Braiden threw his hands up. “Sure. We guessed that on the way here. I just don’t know how we’re going to deal with it. I’m not sure it makes me feel any better.”
“It’s not how you feel.” Elder Bahul shrugged. “It’s how you react to the situation. You’re not trapped unless you want to be.”
The elder had a point. Braiden and his friends had dealt with surprises on their adventures, and there had always been space to improvise. If Valefour had something awful prepared for them, they’d just have to be extra awful about beating him into submission, too.
“That pipe can’t be good for you,” Augustin panted, still catching his breath. “Especially after all that running.”
“Helps me relax,” Bahul muttered. “Anyway, hardly broke a sweat.”
Braiden could feel the beginnings of a snippy retort in his chest, but a bloodcurdling cry pierced the air before he could answer.
“That was Bones,” Warren said, glaring at the far end of the cavern. “Definitely. I’d recognize his whining anywhere.”
There was an edge of fondness to the way Warren had said that, and the way he quickly reached for his quarterstaff spoke enough of his affection for their undead friend.
He gave the party a single nod, and they all understood. Exhausted as they were from their flight, they were too close to stop now. Bones needed their help.
They surged forward, sprinting around the fringes of the bubbling pool as they cut the shortest line between them and the distant screaming. They’d only started running when something rustled in the undergrowth.
Brass boxes sprang out of the tall grass, out of treetops, out of the bushes. Somehow the messengers had stealthily maneuvered through the cavern, suppressing their terrible personalities and obnoxious declarations long enough to sneak into position.
Braiden would have expected a giant net, at least something attached to a tripwire. Maybe Valefour wasn’t a fan of setting snares like Warren and the burrowfolk.
“Surrender,” the messengers said as one, encircling them. “Or be boiled alive.”
Braiden licked his lips, his mouth parched, tasting sweat. He glanced over his shoulder at the bubbling water, his heart pounding.
“You’re planning to knock us in?” he asked, trying to buy some time.
“We could simply roast you, too,” said the lead messenger. “Your method of preparation is irrelevant. Master Valefour isn’t picky about his prey.”
Elyssandra retched. “Your master plans toeatus? Hah. Over my dead body.”
“It was only a turn of phrase,” the messenger said. “But that can be arranged. Now, if you would please follow.”
That was the politest thing the messenger had ever said to them. And somehow, this was the first time Braiden actually believed it.
Or perhaps it was only wishful thinking. Valefour didn’t lure them all this way just to eat them — or did he?
The messengers hovered in a ring around the party, herding them away from the bubbling pool and closer to the source of Bones’s scream.
What if it was only another messenger? Could these boxes mimic voices? Was Bones even here to begin with?
Braiden bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. There had to be a way for them to break out of this and find out. Chin held high, he scanned ahead for any sign of a dark abode befitting a demon lord.
Was it a deep pit packed to the brim with the bones of his victims? A spike-filled fortress out here in the underground woods?
No. It was, as it turned out, a sparse encampment, three simple tents arranged around a campfire. Valefour stood before the fire, flanked by two demons, casting a menacing silhouette with the flames at his back.
And in his arms squirmed a yowling, terrified skeleton.
“It’s a trap!” Bones shrieked.
As if they didn’t know already.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
