
Braiden frowned into the distance, frowning harder when he spotted what Warren was talking about. Trees would indeed be a puzzling sight this deep underground, deeper than even the luminous cavern, but as Braiden had seen for himself, reality worked differently in dungeons.
These trees, for example, seemed to bear no leaves, all the color of blackened bark already razed by fire. Some resembledthe rough, cracked surface of coal, while others gleamed like onyx, or volcanic glass.
Gods, had the blazing heat of the dungeon depths already consumed these trees? Or did they grow that way because of the dungeon’s strange elemental properties?
Braiden might have time to puzzle it out later. First, he and his friends had to actually survive the chase.
Elder Bahul was already weaving his way between the slender tree trunks, head bowed as he dodged their black, brittle branches. Warren waited where the trees grew thickest, waving and beckoning at the party.
“Through the trees,” Warren shouted.
No time to explain, but he knew that they all understood well enough. With any luck, the messengers would snag on the branches. If nothing else, the presence of a physical barrier, fragile as it may be, could slow them down. All the fuel had been burnt out of these trees already, anyway. What more damage could the messengers’ flames do to them?
Braiden covered his head as he rushed past Warren and pushed through the thicket. The cavern grew darker around him, almost as if traveling under the thick canopy of an actual forest. Leaves rustled underfoot as he ran.
Leaves? He glanced down, gasping at the forest floor and its leaves that flickered like little flames. They didn’t scorch his boots or the hem of his trousers, only burning with their warm, benevolent glow. Each of his frantic footsteps kicked up more of the fallen leaves, which rustled and spun before they fell again like cinders to the forest floor.
This was far prettier than he’d imagined, and not quite as deadly, either. Well, except for the part where he and his party were so close to being mowed down by a small platoon of sadistic machines from hell.
The beating of footfalls to either side of him told Braiden that the others had made it through. He caught a glimpse of Augustin’s face, his skin amber and orange in the soft glow of the forest floor.
Braiden could see it in his eyes, in the little wrinkle in the corner of Augustin’s mouth. This was where he truly thrived and lived, in the heart of daring and adventure. Despite the imminent danger and the equally imminent threat of his lungs exploding, Braiden found himself smiling.
Warren sprang ahead of the group, his powerful legs kicking up great sprays of flaming leaves with every leap. Elyssandra’s hair gleamed golden in the firelight of forest detritus, her golden pins flickering like embers. Elder Bahul, somehow the speediest of them all even without his flutterbutter, was nowhere in sight.
And behind them — far enough that Braiden knew his party was finally gaining ground — branches crunched and twigs snapped as the messengers smacked into the trees again and again. Their monotone voices cursed and snarled in frustration. Braiden allowed himself a tiny chuckle.
But just up ahead: light piercing through the trees. What awaited them on the other side? Did it really matter? Trap or no trap, it still had to be better than death by messenger.
As one, the party burst out of the ebony forest, fiery leaves swirling at their feet. The sudden radiance of open space filled Braiden’s chest with hope — but with wonder as well.
His heart longed to absorb the new beauty of his surroundings, but he ordered his muscles to keep running. But his eyes — well, he couldn’t very well stop them from wandering, could he?
This place was a parallel of the luminous cavern, only painted in flame. Grass flickered like candle wicks, growing out of the soil as if nature had always intended for the earth itself to birth fire.
Ferns tipped in flame wavered in a balmy breeze, ever smoldering but never burning, faint smoke wafting from their leaves, smelling of sweet, subtle incense.
Spherical fruit dangled from the trees, glowing berries in the bushes, all amber and afire. Braiden wondered if a burned tongue and singed lips would be worth a taste.
And true to the mirroring of the luminous cavern, this place had its own pool of water, but Braiden could already tell it wasn’t worth the drink when he saw the sizzle and steam on its bubbling surface.
“Wait,” Warren said. He held his paw up, his ears swiveling this way and that. “Do you hear that?”
They stopped running. Elyssandra tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, its sharp point wavering as she, too, listened.
“Nothing. I hear nothing. Where did our pursuers go?”
Braiden clutched his chest, grateful for the chance to rest and refill his burning lungs. He turned toward the coal and ebony trees. There was nothing there in the forest, not a single brass box, much less seven.
“Did they give up?” Augustin asked, his bare torso slick with perspiration. “Or perhaps they retreated. Out here in the open, we can fan out and properly fight them. Maybe. Better than in close quarters, at least.”
“All part of the plan,” said Elder Bahul.
Braiden had nearly forgotten about him, too engaged by the twin distractions of death-by-messenger and the fiery cavern. The elder was sitting on his treasure chest, puffing away on a wooden pipe.
“Said so yourself. It’s a trap.”
