A third spider scuttled along the ceiling above their heads. The scaven let him go, ran to the far wall, and using a small stone outcrop as a leaping-off point, propelled himself up the wall, close enough to reach the spider’s bloated body. Before it had the chance to scramble away, the scaven pushed off the wall, ripping the spider off its stone perch. Lindley darted out of the way as he and the monster landed on the passage floor.

A backhand swing from the elder scaven’s axe drove the obsidian horns into the spider’s exposed abdomen. The monster’s legs flexed and clawed the air wildly, but it couldn’t pull itself together for another attack. The deadly axe tore it apart in a mess of gore.

The younger scaven had thrown the spider off his back. He shouted and hacked at the creature. His axe sliced through the monster’s legs like sticks. He reversed the strike and tore into the spider’s abdomen with the obsidian horns as his father had done.

In its death throes, the spider latched onto the scaven’s arm and bit deep. Blood and poison drenched the scaven’s arm. He yelled and bore down with his axe, cutting the spider in half.

“Are you all right?” Lindley asked, turning to the young scaven with a slightly dazed expression.

“Grugh vark?” The scaven nodded to his left hand. The wound was dripping blood slightly.

"Drikh lvhe." The paladin said softly to the other scaven. Afterwards, he hesitated, then held out a hand to Lindley and said grudgingly. “You did well, humanling. I’m Gargdor Bhugvol.”

“Lindley Stormfire,” Lindley said and clasped the scaven’s hand briefly.

“The young one’s my son, Ogvigh,” Gargdor said before asking his son. “Did you get much of the poison?”

The scaven grunted. He lifted his hand away from his wound. Some of the greenish liquid flowed down his arm. Lindley couldn’t smell the poison anymore, but the pinched look of the scaven’s face and the pallor of his skin told him he was in pain.

Gargdor went to his son. He held up a hand and traced a symbol in the air with his index and middle fingers. The short, gnarled digits were anything but graceful, yet that was the only word Lindley thought of when he saw the glowing orange rune with base of blue and purple that flowed from the scaven’s fingertips, hissing in the cold cavern air.

The symbol faded. Gargdor unfastened Ogvigh’s leather bracelet and rolled up his sleeve to expose the spider bite. A moment later, Ogvigh’s torn flesh glowed, and the same rune Lindley had seen traced on the air rose up as if from deep inside Ogvigh’s body.

The delicate shape of the rune fascinated him—two interlocking rings with a horizontal line drawn across both. A symbol impossible to translate, yet its effects lingered in the air long after the rune had faded away completely. Warmth, protection, healing.

The younger scaven closed his eyes briefly as the rune melted into his flesh, the orange light covering the wound and closing it.

This was arcane magic.

Lindley allowed his eyes to drift closed for a moment as he wallowed in the ancient power. So often he’d only felt the touch of archaic magic, but the soothing presence of this kind of stable art made his breathing slow and washed away the sick feeling in his stomach.

When he opened his eyes, he met the younger scaven’s curious gaze. Embarrassed, Lindley looked away and said. “You also fought well, Ogvigh,”

The scaven shot him an irritated glance and muttered something, again in his own language.

“Doesn’t he speak Commish?” Lindley asked.

“He speaks it, and he understands everything you’re saying, but he doesn’t speak to outsiders like yourself,” Gargdor answered. “It’s beneath his dignity.”

“But not yours, mage Gargdor” Lindley observed.

"I'm no mage, but a paladin." The elder scaven stroked his beard, his fingers tracing the runes on his cheek in a significant if absentminded gesture. “Anyway, my son is his own man. He acts as he sees fit, and so do I. You’re not skilled enough in battle, yet you came to a place like the Lowerment. Are you a treasure raider?”

“No, I'm not a treasure hunter.” Lindley replied. “I entered the tunnels by accident, and was looking for a way out when I met the other scavens.”

"Well, as you can see, this Lowerment is different, and very far from the Underearth tunnels above." Gargdor said. “To go back to the upper land without passing through the tunnels, you'll need something like the Portal Orbit which is impossible for you to get. But any graded transport treasures should do the same.”

“Do you know where I can get such artifact?” Lindley asked in surprise.

"You? Pfft." A flicker of disdain passed over Gargdor’s face. “Anyway, It’s not my place to tell you of it. Now, we’ll take you to our king, but it’s a long way down, deeper than I think you intended to go.”

“Will the king let me come back out again?” Lindley asked curiously.

Gargdor didn’t answer. He examined his son’s wound one more time and, appearing satisfied, helped him to his feet. He turned and nodded to Lindley. “You still look exhausted, humanling. You can rest once we get to the city. Our king will want to speak to you about your presence here.”

“A city? And a king? He was going to stand before the king?” Lindley asked no one in particular. What if the king didn't like his face, wouldn't he be in dire trouble? Then he muttered to himself. “The gods really have a way with his life.”

“Stand behind me,” Gargdor told Lindley.

They’d crossed a narrow stone bridge that traversed a deep chasm. Drafts of frigid air wafted up from the blackness of the pit. A wide tunnel on the opposite side left room for the three of them to stand abreast.

Lindley gazed down into the pit and suppressed an exasperated sigh. Why did he even enter that devilish black door in the first place? If he didn't enter the cavern, he wouldn't have come to this place. Now, he was really going down into the heart of darkness with his two legs in his own grave.

Gargdor stood in front of the group, but he wasn’t looking at the chasm. He surveyed the bridge, arms out in front of him as if testing the air. Ogvigh stepped up beside him and put a hand on his father’s shoulder. They both looked solemnly at the bridge, and Ogvigh murmured something that sounded to Lindley like a prayer. Then he stepped back, saw Lindley watching him, and glared.

“What is it?” Lindley asked. “Why have we stopped?”