When the Ceiling is a Trapdoor

A subtle straightening of his spine was Malakor’s only outward reaction. He inclined his head. “Precisely correct,” he conceded, a rare note of approval in his voice. “It’s reassuring to know at least one member of this little company possesses half a brain, isn’t it?”

Charmed by the unexpected praise from a man whose commentary was usually reserved for critiques of her intelligence, Jianna gave a surprised laugh and a nod of agreement.

“This is it?” Jianna’s question was directed downward, into a roughly circular opening in the earth. Beside her, Flitterwing strained, his small frame braced against a flat, heavy stone that served as its lid.

“Yep,” the Feyan grunted, the effort clear in his voice. “Just hop on down. I was the last one through here, about a month ago.”

“What brought you down here?” Blynn inquired, his own gaze sweeping the shadowed depths of the passage.

“Avoidance,” Flitterwing said, then quickly amended, “No, just… jump. It’s not a deep drop, if that’s your worry.”

Malakor shouldered past them and crouched by the opening. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go first.”

Flitterwing blinked, his expression one of theatrical shock. “Why, Malakor, I thought you distrusted me completely—”

“That’s precisely why,” Malakor snapped, his voice cutting. “My duty is to see Florian to Kaur-Koram safely. I’ll not have him leaping into a potential ambush on your say-so.”

With an indifferent shrug, Flitterwing shifted his weight, giving Malakor access to the heavy stone lid. The demon thrust his head into the aperture, peering into the gloom below. Seeing nothing amiss, he swung his legs over the edge and dropped from sight. A moment of silence passed before his voice echoed up from the darkness. “It’s clear! You can come down. Nothing’s out of place.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell him,” Flitterwing sighed as Blynn and Jianna jumped down into the tunnel. He lingered for a moment, repositioning the rock cover and plunging them all into absolute blackness.

“Hey, it’s pitch-black in here!” Jianna protested. The dark was so profound she couldn’t see her own hand held before her face.

“No, really?” came Flitterwing’s sardonic voice from nearby. “Here, give me a second…”

A soft glow bloomed in the void. It illuminated Flitterwing, who held a small, radiant sphere in his cupped hands. The gentle light, though faint, was enough to push back the suffocating dark. He tossed the orb to Jianna, who caught it by reflex. The gleaming sphere felt cool to the touch and was cut with peculiar facets. As she looked up, she saw the Feyan scoop another small stone from the tunnel floor. He clasped it between his palms, his eyes closing for a moment in concentration. A heartbeat later, the second stone shone with the same pearlescent luminescence as the one she held.

“How did you do that?” Jianna gasped.

Flitterwing glanced up from a third stone he was now illuminating. “It’s called Enchantment,” he said with a slight smile. “A specialty of the Fey. You wouldn’t know of it, I suppose. No Fey on your world.”

“No magic, either,” Jianna added, her eyes still wide with wonder.

With enough light now to see, she took in her surroundings. They stood in a tunnel, perhaps fifty feet in length and eight feet high. One end was choked with a jumble of rock and dirt from an old collapse, while the other terminated in a solid wall of earth. It was the curving walls, however, that captured her attention. They were braced by a lattice of thick, yellowish beams set deep into the soil. She narrowed her eyes, trying to identify the strange material.

A cold, horrifying realization dawned. With a cry, she scrambled away from the walls, seeking the relative safety of the tunnel’s center. “Are those… bones?!”

Flitterwing followed her panicked retreat with a casual glance and a nod. “That they are,” he confirmed, his tone shifting to a parody of a tour guide’s spiel. “Fashioned from the bones of our enemies, taken in great battles, ancient wars, and petty squabbles.” His voice returned to normal. “We don’t use bone anymore. This tunnel is just very old. We stopped using it because it’s too near the surface. Lets in the rain, and the air.”

Malakor’s face was a grim mask as he eyed the skeletal supports with suspicion. He would not be the least bit surprised if the remains of his own demonic kin were holding up the earth above their heads.

