A way down was not necessarily the way down.
That distinction became important as the six heroes stood around the newly opened crevasse.
Green vapor continued to spill from the crack in the earth. It hugged the ruined street rather than rising, flowing around shattered stones and the heroes’ boots in thin, luminous currents.
Pete had already returned from below.
Whatever waited beneath the city could wait a little longer.
Grazim studied the crevasse, then the ruins surrounding it.
“We know something is down there.”
Nethnarel looked at the green mist.
“And we know almost nothing else.”
“Which has not stopped us before,” Hexen said.
“No. It has merely punished us repeatedly.”
Kaylor rested the point of his greatsword against the stone.
The battle with the possessed dead had taken more from him than he wished to admit. Wounds had been closed, but exhaustion remained in his muscles. The others were little better. Hexen’s summoned wolves paced among the rubble, noses low, occasionally growling toward the crevasse.
Fendor had already turned away from it.
The elf stood upon the remains of a collapsed wall, scanning the ruined city.
“Something else is moving.”
Everyone looked toward him.
“Where?”
Fendor pointed east.
Grazim climbed onto the broken masonry beside him and narrowed his eyes.
At first he saw only more of the dead city.
Roofless houses.
Broken towers.
Streets buried beneath centuries of debris.
Then he saw something that did not belong.
Beyond a line of ruined buildings stood a pale mound large enough to cover several houses.
It looked almost like snow.
Except the air was warm.
Grazim watched.
The surface shifted.
Not from wind.
Something moved beneath it.
“There,” he said.
Kaylor followed his gaze.
“What is it?”
“Salt.”
Hexen stared at the enormous white mound.
“That is a great deal of salt.”
Nethnarel stepped beside him.
“Please do not look back while we approach it.”
Hexen glanced at her.
“Why?”
“I have no idea. It simply feels like the kind of rule a mountain of salt would have.”
Fendor dropped from the wall.
“We could also leave it alone.”
No one moved.
Fendor sighed.
“I knew I should not have suggested that.”
They headed east.
The green crevasse remained behind them.
For now.
The closer they came to the white mound, the stranger it became.
It was not merely loose salt piled within the ruins.
The substance had spread through the streets.
Crystals clung to old walls. White veins filled cracks in the stone. Doorways had been sealed beneath translucent deposits, and several collapsed buildings appeared partially swallowed by it.
Hexen crouched and touched one crystal.
“Not natural.”
“You determined that by touching it?” Nethnarel asked.
“No.”
“Excellent.”
Pete flew ahead.
Then disappeared.
Leonidas watched the invisible familiar cross the ruins.
“Pete sees movement.”
“We see movement,” said Fendor.
The mound opened.
Four figures rose from the salt.
They had roughly humanoid shapes but looked as though they had been carved from the mineral itself. Jagged crystalline plates formed shoulders, limbs, and faces. Pale grains continuously spilled from them and returned to their bodies as they moved.
Each carried a curved scimitar.
The swords were not made of salt.
That seemed somehow worse.
One creature turned toward the heroes.
Its featureless face split.
A dark opening appeared where a mouth should have been.
Hexen’s wolves lowered themselves.
Nethnarel raised both hands.
“Do we know what those are?”
“No,” Grazim said.
The nearest creature began running toward them.
Fendor drew an arrow.
“We can name them afterward.”
The salt creatures charged.
Pete vanished farther into the ruins.
Nethnarel watched him disappear.
“An inspiring beginning.”
Leonidas shrugged.
“He is a scout.”
“He is an excellent scout whenever the fighting begins.”
Kaylor moved first.
Cold gathered around one hand.
He did not remember learning the spell.
That was no longer unusual.
The magic formed into a narrow blade of ice.
Kaylor looked at it only long enough to recognize what his body already knew.
“Ice Knife.”
He threw it.
The frozen blade struck the leading creature in the chest.
For an instant it remained embedded between crystalline ribs.
Then it exploded.
Shards of magical ice tore through the salt devil’s body. White mineral sprayed across the street, followed by a blast of supernatural cold.
The creature staggered.
Did not fall.
Leonidas pointed toward it.
A dark mark formed across the crystalline chest.
