《Transcendent Nature》 I - The Cell If we can help nature in her ultimate goal, that of bringing her products to perfection, then we are in harmony with her laws. Nature does not resent an artificial effort, or a shortcut, to bring about perfection. ¡ªFrater Albertus, ¡°Alchemist¡¯s Handbook¡± I knew the theory, of course. The runes needed for spells could be carved in our minds just as easily as into stone. Easier, really. I didn¡¯t even need a chisel. It would be impossibly dangerous, especially with all the dark magic around. But what choice did I have? I was Oswic, Magi of the Sacred Order, Wise Man of Blackbridge, The Starcaller of Dawn, Master of Twilight, Voice of the Storm, Speaker on the Wind, Five Time Hoopstone Champion of Ravenhold, and I could not be bound. I¡¯d been fastened with iron cuffs to the wall, hand and foot. My right ankle and knee had both been broken and twisted. I¡¯d already passed out twice from the pain. That had cost me a deep cut along the small of my back. A long blade protruded from the wall behind me, forcing me to curve my spine outwards at all times, and pull my chains taut, lest I wanted to suffer even more injury. A blindfold covered my eyes, and a gag stopped my mouth. Rags had been stuffed into my ears and my whole face wrapped tightly with cloth to keep them in place. A small stream ran over my feet, making my footing unsteady and slowly draining me of heat. My imprisonment was bad, but the reason for it was worse. Typically, you didn¡¯t capture a mage, you killed them. We were too dangerous, too hard to contain for long periods of time. Which could only mean one thing. A warlock. My abductors had yet to speak to me, but I had no doubt one would be coming in the next few weeks to dominate my mind. Why they captured me I did not know. Warlocks could do everything a mage could and more. I had some influence among the common folk and my peers, but there were those with far more. Perhaps I was the only one they managed to capture or felt safe restraining. There would be time for speculation later. For now, I needed to get out of here. Unfortunately, I couldn¡¯t tell if anyone was in the cell with me, so I¡¯d just have to assume I was under watch. It took years to grasp the basics of magic, but once you were aligned with its systems it was remarkably simple. All it involved, more or less, was recording and playing back actions. And so, as I tugged on my cuffs, I wrote the rune in my mind that would record my pushing. I pulled the chains towards me and pushed the cuffs around my wrist forward with all my strength. The position was awkward and far from ideal. I managed to keep my effort up for 5 minutes. Push: Push two objects in parallel with 45lbs of force for up to 5 minutes. I flinched despite myself, waiting for the end. It didn¡¯t come. Instead, the rune flared in my mind; a blazing symbol before and behind my eyes, even when I closed them. I could ignore it, look past it to the fabric of my blindfold much like it were a floater or pair spectacles, but it was there, omnipresent. I sagged in relief, aggravating the wound across my back before I pulled away again. I hoped I didn¡¯t need a clear mind to write mind spells, because sleep was going to be impossible. *** I woke blearily, a fresh wound throbbing on my back, and all my muscles screaming in protest. The stiffness was worse than my broken leg at this point. I had no idea I¡¯d been standing on one leg in the darkness and silence before I¡¯d fallen asleep. I¡¯d have gone mad if not for the blue flame of the rune in my mind to occupy my attention. It was... mesmerizing. I blinked. Judging by my ever growing thirst, a few hours had just passed.This was dangerous. The chance of burning a hole through your brain was one thing, but memorizing spells seemed libel to drive someone mad. There was no helping it. Dawn had passed a while ago and all the energies of the Earth had been reset. I could write another spell. This time I cast Push in tandem with my own efforts, nearly doubling my results. Unfortunately, I was clearly fading. PushII: Push two objects in parallel with 80lbs of force for up to 3 minutes. Once again, I braced for instant death, but once again, I came through unscathed. Mostly unscathed. A second rune now swam and burned in front of me, crackling with arcane energy. As far as I understood theory, that was my doing, not Magic¡¯s. The memorization was just¡ªsomething clamped onto my chin and forehead, something cold pressed into my neck, and then hands were fumbling at my face. That was abrupt. My senses were so deprived it came out of nowhere, like being struck by an arrow out of the blue, or missing the last step on a staircase. My gag and stuffed up ears were removed and I found myself gasping for air. I hadn¡¯t realized how deprived I¡¯d been feeling. ¡°You so much as speak and we¡¯re going to slit your throat, understand? Don¡¯t even try to nod, I¡¯m just stating facts.¡± I swallowed, which made the blade bob against my throat, and did nothing to calm my nerves. I considered talking anyway. They were taking a huge risk capturing and holding me after all, and so I doubted they wanted to kill me. But perhaps one more little risk was one two far and they would keep their word. I wasn¡¯t brave enough to find out. ¡°Now get ready. I¡¯m putting a mug to your lips, don¡¯t want you to choke. Not after all the effort we put into keeping you alive.¡± A wooden mug was bounced against my upper and lower teeth, and then tilted violently into my nose. I drank as much as I could, trying not to drown. The guy must have spilled half the water onto the floor. Given the stream, I suppose it didn¡¯t matter that much. And indeed, a moment later the cup was taken away, and then I heard a faint splashing. ¡°Second mug coming, get ready.¡± Oh come on, really? Who knew what sort of horrible diseases would be attracted by that¡ªmmplh¡ªI managed to get a few more mouthfuls of water before I descended into a coughing fit. Thankfully whoever was holding the knife withdrew it from my spasming neck before I slit my own throat. *WHAP* Someone cuffed me on the side of my head. ¡°Enough of that. If you can¡¯t drink properly that¡¯s your problem. I¡¯m not your wet nurse.¡± And that was that. The padding was put back in my ears, and my gag was refastened. I waited, straining in the sudden silence for any semblance of sound, but heard nothing. What kind of cloth so completely blocked sound? Perhaps the rags themselves were magical. For all I knew, I was alone with naught but the swirling runes to keep me company... Where had¡ªI¡¯d lost another couple hours. Or maybe days. Hadn¡¯t the sun just risen? Damn. The warlock could be here any moment. I needed to get out! PushIII: Push two objects in parallel with 160lbs of force for up to 3 minutes. No. No, that wasn¡¯t right. I calmed myself. It couldn¡¯t have been more than a day. I would have noticed if I¡¯d missed more than one dawn. And now in my panic I¡¯d wasted a spell. Not that I¡¯d been planning to do any different, but I did now wonder if I was exploring the right options. Perhaps there was a combination of spells which would have freed me by now. It was so hard to think through the pain. What was my plan, anyway? I didn¡¯t know how I was fastened, but surely the bonds would bend before they would break. I didn¡¯t even know how strong they were. If all I did was double the strength of my spells every time, I¡¯d have no control over the moment I revealed myself. Perhaps I¡¯d have to make a bunch of spells equivalent to PushIII and then combine them all at once. But that would take time, and time was not on my side. And even if I broke free, what then? Even supposing my bonds didn¡¯t splatter me over the far wall under the power of my spell, what would I have left to defend myself with? That had to be my next step. Before I worried about breaking free, I needed a way to fight back. There was no way breaking my bonds wouldn¡¯t alert somebody. I stared into the darkness of my blindfold, biding my time. *** When I next awoke my head was pounding. Dawn had passed for the second time since my captors had given me water. Somehow I¡¯d managed to sleep standing on one leg, avoiding yet another wound to my back, but I wasn¡¯t in the mood to count my blessings. I was coming to learn that there was pain, and then there was pain. Normal pain, no matter how it stabbed and throbbed and twisted could be born by a stalwart man. But pain, torture, even, was a different matter. It was more than a feeling. It was knowledge. Knowledge that you might never be better again. Knowledge that you would never be better again. It was losing something that would never come back. Unidirectional. Life only got worse. It was fear. I knew I wasn¡¯t being rational. I¡¯d not yet received any permanent injuries. Even my leg could theoretically be restored by magic or a good enough chirurgeon. I knew that. Mostly. But some part of me didn¡¯t. And my fear fed that part until it dwarfed all else. Time was ticking by and I wasn¡¯t even writing a new spell. I was just panicking. It was the guards who saved me, ironically. This time they only removed my gag after putting a knife to my throat. But even there, in the dark, half drowning as water was forced down my throat, the touch of the knife brought me back to myself. It was my way out. All I had to do was make a noise, or even just lurch forward, and it would all be over. And having that option saved me. It brought me back to myself. I could kill myself, but not today. Maybe tomorrow. Today, I¡¯d keep fighting. I¡¯d find a way out of here, or die in the attempt. I sniggered despite myself. Either way I¡¯d finally get to lie down. The gag was strapped back on and the blade withdrew. It was time for my next spell. I bit down on my gag as hard as I could. My arms may have become weak, but my jaws were as strong as ever. Stronger, maybe. The stress had lent an iron tension to my bite. The pain on my teeth didn¡¯t bother me. In fact, it was a relief, a mild distraction from the pain everywhere else. I even continued to bite down at the end of the hour. Bite: Clamp down with the force of 170lbs per square inch for an hour. Reality twisted, the world spun. The runes spun. The world erupts with fire. The world is made with fire. I am made with fire. The runes dance. I am the world. I am outside it, and it is me. And we burn. What was... Owwww. Unlike the other runes this one was hazy. Pale and fading. What did the spell do again? It... I couldn¡¯t remember. It did something. Something to get me out of here? I focused on the rune, trying to read what had been written. Bite? I could bite things? Why would I... The guards! I had to bite the guards. Or... were they going to bite me? Time slowed to a crawl. Minutes slipped by in seconds. Hours turned into days. Had my spell broken time? Or just my mind? Either was as likely at this point. Dark magic. It didn¡¯t play well with reality. Slowly, I came back to myself. That was happening a lot. I wasn¡¯t in good shape. Maybe next time I¡¯d leave and never come back. My Bite spell had been weakened. Faded, as memories fade. It made sense. Other media had the inherent weaknesses of their form. Spell books could be burned, runestones were heavy, tattoos faded. The oppressive dark magic suffusing my prison only exacerbated the problem. I had come very close to dying just now. Just... then. Whenever then was. Had dawn come and gone again? Had it only been seconds? I would remember the passing of dawn, no matter my state. Or I could have. Now... now I didn¡¯t know what I knew. Maybe I¡¯d been here my whole life. Maybe my life outside this prison was imagined. It seemed hard to believe anyone could be so carefree for so long. Relatively, at least. Perhaps I should try to record a spell anyway, just in case? I had to weigh the risk of death, vs the risk of missing a day of spell crafting and not escaping before the warlock returned. They couldn¡¯t keep me here forever, and they knew it. The warlock had to be coming soon. I had to risk it. I bit down on the gag again, casting my Bite as I did so. *CRACK* My gag shattered under the force of my Bite. Bits of wood and cloth filled my mouth and nearly killed me in my surprise. I quickly spat out the remains of the gag, forcing them out with my tongue where they clung between my face and the cloth surrounding it. That was a problem, but not an insurmountable one. Weakened as my spell was, I suspected a strong enough man could have also bit through the gag. Especially if they didn¡¯t care about their teeth. The question was, would I get punished for it? Apparently I was alone in the room, as no guards had come running (as far as I knew, anyway), so I turned my attention to my runes. No new spell awaited me. They hadn¡¯t changed, save for Bite, which was even more faded than before. Dawn hadn¡¯t yet passed. I still had more time. Unfortunately, this did mean I didn¡¯t have my Bite spell available to reinforce a new attack spell when it did rise, but it was a risk I¡¯d had to take. My pain was become unbearable once more. I had time. I wouldn¡¯t miss sunrise. Even if I did, maybe they would execute me and it would all be over. I turned my attention to the ever demanding runes. Losing myself in their... *** I was going to go blind wasn¡¯t I? Or at least become a complete scatter brain with all these runes floating around me. I couldn¡¯t afford to make many more of these things. The beginning of a plan was forming in my mind, but I needed to be ready for sunrise and I¡¯d just missed it. No matter. I needed a better attack spell first anyway. I could only hope the warlock wouldn¡¯t return while I waited. I was expecting him any hour now. I maneuvered the cloth remains of my gag back into my mouth with my lips and tongue to give me something to bite down on. Then, hoping I wouldn¡¯t hurt myself, I bit down and cast Bite. BiteII: Clamp down with the force of 260lbs per square inch for half an hour. The new rune swam up behind my eyes with the others. That was more like it. It was a shame about losing some of the spell¡¯s duration, but that¡¯s what I got for messing around with dangerous, unexplored areas of magic. I was armed as well as I could hope for. Mages didn¡¯t have some supernatural ability to keep track of the time. What we could do, if we were paying attention, was sense the gentle swelling of energy as the sun prepared to rise. Five minutes before dawn. That was when I would make my move. The hours burned down agonizingly slowly. I¡¯d drifted off more than once. Not for more than a few minutes each time, but enough to put me on edge. My body was deteriorating rapidly. I was worried about the warlock, but even if I knew he was another month¡¯s travel away I needed to get out of here as soon as possible. Just a couple more hours. I¡¯d made it this far- Hello there, Oswic. *** By the elements of the arcane!! Couldn¡¯t he have waited just a few hours longer? I¡¯m afraid not. I¡¯ve been in a rush all week. Didn¡¯t even stop to take off my coat before coming down here. Wouldn¡¯t want you to escape, after all. He could read my thoughts. That wasn¡¯t good. I¡¯d have to avoid thinking about¡ªI stopped myself just in time. Thinking about what, sorry? I didn¡¯t quite catch that. The runes swirled in my mind. An image of freedom flashed to the forefront before¡ªI focused on the pain of my aching limbs and broken leg. Hmm... What a fascinating... He drifted off. It took me a moment to realize what had happened. I¡¯d hope to hurt him or at least distract him by focusing on my own injuries, but instead he¡¯d noticed the spells. There was a chance he didn¡¯t know what they were. Warlocks and the like rarely concerned themselves with true magic, seeing it as inferior to dark magic. Either way, he seemed as lost in thought as I¡¯d been the first few times I¡¯d seen the runes. I tried to quash the hope rising up inside me in case it would break him from his stupor. Calm breaths. I¡¯d never been one for meditating, but now I wished with all my heart that I¡¯d spent more time practicing. Just count the seconds. Easy does it. