Chapter 15: Exploration

It takes us some time to gather ourselves, longer than I expect. Though when Blossom rises from where she's crouching and peeks over the edge near the remains of the bridge's shattered beginning, I'm not surprised she's the first to move.

"Now what do we do?" She points at the near end of the bridge, most of the front half missing. "We can't jump that far."

"And nor would we want to," Vosh says, voice soft and tired. "With the guardian gone, it's likely the rest of the bridge is unstable even for the lightest of feet."

"That leaves three doors or retreat back underground." Graldor grunts in unhappy irritation, glaring at the ground. "I don't like the idea of exploring this strange place further, but we don't have a choice, do we?"

"I have a guess as to the purpose of this place," Fleur says, "though it doesn't matter, really. Not while we remain trapped here."

"Let's split up this time," Damaris says. I'm not the only one who protests loudly and with nervous worry.

"We stay together," Vosh says, rumbling voice harsh around the edges. Is he, too, afraid? "I think we've proven unequivocally we're stronger together than apart."

Damaris seems frustrated, tsking softly into the darkness, fists on hips as she glares at the broken bridge end. "The queen doesn't have time for us to be cautious."

"Then I hope she has time to wait for others to take our place," I say, "because if we are foolish, we are dead and no help to her whatsoever."

She has nothing to say to that and I turn to the left and ignore her for the moment. "Two doors that way," I say before spinning right. "And one in that direction."

"Let's get the single over with first," Graldor says. "Or, we could get lucky and find a way out."

I'm not convinced it's going to be that easy but I agree with his suggestion. "All for the path to the right?"

There's enough murmured agreement that I know we have a plan.

I turn to lead the way but Blossom is already skipping off like she didn't spend the last little while clinging to me out of terror. I hope I will find the kind of strength it must take to shift from utter fear to curiosity like she seems to possess, but my stomach still sits in knots in my gut while I pause and wait for Vosh.

He's hunched over the remains of the archway, his big hands cupped across one of the stumps of stone. I can hear him whispering in a guttural tongue but it's not before the

column's base splits and a shining silver coin emerges I realize he's again speaking in trollish.

He straightens, the sparkling coin in his hand, turning to grimace at Graldor who opens his mouth as if to speak.

"Druid magic," the troll says, depositing the coin into his belt. "You have your own toys, wizard."

Graldor looks like he's going to argue and try to make a case before he shrugs and moves on, following the troll on the narrow path while I let the humor of the moment ease the last of my built up fear.

I'm the final one to reach the doorway, though it's not like being last is much of a detriment. A massive metal archway is sealed with a pair of matching doors. It appears to be copper to me, maybe brass, with what looks like the carving of a tree etched into it.

But it's no ordinary tree, not full of leaves or thick with fruit. This tree seems to be stripped to the branches and twigs with the depiction of its foliage piled at the base of it like it's ill or in the throws of winter.

Fleur stands next to it, one hand hovering just above the metal surface, face twisted in concern. Graldor is whispering to himself, a faint glow around his hands giving him nothing, apparently, because he shakes his head at last and drops them to his sides, scowling. Even Vosh seems taken aback by the door, and Damaris glares like she wants to take her sword to it.

When Blossom springs forward to push against it, though, Fleur is faster, one hand on her chest, keeping her from touching it as the elf turns toward us all with a sick look on her face.

"There's something very wrong here," she says.

"Surprise, surprise." Blossom rolls her eyes. "This whole place is about as wrong as you can get."

"Can you open it, Fleur?" I lean closer myself, careful not to touch the metal, for a more detailed look at the carving. "Is this an elf thing?" I wince at my stumbling attempt at a question, but she doesn't take offense, too lost in the carving's lines and her own unrest to notice, I guess.

"I think so," she says. "Maybe we should check the other doors first, Webb. Look for a way out through them. I have a bad feeling we'll find no hope here."

"Oh, please." Blossom squeezes between us and before I can stop her, before Fleur can this time, the halfling presses both hands to the metal. "Let's find out what's back here, shall we?"