“Mine.”
His Hex settled into the creature.
Two Eldritch Blasts followed.
The first tore a section from its shoulder.
The second struck its chest and scattered more salt across the ruins.
Still it came.
Fendor fired.
An arrow struck.
Then another.
Then another.
The salt devil began losing pieces of itself faster than it could reform them.
Grazim advanced behind the barrage.
He raised his holy symbol.
A bell sounded.
No bell existed anywhere nearby.
The note came from somewhere beyond the ruined city, deep and heavy enough to be felt through the bones.
The wounded salt devil stopped.
Toll the Dead sounded again.
A crack appeared down the center of its chest.
The creature stumbled.
“Good,” said Grazim.
Another salt devil reached Kaylor.
Its scimitar swept toward the dragonborn’s head.
Kaylor ducked beneath the first cut.
The second missed his breastplate by inches.
He turned to counterattack.
Then something happened merely because the creature was close.
Cold passed through him.
Not ordinary cold.
Not even the supernatural winter of Lady Frost.
This was emptiness.
The strength began draining from Kaylor’s limbs as though the salt creature were drawing something essential out of his blood.
His knees weakened.
His vision narrowed.
The salt devil struck again.
This time the scimitar connected.
Kaylor staggered backward.
Grazim saw him falter.
“What did it do?”
Kaylor forced himself upright.
“I do not know.”
The answer cost him breath.
Another salt devil reached Grazim.
Its blade struck his armor.
The wound itself was small.
The weakness that followed was not.
Grazim felt the same draining force enter him.
His hammer suddenly seemed heavier.
His armor seemed heavier.
Even breathing required intention.
“These things exhaust you,” he called.
Hexen’s wolves attacked.
The pack crossed the rubble in a gray wave.
Three wolves struck one salt devil together. Another pair came from behind. Their combined weight dragged the creature from its feet.
Salt exploded beneath claws and teeth.
The devil fought differently from flesh.
It did not bleed.
It broke.
One wolf tore away part of an arm.
Another bit through the crystalline structure of its leg.
The creature responded with its scimitar.
A wolf disappeared beneath the blade.
Its summoned body dissolved into green light.
Hexen winced as the connection vanished.
The rest of the pack did not retreat.
They attacked harder.
Nethnarel watched the battle forming around the ruins.
Kaylor and Grazim were already engaged.
Hexen’s wolves surrounded another.
Fendor continued firing from behind a broken wall.
Leonidas was maneuvering for a clear line of sight.
There were too many allies mixed among the targets.
Nethnarel lowered the fire she had been preparing.
“I cannot burn all of them.”
Hexen glanced back.
“Thank you.”
“I did not say I could not.”
“You were thinking it.”
“Briefly.”
She changed spells.
Two globes of corrosive green magic formed above her palms.
Acid Splash.
Nethnarel separated her hands.
The magic divided.
One sphere struck the salt creature Fendor had been attacking.
The second curved toward another farther across the street.
Acid spread across crystalline bodies.
The reaction was immediate.
The salt hissed.
Channels opened through pale mineral.
One creature clawed at its own chest as pieces dissolved away.
Hexen stared.
“That works.”
Nethnarel smiled.
“Chemistry.”
“You remember chemistry?”
“No.”
A scimitar nearly answered the question for her.
One of the salt devils had crossed the street far faster than she expected.
Isamu intercepted it.
He struck the creature’s sword arm before the blow landed.
The impact sent cracks through the salt.
Isamu struck again.
The devil seemed to feel no pain.
It brought its free arm around and caught him across the shoulder.
The force sent him backward several steps.
Isamu regained his balance.
“That is inconvenient.”
He attacked again.
Across the battlefield, Kaylor was struck a second time.
The draining aura pressed against him.
He resisted more successfully now, but the damage had been done. His body felt several days without sleep rather than several minutes into a battle.
The creature raised its blade.
Kaylor opened one hand.
His second sword lifted from where it had rested among the rubble.
The dancing blade flew.
It struck the salt devil from behind.
The creature turned.
Kaylor’s greatsword struck from the front.
The two blades attacked from opposite sides.