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6... *** ...3745, 3746 What is this? What have you done? I jumped¡ªI tried to jump¡ªtwisting my back into the blade behind it as I did so. After so long in silence, any voice, even a telepathic one, was like a sudden crack of thunder. I¡¯ve never seen such mental defences before. You¡¯ll have to teach me. And here I thought I¡¯d be teaching you. I thought, trying to direct my thoughts. It seemed to work, for he replied to me as natural as if I¡¯d spoken aloud. Of course. Why do you think I captured you? Those with the talent for magic are rare, and those with the wisdom to give ¡®dark¡¯ magic a chance are even rarer. You are young. Not, perhaps, as young as I¡¯d like, but young enough to keep an open mind. With age comes the arrogance of certainty, the greatest disease against understanding. The black and white thinking of ¡°dark¡± and ¡°true¡± magic is an example of one such belief. They are merely different ways of approaching the field. If the law the absolute, then why is dark magic possible? Either it is itself natural, as I believe, or¡ªall the worse for your position¡ªthe natural law does not exist at all. He did have a point though. How did I know what was truly natural? I¡¯d heard of aurora¡¯s to the north, and snakes which could destroy all they looked at to the far east. Who knew what was truly in accordance with nature¡¯s will? Why would Nature, she who governs us all, permit such a violation? Does she secretly wish to see us fall? I doubt it. Who could envision a world so cruel? Now was not the time to let doubts enter my mind. Does this figure have a name? A face? I¡¯ve never heard of them. And is not the definition of dark magic simply that it breaks the laws of nature? Being defined by nature would suggest it originates there. Otherwise there would be some overlap. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Is that so? The methods are indeed unfortunate, but an unfortunate necessity. Had I the opportunity I... I was no longer listening. The sun had begun to rise. Timing would be everything here. I immediately cast BiteII on my blindfold, and then PushIII on the BiteII spell itself. Worried that the cloth might hold, or that the spell might tear my head off, I also cast PushII on the cloth opposite the blindfold binding my face. The wrappings about my face tore themselves in half before flying away from my head at speed, pinning themselves against opposite walls. Light and sound flooded my senses, costing me precious seconds as I adjusted to the sudden stimulation. Fortunately, the other occupants of my prison, two men and a woman, took even longer to adjust. Their clubs dangled forgotten in their hands as they stared at me in surprise. I took a deep breath and grinned. Bluffing time. ¡°What? You thought a mage could be captured by a couple common ruffians? Don¡¯t be ridiculous.¡± Taking advantage of their surprise, I cast Push, disarming both of the men simultaneously. The warlock¡¯s voice had been male, so I perceived them to be the bigger threat until I could figure out which one he was. ¡°I¡¯ll admit, my wounds were inconvenient, and I¡¯d hoped your warlock would arrive sooner so I could dispense with this charade, but all¡¯s well that ends well.¡± The male on the right spoke first. Was he the warlock then? ¡°What do you want from him?¡± I made my grin grow wider, ¡°Would you like to find out?¡± He took a step back, but his eyes weren¡¯t focused on me. Instead, they kept darting to a corner of the room. Strange. ¡°N-no. No need for that. I just meant... why didn¡¯t you come to him directly?¡± I took a moment to think about my answer, hoping my silence would convey how little I was concerned about answering his question. Why wouldn¡¯t I have simply attacked the warlock head on? The defences of his base perhaps? Did his base even have defences? I still didn¡¯t even know who he... aha! I raised an eyebrow at him, causing him to flinch, ¡°Hmmm? Very well, I suppose there is no harm in telling you. Because I didn¡¯t know who he was. I wanted to see who dared send their minions to kidnap mages.¡± The guard on the left spoke up, ¡°Hey now, minion is pretty demeaning. We¡¯re his servants. Payed for like anyone else.¡± ¡°You¡¯re not mercenaries then?¡± He shook his head, ¡°There¡¯s more to life than money you know. Loyalty, honour, upholding a cause.¡± ¡°Would you like to be?¡± He rubbed his chin, ¡°What¡¯re you offering?¡± The air swirled visibly around man, spiralling inwards. At first I thought he had revealed himself to be the warlock, but that was quickly dispelled. The guard¡¯s arms were suddenly pinned to his sides, his legs were forced together, and his clothing flattened against his skin. Then his eyes burst and his helmet began to buckle. His bellybutton touched his spine, and then his lungs burst and his ribcage collapsed. The guard¡¯s crushed remains crumpled to the floor and began to ooze a colourful mix of fluids, which were slowly swept away by the stream. Disloyalty will not be tolerated. ¡°Weren¡¯t you trying to convince me that you were the good guy here?¡± Loyalty is vital in any organization. My actions are not unique to those of a warlock. And even if you disagree with my methods, good tools may be used by evil men. Before I could reply the sun finished rising, and it was time for stage two of my plan: even more bluffing. I cast BiteII on the remaining male guard¡¯s neck on the off chance he was the warlock. He collapsed to the ground, screaming and bubbling through the hole in his neck. I turned to look at the woman, ¡°Well? You going to save me some time and let me out of here, or do I have to kill you as well?¡± Her eyes darted to the corner of the room as well. Now wasn¡¯t that interesting. I¡¯d already been studying it out of the corner of my eye, and it appeared completely empty. Except... except for a light impression in the dirt there. In the one corner of the room high enough to avoid the stream. Now wasn¡¯t that suspicious. I cast PushII at about hip height above the impression in the earth, aiming toward myself. Something large splashed into the stream an instant later. I still couldn¡¯t see the warlock, but now the water swirled around several large holes, outlining a man pushing himself back up from his knees. Water dripped from the air as the warlock stood. ¡°Well now, isn¡¯t that interesting? And how are you doing that?¡± I cast PushIII driving him into the ground so hard jets of water shot out from under him, leaving a comical sketch of a man in the stream. Maybe that was pushing it a bit. I certainly had a sick feeling in my stomach after the words left my mouth, but what else was I supposed to say? ¡®Dear god you have a tool for exploiting one of a mage¡¯s greatest weaknesses, that being their inability to cast spells on what we can¡¯t sense?¡¯. Before he could reply I ended the recording I¡¯d been doing this whole time, that of the BiteII on the poor guard¡¯s neck¡ª BiteIII: Clamp down with the force of 260lbs per square inch for 10 seconds. ¡ªand immediately cast BiteIII on the now dripping neck of the dazed warlock as he struggled to his feet once more. Blood erupted from the air. As if that wasn¡¯t a weird enough sight on its own, the blood quickly turned clear and viscous and began running down the warlock¡¯s invisible robes. Lightning and thunder flashed, water flew from the warlock in a rapidly expanding column, and then the world went dark. . . . Well damn. I think I might have won. I listened to the retreating footsteps of the final guard as I hung there in the darkness. I wondered what they warlock had done. Had he blinded me as his final act of vengeance? Had he thrown shadows about the room? I¡¯d heard some could do that. At least he wasn¡¯t moving. I was pretty sure at this point that if he¡¯d survived, I¡¯d be dead. I was safe, at least for the moment. Unfortunately, I was still bound to the wall, and still couldn¡¯t see. At least the blasted blindfold was gone. I¡¯d been starting to get a rash. My plan had been a complete and utter failure, entirely botched by the sudden arrival of the warlock. On the other hand, I had killed him, which was so far out of the bounds of possibility I hadn¡¯t even considered it. What now? I didn¡¯t want to keep risking mind magic¡ªI¡¯d already been getting lucky as it was¡ªbut I might not have a choice. How much time did I have at this point? Did this place have any more warlocks? Would the guards come down with reinforcements to finish me off their selves? I would¡ª *THUD* Whoa. A wave of dark magic, the strongest I¡¯d ever felt, washed over me. The world began to spin. It lurched, as if it had flipped upside down, and stayed there. More thuds echoed throughout the prison accompanied by loud grinding sounds. Then everything went still. As the echoes faded away, a new sound rose to replace them. It wound down the corridors, and reverberated up through the ground beneath my feet. Moaning. Wailing. Clawing. Scraping. It was coming from all over. It was coming from very far away. And it was coming closer. *** Had I been imprisoned in Bleak Fort?The grinding of gears, the disorientation, the wailing, it would make sense. The builders of Bleak Fort, whoever they were, hadn¡¯t been ones to go for half measures. The dungeon they¡¯d built beneath had been designed to imprison a small army, or house one, as needs demanded. Living quarters, cells, barracks, kitchens, libraries, it had it all. And it wasn¡¯t just the one floor. They¡¯d excavated an area beneath the fort which dwarfed it by comparison. Down and down, level after level, until they¡¯d finally run into the caverns. The beings in the caverns, whatever they were, hadn¡¯t been pleased, and that was the end of Bleak Fort.None had survived to record what had happened. Years later, a group of warlocks had led an expedition to reclaim the castle. They succeeded, driving back the invaders and sealing off the caverns. The castle had changed hands several times since then. At some point, a warlock had implemented a fail safe for the castle. One that could not only cut off the dungeons physically, but also tore a rent through time and space, completely eliminating the possibility of the denizens of the deep overrunning the fort. If I was in Bleak Fort, and I had just felt them activating the fail safe... I wouldn¡¯t be leaving here any time soon, nor would anyone be coming to get me. They¡¯d left me here to die. On the plus side, I could now work without the worry of a guard taking offence to my actions and slitting my throat. It¡¯s the little things in life that make it all worth living. Now, how to get out of here? My original plan had been to simply break my bonds, gaining my freedom in one explosive burst. In retrospect, that had been a pretty bad idea. The amount of force needed to tear through iron would have taken me weeks to build up. If it wasn¡¯t for the darkness, maybe I could have popped the bolts on my cuffs, or at least the hinges. Could I make a light somehow? Why was it so dark anyway? From the brief glimpse I¡¯d got of the room, there had been both torches and lanterns lit. In fact, I could still smell them burning. Was smoke build up going to be a problem? If I died here from suffocation after killing the warlock I¡¯d never live it down. All the other ghosts would make fun of me. Another moan, louder than the others, reverberated throughout the dungeon. Right. Ghosts. Maybe they did exist. I¡¯d have socked it with a spell on principle if I could, but I was pretty sure I was only hearing echoes. Echoes. Hearing. That gave me an idea. Could I hear the hinges? Might as well try. I began rocking my arm back and forth in its restraint, flailing my elbow wildly. The bolt rattled in its housing and the cuff scraped and squealed as I bounced it about. And under it all, sure enough, I could just make out the squeak of the hinge. I cast Push along it¡¯s length, hoping it it slid out upwards. The pin hopped upwards and pinged against the ceiling, held in place there by my spell. Pressure eased suddenly on my wrist as the restraint popped open. I was free! I forced my hand between the gap of the wall and the restraint, scraping off quite a lot of skin in the process, but I didn¡¯t care. My back, neck, shoulder, and elbow sighed in relief as I moved my arm for the first time in five days.My left leg took the full weight of my body as I shifted over, taking yet more strain off my still bound left arm. Three of my limbs were still bound. It was still dark. Moans still filled the darkness. A blade still