Thirty hairy, loping, snarling, thickly muscled goblinoids sprang toward me. Fighting so many bugbears wasn’t an option. I activated Slipstream’s interface to give myself time to think. I panned the targeting reticule, looking for hiding places and finding none.

  This central intersection looked like it served as a town square or assembly place. Giant poles tented a patched netting of animal hides. The canopy blocked the sky enough to conceal inhabitants from the omnipresent Grenspur roc. The space wasn’t big, perhaps the square footage of a small gas station, and they’d fashioned several poles along the periphery to support the canopy. No clay jars, bone knives, or kilns occupied the hard clay ground. Nothing lying about explained why bugbears gathered at all.

  Connecting passages on the far side of the commons opened to routes unprotected by the canopy. Wooden spikes flanked them, bearing more defenses to keep the roc at bay.

  The bugbears’ levels ranged in the mid-thirties. They moved slowly, so retreating wasn’t my only option. When they encircled me, I Slipstreamed past them and around the corner of a connecting corridor. The shaggy hair covering their eyes might work to my advantage and obscure the blur of my passing. I didn’t hang back to measure their reaction.

  The passage turned northeast, close enough to my desired heading. When it split, I took the left fork, running down a short branch until I spotted another canopy.

  A cairn made from rocks no smaller than beach balls dominated the space. Half a dozen bugbears sat in the room—a couple wore cured dinosaur hides and braided their hair with small bones. Hollows filled the wall, each whitewashed with a plaster-like paste. Every hollow contained a monster skull sitting atop a bed of herbs and dried berries. The room had no other passages.

  “Sorry, don’t mind me.” Before the creatures could gain their footing, I returned to the fork. By now, the community from the open room had caught up and followed on my heels down an unexplored corridor. I had four minutes left on my Slipstream cooldown when the passage intersected another trench. I took a left, hoping anything north would lead me out of this place. The site of the crude worshipping space gave me the idea to check the interface map, but the name of the area remained Southern Meadow. I would receive no double-damage bonus for fighting in a settlement. Even if the bugbears were civilized enough to give me Aggression, I couldn’t stand up to so many.

  I flew into the trenches. Splotches of dry white clay covered the walls. I couldn't tell whether the white coating was used for decoration or utility.

  I turned into a dead end about the size of a sleeping area. Dinosaur skulls topped dirt mounds painted white as if they were museum plinths supporting artwork. The skulls bore no item descriptions. They could have been religious pieces or hunting trophies. It didn’t matter. I only cared about the heavy footsteps of creatures trundling hot on my trail.

  I tossed up my Dark Room rope and clambered inside, pulling the lifeline behind me as the first bugbears piled into the room. From above, I watched them stop short of the mounds. They took great care to avoid disturbing skulls. After they exchanged guttural grunts, I pulled out Gladius Cognitus, hoping to discern their speech, but when the blade’s tip made no blue line, I realized its translation powers wouldn’t work in the Dark Room. It wasn’t a big deal. I could guess what served as the topic of conversation.

  A few bugbears peered over the edge and searched the sky for the Grenspur roc. They pointed to it and made noises to one another.

  The roc’s behavior must have puzzled them. Because I hadn’t left the trenches, it hadn’t descended. They couldn’t figure out where I’d gone. Wet black noses sniffed the air. At first, I worried they might detect the Dark Room’s presence, but none reacted in my direction.

  Loud barks and growls came from the corridor, the sounds of a brewing argument. They took turns sniffing for me. I couldn’t see anyone in charge, and none had a significantly higher level or carried articles of status. Four returned to the dead end, sloped against its sides, and sat down. It seems I had scouts to outwait.

  With most of my daily cooldowns spent, it seemed resting for the night was my only option.

  Inside the pocket dimension, I couldn’t see myself on the map, but I could see the positions of other contestants. Without an inkling how far I’d fled into their settlement, I needed all my combat mechanics to proceed forward.

  After an unsatisfying eight hours of sleep, I awoke before dawn.

  Two opponents had parked themselves on the contest map where mine ought to be. Their positions overlapped, and their names floated on a nearby label. Bircht and Duchess had caught up. When I popped out of the Dark Room, the blip’s label would list three names. They could be north, south, east, or west of me, and I wouldn’t know until I ran into them.

  My night in the Dark Room shook more than bugbears off my tail. Visiting it removed me from the contest map, making me invisible to opponents.

  The last words in the group chat were that of Fabulosa, warning me to avoid the meadow. Of course, Bircht and Duchess traveled together and weren’t foolish enough to use it to communicate their confusion over my disappearance. At this early hour, none of the other players had mentioned it either.

  Fabulosa’s dot drew closer, perhaps a few days away. Hunkering here for too long might send them after her. She seemed confident enough to fight them by herself, but I didn’t share her bravado. Bircht and Duchess wanted to fight us one at a time, and accommodating them would be a mistake.

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  Bircht and Duchess had traveled all night, so they needed to rest. By using these early morning hours, a head start might give me enough time to reach my partner before the pair could catch me.

  Below, only one bugbear remained, and it looked sound asleep.

  I crept from the Dark Room and flipped the rope to release it from its magical tether. Enough light from the eastern sky filtered into the trenches. I could move without stumbling in the clay or bumping into the wooden spikes buttressing the earthen walls.

  I poked my head out and looked up. The Grenspur roc still soared overhead. It reigned over its area like the ward worm, a world boss. No wonder humans rarely ventured into the continent.

  I hurried out of the room before my scent woke up the guard.