One opened the crystalline torso.
The other shattered part of its hip.
Kaylor followed with another strike.
The creature remained standing.
“How much salt is in you?” he demanded.
It answered with its scimitar.
Nethnarel chose another target.
She spread her fingers.
The rubble beneath the salt devil began to move.
A massive hand formed from broken earth and stone.
Maximilian’s Earthen Grasp erupted from the street.
The hand closed around the creature.
The salt devil struggled.
The earthen fingers tightened.
Its body cracked.
Salt poured between the fingers.
But the hand held.
Nethnarel stared at it.
“It worked.”
Fendor fired past her.
“Try not to sound surprised.”
“I was pleased.”
“That excuse belongs to me.”
The restrained creature thrashed against the earthen fist.
Then another salt devil raised both arms toward the great white mound.
The salt moved.
Everyone saw it.
The surface of the deposit sank inward.
A humanlike shape formed within it.
Head.
Shoulders.
Arms.
A fifth salt devil pulled itself from the mound.
Hexen looked from the newcomer to the creatures already surrounding them.
“They can make more.”
“Then kill the one doing that,” Fendor said.
“Excellent plan.”
The wolves changed targets.
They hit the summoner together.
The creature vanished beneath fur and snapping jaws.
Salt sprayed across the street.
One wolf disappeared.
Then another.
The devil’s scimitar moved through the pack with brutal efficiency.
Hexen felt each summoned animal vanish from his awareness.
Eight.
Seven.
Six.
He tightened his jaw.
“Keep going.”
The wolves obeyed.
Grazim raised his hammer.
The divine presence within him answered.
Golden figures appeared around the priest.
The forgotten warriors came quietly this time.
No battle cry.
No trumpet.
Only spectral soldiers forming around Grazim with shields, spears, swords, and half-remembered armor.
Spirit Guardians.
They spread into the battle.
The salt devils recoiled.
Spectral blades passed through their crystalline bodies, leaving golden fractures behind.
One devil tried to reach Grazim.
The spirits surrounded it.
The creature slowed as though forcing its way through an invisible army.
Grazim met it with his hammer.
The blow destroyed half its shoulder.
The salt devil retaliated.
Its scimitar struck his side.
Again came the draining cold.
Grazim nearly dropped the hammer.
The spectral warriors flickered.
He forced himself to remain upright.
“Not yet.”
The goddess appeared behind him.
Only for an instant.
Hands resting over his upon the hammer.
A reminder rather than an intervention.
Grazim attacked again.
Fendor had chosen the most damaged creature.
The others fought whichever enemy reached them.
Fendor did not.
One target.
One arrow.
One weakness at a time.
The salt devil had been struck by Kaylor’s ice, Leonidas’s force, Grazim’s divine magic, and several of Fendor’s arrows.
It was coming apart.
Fendor drew the frost bow.
He could feel the weapon now.
Not merely as an object.
As something waiting to be understood.
Cold moved along the arrow.
He released.
The shaft entered the salt devil through a crack opened by the earlier attacks.
Frost expanded through its body.
The salt crystallized into a single solid mass.
For one instant the creature became a statue.
Then it collapsed.
The street disappeared beneath an avalanche of white.
“One,” Fendor said.
Nethnarel looked around.
“There were four.”
The newly summoned creature climbed fully from the mound.
Fendor corrected himself.
“There were five.”
“That is worse.”
“Temporarily.”
Leonidas shifted his Hex.
Purple-black force gathered around his hands.
Two Eldritch Blasts struck another devil.
The creature lost part of its head.
It continued fighting.
Leonidas stared.
“They are persistent.”
Pete hovered invisibly somewhere far above the battle.
Leonidas could feel his familiar’s presence.
Nethnarel noticed him looking upward.
“Is Pete helping?”
“He is observing.”
“Of course.”
“He is very observant.”
A salt devil nearly cut Leonidas in half.
He threw himself aside.
Nethnarel raised an eyebrow.
“Perhaps he can observe from closer.”
The battle spread through the ruins.
Walls that had survived the fall of the city cracked beneath spells and weapons.
The salt mound itself became a battlefield as wolves pursued one creature across its surface.
