“You might not have to do much more anyway,” Wax said. “I think I have the pattern figured out.
 “What pattern?” MeLaan asked.
 “Pressure plate under the second stone to your right,” Wax said. “Shoots darts.”
 She glanced at him, then stepped forward and tapped it with her toe. Darts spat from the wall, passed before her, and bounced against the opposite wall.
 “Next one is two stones ahead,” Wax said. “There’s a hint of a metal line leading underneath it. So far, those have been wall traps.”
 Another toe press. A portion of the wall opened, dropping a very large spiked log.
 “Nice,” MeLaan said.
 “Last one should be a pit trap,” Wax said, joining her in walking around the fallen log. “Check your rope. The stones those are under are raised slightly.”
 She tugged on it, using her right hand because the fingers of her left had been crushed. The crystal had broken beyond repair, and she now walked with the hand permanently shut, splinters of bones fused together by tendons.
 “I hate the pit ones,” she said. “They just keep going down. Makes me afraid of what might be at the bottom.