I open my mouth to protest, to tell her for someone who was just clinging to me and so terrified she couldn't act she might want to rediscover her inner coward, but there's no use, not anymore. Her touch triggers something that doesn't require an elf after all, and the metal groans, moans, the center of the door parting and swinging inward at her touch.

I hold very still at the exhale of fetid breath, as if someone on the other side is unhappy with our intrusion, though the scent passes and the silence from the tunnel beyond is absolute. Blossom seems taken aback by what she's done, either in regret at last of her hastiness or surprise her effort worked at all. It's Fleur who steps forward first, one hand raised, delicate fingers tracing over the air, creating a lighted pattern in the emptiness in front of her, a barrier only visible with contact reminding me far too much of the invisible wall we bypassed with the destruction of the statue. More than enough to raise goosebumps of premonition on my arms if I wasn't already worried thanks to Fleur's quiet hesitation.

"Shield," Graldor says, eager and apparently untouched by concern himself. "My job."

"No," the elf says in her musical voice, sadness there. "This is mine." She turns to look back at us. "This is powerful magic, dark and terrible. Elvish and forbidden to all who love the forest and the WorldMother."

Graldor's scowl turns to a grunt of surprise while Vosh sighs, deep and sad.

"Tree soul," the troll whispers like he's only now understanding what's going on. I'm still enough in the dark I almost ask but Fleur beats me to it.

"Indeed," she says. "Someone has taken the very life essence of an ancient oak and used it to form this shield." Her quiet unhappiness speaks volumes to me. Not just forbidden, but abhorrent as well. She doesn't move, her expression unchanged. "And so I repeat my previous statement. Perhaps we should leave this door alone."

"Something powerful hides on the other side," Graldor says, his tone alone a protest.

"Or is being held back," Fleur says. "A deathly danger that only the soul of an eld tree can contain. Are we willing to risk freeing such a threat for a chance at something we aren't even sure lies beyond?"

"Like an exit out of here?" Blossom sounds convinced.

"It could also mean an ally against the Demon King at the very least," Damaris says. "Possibly to both." Fleur exhales in a breath that sounds like a breeze of first spring.

"I cannot say for certain. Only that the casting of a containment such as this one can only mean whatever is held behind it is more powerful than we can possibly imagine."

"All the more reason to proceed," Graldor says. Even I hear the growing greed in his tone and it's not lost on Fleur.

She blinks slowly at him, her lean face alien in the darkness as shadows pool in her cheekbones, her eye sockets. "Your passion for more magic could lead us to our end, wizard."

"So be it," he says. "Are we here to wrest the Soulblade from the Demon King or not?" He turns, meets our eyes one at a time, no doubt in his. "If so, we're going to be needing a lot more to back us up than a few rusting hobgoblin swords and some stolen trinkets loaded with specific spells. We need allies."

"You mentioned dying wasn't the best use of our time," Damaris says to me, wry humor in her voice. "What say you, Webb? Worth it now?"

And then they are all looking at me like I'm the one who needs to make the final decision. Since when? I sigh, shrug. "I have a feeling whatever lies behind the other two doors on the far side of the cavern will offer about as much danger," I say. "And while I'd rather we were all in a tavern somewhere celebrating our victory, we're not. We're down here. And we need all the help we can get."

Fleur nods to me. "Agreed," she says. "Though I hope we're not fooling ourselves that this action we're about to take is a light one."

"Just open the barrier, elf," Graldor grumbles at her. "We have no choice."

We do, and yet he's right. Fleur must agree as she stated because she turns then and sings to the barrier, her fingers tracing a pattern over the air, light appearing and lingering where she draws out words in her language. I don't read elvish but I recognize its slow, sweeping curves and odd angles. Sparks sizzle, the light shifting from gold to green to

dull ocher before it flares and fades away, only the last of her words written in the air lingering, the barrier's soft hum dissipating. And only then do I realize the sound was even there.

Fleur staggers briefly, the distant sound of a tree's leaves rustling as though in grief at its death. She hesitates a moment longer, one hand pressing to her chest, lips parted, tears trickling down her cheeks.

"This," she breathes, "is folly." And leads the way into the dark tunnel as if she'd never spoken.

***