Kaylor fought another beside a roofless house.
The draining aura had slowed him.
Every movement required more effort than the last.
Yet the moment he stopped moving, the creature pressed harder.
Its scimitar struck his armor.
The exhaustion deepened.
Kaylor’s sword arm dropped.
The devil attacked again.
His dancing sword intercepted the blade.
The weapons struck above him.
Kaylor stepped beneath them and drove his greatsword through the creature’s torso.
He tore the blade sideways.
The salt devil broke apart.
For several seconds its upper body continued clawing toward him.
Kaylor brought the sword down.
The remains collapsed.
“Two.”
Fendor glanced toward him.
“Counting now?”
“It appears useful.”
“Three remain.”
The wolves had discovered that.
They concentrated on one.
Hexen drove them with instinct rather than words.
Attack.
Withdraw.
Circle.
Attack again.
A salt devil tried to strike one wolf.
Another caught its sword arm.
A third attacked its leg.
The creature stumbled.
Grazim’s spectral warriors reached it.
Golden blades passed through the salt.
The devil shattered.
“Three,” Kaylor said.
“Two remain,” Fendor replied.
“Thank you.”
“You seemed tired.”
Kaylor gave him a look.
“I am.”
The remaining devils were both fighting near the salt mound.
One had been summoned.
The other had survived since the beginning.
Hexen had only three wolves left.
Another scimitar struck.
One disappeared.
Then another.
Hexen’s expression changed.
One wolf remained.
It stood alone on the white salt.
Its gray fur was streaked with blood and mineral dust.
One ear had been cut.
The animal looked at Hexen.
Then at the salt devil towering above it.
Nethnarel glanced toward the druid.
“Your pack is becoming smaller.”
Hexen did not look away from the wolf.
“It is still a pack.”
The lone wolf bared its teeth.
The salt devil attacked.
The wolf ducked beneath the scimitar.
Nethnarel raised both hands.
Chaos answered.
A bolt formed between them.
Its colors changed too quickly to follow.
Red.
Blue.
Violet.
Gold.
Black.
Then fire.
Chaos Bolt crossed the ruins and struck the less wounded of the remaining creatures.
Flame erupted across its crystalline body.
The fire itself was damaging.
The wild magic behind it did something stranger.
The salt devil seemed suddenly vulnerable to Nethnarel’s power.
The magic clung to it.
Marked it.
Every spell she considered casting afterward felt eager to find the same target.
Nethnarel smiled.
The creature had no face capable of showing concern.
That seemed unfortunate.
Grazim could not reach it in time.
He stopped among the ruins and raised one hand.
The distant bell sounded again.
Toll the Dead.
The note rolled over the salt mound.
The wounded creature froze.
Cracks opened from its head to its feet.
It collapsed.
“One,” Fendor called.
The final salt devil remained.
Leonidas fired.
The first Eldritch Blast struck.
The second followed.
Force tore pieces from the creature, but it continued fighting.
Hexen attacked beside the last wolf.
His spear struck the crystalline body.
The second attack glanced away.
The devil turned toward him.
Kaylor tried to close the distance.
His strength had not returned.
He lifted one hand instead.
Cold gathered around his fingers.
Ray of Frost crossed the ruins.
The spell struck the devil’s side.
Ice spread over salt.
The creature slowed.
Grazim’s spirit guardians began fading.
Their golden forms had grown thin and transparent.
One by one, they disappeared.
Before the final warrior vanished, it crossed the battlefield and cut through the salt devil.
The creature staggered.
Grazim followed.
He had little strength left.
His hammer still had enough.
The weapon struck.
Part of the devil’s chest collapsed.
It turned.
Fendor was on the opposite side of a ruined house.
There was no direct line between him and the creature.
Hexen saw him draw.
“There is a building in the way.”
Fendor did not lower the bow.
“Yes.”
“You cannot see it.”
“I know where it is.”
He released.
The arrow rose above the roofless ruin.
For several seconds it vanished completely.
Then it descended on the far side.
The shaft struck the salt devil.
Nethnarel looked at Fendor.
“You did not see that shot.”
“I saw enough.”
“The house was between you.”
