They were close to the end of the bridge. If they could make it across, they could hide in the tunnels. The bats’ wings were too wide for them to follow. The group would be safe. Safe from the bats, at least. If the Necromancer’s personal labyrinth could ever be considered safe.

Jig began to walk, testing the tiles as he went. He made it about ten feet before the rope grew taut. Darnak was still behind him, merrily crushing bat skulls and breaking bat wings. Jig could no more pull the dwarf along than drag the mountain itself.

“Come on,” Jig shouted.

Darnak yelled something back.

Jig rolled his eyes. He can’t hear me any better than I hear him. He grabbed the rope and pulled. Darnak tilted his head, and Jig pointed toward the tunnel.

Darnak frowned, then shook his head as understanding came. He waved his club at the bats, as if to say he wasn’t finished yet. Ignoring Jig’s pleas, he spun and leaped into the air after another bat.

Between his own bulk and that of his pack, the dwarf’s tremendous leap took him nearly six inches into the air. High enough to break a bat’s foot, but no more. As Darnak landed, the bridge vibrated beneath their feet. Jig fought the urge to go back to all fours.

So Darnak wanted to stay until the fighting was done. That could take a while. The bats showed no sign of slowing. Jig was half tempted to cut the rope and cross to the far tunnel himself. Let the adventurers enjoy the battle; he would enjoy some peace and quiet. Only two things stopped him. One was the knowledge that, were he to cut the rope, the next illusionary tile would send him to his death below. The other was that he didn’t know what waited for them beyond that dark opening in the far wall. With Jig’s luck, he would escape the bats but find himself surrounded by more of those fighting corpses.

Jig tugged the rope again. When he had Darnak’s attention, he pointed to Ryslind, who still waited motionlessly as bat after bat bounced off his magical shield. The dwarf didn’t understand, so Jig did his best to pantomime Ryslind’s fit from earlier. He clutched his head and walked in tight circles. One hand fluttered as if he were casting spells. Didn’t he understand? How long before Ryslind overexerted himself again? The only thing worse than another of Ryslind’s seizures would be another seizure in the middle of a fight.