Jib and Jab exchanged wary glances. “Trapped,” Jib muttered, his usual boisterousness muted. “We’ve heard of this place. The Gaping Maw House.”
Aindreas scouted for a route around, but it was futile; the house formed a natural bottleneck, its weathered timbers spanning a chasm between two sheer mountain faces. Passage through it was the only option.
With practiced efficiency, Jib and Jab set to work. Their lockpicks danced in the ancient mechanism, working perfectly in sync. The heavy wooden door creaked open with a groan that echoed ominously.
“Stay back,” Jib cautioned, his voice low. Jab, ever the bolder twin, edged forward into the dim interior.
The moment Jab’s weight settled on the floorboards, the entire surface tilted downwards with a sickening lurch. “Jib!” he shouted, his voice a strangled cry as he scrabbled for purchase.
Jib, reacting instantly, threw his weight onto the opposite side, landing hard and tilting the floor back up with a jarring thud. In the brief, terrifying glimpse of sunlight from the open doorway, they saw it: glistening, razor-sharp rocks below, revealed by the yawning pit that the tilting floor had momentarily exposed.
“This is ridiculous,” Sikstoffer exclaimed, his jovial demeanor replaced by a look of bewildered frustration. “How are we supposed to get across this… contraption?”
“I’ve got it!” Bryon declared, his eyes alight with a challenge. He pounced lightly, landing with effortless balance between the two halflings, his weight distributing perfectly. “Now, one at a time. Everyone will have to go quickly; the weight won’t hold otherwise.”
True to his word, with Jib and Jab counterbalancing Bryon in the middle, each of the adventuring party scurried across the tilting floor, their movements swift and precise, a testament to their growing trust.
“Your turn, Jib!” Bryon called, extending two hands to give the halfling a quick boost. Jib crouched, a mischievous glint in his eye, then ran at full speed. Bryon caught his foot, and with a powerful heave, launched him overhead. The halfling tumbled through the air, and Jab, waiting on the safe side, caught him, both landing in a tangled heap, but safely across the tilting pit.
That left Bryon alone on the treacherous floor. Free of the halflings’ counterweight, the floor tilted dangerously, threatening to plunge him into the spiked abyss. Bryon pounded forward at high speed, his true athleticism apparent. He had competed in the Games in the Atikoff, and he could practically hear the phantom cheers of the crowd as he surged forward, even as the pit yawned wider and he was nearly climbing vertically. With a final, acrobatic tumble, he landed gracefully on the edge at the far side, just as the pit’s fulcrum pivoted almost ninety degrees.
He faced glum looks from his companions. Jib and Jab had already unlocked the door on the far side and pushed it open, revealing the next, equally distressing challenge: the floor had broken away completely, leaving two ropes dangling between them and the next section of the house. One rope hung at about floor height, the other at arm’s height, depending on the adventurer.
“Easy enough,” Bryon said, trying to sound confident. Then he looked down. The house, it was clear, was not merely a structure, but a bridge. Below them, a vast crevasse yawned into impenetrable darkness, deep enough that the ambient sunlight from the windows couldn’t reach its depths. The others looked at him expectantly. “Guess I’m going first.”
Bryon grabbed hold of the upper rope, steadying his feet on the lower rope. “Follow after me, but wait until I’m across. Try to mimic my steps.”
He edged out over the abyss, his movements precise. The problem soon became apparent mid-way. The guide rope Bryon was using to steady himself was actually tied to the foot rope, with another, dangling rope hanging from above and tantalizingly out of reach. There was a breathtaking moment where he had to let go of the guide rope lest he unbalance himself, and reach for the dangling rope… and caught it.
Holding on tight, he swung with his full weight, landing safely on the other side. Now, the rope firmly in his grasp, he gestured for Jib and Jab, who lightly crossed easily, though they had to stretch to hold onto the guide rope. Bryon then swung the dangling rope to them in turn, and they swung across with effortless grace.
Aindreas struggled, his dwarven bulk making the crossing more perilous, but Bryon and the halflings did their best to guide and encourage him. Dauid and Lamech, with a flash of arcane energy, simply teleported across, while Keogh anchored himself with a magically summoned vine, securing his passage. The others followed suit, each with their own method, until only Sikstoffer remained on the far side.
“Not so bad, see?” Bryon called, swinging the rope back toward the Sanguistone native, a cheerful grin on his face.
Sikstoffer was smiling as he reached for the rope, and was still smiling when the frayed rope beneath his feet snapped with a sickening crack. His gaze turned to pure shock as he realized the fatal mistake—that the rope had been wet and ragged from years of weather and the constant friction of other adventurers crossing it. With a yelp that was abruptly cut short, he disappeared into the abyss.
Bryon plunged after him without a second thought, but the halflings grabbed him by the arms, pulling him back from the edge. “It’s too late!” Jib shouted, his voice unusually grim. “He’s gone,” Jab added, his face pale. “He’s gone!”
Like Uilleam before him, Sikstoffer didn’t so much die as disappear, swallowed up by the mountains themselves. He was there one minute, a cheerful presence, gone the next, leaving only a chilling void. After Emem, his face a mask of sorrow, said another prayer and carved another symbol of Sikkar on the floor—a habit he was becoming too accustomed to doing in lieu of a proper burial—they faced the final wall. There was no way forward; the rope bridge ended abruptly against a sheer rock face that had fallen from the mountain above, wedging itself, a sheer, unscalable barrier with no purchase.
“Can you teleport us?” Sikstrian asked, his lanky frame trembling slightly.
Dauid shook his head, his face drawn. “Not all of us. I used most of my magic to teleport across the bridge. I can only take two people.”
Bryon, depressed and upset by the loss of his cheerful companion, looked up at the daunting wall. “We’ll have to climb it.”
“Climb it?” Aindreas asked, incredulous. “And how do you propose we do that, Pankrationist?”
“A human chain,” Jib piped up, ever practical.
“Well, elf, and halfling, and dwarf chain,” Jab added with a rare, somber wit.
Bryon nodded. “They’re right. That can work. Biggest on the bottom, the lightest climb them…” Dauid, Keogh, and Lamech formed the bottom of the pyramid, their combined strength a sturdy base. Aindreas and Sikstrian formed the next level atop their shoulders. That left Jib and Jab, who nimbly climbed atop their shoulders in turn. Bryon, using every ounce of his muscular core, hoisted the lighter Jib and Jab up.
The three of them then pulled Aindreas and Sikstrian up with a grunt of effort. Lamech and Dauid pushed the taller Keogh up, and his companions at the top grabbed him, scrabbling to the crest. With a final flash of arcane energy, Dauid cast a spell, and he and Lamech appeared with them at the top of the wall, breathing heavily but safely across.
Beyond the wall lay Urrdalen. They walked down the scree on the other side of the covered bridge to the camp, grim-faced but relieved they had made it to safety.
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