Chapter 3 No.3

"Rude, " the fencer gasped.

Larson shook his head while gauging the map. The hole was clearly marked, and according to the parchment, there was another tunnel to the right, but without a compass and proper orienteering there was no way to know for sure which way was their right. Larson handed the map back and took a few paces around.

"What, " Garrett asked.

"Trying to feel which way is downhill...the instructions said to follow the path to the right, downhill, but it's hard to tell which way is which."

"Best be thankful ole' Seanessy is with yas', " the dwarf claimed. "Humans in caves is like–"

"You say monkey one more time, and I will punch you in the beard, " Larson cut in.

"Heh, heh, fine, fine, " Seanessy chuckled. "Only a dwarf can truly feel his way underground. C'mon, lads, downhill is this way."

The dwarf moseyed off at a pace, which was practically a crawl for humans. The other two smiled while following the pint sized brew master. It took some time, but by following the rude map and dwarven instinct they eventually worked their way through curling tunnels, beyond glittering stalactites, past a babbling stream, and way deep down into the caves of Atjibur. They finally came to a halt in a rather narrow corridor when they spotted a neatly etched arch in the natural stone; someone had clearly taken the time to mark the entrance into what certainly appeared to be the ancient temple of the White Wraith cult. Runes were carved into the arch marking the entrance, but even with the torch shining right over the mystical letters, no one was able to make any sense of them. They traded worried glances.

"Supposing the Dude followed the map, " Garrett started.

"Suppose he didn't, " Larson countered.

Grumbling, Garrett continued, "Supposing he did, this is the only way to go."

"So what are wes' waitin' fer, " Seanessy asked and moved beyond the arched entryway.

Larson and Garrett proceeded behind him. The party noticed almost immediately that the cave walls were expertly smoothed. A mischief of rats suddenly rounded the corner ahead of them and scurried towards Seanessy who cheered, drew his hammer, spun it, and brought it down squarely on one. It splattered the walls, pulling a belly laugh from Larson and a gasp from Garrett.

"Dinner fer later, " Seanessy remarked as he took the dead rat and stuck it right into his travel pack.

Revolted by that notion, the other two shook their heads before continuing through the corridor all the way up to a corner. Garrett halted, and shining his torch at the new hall, peered towards the darkness.

"They may have been running from something, " he said.

Larson arched a brow and took his axe in hand. Waiting a moment for a sign of a sign of something, muscles tensed and ears twitched. Seconds passed without so much as a sound. Accepting that the scurrying rats were simply roaming, they again pressed forwards.

For quite some time, nothing out of the ordinary presented itself. Their map showed each hall's end destination. Two were marked as storage rooms, one was marked a dead end, and one was marked as a hall of worship. An argument then ensued about which way to go.

"We should check the storage rooms, " Garrett suggested. "The Dude is looking for treasure, so he'll likely be checking those rooms first."

"Assuming he followed the map and can read–" Larson was saying.

"His friends said he wrote a note. Stop being such an arse, " Garrett chastised.

"Aye, but we're at least a day behind him, " Seanessy interjected.

"We rode on horses. He didn't, " Larson argued.

"Even so, " Garrett raised his voice. "We check the storerooms then the altar room."

A weird sound like dry branches scratching a wooden house interrupted their dispute. It vanished as quickly as it had come, so they continued.

"We'll run into him for sure this way, " Garrett stated.

"Let's just agree, so we can get a move on, " Seanessy acquiesced.

"Fine, " Larson conceded.

Following one hall, which was a rather long expanse with old torches in sconces, Garrett lit as many as he was able along the way to provide light and retraceable steps. The new light revealed bones and dust along the ground. It was difficult to tell if they were human remnants or something else from their size, but they certainly weren't rats. The fencer suddenly squatted, holding his torch over something.

"Footprints, " he whispered. "Looks like it's just the one set."

"Good, " Larson said. "Gotta' be the Dude."

He nabbed a lit torch from a scone before taking off and leaving the others behind. Garrett complained, but ran after him, which left Seanessy to complain, and do his best to trot after both of them. Upon reaching the storeroom-a barren, square room with crates, barrels, and shelves-Larson stopped short, looked around, and concluded that the Dude was not there. Garrett came up behind him.

"The tracks don't show he ran back from here, do they, " he asked the fencer.

"I didn't see for sure, but I think you're right."

Carefully scrutinizing the dark room, Larson noted an empty sconce. The torch was on the ground at his feet. He picked it up and placed it back in the sconce, intending to light it, but when he forced it into the steel holder, it rotated to the side, thus letting the torch fall out again. As the warriors looked at each other, a grinding sound from the right hand wall drew their attention; a secret door had slid out of the way.