Later that night, a hand on her shoulder shook Jianna from a profound sleep. Flitterwing had extinguished all but one of the glowing stones, leaving a single orb to cast a dim, watchful light.

“Whassisssit…?” Jianna slurred, her mind thick with sleep.

“Shhh!” Malakor’s voice was a sharp, urgent hiss. “Troggs!”

The word was a jolt of ice water, shocking her fully awake. She sat bolt upright, her heart hammering, and saw that the others were already alert. Blynn’s long ears twitched, sampling the air, while Flitterwing’s eyes, true to his name, darted nervously across the tunnel’s ceiling.

“Where are they?” Jianna whispered, her voice trembling.

“Not far,” Blynn confirmed. “And closing in.”

Malakor turned to the Feyan, drawing his dagger from its sheath. “Is there any way for a Trogg to get to us in here?”

Flitterwing offered a shrug that did little to soothe her rising panic. “Not through the entrance…”

“That’s not very reassuring,” Jianna muttered.

“It wasn’t meant to be,” Flitterwing commanded. “Now, be silent!”

Now she could hear them—the heavy, rhythmic thud of immense feet pounding the ground directly above their shelter. She could even make out the creatures’ deep, guttural grunts, a language of pure, savage threat.

A faint cracking sound trickled down from above. Jianna’s eyes shot to Flitterwing, who was beginning to look genuinely alarmed. “They’re too heavy,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper. “These old bones… they can’t take the weight.”

As if on cue, a deafening CRACK echoed through the passage. Ten feet away, the ceiling buckled violently. A monstrous, roaring Trogg smashed through in an avalanche of shattered bone and soil. Jianna screamed, scrambling backward until her back hit the far wall. In an instant, Blynn was beside her, while Malakor dropped into a defensive crouch before them, his dagger held ready.

Clawing its way free of the rubble, the Trogg rose to its full, terrifying height, silhouetted in a stark beam of moonlight that now pierced the gloom. It shook a clod of earth from its shoulder with a guttural growl. Its brutal eyes found the small group huddled at the end of the tunnel and fixed on them with savage intent. It took a single, earth-shaking step forward, ducking its massive head to clear the remaining ceiling, and was met by a blur of emerald green.

There was a sound like tearing canvas. The Trogg’s enormous body went rigid, black blood fountaining from the stump of its neck. Its head, face still frozen in a mask of brutal fury, tumbled across the dirt floor to thud against the far wall.

Landing as lightly as a falling leaf, Flitterwing flicked his blade, sending a spray of dark fluid arcing through the air.

After a stunned heartbeat, Malakor charged toward the newly formed ramp of earth that now led to the surface. He peered over the edge for only a second before ducking back down. “More of them, heading this way,” he reported grimly. “We need to go. Not even a Fey can take on eight Troggs at once.”

A hurried murmur of agreement passed between them. Carefully skirting the twitching corpse and its rapidly spreading pool of blood, they scrambled up the earthen slide and out of the ruined tunnel. Flitterwing was the last to leave. As he passed Malakor, the demon shot out a hand and clamped a firm grip on the Feyan’s arm.

“Hold on, Fey.”

Flitterwing turned, genuine surprise on his features. A war of emotions played out across Malakor’s face: anger wrestling with a new and unwelcome sense of debt, pride warring with grudging respect. For a moment, it seemed his scowl would win.

“What is it, Malakor?” Flitterwing asked, his own senses on high alert, poised for either conflict or the coming battle.

Malakor’s expression twisted into a sneer, but it lacked its usual conviction. He spat the word out as if it were poison on his tongue. “Thanks.”

Without a backward glance, he spun on his heel and sprinted after the others, who were gesturing impatiently for them to hurry.

A slow smirk spread across Flitterwing’s lips. He brushed a stray lock of silver hair from his eyes. “So the demon does have a sense of decency,” he murmured to himself. With a faint shrug, he took off after them, his blades gleaming in the moonlight, ready for whatever lay ahead.