pressed into my back. But it was enough. I could last another day. *** Sunrise came slowly in the darkened dungeon. The wailing moans prevented any attempts at sleep, and I dared not lose myself in the runes. My thirst and hunger too was still growing. The pain hadn¡¯t left either. It hadn¡¯t really gotten better either. In many ways, it had gotten worse. Only my newfound hope allowed me to bear its burden. I wondered if I¡¯d ever run again, once I got out of here. I imagined myself, watching my friends or children run far ahead of me, as I slowly hobbled along behind them with a cane. In my imagination, I wore a gentle smile, a man who had accepted his injury, and did not resent his peers for their health. It would be their pity I could not stand. The thought horrified me. Sad glances. Whispering behind my back. Abandonment. Not because they hated me, just the opposite, because they cared too much. Because they couldn¡¯t bear to see me fall behind. Such were my thoughts as I waited, anxious, eyes dancing and darting through the darkness. Rumination was deadlier than any poison. Poison could only kill you once. Thankfully, sunrise did come, and it came before I¡¯d lost myself. I¡¯d seen men stuck on the same thought for months, or even years, their bodies, their lives even, become bitter shells to house their rage. I shook my left arm to locate the hinge as I had for my right, and cast Push on it. Once more the pin flew free. Without the support of my bonds, and the blade against my back, I fell forward, wrenching my ankles against their bonds. My screams took a while to fade as they echoed about the dungeon. The sound emboldened the creatures in the darkness. They began to moan with renewed vigour, and some took up screams of their own. My right ankle was aflame, a pyre of agony. I should have freed my legs first. Never mind that I couldn¡¯t possibly have located the pins. I should have found a way. Better to die here than¡ª It was possible I wasn¡¯t thinking clearly. Compared to the sweet relief of finally moving my back and knees, the pain wasn¡¯t even that bad. I felt around for the hinges with my fingers and freed them both with a single spell. I was free. Completely free this time. A laugh escaped my lips unbidden. I was FREE! ¡°I¡¯m free!¡± I shouted, my disused voice sounding raw and foreign to my ears. I didn¡¯t care. Cackling, hooting and hollering returned my cry and I didn¡¯t care. Even if they killed me, tore me apart, or ate my while I was still alive, I¡¯d die a free man. Speaking of which, there was something I had to do before anything else. Despite my reservations about mind magic, there was one spell I needed to commit to memory. In fact, if I ever made it out of here, and ever had any students, I¡¯d force them to do the same. I¡¯d never been bound again. I started recording, crawling toward the dry patch in the corner. I impacted the warlock¡¯s body and just crawled over him. So he was dead. Good. He could wait. I curled up in the corner and rested my aching limbs whilst I finished memorizing my final spell. I crawled from the place where I had hung for nearly a week to the far corner of the room. The water was cold, and my limbs weak, but I got there in the end. Teleport: Move yourself 20 ft over the course of a minute. The rune flared and swam into view along with all the others. It was beautiful. The most beautiful one of all. I was safe. I pressed my head into floor and slept. *** My head was pounding when I woke. When was the last time I¡¯d had water? I struggled onto my knee began to crawl upstream, right leg dragging straight out behind me. The room was still dark, and I still had no idea why. Dark magic. I hugged the wall. I didn¡¯t want to touch the remains of the guard the warlock had... collapsed. My circuitous route took over a minute to traverse the small area, but I managed to avoid all three bodies I¡¯d been sharing the cell with. Thankfully the surviving guard hadn¡¯t barred the door as she¡¯d fled or I¡¯d have to risk even more magic escaping. It was dark in the (presumably) hallway as well. Had the warlock removed light from the whole dungeon, or merely blinded me? Couldn¡¯t blind people still sense light? I didn¡¯t know for sure. First things first. I needed water. I didn¡¯t even bother scooping the stream with my hands, I just lowered my head and drank. It was surprisingly clean and pleasantly cool. I suppose any algae or moss might allow a mage to write spells in the sludge. Where was the water coming from? Did the magic rift have an exception for the stream, or did the stream originate from dungeon itself? I¡¯d have to follow it if at all possible, it could be my ticket out of here. Once I was ready. I needed to tend to my leg, figure out this darkness, get a spellbook, and get some food first. In that order. Tending to my leg meant getting a knife, which meant going back into my cell and searching the two untangled bodies. I wasn¡¯t looking forward to this. I managed to find the body of the guard I¡¯d killed while avoiding the other. My hand had sunk through something squishy at one point, but I told my self it was a patch of mud, or maybe rat droppings. Not that rat droppings would make any sen¡ªmud it was. I bumbled around with the body for a moment, figuring out which end was which, and then maneuvered my hands to the man¡¯s waist. A quick pat along his belt found me a knife in a sheath. A little bit more fumble around his arm netted me his club. It was just as I remembered it, a straight and study piece of wood with a small metal cap on one side. It would do. I withdrew the knife and began cutting away at his tunic. I¡¯d considered taking his less bloodied clothes for my self to wear, but there was something unsettlingly macabre about that, blood or no blood. I¡¯d have to remain naked for now. I wasn¡¯t the main healer in Blackbridge, but I knew enough in a pinch. Setting a broken leg, at least temporarily, was a fairly straight forward operation. At least, I thought it would be. Turns out, doing it on yourself is another thing entirely. I managed to bite back my screams, but I was mildly surprised my gasping and groaning didn¡¯t set off the creatures of the dungeon anyway. Once my leg was as straight as I could reasonably manage I used the strips of cloth I¡¯d cut free to bind my leg to the club. I tried bending my knee gently, and was rewarded with a sharp, sparkling pain, all down the left side. With it were the first sick twinges of something bending out of place. Storm and Starlight! I¡¯d need the second club as well. I hadn¡¯t known he was going to be crushed, so I praised my good fortune I¡¯d disarmed him ahead of time. A few more moments in the dark found me elbow deep in another man¡¯s ribcage before finding the stick. I¡¯m not squeamish, but there is a limit. Even after scouring my arms with the sand beneath the stream they felt dirty. It had been the texture anyway. The short resistance before punching through what was left of him, and the gritty remains of his bones. Shame I couldn¡¯t let my memory be washed away with the blood and bile and bits of clinging fle¡ªI needed to stop before I made myself sick. I was in bad enough shape as it was without emptying the remains of my stomach. I reset my leg and tied the second club into place. After tentatively flexing my knee a second time I was met with a reassuring solidity. It wasn¡¯t moving anywhere. If I had a staff I might even be able to walk. Perhaps the warlock had had one? He¡¯d been invisible after all. Who knew what his was wearing. It was worth checking. I splashed and crawled my way over to where I¡¯d last crawled over him and felt around. He was wearing robes over some kind of armour. Feeling around his chest I noticed that the robes were more of a wrap, really and covered in some sort of pungent sticky substance I couldn¡¯t wash from my fingers. I sniffed them. Spruce sap? Strange. And not a species I recognized. Was that the clear substance he¡¯d been bleeding? There was a knife at his belt, which I took -belt and knife both- and a small flask of some sort. I attached that to my belt as well. A separate wrap bound his head, some sort of hat, I presumed. I otherwise avoided his face. Teeth, lips, eyes; those were for the living, and sacred to the dead. It would not do to touch them. His pants and shoes seemed normal enough, though the shoes were so pointed they ended in little curls, but again I left the clothing to the dead. I¡¯d resolved to leave his hands be, but as I searched about for a staff, I accidentally brushed into one lying at an angle I hadn¡¯t expected. I jerked back in surprise, heart pounding. I¡¯d done enough here. Time to leave. I began following the water upstream as I¡¯d resolved. I didn¡¯t plan to leave the dungeon just yet, not ¡®til I got my bearings, but it didn¡¯t hurt to see if there was a way out of here. Light suddenly assaulted my vision and I stopped. I could see now, albeit dimly. The torches had mostly died, but a few lamps still burned in their recesses on the wall. The stream I¡¯d been following ended abruptly, disappearing through a grill in the wall. Peering between the bars, the path was clearly too narrow to follow. I turned back toward the cell, determined to see if there had been objects I¡¯d missed, and was met with one of the strangest sights of my life. A sphere of pure darkness emanated from the cell, stopping abruptly just in front of my nose. I tentatively put my hand in, and then my face, and was once again struck blind. I retreated, and could see clearly again. So the warlock had done something. He must have panicked, casting the spell of darkness in his last moments. It hadn¡¯t faded either. Nature usually restored itself after black magic had been cast. Its will could not be denied forever. But this had lasted. Either the warlock had been far more powerful than I¡¯d thought, or he¡¯d somehow changed the nature of light in a sphere around him. He could have also used a magic item. I hadn¡¯t found anything, but I¡¯d also not checked his face or hands. He could have been wearing a ring, earring, or even nose piercing. He was a warlock after all. Whatever the case, I wasn¡¯t so ghoulish as to rob a dead man of his jewels. Even if I was, I could think of little use for a darkness generator in an already dark dungeon. There was nothing more for me here. It was time to move on. I was in a dim, stone lined hallway, parallel to my cell. To the left of the cell the hall ended abruptly, presumably flush with the edge of the cell. To the right, the hallway bent at a right angle, heading in the opposite direction of the stream. Crawling round the corner revealed that the hallway immediately split; one path going straight ahead, and one to my right. A quick glance to the right showed that the stream had disappeared somewhere under the wall¡¯s ten foot width, presumably down to some sort of fresh water spring. I took the forward path at essentially random, perhaps the fact it led further from my cell weighing slightly in its favour.Unfortunately, I picked wrong. My path was blocked by a stout iron door which did not yield to my strength. I sighed, turning back to the other path. I¡¯d be scraped and bloodied by the end of this it seemed. Delays only exacerbated the problem. Fortunately the other corridor¡¯s door swung open easily at my touch. It hadn¡¯t even been latched. This must have been the way the guard had fled. Though with the castle¡¯s defences activated it may not matter. Food was more important than egress at this point. The room beyond was large, 50 by 100 feet at least, perhaps more. Broken statuary littered the room, a testament to the complex history of these dungeons. Two doors stood on the far wall, and an open archway to my left. The choice was simple, made all the simpler by my aching knee and wrists. Here I was, adult and mage, and I was crawling about like a child. I passed through the archway into a smaller room, smaller still from the rubble of its collapsed ceiling. The left wall was taken up entirely with levers, wheels, and other mechanisms of unknown purpose. Most had been buried or crushed. The centre of the room was dominated by a large ruby statue of a beetle, some three feet in length. The detail was exquisite, and such was its lustre that it appeared to glow in the dim lamp light. Fascinated, I drew closer. The statue was useless to me as a material prospect, but the workmanship was it¡¯s own reward, surpassing even the rumbling pains in my stomach. The nature of the statue¡¯s detail soon became clear, for as I drew near, it growled. It was alive. It¡¯s mandibles moved, producing a clicking growling sound like pebbles falling down a hill. I backed away hastily to the wall of levers, and the door I¡¯d spotted there. ¡°Whoa lad. Easy does it. Don¡¯t mind me. I¡¯ll be going.¡± The beetle immediately calmed as I withdrew, and settled into its unmoving dormant state once more. Was it a natural creature from the caverns below the dungeon, or was it some sort of warlock¡¯s guardian beast? I might need to find out, for the door behind me failed to open. On the opposite side of the room (and on the far side of the beetle) was a second arch, leading out of the room. I began crawling toward it, hugging the wall to my left. As I drew near the beetle it began to growl again. My pain was growing and my patience was dropping at an equal rate. ¡°Easy boy. I just want to slip by here. I¡¯ll be out of your hair-er, carapace, before you know it.¡± The beetle continued to growl, swivelling to track me as I crawled. Just as I drew near the arc, it lunged at me, mandible¡¯s flailing. PushIII The beetle flew away from me and slammed into the opposite wall. The wall chipped, as did part of the beetle; a little ruby shard flying from its shell to clatter against the floor. By the raging sea that thing was tougher than it looked. I¡¯d excepted it to splatter into pieces. Thankfully my spell kept it pinned in place as I hurried through the archway. I¡¯d run (crawled) from bad to worse. The archway opened immediately into yet another room. Standing in the room, directly in front of me, was a giant... thing. A mushroom, but more so. It was over 10 feet tall with a wide cap that glowed with golden light. The light was uneven, jagged even, like a crown about its head. Beneath the cap the mushroom possessed large brown eyes. Such was the depth of pain and wisdom contained within them I could barely stand to look at it. Its body, or shaft, was covered in shimmering green scales, completely at odds with its fungal shape. It noticed me instantly. The creature bent towards me, gesturing, as a human might with an arm. A rumble sounded behind me. I twisted to look over my shoulder and my heart sunk. The archway I¡¯d just crawled through was gone, filled so completely with dirt that it was if it had never been. Why have you come? Why do you intrude upon my domain? The voice rang in my head, and I¡¯d never heard such anger. ¡°I-¡± Your dark magics are not welcome here. Twisted and broken. Ruled by ambition. You have broken the world. You still dare show your face? ¡°I am not a warlock!