Bloody Trails

    A staticky, stinging sensation, similar to the one Sean had experienced when they’d first entered Thairis, washed over him. He could feel his sweat and the dust of the street outside get stripped off him, but instead of dissipating as he moved past the doorway the feeling clung to his skin. It stung in all of the places he’d been glassed, a constant bite that drove him to distraction almost immediately.

    The reception area in front of them had looked over the workshop floor at one point, but now the thick, layered glass that permitted the view was so crazed it was impossible to see through. That it had survived this long intact was a testament to either a less than mundane nature or an unusual toughness. The desk, and at least one person, were scattered around the room in scraps of meat and mahogany.

    “Ugh,” Flick said, pinching her nose. “Smells like a slaughterhouse caught on fire.”

    Sean couldn’t help but agree. The smell wasn’t the rot that he’d expected, it was some mix of hot pennies and burnt pork. He thought back to their dash down the thoroughfare; while it hadn’t smelled like this, there also hadn’t been any scent of decay.

    His pendant prickled under his shirt, the tingling difficult to distinguish from the sting of the atmosphere. This close to the core he wasn’t sure if the warning was useful anymore, given that their escape plan was now dubious at best, but it was at least a comfort that the end wouldn’t come as a surprise. He leaned harder on his spear and moved into the room proper.

    The area around where the desk had been was a ruin, the scene backlit by the glow coming through the fractured glass. That light reflected off something set in one of the wooden panels flanking the doorway, catching his eye as he turned to look for the best route forward.

    “According to our guide, the Foreman’s office should be on the upper floor. The stairs over there look like they go in the right direction.” Flick nodded toward a staircase to the right.

    “Thanks Flick,” he acknowledged, “give me just a second.”

    He hobbled over to the wall. Set into the planks was a random pattern of marbled, pink stones. Here and there, a gold stud was interspersed in the pattern, and at the bottom there was a chipped silver lozenge.

    He leaned in, trying to make sense of the pattern.

    Is it supposed to be a star map? He wondered. Or maybe some sort of magic keypad?

    His mind went to some of the puzzles he’d seen in exploration games, where what seemed like a meaningless pattern could be a clue for a later obstacle.

    He reached up, pushing his finger against one of the stones experimentally and finding it rough to the touch. It came loose easily under his fingertip, and he allowed it to fall into the palm of his hand.

    Now that it was free of the wall Sean could see the shape of the stone more clearly. It was an unevenly cylindrical, with bumps on one end and a pair of sharper numbs on the other. Rolling it between his thumb and his finger, he came to the realization that it wasn’t a stone – it was a tooth.

    “We’ve got to hurry, lad.” Flick urged. He gulped and dropped the tooth to the floor, turning away from the sound of it skittering over the floorboards. He shook his head, trying to clear the thought of it away, and moved to join his companion.

    Compared to the area immediately around the desk, the stairway was remarkably intact. It was a spiral of blackened bronze, the railing intricately formed in the shape of a vine supported by branches. It was a beautiful piece of work, save for the flaky burgundy film covering its surface. Flick led the way up the stairs, her wrapped feet leaving wet tracks in the dried blood covering each step. Swallowing his revulsion, he forced himself to hang on to the railing as they both made their way up. They emerged through the ceiling into a wide hallway leading deeper into the workshop.

    The hallway here was similar to the reception room in that it seemed to have been mostly spared in the blast. The obvious exception was a gaping hole in the floor and wall, about halfway down and facing the work floor. It was ringed in red, bits of body and bone stuck to the walls and ceiling around it.

    “I think-” Sean suppressed an urge to gag, “I think the first burst of mana, well, burst the workers too.”

    “Aye,” Flick answered grimly, “and they made a right mess of things on their passing. Neither of us can cross that gap, lad, we’re going to need to find a way across and quick.”

    Grunting in agreement, Sean started to look around their side of the hallway for something to use.

    He ruled out some of the freestanding pillars lining the walls. They looked sturdy enough, but based on the shattered ceramic around them they hadn’t been intended to hold anything heavier than a decorative vase.

    There were some small chairs, but none of them were wide enough. Flick was using her sword to pry off some of the wood paneling, but was having little success. Other than that their half of the hall was empty. On the other half, though Sean saw an option.

    “Flick, I think I can throw you over to that couch as a fox. Then you could push it back to me and over the gap.” He forced a little levity into his voice. “May I have your permission this time before I do so?”

    Flick looked at the gap, at the couch, and then at Sean. “Aye, it shouldn’t be much of a toss. Just be sure not to come up short and drop me down the hole.” She jibed, but Sean could hear the tension in her voice.

    The mist of her transformation was cast pink by the light coming through the gap. Sean bent over to pick her up, his broken rib sending a stab of agony through his chest, and threw the little black fox.

    Flick’s fears were almost well founded. Sean misjudged his own strength compared to her weight, and she landed just short of the hole’s edge. For a brief, alarming moment, her back paws scrabbled against the splintered wood before finding purchase and propelling her forward.

    Sean winced as she approached the couch, but soon the gap was bridged and he was forced to follow. The couch creaked beneath his weight as he crawled over the white paisley upholstery. The frame threatened to give way but never quite managed to follow through, much to his relief.

    As he made it to the other side, he heard the sound of movement coming from beneath the hole, somewhere beyond the field of vision it granted.

    “Mordren!” He called. “Is that you?”

    The retainer’s voice echoed from beyond the edge of Sean’s view. “It is, sire, I am glad to hear you’ve made it inside without difficulty.”

    Sean wasn’t sure he agreed with that assessment, but now wasn’t the time to quibble. “Did you find the foreman down there? What’s our time look like?”

    There was a brief pause. “No, I have not yet placed the foreman on the workshop floor. As for the time we have remaining, I would suggest you review the Foreman’s office in the next five minutes.” Mordren’s voice held no sense of urgency, just a calm professionalism. “It should be close, I can see the window near where your voice is coming from.”

    Sean swore under his breath. How could the elf sound so calm when they hadn’t found the piece they needed?

    “Alright, we’ll get to it then. Good luck, Mordren.”

“And to you, sire.”

    Sean shakily stood to his feet. At the end of the hallway, Sean saw a door with a placard above its frame. The symbols on the sign were completely illegible at first, but as they approached Sean saw the letters waver and reform. Instead of gibberish, they resolved into a simple message: “Foreman”.

    “That’s where we need to be.” He said, limping as quickly as he could towards the door. It was locked.

    “Shit!”

    “Move aside, lad, I’ve got this.”

    Sean didn’t have a choice in the matter, as Flick’s horse form grew to fill the hallway. With a bang she bucked backwards, her hooves leaving red rings on the door as they slammed into it. A heartbeat later she bucked again, letting out a pained whinny as she connected. The door cracked off its hinges, bursting into the room beyond and thudding against the floor.

    Sean nodded his thanks and bulled into the room, the horse once again turning into a woman whose exerted panting detracted only slightly from self-satisfied look on her face.

    The foreman’s office was well-appointed, but Sean paid attention to none of it. A cold feeling settled in his gut, matching the growing numbness spreading from his pendant. There was no blood in this room. It was, for all intents and purposes, pristine.