"It is not what you think," Fetch announced abruptly as they passed a strange white marker, oddly clean despite the layers of moss and dirt that clung to the stone surrounding it. It almost glowed, glittering in Fei's blue-white light and the flickering yellow light cast by Thiel's lantern. The other Coursers turned to look at them, less in confusion and more with resignation; they knew very well by now that Fetch's statements were...peculiar and usually correct, although they never really understood them until after the fact.

Amalthea paused, forcing Thiel to stop, too, lest he ram into her. Oberon went several paces before he realized they had stopped, and turned back with an annoyed snort. 

"What?" he asked, eyeing the blue-purple Courser. 

Amalthea's jaw worked, chewing on nothing but her thoughts. "Nothing," she decided, shaking her head. "Never mind. Let's keep going."

Thiel eyed Fetch as they resumed their trek, wondering what they knew. 

Oberon turned the corner to a long, straight hallway, where another white marker was set in the floor at the threshold, this one as equally unmarked by time, dirt, and decay as the first. Fei flitted ahead, illuminating the way as the four horses followed in her wake. Maggie, Fetch's Phantasmal Hand, rested easily on Fetch's poll, tapping its fingers from time to time to a tune none could hear. 

"It is time." Fetch's voice interrupted their silence, giving them another pause. 

"I wish she'd be a little more cryptic," Thiel muttered sarcastically to Amalthea, who chuckled. 

"They're not so bad." She tossed her head, making her armor clank as it resettled against her neck.

A new voice came out of the darkness, a grinding, grating sort of voice, like stone upon stone. Oberon half-reared as Amalthea and Thiel shied, all three of them startled by the suddenness of it. "Welcome travelers," it said.

"You always did need to be first," a similar voice sniffed.

Amalthea and Thiel flanked Oberon, who had come to a stop before two heavy doors, both made of some dark, dense wood banded in rusting cast iron. They were virtually identical in all ways but two, mounted such that they were mirrored. It was the faces carved into the lintels that truly marked them apart, however; the rough-hewn faces were similar and yet entirely different, as if they had been carved in isolation. Both depicted some form of cat, with triangular ears, but one snarled, while the other seemed...smug, a self-satisfied smile on its muzzle. 

They started when both cats began to speak, the carved stone shifting as if it were living flesh.

"Fame and fortune await you through my door," the smug one purred, eyes mere slits as it grinned wider. 

"She'll only lead you astray," snarled the other. "She'll lure you in with empty promises. I tell only the truth, unvarnished and unornamented. There is glory to be had, but danger too."

"You'll scare them away. You always do," the smug one cut in petulantly. "When you know very well it's been years since we've had—"

"You know better than to let your guard down," the snarling one interrupted, addressing the party of Coursers. "Enter my door, and I will tell you the truth of what awaits you."

"She lies!" hissed the smug one, losing its grin. "She tells only half the truth, and the gilded one at that!"

"Enough," Amalthea interjected, looking up at both faces. They fell silent, watching her. Fetch's warning echoed in her mind; It is not what you think. "Will she tell me the truth?" she asked over the angry face. 

It looked put out. "Yes."

"And will she tell me the truth?" Amalthea asked the other face.

"Hmm. Yes." The smug grin was back. 

"You just said she lies," Amalthea pointed out. The smile vanished as the face glared at her. In Fei's pale light, the eyes almost seemed to glitter like jewels. 

Thiel squinted at the faces, thinking over Fetch's words, too. He stepped forward, and Amalthea shifted to the side so he could address both faces at once. "You both lead to the same place," he announced, voice raised in challenge. 

The faces looked at each other, expressions now identical and disappointed. "He is smart," said one.

"So is she," said the other. They turned back to the Coursers. 

"We have not been bested so quickly in an age," the first told them. A third door appeared between the first two, this one carved with a third cat face. It smiled at them, and the door swung open. 

"Go, then, and continue your adventure," urged the first cat. 

"And Fetch," said the second, the one who had been snarling. Its voice was as soft and smooth as stone could be, a threat hidden beneath every word. "Don't ruin our fun next time."

The Dungeon-dweller blew a contemptuous snort at the faces as the quartet passed through the doorway. Maggie, the Hand, flashed a rude gesture before racing through the door just before it swung closed, almost catching the tip of Fetch's tail.