“Yes.”
“You fired over a house.”
Fendor drew another arrow.
“You are distracting me.”
The salt devil charged the final wolf.
The animal stood its ground.
Nethnarel unleashed Magic Missile.
Bolts of pure force appeared around her.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then more.
They curved through the ruins and struck the creature from different angles.
Salt exploded.
The devil remained standing.
Barely.
It slashed at Hexen.
The druid avoided the first attack.
The second caught him.
Pain flashed through his side.
The creature’s draining aura reached for his strength.
Hexen resisted it.
The lone wolf attacked.
Its jaws closed around the salt devil’s leg.
For most of the battle, the wolves had attacked in numbers.
Now there was only one.
The devil tried to pull away.
The wolf held on.
Hexen saw the opening.
“Pull.”
The wolf twisted.
A cracked section of the devil’s leg broke.
The creature fell to one knee.
Grazim began another prayer.
Fendor drew.
Kaylor raised his blade.
Leonidas gathered another Eldritch Blast.
None of them needed it.
The wolf lunged.
Its jaws closed around the fractured center of the salt devil’s chest.
The creature came apart.
Salt crashed across the street.
The final scimitar struck the ground.
Silence followed.
The wolf stood alone in the pale wreckage.
Hexen stared at it.
Nethnarel lowered her hands.
“Was that the last one?”
Fendor scanned the mound.
“No movement.”
Kaylor leaned heavily upon his greatsword.
“Then yes.”
Hexen called the wolf back.
The animal crossed the battlefield.
There was an undeniable satisfaction in its walk.
Leonidas looked toward Pete.
The invisible familiar appeared several yards away.
Completely unharmed.
Nethnarel stared at him.
“Remarkable.”
Pete stared back.
“He survived,” Leonidas said.
“Heroically.”
Pete vanished.
The heroes searched the mound.
The creatures had collected valuables.
Some were buried shallowly beneath the salt. Others had been pressed directly into the crystalline substance of their bodies.
Fendor recovered a bloodstone.
Nethnarel found a blue gem buried beneath a broken arm.
Kaylor discovered several more among the salt.
There were nine gemstones altogether, each of considerable value.
Grazim weighed one in his palm.
“Roughly fifty gold apiece.”
Hexen looked toward him.
“You remember gem prices?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
Grazim frowned.
“I do not know.”
Nethnarel nodded.
“Another returning heroic power.”
“Appraising gems?”
“Extremely useful.”
They found coins as well.
Ninety-six gold pieces scattered through the deposit and the remains of the creatures.
The total wealth was significant.
None of them had the energy to celebrate it.
The ruined city surrounded them.
Behind them waited the green crevasse.
Farther away, the magical storm still hung above the ancient temple.
Somewhere beneath the streets, the dead continued awakening.
Kaylor sat upon a fallen block of stone.
“We need rest.”
No one argued.
Hexen looked toward the nearby houses.
Most were collapsed.
One still possessed several walls and part of a roof.
“We could check one of those.”
Fendor studied the structure.
“Before entering.”
“Yes.”
“Carefully.”
“Yes.”
Nethnarel looked at them.
“I believe the labyrinth has damaged all of you.”
“We survived the labyrinth,” Hexen said.
“And therefore learned to distrust doors.”
“That seems reasonable.”
Grazim looked once more toward the green vapor in the distance.
The crevasse could wait until they had strength enough to investigate it properly.
They had learned one thing since awakening upon the mountain.
There was always another battle.
The trick was remaining alive long enough to reach it.
Hexen’s lone wolf sat beside him.
Its tongue hung from one side of its mouth.
Hexen scratched beneath its jaw.
“A pack of one.”
The wolf leaned against him.
Nethnarel looked down at it.
“Still a pack.”
For once, Hexen did not answer with a joke.
He simply nodded.
The heroes gathered their weapons, the gemstones, and what remained of their strength.
Then they turned toward the ruined houses in search of somewhere safe enough to sleep.
Behind them, the great mound of salt settled.
Far beneath the city, something moved.
And somewhere ahead, hidden among buildings that should have been empty for thousands of years, one structure still waited with its doors closed.