¡± I said hastily, ¡°I was capture by them. I am seeking to escape.¡± The mushroom¡¯s eyes widened. Do you speak true? Warlocks are known to lie. ¡°I am a mage. A servant of nature. Like yourself.¡± The last one was a complete guess, but based on what the mushroom had said, it was a safe one. Servant? I am no servant! I am a king! Oops. The ground began to shake. The Mushroom-King¡¯s eyes narrowed. The earth trembles at my command. The stones listen and obey. I am not one with nature. Nature is one with me! I prostrated myself, covering my head as stones began to rain from the ceiling, ¡°I meant no offence. Truly my words were ill chosen, oh king.¡± The shaking stopped, though did not cease entirely. If you are truly a servant of nature, then serve! You are mine! I reeled as images of earth and rotting matter invaded my mind. The lamp light about us flared until it was brighter than the sun. I cowered and hid, seeking to return back to the soil. If I am your king, than you are my slave! Kneel! Bow! Grovel! I flattened myself further into the ground and put my hands over my ears. It didn¡¯t help. The Mushroom-King¡¯s voice permeated everything. Just as he permeated everything I realized. This was but one head, one avatar, of a far greater being. One who dwelled in all soil, beneath all rocks, between every stone. I am all and everything. Every morsel, every speck of dust, contains a spore. Every patch of earth is mine. Every drop of rain falls to feed me. Every death is in my name. The Mushroom-King was vast, impossibly vast, but this avatar, this budding fruit was not. I could resist him and his efforts. Perhaps I could even fight him. BiteIII... The rune erupted. Pain blossomed. Everything went black. II - The Mushroom-King Death is a luxury I will not grant. I am your master. You are my slave. I blinked. Hadn¡¯t I...? The rune had destroyed my brain. Why was I still here? Was I a ghost? You live at my will. Your pathetic attempt failed. The mental dialogue came much easier than it had with the warlock. Easier than speaking. And my head felt... different. Clear, but almost too clear. Like a veil had been lifted from the world. It is my being you sense. A part of me dwells within you. Your spell left a hole. I filled it. I should have panicked at that revelation, but instead I felt calm. Too calm. ¡°What have you done to me?¡± I made the effort to speak out loud. To open my eyes and use them, not the creature¡¯s senses. To stare it in the eyes. Our mind were linked when your rune failed. A gaping hole in your mind, a tiny speck amidst the cosmos. The damage was shared. Thus it was made irrelevant for as long as I will it. My network lives within you. I swallowed, assessing the situation. ¡°What now?¡± Your weakness is clear, and will not be tolerated. Your spells are expunged from your mind. They are mine now, and no others shall replace them. Pain split my head. The runes began to fade into darkness, one by one, as black tendrils grew over them. ¡°Wait! Please... Leave me with my teleport at least. A servant who cannot be captured is far more valuable than one who can.¡± A slave. I trembled, ¡°A slave then. Please.¡± The Mushroom-King twisted. His eyes stared beyond me; thinking. Such shall be granted to my slave, but no more. Never again shall your mind be capable of holding a spell. The rune flared into my mind once more. Teleport. It was changed. No longer a flaming blue, but a mossy green, tinged slightly yellow. Where the other runes had been there was nothing. Where BiteIII had been there was less than nothing. A slippery spot in my mind, one my attention skipped over or skated pass. I couldn¡¯t grasp it. That part of my mind was not my own. Your first task will be to destroy this wretched keep. It is a blight on nature. End the rift and retake the surface. I blinked, stunned. My first task was to destroy a warlock stronghold? I was still surprised I¡¯d manage to get the jump on a single warlock. True, he could have been the only one, but as word of his death spread that would change. I voiced my complaint as diplomatically as I could. ¡°I fear I am unworthy of this task. Perhaps another...¡± I forced the word out, ¡°slave would be more suited for your task?¡± I have given you your task, and you will complete it. ¡°How then, may I serve you? I¡¯m dying of hunger, I have no spells with which to defend myself, and my leg will probably be the death of me if nothing else is.¡± I care not for excuses. You are my slave. Do not forget this. You are mine. Body and soul. You are my tool and my plaything, to shape as I wish. Tendrils rose from the ground where I lay, penetrating my stomach, chest, legs, and head. They entered my eyes, filled my nose and mouth. Gradually, I was enveloped. Enveloped and suffused. My very nerves were bound, until I could not even control my heart and lungs. My breathing stopped. Sound faded. Even the rush of blood in my ears slowed and stopped. And the whole while it felt as if I was being compressed. Hammered. Like my whole body was in a corset and the corset was being drawn. Like I was iron, being forced into a mould. Bones creaked, ligaments shifted, my teeth jostled for position in my mouth. I tried to cast¡ªbut there was no rune. My mind was his surely as my body. Surely it couldn¡¯t last. Surely one moment more and I¡¯d be crushed like that poor guardsman. And yet he continued to tighten his grip. Hours passed. Each second his hold tightened a little more, then a little more. The sun rose and he released me. Do not mistake my largess for weakness. Fail again, and I will not be so lenient. I rose shakily to my feet. That was new. I could stand. I looked down at my leg. It looked strange, mottled and brown, with green bands wrapped around it. Much like staves bound in cloth, I realized. I bent my knee. It felt stiff, but not unusually so. Just the stiffness of a limb which hadn¡¯t been used in a while. Even moving it back and forth quickly restored enough circulation that the stiffness vanished. There was another thing. My heart was beating. I was breathing. The green Teleport rune swam in my mind. My faculties had been restored to me. My hunger and thirst had both dissipated, as had the pain in my limbs from my bound position and the cuts on my back. Even the scar on my palm from when I was a child was gone. The final change was to my arms and chest. Runes, tattooed in dirty green ink, marked my body: one on each arm, two on my chest. Bite was gone. It was probably for the best. ¡°I-Thank you. I do-¡± Leave me. Do not return to this place. I looked around the room. Two closed doors and a portcullis lay beyond the Mushroom-King. The way behind me was still sealed. ¡°Which way do I go? How do I destroy the keep?¡± Even in asking the Mushroom-King for direction, it did not escape my bitter notice that he¡¯d successfully done to me what the warlock had failed to do. My only hope was that the binding was not as thorough as a warlock¡¯s. The Mushroom-King leaned over me. I have no use for mindless servants. Your thoughts are your own, till such point you disobey me. That was far from reassuring, and failed to answer my question. I wondered if I should ask agai- The Mushroom-King leaned over me. Leave me. I swallowed my pride for what felt like the dozenth time since I last slept. I was not a man to submit to others, but the Mushroom-King¡¯s domination was absolute. ¡°Of course.¡± I hastened to comply. The door directly opposite me was latched, but the bar slid free with little effort. As I passed from the Mushroom-King¡¯s domain my vision faded. The lamps had gone out, I realized. It was only the Mushroom-King¡¯s presence which had lent me enough vision to navigate his chamber. Despite the onset darkness I sighed in relief. It was not healthy to think such submissive thoughts. Think a thing enough and you might even start to believe it. The Mushroom-King would need to die. For now, I turned my attention to finding my way through whatever place I now found myself in. The first thing I noticed, besides the darkness, was the smell. The room stunk. As though something dead was rotting here. Worse even. Like sulphur and stomach acid. It was unbearable. I dropped to my hands and knees once more. I had to be wary of pitfalls, stones, and perhaps even intentional traps. Who knew what these darkened halls of antiquity contained? Crawling was far from the strong stride I¡¯d envisioned upon being healed, but at least it was much easier with two legs rather than one. Perversely, I was glad for the dark so that none could see me in my ridiculous state. I followed the right hand wall to a second door, which opened with a simple push. Beyond it, the smell dropped considerably, though did not fade entirely. It was equally as dark here, so I continued, once again meeting a door of wood. This one was stuck. Push as I might (there was no handle) the door would not budge. My wandering fingers could find no latch nor handle. It was stuck, wood twisted by countless years in the damp earth. As I hammered, leaned, and shoved it soon became clear my strength alone would not suffice. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. I felt along my arm, tracing the runes the Mushroom-King had etched in my skin. Many thought mages needed to see their runes to work their magic, but this was not true. We merely needed to be able to sense them. PushIII The door flew open with a crash. Whoops. Perhaps a bit too much force. Still, better than using to weak a spell and wasting both. The sound of grinding stone on stone filled the air, which was strange. Hadn¡¯t the door been made of wood? I dropped back down to hands and knees and crawled into the room. Finally! This one contained several torches whose light had not entirely dimmed. I could use those. I dismissed my spell. The grinding stopped, but was immediately replaced by a mournful wailing. It reminded me of the sounds I¡¯d heard from my cell. The only difference was, this was much closer. In fact, it sounded like it was right beside me. I scrambled to my feet and dash blindly through the room, impacting on the wall set with the torches. I quickly pressed my back into the corner and began frantically scanning the darkness for what little movement I could make out. There was none. The wailing had also stopped. Storms that shatter the sky, what was that? A predator in the dark? Why then had it given away it¡¯s position with the wails? In fact, as the mournful echoes faded from the room I realized they sounded familiar. They sounded like... me. Cautiously, I crept back to source of the wailing. I was paying attention this time, but even then, I barely noticed it. As I drew closer my mouth slowly yawned open. A tickle rose in my chest; a mournful wail so wretched it nearly broke my heart. Unbidden, the sound slipped from my lips and filled the air. I couldn¡¯t stop it. I didn¡¯t want to. Waves of the ceaseless sea, that was more disturbing than a predator. Some things were best left untouched. Some things best left undiscovered. Once more I retreated to the corner I gathered those torches whose glowing embers who still remained and sat, back set against the wall. I breathed life into the torches, stoking their flames. They did not ignite, but the charred wood flared producing a dim light. Altogether, the four torches produced perhaps light as a single candle, but it would be enough. I sat and blew, and sat and blew as the hour passed. At the hour¡¯s end I raised my forearm to my mouth. Here we go. I bit into it. And then I bit it again. And again. Blood trickled down my arm as I nipped at it, carving the rune into my arm. I spat skin and little bits of flesh from my mouth. Disgusting. Truth be told, I felt a little faint after the experience. Only the fear being lost in the dark egged me on. Candlelight: A large glowing mass with the brightness of a candle slowly fades away over the course of an hour. It moves following the whims of its master. I needed a spell book. I resisted calling up the spell immediately. If I timed it right I could use it to immediately empower and even greater version of itself. Instead, I continued to crawl in the dark following the right hand wall. Perhaps I¡¯d find greater light elsewhere. I left the torches. They were so dim as to be useless. The first door I came across was thick stone, stuck as so many others had been. I left it for the time being. The next door was stuck as well, but made of sturdy wood rather than stone. I completed two loops of the room before deciding those were my only options. Even the door I¡¯d come in through seemed to have vanished, replaced with some sort of giant stone face carved in the wall. Perhaps it was a secret door of some sort, but the wailing was too unsettling to stand there and find out. I decided I would try my luck with the wooden door. Push, PushII and myself in parallel easily got the door open. I dismissed the spells as I stumbled through the archway. Once more my nostrils were assaulted. The smell was unpleasant, though not nearly so vile as the previous smell had been. Sweet and musky, like rotting fruit. And indeed that it what it. The room contained several barrels filled with the stuff. I spent some time picking through them hopefully, but they were completely inedible. Not that I was hungry. Whatever the Mushroom-King had done wasn¡¯t wearing off and I hadn¡¯t felt the slightest bit hungry in the hour or two since I¡¯d left. I probably didn¡¯t want to know what he¡¯d done. Another thing best left unexplored. Maneuvering around the barrels led me to yet