Harruq approached the spider, still feeling queasy at the sight of it curled up in death.

“Stupid thing,” he said. “Probably smashed my sword further in when it ran into the wall.” He looked around, trying to see Condemnation, but could not.

“Guess you will have to dig for it,” Haern said. He clapped the half-orc on the back. “Good luck.”

Harruq’s heart sank. “Can you go get it for me? You’re a whole lot more nimble.”

“It’s your sword,” Haern replied. Harruq grumbled, and then climbed up a leg, shuddering with each touch of the hard, bristly hairs. He found the ruptured eye, and sure enough, the sword was nowhere visible. Closing his eyes and keeping his nose as far away as possible, Harruq pushed his hand inside. The slurping noise nearly made him vomit. He slipped in further and further, until his hand touched metal. He grabbed it and pulled. Condemnation ripped free, its red glow dimmed by the gunk covering it.

“Hope I never have to do that again,” he said, shaking as much of the nasty stuff off his hand as he could. He hopped off, preferring the jolt to his legs over climbing down the dead spider’s leg.

“Any ideas how to get out of here?” Haern asked him.

Harruq gave him a funny look.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”

The assassin shrugged. “And you’re supposed to be the strong one. So if I can’t figure a way out, you need to punch us a hole.”

“What is blocking the top of the stairs?”

“A magical wall.”

Harruq chuckled. He retrieved Salvation and then clanged both swords together.

“You know, I do have an idea.”

T he barkeep downed his fifth glass, showing no signs of it affecting him. He had listened to the muffled sounds of battle, his neck hairs standing on end every time the spider screeched, but now all was quiet. His customers were gone, and it was too late for more to arrive. Perhaps it was time to call it a night.