  Two more bugbears slept in the intersection. As I took the eastern passage, one stirred, and before it opened its eyes, I Slipstreamed away, hoping the swish of air wouldn’t wake them.

  Luck wasn’t on my side. Thirty yards behind me, I heard harsh voices, enough to make me hurry. The trench curved north into another canopied space about twice the width of a driveway. Four poles sprouting from the ground supported the quilt of animal skins. Thick straps of leather held them together, darkening the area more than open-air trenches connecting to it.

  Ten bugbears slept in the area’s center. To take the northern corridor, I needed to walk through them. The pair I’d passed in the intersection made guttural calls, awakening others in the cuddle pile. Sharp intakes of breath and yelps of alarm prompted me to act. I pulled out Gladius.

  My sword translated their growls. “That is the one I smell!”

  “Kill him!”

  The bugbears rose, flicked their long claws, and lumbered toward me.

  Dig couldn’t loosen the poles supporting the canopy as quickly as I needed, so I Earthquaked the center.

  Top-heavy bugbears crouched and fell over as the ground shook. The poles supporting the canopy tipped over, pulling it down. After slicing my way out of the leather hides, I ran toward the far end of the chamber.

  The monsters beneath my feet tore at the improvised net, making for a rocky crossing, but I traversed the space on shaky legs, like someone walking on a trampoline. Before they extricated themselves, I reached the canopy’s end at the lip of the far corridor and ducked into the northern trench.

  My biggest problem was my odor. No matter how much I zigzagged through this maze, my stalkers would take the shortest route to my location. They were slower, but the frequent dead ends made for treacherous traveling. It felt like one of those old Pac-Man arcade games, except I couldn’t see the entire board, and I had no extra lives.

  I had no means of hiding my scent, but memories of walking Calico gave me an idea. The dog always wanted to stop and smell things, prolonging her walk.

  Perhaps giving them something else to smell would delay my pursuers. I carried lots of food and spices. Whenever I came to a corridor, I dropped a chunk of fresh ward worm meat and flung pungent spices. My survival ranks were high enough that I knew how keen noses worked. The spices wouldn’t mask my scent, but they might be exotic enough to entice the bugbears to stop to investigate. I rotated and mixed aromas and seasonings as I moved, and the clamor behind me grew quieter with every turn.

  Mineral Communion highlighted recent footsteps, helping me distinguish between the dead-end sleeping areas and the primary thoroughfares.

  While climbing out of the Dark Room, I glimpsed the surrounding meadow, but the few twists and turns had already disoriented me. I could follow north from the interface map, but I wasn’t entirely sure that was the closest exit to the forest.

  After summoning Beaker, I issued a telepathic command. “Beaker, fly to the forest!”

  Beaker paid me little heed but took to the air anyway and flew northeast. Northeast worked for me. If Bircht and Duchess had stopped at the meadow’s edge, they’d be on the opposite side.

  With the roc hovering, Beaker wouldn’t take the scenic route, and I marked his flight vector and did my best to orient myself toward it.

  But the trenches weren’t cooperating, forcing me to travel east. When I needed to reorient, I could summon my pet again, but for now, I focused on finding a northern route.

  After finding many dead ends, I learned to use Mineral Communion’s telltale footprints and the Slipstream interface to peer around corners. It prevented my scent from rousing sleeping bugbears. At last, I found a northerly corridor and took it. The trench continued longer than I expected, with no intersections, forks, or branches leading to cul-de-sac sleeping chambers.

  I stopped to recover, and seeing my breath marked a chill in the air. Even at these altitudes, the running and rising sun warmed me more than the ring regulating my temperature. But visible breath surprised me. It shouldn’t be this cold.

  A dinosaur skull with mooselike antlers caught my eye. It hung from a crossbeam, the first I’d seen since I entered this maze. Beyond it, along the top of the trench, skulls, femurs, ribcages, and other bones occupied small alcoves scooped from the dirt. Most were dinosaurs, but the procession included oversized deer, feline, canine, and bovine skeletons. Nothing radiated magic, so I continued.

  The dirt became fine, parched, almost a sandy quality, and bones protruded from the lower walls. The trench maintained a northerly heading.

  At last, I came to a circular opening about the size of a carousel.

  No leather canopy covered the space. Instead, the wooden spikes along the walls arched toward the center, forming a coned lattice. Leather straps held the converging deadwood into a pinnacle.

  I smelled something awful. The potpourri of stench made me wonder how the bugbears could stand it, but then again, I hadn’t heard them since I entered the chilly corridor. Perhaps this odor kept them at bay.

  A giant hanging mobile fashioned from long bones and skulls dangled from the vaulted beams. Its parts didn’t click together like wind chimes but spun around on arms, like a traditional orrery.

  The dry clay floor bore grooves and designs filled with mercury. A telltale blue glow made Detect Magic unnecessary. Runes covered much of the ground, and in three of them stood apparitions of dead bugbears in various states of decay. They appeared bound by phantasmal purple ribbons. Each ghost glowed in a different color—pallid yellow, mint green, and dull crimson.

  I wasn’t the only corporeal being in the room and quickly drew my sword.

  A bugbear with balding, gray hair hunched near the room’s center. The crone greeted me with a high-pitched snarl and extended long, twisted claws. With 500 health less than other bugbears, it took no great leaps to guess she cast spells.

  With Gladius in my grip, I understood the trigger word. “Shackles!”

  A faint purple tether formed in the air, stretching from a triangular rune to my chest, and pulled me toward it.