another stuck wooden door. How had the warlocks gotten around this place? Perhaps whatever settling had occurred after they¡¯d cut the dungeons off from the rest of the castle had shifted all the door frames. I put my shoulder to the door and shoved. Thankfully, that was enough. I only had BiteII and Candlelight left, neither of which would be knocking down doors. I wandered for some time in the dark, still following the right hand wall. The path bent repeatedly, suggesting I was travelling down a corridor or through a series of smaller rooms. Or that the rooms I now crawled through were no longer rectangular like the others. It was impossible to tell. For a while I worried I might be heading in circles, but the bends were never the same, the stone always different under my knees. It was a shame I couldn¡¯t record spells in just any mark, because I was going to have one hell of a scar on my knees. Finally, I came to yet another door. I gave it a firm shove. It swung open easily, nearly dropping me on my face. I¡¯d forgotten they could do that. There was a click. A hiss. Cool air rushed in around my toes. Then ankles. Then it slowly began to climb up my legs. It grew colder as it rose. First a welcome relief, then a bitter chill. Sharp pain erupted in my feet. The temperature continued to drop as the gas continued to rise. I ran through the newly open door, heedless of the dark. I crashed into a large metallic structure almost immediately, adding even more scratches to my collection. I disentangled myself, receiving a cut along my forehead as some hooked bit of the structure nearly took out my eye. My feet were beginning to go numb. Desperately, I climbed up the structure, hoping to escape the rising gas. It hadn¡¯t risen more than a foot off the ground, but I wasn¡¯t going to stop there. Fumbling about in the dark I found my holds, climbing higher and higher -the structure had enough protrusions and sharp edges I figured it must be a statue- until finally I reached the top. Strangely, there was a large bowl set atop the structure, about as wide across as I was. I crouched in it, fingers at the edges, waiting for the first tickle of the freezing gas. A minute passed. An hour. Still the gas did not reach me. I sat, hanging my legs over the edge of the bowl. The skin on my shins and feet had peeled, but feeling had been restored. I gave it another hour before I cautiously descended, one toe probing beneath me as I went. ¡°Heavens above!¡± I¡¯d found the gas. It hadn¡¯t risen, as far as I could tell, but it was now so cold it felt like fire. I retreated back up to my bowl. I was moderately concerned my involuntary cry would attract something, but only moderately. Let them deal with the gas. I settled back into the bowl. The gas couldn¡¯t last forever. Even if it did, it would be trivial to deal with it with a spell or two. I just needed to wait for sunrise. The gas did concern me though. The dungeon was trapped, much as I had expected, but I had underestimated the scale. I would need to be more cautious in the future. I might even need to find a source of water and camp by there for several days while I recorded some spells. I kicked myself for not doing that while I had the chance. Even if I knew the way back to the stream, the Mushroom-King had blocked the passage. My hunger and thirst steadily grew as I waited confirming my guess that the Mushroom-King had merely satiated my needs, rather than eliminated them. I might have thought it unfortunate, had the cost not been a further loss of my humanity. I time, I managed to doze off. My dreams were strange. I dreamed dreams of what could have been. I dreamed of the warlock, whispering in my ear. I dreamed of twisting flesh and fire. I dreamed of power and righteous anger. Still you resist? Still you cling to your black and white notions of good and evil? Even now? Trapped and enslaved, you refuse to do anything about it? You could be free. What is worse, to expand your knowledge of the natural world, to explore frightening new possibilities, or to be under the control of a malevolent being? Are you truly a saint, or merely a coward? That is not an answer and you know it. It is a talisman, a child¡¯s charm, a blindfold to keep you safe from the wolves. Are you so arrogant as to say your knowledge of every path is complete? How many have you met, truly? How many of these warlocks are merely stories, told to you by your elders, who in are merely repeating what they heard when they were neophytes? Why? Have you not already seen much in the last few days that you had never heard of before? Can you dismiss all of it with the label of dark magic? Laughter rang out in my dreams. You think the natural world lives in your books, or perhaps parades about your forest in neat lines for you to see? You¡¯ve yet to encounter a single case of dark magic in these dungeons. Save, of course, this altar where you sleep. What of it? Does that weaken my argument? Or will you stop dancing away from the truth and admit to your arrogance. Why would you drown if you tried to walk through water? Why can you not swim on land? There is many ways to approach the same thing. Even though they exist parallel, they can appear in opposition. ¡°Dark¡± magic is merely another path. A broader one, more powerful, less precise. An axe instead of a knife. Sometimes you need to skin a rabbit, sometimes you need to fell a tree. It is not about preference. It is about using the right tool. Then become the first who is not. Use your magic only to save children¡¯s lives and put out fires. Unless you think it is better to watch them burn? A tool is not good or evil. That is the choice of its wielder. The blade itself does not demand violence. A fair trial is all I as- He is mine. Leave this place warlock! You are already dead. Your words have no meaning here. The new voice belonged to the Mushroom-King, there was no doubt about it. He sounded different though. Louder, but at the same time diminished. Like a child yelling as contrasted with the low rumble of an adult¡¯s voice. The warlock did not seem flustered by this new intrusion. You cannot keep a wise man a slave. For in his mind he is free I care not for his mind. His actions are my own. If you do not have a man¡¯s mind, you do not have his actions. He will undermine you, consciously or not. The warlock sighed, Consider for a moment that I didn¡¯t. What then happens to- Silence, shade. The sun is about to rise. I felt the Mushroom-King¡¯s attention shift to me fully. Wake now. Trust not yourself. I woke. III - Dwarven Goddess Thirst and hunger assaulted me, but I pushed them aside. I couldn¡¯t miss this opportunity. The sun was rising. As was something else. I couldn¡¯t quite place it; something dark and chaotic swirling at the back of my mind. It too, would have to wait. I traced the wound on my arm. It had scabbed over already, the skin felt tight, but not inflamed. That was good. I was about to cut it again. Candlelight Light blossomed. Not the faint light I expected, but enough to light the entire altar where I lay and a good portion of the ceiling, walls, and nearby floor. I blinked. Sands that grind the shore, something was wrong. The light was wrong. It was pale; white and grey, rather than the warm red-orange glow I had recorded. And it was not the only thing wrong. My hair floated about me, nearly as though I was underwater, or in a strong breeze. And it was white, white as snow. It stretched out nearly as far as my arms, even as it curled and danced to a secret rhythm. My nails were also different. They were black and pointed, almost like a bear or a dog, though not nearly so long. I touched the tip of one with a finger. They were as sharp as an eagle¡¯s talons. My arms too had changed. My entire musculature I realized. Sinews and tendons stood out on arms, which shifted visibly under my skin as I moved. Almost as if I had not skin at all. Only the colour was wrong. I stood upright in my bowl ¨C an offering bowl, I now realized ¨C and checked out the rest of my body. It felt like it was humming, taught with strength. The strange skinless appearance was not restricted to my arms. My legs and torso were much the same. Thankfully, though now extremely hard feeling, my toenails had not also grown claws. It must have been the altar. I clambered down to get a better look at it. Though the icy fog had dissipated its legacy remained. Deep cracks ran through the floor, making footing uncertain, and the broken stone were still cold to the touch. Bestial though I now appeared, had it not been for this altar, I¡¯d have been in pieces along with the cobbles. The altar took on the appearance of a great twisted tree, like an ancient pine. Its bare branches stretched out in every direction, many etched with what must have been moss. Set into the top the tree was the giant bowl I had slept in, a place of offering. The structure was as wide as it was tall, perhaps 15 feet in every direction. It was no wonder I¡¯d run into it. It almost completely blocked the door I had entered by. The sun finished rising. My investigation of the rest of the room would have to wait. Candlelight A second light blossomed. I pulled both of them towards me, then hesitated. My plan had been to merge them together, but seeing them both dance before me, gave me a better idea. One which was much more flexible. I sent the balls weaving and dancing about the room as I concentrated on them. Their wavering light revealed only a statue of a woman in the far corner suspended above a pit. Interesting, but not enough so to divert my focus. It could wait until my new spells were recorded. Giddy Flames:Two large glowing masses, bright as candles, slowly fade over the course of an hour. They move following the whims of their master. An hour passed. The lights dimmed. Blood trickled down my right arm. Once more I was in darkness. The dark chaotic swirl at the back of my mind had grown. I could no longer push it aside. I could no longer ignore the whispering. Ice Cloak It should have been nonsense. A non-sequitur. But the moment I heard it I knew. I understood and felt its power. The Ice Cloak was mine to do with as I wished. Power over the world ¨C no. Power through the world, through nature, that is what the warlock had said. Did I trust him? Not really. I hadn¡¯t chosen the spell, it had been forced into my mind. That seemed far from natural. Perhaps it was a response to icy fog? Yes. I could see that. This spell would protect me from further freezing attacks, among other things. The versatility was astounding. Just this glimpse into dark magic gave me a new appreciating for warlocks. They could rule the world if they wanted, yet they contented themselves with their towers and castles and petty schemes. Suspicious, really. I would wait to use the spell. Perhaps in a time of absolute need, but until that point, I would ignore the eldritch murmurs in my head. I stumbled about in the dark until I reached the statue of the woman. The room hadn¡¯t appeared to hold any exits, but I was getting a feel for this dungeon. Everything held secrets. Hadn¡¯t I entered the wailing room through a hole concealed behind a carving of some sort? If the statue in this room also concealed a passage I¡¯d not need to retrace my steps back through the trapped doorway. I could summon my lights to guide me, but they were a rare commodity at this point. I¡¯d see what could be discovered without them first. I traced the statue¡¯s outline in the dark. She was larger than real life, slightly taller than me and set in the wall a little ways off the ground like a ship¡¯s figurehead. Her body rippled and flowed, like the carver had covered her in a stone facsimile of cloth. There was even a strip above her nose, where her eyes would be. Her arms were attached to her head by her hands, and her mouth was open in a scream or shout. I halfheartedly searched her tongue and the roof of her mouth for a hidden lever or button, feeling like a bit of a fool as I did so. Nothing. She started merging with the wall down by her hips. By her shins, she was completely sunk into it. Her hair strange. Thick and bulbous, like seaweeds or... snakes. Was this a statue of one of the Gorgons? The blindfold across her eyes would be a cruel irony. In fact ¨C no, it was too obvious. I grabbed the blindfold and wiggled it about. It moved, sliding free from the statue. There was a click, and the statue, as well as a piece of the wall, popped forward. Ridiculous. That would be the first thing anyone tried if they could see the statue. I¡¯d solved it in the dark! Who was this supposed to conceal anything from? I grabbed her by the crook of her elbows and pulled. She was stuck fast, but a newfound strength burned within me. The altar¡¯s transformation, I supposed. The statue slid forward, grinding inch by grinding inch, squealing and protesting all the way, until I¡¯d revealed a gap large enough for me to slip through. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. The statue concealed (what appeared to be, it was dark after all) a hallway. At the end of the hallway was another door, this one made of cool metal. I gave it an unenthusiastic shove with my shoulder. Sure enough, it didn¡¯t budge. The metal doors all appeared to be locked and bolted. What I wouldn¡¯t give for some kind of lock-picking spell. Back around then, unless I wanted to risk Teleport. I wasn¡¯t that desperate yet. Besides, a foul odour leaked from under the door. Perhaps it was for the best. I felt my way over the door and to the opposite wall. Yep, I was in a corridor alright. I could almost touch both sides at once. I began my long journey back the way I¡¯d come. *** Shortly after I passed the metal tree I¡¯d stubbed my toe on something sharp and metallic. ¡°May the sea swallow the stars!