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“Brindle will notice when we don’t come out,” said Galen.

“If a human doesn’t try to kill a gnole.”

Galen winced. “He’s one of the toughest people I know,” he said. “And he’ll be suspicious. I think he’ll probably get away, and try to bring help.”

“Maybe,” said Piper, “but can they help find us when they get here?” He rapped the door. “Thomas can just say the door doesn’t open. Nobody would think he was lying.”

The silence got deeper and glummer. Piper was the one to break it. “I say we go on, and try to get out. We’re smart, we have some experience, and…well…the alternative isn’t great.”

“Better than starving to death,” said Earstripe. He opened one of the barrels, revealing apples packed in straw. The one next to it held water.

None of them said what probably all of them were thinking—that there might not even be a way out, that this might be a maze with no end. Who knew why the ancients did anything? Who knew why they had left this line of traps waiting for the unwary? Galen pushed this thought aside. All we can do is hope. Years ago, he might have prayed, but the Saint was gone and hope was all that any of them had left. “Unanimous, then. All right. Everyone drink up and take a load of lamp oil and candles, and let’s see how far we get.”

* * *

The way back was easy enough, now that they knew what to expect. The blades falling still made Galen jump. Piper put a hand on his shoulder and the paladin summoned a rueful smile for him, but Piper could tell that it was a strain. The muscle under his fingers was drawn as tight as a bowstring.

Not that I’m doing much better, mind you.

They reached the last door and all three of them stared at it.

Piper set a hand on the smooth surface. “Stand on the triangles, he said.”

“He said that,” said Galen. “Do we trust he was telling the truth?”

Piper gnawed on his lower lip. “I think he wants us to live as long as possible,” he said slowly. “If he’s running us through this maze to test the traps, there’s no point in telling us something that will kill us right off the bat.”

“Unless he’s simply a murderer who enjoys the thought of people dying.”

“…there’s that.” Piper nodded. “Maybe we shouldn’t all go?”

They argued for several minutes about who was going into the pit trap room. It was probably a credit to each of them as individuals that they were all willing to sacrifice themselves, but it didn’t make deciding any easier.

“I’m the one who’s trusting that Thomas wants to know how the traps work.”

“A gnole brought humans on a tailless snake hunt.” (Piper filed ‘tailless snake hunt’ away to ask about later.)

“I’m a paladin.”

In the end, it was the last one that carried the day. “Really,” said Galen, a small smile playing over his lips, “somebody has to take the stupid risks. That’s what I’m for.”

“You’re for more than that,” said Piper sharply.

“Not really, no. Even when my god was alive, that’s what we were for.”

Piper wanted to grab Galen and shake him and yell that he was worth more than bait for a trap, but this did not seem like the proper time and also he wasn’t sure how to do it without insulting the late Saint of Steel. So he gritted his teeth and let Galen walk through the door while his nerves screamed at him to follow.

“The smell’s a lot worse in here,” Galen called. “I don’t see any bodies, though. Nor blood stains.”

“Are there triangles on the floor?”

“Probably. There’s everything else.”

Thirty seconds later, the door closed. Click. Earstripe heaved a massive sigh. Piper rested his forehead against the wall, his stomach churning. He thought he might be ill. The cool ivory against his skin helped, but not much.

Twenty-eight minutes.

If Thomas had lied, then Galen could be dead in six. They wouldn’t know until after the fact.