Chapter 17: The Queen’s Nest

  The air reeked of stale, oily water, the kind that carried the sour tang of dead fish long before you ever got close. The Boglins had a murky, muddy scent to them… but this? This was fouler. Thicker. Like rot and bile had seeped into the stone itself and festered.

  As we moved deeper into the cavern, the environment twisted—became alive in the worst way. Giant, coral-like fungus clung to the walls, swaying gently despite the still air. There was no draft, no breeze. They moved on their own. Sickly shades of yellow and off-white pulsed along their fleshy stalks, as if they were breathing.

  The stone floor grew uneven, narrowing in places as we stepped between clusters of jagged stalagmites. Flowstone draped from the ceiling in thick sheets, forming grotesque, natural archways that loomed overhead like ribs in a buried beast.

  “What’s… a Brood-Queen?” I asked.

  Bromm grunted, eyes fixed ahead.

  “Nasty things,” he said. “Skin’s like the Boglins, blue, bloated, all warts and weepin’ pus, but that’s where the similarities end.”

  He shifted his grip on his axe, voice low.

  “They’re bigger. Twice the size of the ones we’ve seen so far. Got these big, bulbous eyes and a tongue like a snake. But the worst part’s the crown.”

  He pointed to a nearby cluster of fungus, swaying coral-like.

  “Looks like that. Grows right outta her head. It ain’t just for show either, it pumps out some kind o’ pheromone the males go mad for.. Makes 'em crazed. Loyal. Suicidal.”

  He turned slightly, gaze dark.

  “Those Boglins back in the war cellar? Bet my boots they were tryin’ to get down here. Tryin’ to reach her.”

  Veldrin chimed in smoothly, like a man who’d been waiting for the perfect moment to make his point.

  “A Brood-Queen’s crown,” he mused, “is quite valuable in the right hands.”

  He stepped forward, the dim glow catching the edge of his grin.

  “Alchemists can distill it into all sorts of things, fury potions, for one. Send a sellsword into a blind rage. Or, if one knows the proper methods…” his eyes narrowed with wicked amusement.

  “…a control draught. It radiates an aura of dominance, causing lesser creatures to grow docile. Even submissive. Perfect for beast tamers like our dear Bromm.”

  He glanced down at Bob, who grunted obliviously.

  Then, with absolute certainty, Veldrin turned to the group.

  “We must acquire the crown.”

  Judging by Elunara’s expression, she hadn’t heard a word past valuable. Her eyes practically sparkled.

  “They’re also known to hoard treasure,” she added, grinning. “The Boglins bring it to her, trying to win her favor.”

  Another deep, mucous-choked scream echoed through the cavern. It wasn’t just loud, it was unsettling. Like someone drowning on dry land, gasping through their final, panicked seconds. It sent a chill crawling down my spine.

  The more we walked, the more the walls grew slick with moisture, the air thicker, heavier. Water pooled in uneven patches along the ground, mixing with dirt and rot into a sludgy, treacherous mess. Every step squelched or slipped.

  Without Elunara’s light, we’d be blind down here. That orb of glowing green hovering in her staff was the only thing cutting through the dark. I kept glancing at it, praying there wasn’t some awful way it could go out.

  Because if it did… we’d be completely screwed.

  A noise snapped behind us movement…too quick. I spun, just in time to catch a glimpse of movement in the dark.

  It was a Boglin. But unlike the ones we’d fought above, this one wasn’t lurching upright on its legs—it was crawling, skittering through the mud like a twisted insect. Its limbs worked in frantic tandem, dragging its bloated frame forward with unnatural speed.

  “Ambush!” Bromm shouted. “They’re faster in the mud!”

  I looked around, and my stomach dropped.

  The entire floor was mud.

  A second later, the puddles around us exploded. Mud and water flew in every direction as Boglins burst forth, erupting from the ground like a trap sprung all at once. Dozens of them. A nest. We were in a nest.

  Chaos broke loose.

  I scrambled back, pushing through the slop to meet the crawler head-on—guarding the rear, where most of them were flooding in from. I raised my shield just in time to deflect its claws.

  Of course the only one with a shield was me.

  Shit.

  This was going to get ugly fast.

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  A Boglin crashed into my shield, and the mud gave way beneath my boots, no traction, just a slow, helpless slide backward. I gritted my teeth, bracing for impact—

  But then Bob slammed into the fray beside me, tusks goring through the legs of the Boglins with brutal force. The pressure on my shield eased just enough to regain my footing. I kept it raised, stabbing wildly over and around its edge. The defense didn’t hold as well as I’d hoped. Claws raked my arm, tearing through fabric and skin. Warm blood soaked into my sleeve.

  And this was just the start of the frenzy.

  The first two Boglins dropped, but five more surged toward me. We had some luck, though—while they had the numbers, their frenzied aggression worked against them. They jostled, shoved, even clawed at each other trying to get close, a snarling tangle of limbs and teeth. It was like they were fighting each other as much as us.

  A terrifying thought struck me—they weren’t just trying to kill us.

  They were competing.

  We were the prize.

  A gift for the Queen.

  The idea had barely formed before a spike of pain lanced up my leg.

  I looked down, one of the bastards had latched onto my calf, jaws buried deep, eyes wild.

  I roared and brought my sword down in a savage arc, nearly cleaving its head clean off. The weight of its body dropped away, but the damage was done. My leg buckled, stance faltering—

  Then, warmth flooded through me.

  A soft glow wrapped around my chest, radiating outward.

  Elunara.

  My muscles surged with renewed strength, pain dulled beneath the spell’s embrace, and I forced myself upright, shield raised, ready for the next assault.