¡± I¡¯d grown sick of crawling, but now I remembered why I¡¯d been doing it. I bent and felt around for the piece of metal. There was several of them, as well as a leather wrapped handle. A broken sword. Well, if I wasn¡¯t crawling my hands may as well be carrying something. I grabbed the handle. It still held a short fragment of the blade. Perhaps I could use it as a knife in a pinch. I continued on, this time with my feet shuffling carefully,hand tracing downlong stone corridors. I entered the room of rotten fruit once more, this time going wide about the barrels. It was quite a bit large room than I¡¯d realized, with some sort of mosaic on the side of the room opposite the barrels. The wailing room was next. I braced myself, but still nearly jumped out of my skin when I accidentally stumbled into the area. There was a door here, on the far side of the wailing zone. No wonderI¡¯d not discovered it, I thought as I desperately tried to clamp my jaws shut with my hands. As I pushed through the doorway the world spun suddenly, and I stumbled. Had the link between worlds been restored? Perhaps I¡¯d been out of here sooner than later, ready to serve the Mushroom-King¡¯s ¨C no, not while he wasn¡¯t here. I was not the Mushroom-King¡¯s servant. I was not a warlock. I was Oswic of Black bridge, mage extraordinaire, and even more extraordinaire barn floor dancer, not some mean evil¡¯s minion. I shuffled into the room, kicking shards that flew and clattered lightly from my path. Bone. I quickened my pace. The room didn¡¯t smell of a lair, or even a crypt, but the bones had gotten here somehow. A dozen steps led me to one of the barred iron doors. I continued to circle the room, returning to the door I¡¯d entered by... It was closed. I distinctly remembered leaving it open. I¡¯d not heard it swing shut. Even the most oiled hinges in this dungeon squealed. I raised my broken sword before myself and flattened myself against the wall. Cautiously, quietly, I made my way to the corner of the room. I waited And waited. And waited. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. Even the wails of the greater dungeon seemed fainter here. Giddy Flames Four glowing balls of light rose off my skin and flew to each corner of the room, bathing it in dim light. The room was empty. Only shards of bone littered the floor. The ceiling too, was bare. Whatever had closed the door had left, or had never been¡ª Four? The jack-o¡¯-lanterns had come to me so naturally I¡¯d not thought about it. I checked my right arm. Sure enough, the spell still read ¡°Two large glowing masses, bright as candles, slowly fade over the course of an hour. They move following the whims of their master.¡± I¡¯d somehow cast it wrong. That wasn¡¯t possible. Nature could be shortcutted, but not superseded. Not without dark magic. Was this the altar¡¯s work? Or was it the dark magic atmosphere of the dungeon? I pulled the lights back to me and studied them. They didn¡¯t look different. They still behaved as normal. Still gave off no heat, still passed through one another as if they weren¡¯t there. Perhaps they were brighter than I remembered, but that was it. Dark magic was essentially random when viewed from the outside, yet this had aligned with my casting perfectly. More credence given to the warlock¡¯s words. I crept back over to the closed door. Time to capitalize on my unexpected fortune. If nothing else I could get a glimpse of what the wailing room carving looked like. Perhaps a little light was what I needed to find a way through one of the many barred doors in this place. I carefully pushed open the door, sword shard at the ready. Silence. I sent two will-o¡¯-the-wisps in before me to light the way. The room beyond was circular, neither large nor small. At the centre of the room stood a small statue. A woman, quite squat in stature. Her breasts and hips were nearly as large as the rest of her put together. I would have thought it to be some sort of fertility goddess if not for her enormous beard. A dwarf, then? This wasn¡¯t right. There were no exists save the one I¡¯d entered through. The room had no corners, though I¡¯d felt them in dark. The room didn¡¯t have the wailing corner, nor any torch sconces on the wall. That feeling of disorientation. Time and space and changed once more. Either I¡¯d been moved, or the room had. I hoped it was the first option, otherwise, whatever sort of sense of the dungeon¡¯s layout I had would be worthless. I¡¯d only know once I found my way back to familiar ground. I walked slowly about the room. The sensible side of my brain knew it was futile, but I still held a secret hope that I¡¯d somehow imagined the corners, that I¡¯d find my discarded torches or the wailing face hiding behind the statue. Alas it was not to be. Two circuits of the room revealed naught but the statue¡¯s impressive rear end, and a rusted gauntlet against the wall. It didn¡¯t even fit. As for the statue, I¡¯d heard stories about dwarves. Master craftsmen. Greedy. Deceitful. Shapeshifters. But there was other stories. Stories of bravery and cunning. Stories of wondrous cities with golden roofs and silver floors and gemstones gleaming in the dark. Stories of heroes overcoming their natural inclinations and striking down great evils. Perhaps she was a goddess. Perhaps she would hear me if I prayed. I knelt before her, clasped my hands and bent my head. ¡°Hi. I- I¡¯m not...¡± I stopped. I¡¯d been too busy cursing in pain before to notice, but something was wrong with my voice. Very wrong. ¡°Hello? Testing. My name is Oswic the Mage-¡± I cut off abruptly and shuddered. My voice had never been high pitched, but I¡¯d thought it pleasant and lilting. A kind voice, if nothing else. It had changed. Deep and menacing. Rich, yet dripping with a contempt I couldn¡¯t remove. Yet another change. ¡°Hi there. I¡¯m Oswic-¡± I stopped again. It was too disconcerting. I took a deep breath. I could do this. What choice did I have? The options were get used to my new voice, or never speak again. Anything which must be borne could be. ¡°Hi, I don¡¯t know if you¡¯re a god, or I¡¯m just talking to a stone statue. If you are a god I don¡¯t know which one you are, so please forgive me my ignorance. I need help. A warlock and a mushroom are warring for control of my mind. I¡¯m afraid of losing myself. I¡¯m afraid that they¡¯re right. I¡¯m afraid of my own judgment. I don¡¯t know which thoughts are mine, and which are theirs. Even my body isn¡¯t my own.¡± I held up my clawed hands to her face. I¡¯d been trying not to think about them. What would happen if I escaped from here? Would I be shunned? Could I ever find love? I¡¯d been happy with who I was. Thought myself handsome even. Now I looked like a monster. Most forgot the wisdom of children and elders. Most did not want to remember their cruel insight. Beauty was more than skin deep. My mind was not my own. Perhaps they¡¯d be right to shun me as a monster. ¡°I need help,¡± I said again, ¡°I¡¯ve got no water, no food, and yet, the thing which bothers me is my mind. Please, help me overcome, as the heroes of old once did. Help me listen to what is right. Let me trust myself again. Please. I don¡¯t have an offering, save for myself. Name your price. Please.¡± You can overcome. To offer a prayer is enough. Desire, once spoken, is action. Trust yourself. Pay attention. Do not give in. Resist, and they will flee from you. The thoughts were my own, come unbidden to my mind. And yet... I sensed a power behind them, a rightness. A truth. Was this her reply? Words carved into the base of the statue suddenly caught my eye. How had I not noticed them before? They were written in an ancient tongue, one which was old when the mountains were born. One which wrote of the first rainfall. One which had been illuminated by the first rising of the sun. The Language of the Gods. Few knew it. I was one of them. THE STRENGTH OF THE DWARVES GOES WITH YOU How had-? Perhaps my prayer had been answered after all. I stood with a new strength. It was different from that lent me by the altar. This was surer, gentler, deeper. The mountain may crumble, but the mountain endures. ¡°Thank you.¡± There was no sign she heard me. No sign she¡¯d ever heard me. But gratitude isn¡¯t for the listener. IIII - Frogs in the Dark Push PushII PushIII I slammed into the iron door with all my might, unrelenting. Slowly, the door twisted. Slowly it buckled and screeched. And then it was gone, flying down the long corridor beyond. The door crashed into the floor, then continued to slid away from me, skidding on the stone floor, raising a squealing wail which put the others denizens of the dungeons¡¯ to shame. I winced, dismissing my spells. Hopefully that hadn¡¯t attracted anything¡¯s attention. I pushed myself to my feet. I¡¯d fallen along with the door, skidding on my forearms and knees as I caught myself. Surprisingly, my skin was completely unbroken. Not even my hands were scratched. I prodded them gently. They didn¡¯t feel different. More work of the altar? Perhaps the dwarf goddess herself had saved me. There was no way to tell. Nothing had come to investigate the noise yet, which I took as a good sign. Still, I¡¯d want to be out of here before anything did. The corridor forked directly beyond the door, one path going straight into the dark, the other a brief tunnel to my left, ending at a sturdy oak door set in the wall. I tried the door first, but it was locked. Even my newfound twisted strength was not enough to force it. If worst come to worst I¡¯d return with my spells and knock it down. For now, I journeyed into the dark. The corridor was labyrinthian. It doubled back on itself after a hundred feet. Each section was so long my light could only illuminate a small section at a time, and grew so dim I feared to lose them when I sent them further down the corridor. A sharp click briefly joined the wailing echoes of the dungeon and then my world was on fire. Burning liquid poured over me, scalding my shoulders and back, chewing through my hair; drilling through my scalp. I covered my head reflexively. The acid continued to pour. I panicked and thrashed about, running down the corridor. But the liquid was already on me. I couldn¡¯t escape it. I needed to... I needed to think. I needed to- Teleport I lay curled up in the corridor some twenty feet away from the pool of acid. My skin still tingled and burned, but while the feeling didn¡¯t lessen, it didn¡¯t grow either. Another trap in this hellish dungeon. I slowly crawled over to the corridor wall and rested my back against it. I winced as cold stone pressed against burnt flesh. It could have been worse. It should have been worse. Who would use such a weak acid in a trap? Someone who wanted to capture intruders, not kill them. The answer was obvious once I thought of it. These were warlocks after all. They had their experiments. It was probably why they liked Bleak Fort. A constant supply of fantastical creatures wandering up from the lower the caverns. Anything which couldn¡¯t teleport ¨C or didn¡¯t have a strong carapace like those beetles ¨C would have been total incapacitated by the full force of the acid. I brought my jack-o¡¯-lanterns together to asses my injuries. My hair had done its job to mitigate the damage to most of my body, but I was concerned about my left hand. It had been the part most exposed to the acid when I¡¯d put it over my head. The damage was less than I feared. Far less. The back of my hand was bright red, and slightly pitted in the centre, but the damage didn¡¯t extend below the surface. Had the acid truly been so weak? I received my second shock when I sent my lights out investigate the area of the trap. The floor was pitted and cratered, a depression still hissed and gave off foul vapours. Of my sword there was no sign, eaten by the acid. I stared at my hand in wonder. First skidding on stone without a scratch, and now this. The strength of the dwarves indeed. Still, I was injured. Even the gentlest breeze over my wounds reminded me of that. Without my Teleport spell I¡¯d probably be dead. It wouldn¡¯t be safe to move on without waiting for it to replenish. At the same time, my head was pounding. I hadn¡¯t had water in over a day. Four days, if I didn¡¯t count the Mushroom-King¡¯s healing. If I waited for sunrise, I might not have the strength to continue. The two concerns warred in my mind. But there was a third voice. A frantic whispering clawing at the back of reality. I could use my Ice Cloak. I could rest, cool my burns, and slake my thirst all in one. All I had to do was use dark magic. Was it truly dark? The warlock had claimed otherwise, but I wasn¡¯t going to believe him without proof. But how was I too get that proof? By performing dark magic myself. Only once, perhaps, but without testing it how could I know? The path was slippery, I was aware. But we were not redeemable? Even if the magic was truly dark, I could renounce it, and struggle my way back to nature¡¯s embrace. I wondered how many evils had been committed under that line of reasoning. I didn¡¯t have a choice, did I? I could always choose to die. Dark magic left uncast was dangerous, I knew this. Why was it dangerous? What did that say about its relationship to nature? Nature was full of dangers. Fire was dangerous, but humans did not fear the flame. We respected it. Controlled it. Tamed it. Ice Cloak Thick sheets of ice enveloped me. That was all. My moustache didn¡¯t curl. Hatred didn¡¯t fill my mind. I didn¡¯t feel a sudden urge to laugh uncontrollably or kick puppies. Ice, nothing more. I extracted myself from my cloak by the simple expedience of lifting it over my head and setting it back down against the wall. A few kicks broke off a chunk small enough to suck on. Sweet relief. My tongue quickly went numb and if anything my headache increased, but my parched throat began to ease. I¡¯d planned to cool my skin with the ice as well, but just sucking on it was lowering my body temperature so rapidly I didn¡¯t think it would be safe. I tipped the cloak on its side, that the water might pool in its centre for me to drink from later. It was a shame my lights didn¡¯t give off any heat, but they were due to go out soon anyways. Their light was already waning. I sat beside my ice block ¨C occasionally breaking off a new piece to suck on, occasionally standing and doing squats to stay warm ¨C as I waited for sunrise. *** I woke, a plan already in mind. First I would drink (the ice had melted enough for me to pull several blessed handfuls from it), then I needed to record a second teleport spell. The one I had was weak, slow, and dangerous to use. Plus, the more I had, the safer I¡¯d be from the traps that seemed to litter this dungeon. I¡¯d give myself some light, then run back the way I¡¯d come. Candlelight The will-o¡¯-wisp floated in front of me. One this time, not two, not four. My spell hadn¡¯t been inexplicable strengthened like Giddy Flames. Something was off though. The air twisted as I cast the spell, the world spun, and my flesh bubbled and warped. I staggered, more in surprise than pain. The disorientation had been far lesser than the severing of the dungeon far lesser even than the mysterious door. Candlight was gone. The scabbed over wound I¡¯d chewed into my arm was gone. Only smooth skin remained. That was convenient. Annoying, but convenient. I had been worrying about infection in the back of my mind. My other wounds were still there; my other spells. Was this the punishment for using dark magic? Would all true magic flee me? Even as I thought that, the chaotic whispering grew in my mind, suddenly deafening. The incomprehensible susurration solidified, spoke: Piercing Shield What did that mean? The words danced about in my head, in the space where the Ice Cloak had been. More questions. One at a time. For now, I needed to see if I was losing my spells. I started running back down the way I¡¯d came the day before, Candlelight lighting the way. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Safe Teleport: Move 150 ft over the course of eight seconds. My new claws proved useful in carving the spell into my arm where Candlelight had been. My skin was so difficult to penetrate at this point my teeth might not have actually been able to do the job. Not without doing some real damage. With my claw¡¯s sharp tips and my skin¡¯s new resistance I was able to mark my arm with far more precision, leaving a much smaller and more shallow injury than I¡¯d had before. If I lost Giddy Flames next I¡¯d welcome the opportunity to redo the rune on my right arm as well. Provided I could keep it at some point. Over the course of the hour it took to record Safe Teleport, my light had died. I¡¯d not be able to test Safe Teleport until I summoned new lights or found some I could teleport to. At which point testing the spell would pointless, as Giddy Flames would prove whether or not I was losing my spells just the same. I considered testing Push, but feared that the test would be futile given the unknown nature of the Mushroom-King¡¯s tattoos. It could be that the dark magic would only lose me the runes I myself had written, or perhaps only such runes that could heal or were carved into my body. Giddy Flames Two jack-o¡¯-lanterns rose in front of me. That answered one question. The change to my spell had been temporary. That was an unfortunate relief, for the structure of my rune hadn¡¯t changed. If I couldn¡¯t trust what I¡¯d written I¡¯d have no idea the results of my spells. Unfortunate because I¡¯d lost the extra strength of light. The spell hadn¡¯t left my forearm either. I could still feel it there, tight scabs straining and tugging my skin. A quickly glance confirmed what I¡¯d already felt. Candlelight had been a coincidence then. A tension left me I hadn¡¯t realized was building. A small worry had been growing that my use of dark magic had irrevocably destroyed my ability to do true magic. That fear was now proven unfounded. At worst, each dark magic spell seemed it might remove the next spell I cast, which might even be useful in certain situations. These thoughts occupied my mind as I began walking. I¡¯d suffered no greater consequence than the lost of an injurious spell. It may be that the dark magic itself was trying to heal me. This was far from the dire consequences of acting against the natural order I¡¯d heard of. Books had spoken of the loss of your very soul. Then again, how would you know if your soul was lost? I thought I¡¯d feel it, but what if I didn¡¯t? What if at this very moment I¡¯d already paved my path to hell? Of course, someone somewhere must have felt the dark magic effecting their soul in order to write down its effects, so my worries were probably needless. Unless it hadn¡¯t been them who¡¯d lost their soul, but one whom they¡¯d observed. Heavens descend, why¡¯d I have to think of that? I¡¯d make myself paranoid. The current plan remained. Use the dark magic only as necessary, and pay careful attention to any changes afterwards. After a hundred or so feet the corridor forked to the right. Seeing has following the right-hand passage had led me to using dark magic, having my flesh warped into a demonic shape, and my brain invaded by a sentient fungus, I continued to walk straight ahead. The rising tide could take the right-hand path. The door at the end of the corridor yielded to my kick. I kept my Safe Teleport at the ready in case of any traps, but the only risk here was getting splinters. The room beyond was what I was starting to see as typical for this dungeon. Maybe 75 by 30 feet, give or take. It was largely empty, save for the occasional iron cage. I¡¯d found another holding cell. If this was near my own, I could hopefully retrace my steps to my stream and make camp there. Besides the now shattered door I¡¯d entered through, the room contained two visible exits, one of wood and one of stone. Figuring the odds were they¡¯d be stuck I tried the wooden door as it would be easier to break down. Fortune favoured me. The latch slid freely and the door swung open. This room was larger. Though it was empty it was far stranger, for the floors had been tiled to resemble the outlines of a maze, like a child¡¯s puzzle. It was easy enough to solve. Each path led to an exit, of which there were four. I decided to stay on the side of caution and play along, in case crossing the ¡°walls¡± triggered some sort of trap or alarm. Two of the paths looked like they might head back they way I¡¯d come, so I headed for the door on the far side of the room. Sadly, all paths were to my right. The door was stuck (of course) but a few quick kicks had it open in no time. Didn¡¯t even make that much noise. A bell chimed when I entered. I looked around, startled. My first thought was ridiculous. That someone had set up a shop down here. If they had, it was a poor one, for as my lights spread out to illuminate the room, I could see that it was empty save for several oozing chunks of something scattered around the room. My vision didn¡¯t offer me much in the way of colour, but the whole room smelled like rotten meat. The air around me chimed again. I checked my mouth to make sure it wasn¡¯t me making the sound again. It was firmly closed. The air itself was ringing with a pleasant tone, at odds with the rest of the room. No matter how nice the sound, the smell won out and a hastened on through the far door after a bit of light battery. I immediately found myself in another of room of identical proportions. This one was lit by a smattering of candles dotted about the room. On the far wall someone had written ¡°Seven steps forward, two steps back.¡± I was instantly wary. Not from the ominous message, but from candles. No candle I knew burned that long. Someone had been here, and recently. ¡°Hello?¡± The room only had one other exit, an arch on the far end. ¡°Anybody there?¡± No one answered. I crept through the archway, leaving my lights behind, and peered through. My heart nearly stopped. A portcullis was set within the archway. A very familiar portcullis. A portcullis covered in mycelial roots. The room beyond was dark, but I was almost certain I could make out a looming pillar in its centre. I¡¯d returned to the Mushroom-King. I crept away from the portcullis. The Mushroom-King hadn¡¯t reacted to my presence, so hopefully he hadn¡¯t noticed me, or his range wasn¡¯t that far. I didn¡¯t want to incite his anger or even interest if I could avoid it. ¡°Seven steps forward, two steps back.¡± The sign mocked me. It had known. Whoever had written it had known. I was being watched. I¡¯d have to keep an eye out. There was nothing for it but to return to the maze-room and take one of the other exits. Seeing as one of them was a heavy looking iron portcullis I opted to try the wood door to my left first. It opened smoothly. The next room was smaller than most in the dungeon, though still large by any normal measure. Perhaps 30 by 30 feet in all. As my light flooded in ahead of me it illuminated yet more script to my left, ¡°Ready thy spear and ready they shield.¡± It looked like it had been written in blood. In fact, the room stank of blood. As my lights moved about (I still hadn¡¯t left the doorway) I noticed more of it. Puddles on the floor. Long streaks climbing the walls. As my gaze followed them up I was overtaken by horror. Two bodies, a man and a woman, were impaled on iron spikes on the ceiling. How the hell...? No matter. That clearly wasn¡¯t the sort of room anyone sensible investigated. I was running out of options. I could only think of three or four paths I hadn¡¯t explored. The portcullis was closest, but a quick investigation with my jack-o¡¯-lanterns left me almost certain it just led to the one door in the other prison cell I hadn¡¯t opened. Instead I took the other path back through the prison cell and out the wooden door I¡¯d shattered. The corridor beyond forked to my left, a fact I¡¯d forgotten about. If I had my bearings correct, the new corridor would also lead me towards (and hopefully past) the Mushroom-King, which meant a possible return to my spring. The corridor was long, and bent once more off to my right, but the door at the end of it was set in the left hand wall. Still on track. I slammed it open with my shoulder and caught myself on the frame before I could stumble into the room. Winter without end. I was back in the ceiling corpse room. ¡°Ready thy spear and ready thy shield¡± The words were directly in front of me now. Was that a warning or a threat? I didn¡¯t have either weapon, much as I might want them. I didn¡¯t even have a pair of pants. Back then. Back down the long corridor. Back past the acid trap. Back to the door near the bone room. It was made of study wood, and it was locked. The hinges were on the far side of the door. No door was fit perfectly however. Simply by pressing my head to the floor I could send my lights under the crack and peer across to the other side. Safe Teleport My light was going to run out soon anyway, which would render my Safe Teleport mostly useless as a quick escape. I quickly oriented myself and readied my offensive spells. No ruby beetles or Mushroom-Kings would be catching me unawares this time. The room was large, about as large as they seemed to get in this dungeon. Something was written on the wall to my right, too dim to make out. If there was more to explore, I didn¡¯t have time, for something else caught my attention. My lights revealed that as I had been staring around the room, two giant frogs, big as ponies, had been staring back at me. I moved cautiously back against the wall. They didn¡¯t seem to react. Their eyes would snap to the darting candlelights for a moment before snapping back to the space where I¡¯d been, but no longer at me. They must have heard me at first rather than truly seen me. I¡¯d just be a shadow in the dark, if that. I didn¡¯t want to attack potentially innocent creatures, but if there was to be a fight, now would be the perfect moment to attack. I sent one of my jack-o¡¯-lanterns slowly drifting past them, just to see what would happen. A tongue, relatively short for a frog of that size, perhaps two feet in length, shot out and tried to grab the light. It had been lightning fast, so fast I¡¯d have missed it if not for the fact that it tried again. And again. And its partner tried several times as well. That settled that. This was going to haunt me for the rest of my days. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I whispered. I cast BiteII on the first one¡¯s throat. It hissed and burbled as frog-coloured blood poured from its wound. It tried to claw at its throat with its front legs, but its size worked against it. It crashed into the floor and began to thrash about as it slowly bled out. It was the lucky one. I cast PushIII on the other¡¯s eyes, shoving them down back into its head. Even from a third of the way across the room I could hear them pop against the back of its throat. The second frog did not panic like its companion. Instead, it went into a rage. It leapt about at random, each leap letting off a deafening crack like a handcannon. Fortunately, none came near me. If that creature crashed into me the impact alone might have killed me. It wasn¡¯t showing any signs of slowing down either. It was clearly in pain and blind, but the injury was far from fatal. I sent my wisps flitting about like fireflies, darting and diving, looking for some sort of weapon. There, straight ahead of me; the far side of the room contained several small unknown objects hidden by the dark. They were my best bet. Thankfully, the frog¡¯s wild leaping didn¡¯t draw closer as I crept along the wall over to them. Light, and closer inspection, revealed them to be a pile of empty glass bottles, a sealed cask, a large rock fallen from the ceiling, and what looked to be a giant bloody owl pellet; it even had a skull peeking out of it. I guess the frogs didn¡¯t digest hair. Not much in the way of weapons. I could use the bottles, but my claws were more effective. If I had a way to lift the rock I could probably crush the frog with it. I needed to upgrade my push spells to do that. Of course, if they were strong enough to lift the boulder, I wouldn¡¯t be in this situation to begin with. Still, if I couldn¡¯t lift the rock, at least I could hide behind it. Maybe the frog would wear itself out. V - Orcneas Six hours. It had been six hours and still the frog was showing no sign of slowing. Forget dark magic and long lost treasures, if the warlocks simply used Bleak Fort to have a monopoly on these frogs and found a way to harness their power they¡¯d be unstoppable. The loud cracks and the hiss as the giant creature whizzed through the air fast as a quarrel was even more unnerving in the dark. It had passed nearby several times, but so far I¡¯d remained safe. It seemed to know the layout of the room, for I never heard it impact the walls (or ceiling for that matter, it could jump). Even so, it was impressive that it was able to keep a mental map up and running for so long in the da- *CRASH* I guess it got dizzy. The boulder rocked against my shoulder, but didn¡¯t otherwise move, thank the perennial spring. ¡°Crushed to Death with Boulder by Giant Frog¡± wouldn¡¯t fit on my tombstone. I leapt into a crouch. I¡¯d have to defend myself now that the frog had discovered my lair. Silence. I strained my ears, but even the gasping of the first frog had faded. I guess it had finally succumbed to its wound. ¡°Hello?