  Then, from my right, a blazing arc of fire whipped through the air, slashing across two of the Boglins.

  I glanced back.

  Veldrin stood poised, one hand outstretched, the other gripping what looked like a rope made of flame, twisting, alive, and crackling like dry leaves in a furnace. The strike landed with a sound like thunder, the fiery lash trailing ash in its wake.

  Both Boglins dropped instantly, their flesh hissing and bubbling as if molten rock had been poured into them. Their wounds still glowed—embers eating them from the inside out.

  Bob and I pushed forward, driving into the remaining three. An axe buried itself into the nearest one, dropping it instantly. The other two stumbled, thrown off by the sudden loss of momentum, and that was all we needed. Bob slammed into one with a guttural squeal, and I finished the last with a clean thrust.

  I looked up, panting.

  Bromm.

  He’d already cleared the front line. By my count, he and Veldrin had taken down six—no… five. One of them had been sliced clean in half by Veldrin’s spell.

  I yanked Bromm’s axe from the Boglin’s skull with a wet squelch and handed it back to him.

  “Are Boglins… worth anything?” I asked awkwardly, still not fully sure what parts of what creatures were actually useful. Seemed like alchemy had a use for just about everything we’d fought so far.

  “Not worth diddly,” Bromm muttered, wiping the gore from his axe with a look of pure disgust. Then he gave me a short nod. “You handled yourself well.”

  Veldrin glanced over, smirking. “Yes… it would seem we’ve found ourselves a new front-liner.”

  He turned fully, that damned grin still tugging at his lips. “Front and center, dear Arthur. It’s time you made a proper impression.”

  Seeing as I was the only one with a shield, I didn’t argue.

  I took the lead.

  Elunara’s staff stayed close behind, its soft glow radiating warmth against my back. The light pushed forward, cutting a narrow path through the gloom.

  The ground grew worse with each step. Mud climbed past my ankles, thick and clinging. Every step came with resistance, followed by a wet, sucking noise as I pulled free. It was slow going, and not getting any better. We needed to get out of this muck soon.

  The path narrowed, forcing us into a tighter formation. My shaky breaths echoed off the stone, loud in the silence.

  More gurgling screams rippled through the air—closer now, louder.

  We were heading in the right direction. That much was obvious.

  Bob started grunting with effort as he dragged himself through the thick muck, but finally—just as quickly as it had swallowed us, the deep mud gave way to firmer ground. The slope tilted upward, only slightly, but enough for gravity to pull the worst of the muck behind us.

  The footing steadied. The air cleared—just a little.

  The screams, however, didn’t fade. If anything, they grew louder.

  The path widened and veered left. Around the bend, I heard rustling. I raised a hand, signaling the group to stop. Whatever was making that noise… I wanted a look before it noticed us. Hopefully the soft glow of Elunara’s staff wasn’t giving me away as I crept forward.

  I eased around the corner and saw them—two Boglins, hunched and twitching, fighting over a wooden cup.

  They snapped at each other, snarling, their muck-slick hands fumbling with the thing like it was some priceless relic. Neither of them could get a good grip, their slick bodies squelching as they slipped and shoved for dominance.

  Bromm came up behind me, quiet as can be—I hadn’t even heard him approach.

  He eyed the scene, then leaned in close, his voice low and steady.

  “Best we take ’em out quiet. Last thing we need’s one of those slimy bastards soundin’ off and bringin’ the whole damned brood down on us.”

  I nodded. “How do we go about that?” I whispered.

  Bromm unsheathed his axe quietly “Only way we can—axe, and dagger. On three.”

  I grabbed one of my daggers, heart thudding as Bromm counted under his breath.

  “One…”

  “Two…”

  Three never came.

  A piercing shriek tore through the cavern—too close. Right on top of us.

  I froze.

  And then I saw it.

  The Boglin Brood-Queen.

  She was massive—far larger than described. Not just double the size of a Boglin. She towered over them. Her jaw alone looked big enough to swallow my entire torso in one bite. Something hung from it like a beard—but it wasn’t hair. Skin. Flayed and layered.

  A necklace of trinkets and junk rattled with every twitch—bones, bent rings, scraps of cloth and metal.

  Her ears were wide and leathery, shaped almost like bat wings, twitching at every sound.

  And crowning her head was a jagged, coral-like bone growth—just as Bromm described.

  The Brood-Queen snatched the wooden cup from the squabbling Boglins, letting out a wet, hissing noise, the fleshy, beard-like tendrils hanging from her neck flailed wildly, writhing like agitated snakes.

  Then, with a sudden, violent swipe, she crushed one of the Boglins beneath her clawed hand—bone and muck bursting like overripe fruit.

  The other Boglin froze.

  And then, as luck would have it, it bolted—skittering straight toward us.

  It rounded the corner—just close enough to see us. Just close enough to die.

  Bromm’s axe was already in motion, a blur of steel arcing down from above.

  The Boglin had only enough time to see its killer before the blade struck home, cleaving straight through its head with a wet crack.

  It collapsed in a twitching heap at our feet.

  But our luck didn’t hold.

  The sound of the kill echoed too far. Too loud. And the Brood-Queen heard it.

  A low, rumbling screech pierced the air, followed by thunderous steps that shook the ground beneath us.

  Getting louder. Closer.

  She was coming. And by the sounds of it, she wasn’t alone.

  We were beset on both sides before we even knew it.

  I braced myself, planting my feet in the mud, shield raised just beyond the bend—waiting for the impact.

  Behind us came more shrieks, higher-pitched, frantic—followed by the sickening wet flop-flop-flop of charging Boglins, their feet slapping through the muck as they closed in fast.