¡± I ducked down as I spoke, just in case. Nothing. Either crashing into the boulder had done more than I¡¯d expected, or the frog had finally gotten clever. Could I afford to wait? If the frog was lulling me into a false sense of complacency waiting would be fatal. I¡¯d seen not only the speed and range of the creature¡¯s tongues, but also the crushed pile of refuse one of them had vomited up. ¡°Eaten by Frog¡± might fit on a tombstone, but it was far more embarrassing. I flattened to the ground and reached about blindly in the dark until my hand grasped one of the empty bottles. I lobbed it as hard as I could back behind the frog. *crash* A tinkling in the dark. Nothing. Okay then. Still flat against the ground I silently backed away from the boulder until my toe ran into a wall. Then I slowly crept clockwise along the wall away from the boulder. I¡¯d noticed a door out of the corner of my eye when I¡¯d been looking for a weapon. It was stuck naturally. Gentle probing revealed it to be made of flimsy wood. I could easily break it down given the opportunity. But that would assuredly alert the frog. Although... My other sounds hadn¡¯t. I knew frogs needed their eyes to swallow, perhaps they needed them to hear as well? I¡¯d not spent much time observing frogs. You never knew which knowledge would become useful. I took a deep breath and readied my courage. Only one way to find out. The door screeched forward from my kick, stopped, and then popped open when I kicked it again. I dove through the doorway, expecting at any moment for a tongue to wrap about my ankle and reel me back in, but nothing happened. I landed in an undignified heap in the next room, blinking in the dim light. Light? ¡°Who dares our halls?¡± I scrambled to my feet and necked about like a chicken. Seven grey figures stood before me. They were short. Their bodies were shrivelled, like their skin had shrunk about them. Their muscles and tendons strained painful against their skin, sliding visibly as they rocked where they stood. It might be a case of the pot calling the kettle black, but if not for the fact that they were standing, I¡¯d have thought them corpses. Strangest of all was their heads. Still corpse-like, with patchy bristles fallen out and broken tusks, but clearly not human. More like a boar or a pig. Orcneas. Corpses. ¡°Speak, manling, why should we not devour your soul?¡± The creature¡¯s voice was dry and scratchy, like it hadn¡¯t had water in quite some time. I could sympathize. Strangely, it quavered somewhat, as if it was afraid. ¡°I am Oswic, Magi of the Sacred Order, Wise Man of Blackbridge, The Starcaller of Dawn, Master of Twilight, Voice of the Storm, Speaker on the Wind, and Five Time Hoopstone Champion of Ravenhold. Who do I address?¡± The orcneas second from my left spoke once more, ¡°I am Mannelig, Victor of Seven Battles, Rower of the Rogue Wave, Hunter Unseen, Mast Bearer, Hero of Essibrekkr, and Warden of Hell.¡± I whistled. Those were no small titles. It ¨C he, I supposed ¨C continued, ¡°Why have you come here, Magi? This is the realm of death. This is the realm of the orcs.¡± ¡°Realm of orcs no longer, Warden. Warlocks rule these dungeons now.¡± The boar¡¯s nostrils rattled. I realized Mannelig was trying to snort, ¡°Warlocks sit on this ancient land and claim it for their own, but still we remain. Pretenders. As long as a people live, the land cannot be taken from them.¡± ¡°Why do you let the warlocks live, then? Why do they let you live for that matter?¡± Mannelig snorted once more, his tusks unsheathing slightly, ¡°Soft hearts wielding deadly swords. We are not strong enough to drive them out. They are too weak to eradicate us. You understand the difference, Mage?¡± I thought I did. It did not raise the orcneas in my eyes. I nodded. ¡°Good. Now,¡± Mannelig drew a great sword from the sheath on his back, ¡°stop avoiding my question. Why are you here?¡± Some dark creatures could recognize a lie. Demons were attracted to sin after all. It didn¡¯t help them much. The truth was far more deceptive. ¡°I am a foe of the warlocks. They had me imprisoned here. I slew my captors and have been seeking a way out. Unfortunately it appears they severed the connections between reality itself to stop my escape.¡± The orcs began to laugh, dry hacking coughs mixed with the raspy squealing of pigs. It was the most horrific sound I¡¯d ever heard. Thankfully, they were laughing too hard to see my shudder. ¡°We sensed the change as well. You¡¯ll find no exit on these floors. None in the dungeon. You must go down. Down to the underworld. Only there can you be reborn.¡± ¡°You think the barrier will last that long? It might be faster to wait here until it falls.¡± ¡°You are ignorant for a mage. The barrier separates both space and time. It will last forever, for those within, until one passes beyond.¡± ¡°Will you offer me any sort of guidance then? I¡¯m sure you wish the barrier down as much as any other trapped here.¡± That set them off laughing again. Jerks. I didn¡¯t even know what they considered so funny. At my expression the lead orcneas lowered his sword. ¡°We have no quarrel with you mage. So long as you keep your distance.¡± He shifted. His joints squealing like dried leathers. ¡°We will not guide you. We are patient. The barrier will fall with or without you. But we will not hinder you. Go down. Down. The first exit is North of here.¡± I looked around. There was a clear lack of a glowing signs pointing to the cardinal directions. ¡°Do you have a compass then? Or some trick to determine the direction I must travel?¡± Mannelig shook his head. It creaked. ¡°You gain a sense for these thing. Or you are doomed to wander the halls forever.¡± He pointed to the wall directly to my left, the wall with the door I¡¯d come through, ¡°North. The dungeon itself may be your guide.¡± It was a start. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°Thank you for your assistance, Mannelig. I hope we continue to be allies in the future.¡± The boar¡¯s mouth warped into what might have been a grin. His tusks glimmered in the dim light of the room. (It came from several tall candle stands, I¡¯d noticed.) ¡°Go with fortune. Kill many warlocks. Do not return here.¡± I decided to push my luck, ¡°Could I trouble you for a candle or two? The dungeon is very dark.¡± His tusks were fully unsheathed now as he grinned/barred his teeth wider. ¡°You may. But you will owe us a favour.¡± He gestured. One of the other orcs reached into an alcove and withdrew a long candle, probably with twelve hours left on it still. It lit the candle on one of the others burning in the stand. The orcneas tensed as I stepped forward to accept the candle. ¡°Deal.¡± The Mushroom-King, the dark altar, and now the orcs. Perhaps all my obligations would cancel out in the end. I could only hope. The hell-corpses relaxed as I backed away with my prize. ¡°Until we meet again, Oswic.¡± Mannelig saluted me with his sword. I raised my flaming candle, ¡°Until we meet again, Hero of Essibrekkr.¡± I entered the frog room tensed, ready to flee, but the candle soon revealed what had happened.. The second frog was dead. Its skull had been caved in my the boulder when it had crashed into it. I cautiously moved toward the centre of the room until I found the first frog. It too lay in a pool of its own blood. Black, I noticed. Not frog-coloured. It had been too dark to tell before. I circled the room once to make sure there were no more hidden frogs, before returning to the cask and frog-pellet. I studied the skull I¡¯d seen poking out of the pellet earlier. It wasn¡¯t human. I couldn¡¯t quite figure it out. Maybe a moose, horse or a deer. Something with a long skull, anyway. I wondered when this had happened. Did the warlocks keep a stable? The hair was much the same. Brown, short, uninteresting, almost assuredly from the same animal. If there were bones in there they might be useful, but I couldn¡¯t see any, and I didn¡¯t feel like touching the pellet for now. The brown stains left by stomach acid and blood dissuaded me. I¡¯d check the cask first. Maybe I¡¯d find a pair of gloves. The lid was sealed tight. It had been hammered in place, not set. I pried it free with my claws. I¡¯d probably have been able to open the cask without them, but that, plus my newfound strength, guaranteed it. The smell of fish embraced me. Not rotting fish, or the disgusting algal smell of the quay. Gentle, salted, dried fish. The cask was stuffed full save for the last half foot. I was set for food as long as I could stand it. On top of the food were a smattering of belongings, some stacked or bundled on top of each other. It seemed a terrible place to store your stuff, but perhaps the owner hadn¡¯t had another choice. I began pulling the other items out and sorting them to take stock: A small ceramic bowl, filled with some sort of herbal poultice. It smelled like a mixture of yarrow, willow, tallow, honey, and a blend of lesser plants. Something for treating wounds. Beside it I found I pair of women¡¯s lacy undergarments, deep red in colour. Blushing, I put them aside. A woman¡¯s luggage then. Though I couldn¡¯t imagine she¡¯d been impressing anyone smelling of fish. Beneath the lace, frills, and embarrassment, was, of all things, an onion. My curiosity overcame me and I retrieved the tuttenseck. Fish and onions. I¡¯m sure she had the men lining up for her. A glass orb was next, followed by some seashells and a pair of dice. Next to them was a hammer and chisel and a piece of parchment bearing a list of names. My heart fluttered in excitement for a moment, but turning it over showed both sides were completely covered with writing. Still, I could potentially write on top of the other writing with the right coloured ink, or scrap off what was their if I found a knife. A necklace set with ivory beads lay beneath the parchment. As well as a scattering of crushed tulips. Finally, a small wood case containing a pair of spectacles was set on a pair of lace gloves next to a small whistle. Well, it certainly told a story. I had no idea what the story was, but it told one. It was more riches than I knew what to do with, and at the same time was mostly useless to me. The gloves didn¡¯t fit, I didn¡¯t need spectacles, and jewellery wasn¡¯t going to get me out of here. Unless... Unless it was. This was a warlock¡¯s stronghold after all. It stood to reason that these were a warlock¡¯s things. Perhaps the items were magical. I set the candle on the floor with a bit of wax, leaving it close enough to shed a little light. I had time after all. Probably best to wait until I had my spells back to continue exploring. Magic items typically only revealed themselves when worn or wielded for their purpose. For instance, a magic ring could not simply be used by holding it in your palm, it needed to be slipped onto your finger, sometimes it even needed to be the correct finger. I slipped the necklace over my head. Placed the spectacles on the bridge of my nose. Nothing. The gloves I jammed on as best I could, which resulted in my claws slicing through the fabric. Still nothing. Not sure what to do with the glass orb, I held it between my hands and stared deeply into it¡¯s depths. It was heavier than I expected. Clearer too. Small rainbow lights refracted through it from the candle in... crystalline patterns. It was magical (at least, as far as I could tell), but it was worth a fortune. This wasn¡¯t made of glass at all, but a giant polished crystal. I wished I could take it with me, but I couldn¡¯t justify it, even to my self. I set the crystal ball aside and picked up the tuttenseck with a sigh. It was just clothes. And it could be my way out of here. Despite that reassurance to myself, I made sure that the door to the orcneas room had been closed behind me before putting it over my neck. The last thing I need was to hear them laughing again. I managed to lace it up behind my back after several minutes of fumbling. My arms ached from the awkward position, these things were never going to catch on. I sat their for a few moments feeling like a fool before deciding that nothing was going to happen. I removed the tuttenseck and picked up the other undergarments, a pair of pants. I slipped them on as best I could without tearing them. Again, nothing. Off they went. That left the flowers, the poultice, the seashells, the parchment, the dice, the hammer and chisel, and the fish. No onion I¡¯d ever heard of was magical and I wasn¡¯t about to blow a whistle in a dungeon full of roving wild creatures. The dice were easy enough. I gave them a few quick rolls, but nothing happened. I drove the chisel into the flagstones, which made far more noise than I¡¯d expected, but otherwise produced no further results, good or bad. I took a small nibble of the fish, which if anything made me more hungry as I became aware of my hunger, but I dared not eat a whole steak. Without a source of water the salt might kill me. The poultice I dabbed onto both the wounds on my arms. Magic or not, it might save me from an infection. The seashells and flowers were a bit trickier. Given that they had most likely belonged to a woman, I settled for scattering them about me, and putting a few in my hair, to no results. The piece of parchment was even worse. The only things I could think of doing were writing on it, or reading it. ¡°William Blake, 250cp, Jan 7. Erwin Townsend, 15sp, Aug 23. Thomas Cooper, 135sp, July 7. Ted Smith, 67cp, Jun 4. ...¡± It wasn¡¯t the most magical incantation I¡¯d ever read. I finished the list with no results. Well, disappointing, but not unexpected. Even among warlocks, magical items were rare. It had been worth a try. Under other circumstances the discovery of the crystal orb would have been worth it alone. I still had one more avenue to explore. The frog pellet might contain bones I could fashion into a tool, or at least a stick to prod disgusting things with at a distance. Like a frog pellet, for example. I dug through the pellet with the remains of the woman¡¯s gloves. Unfortunately the thing I¡¯d been looking for ¨C bones ¨C seemed to have been completely digested by the frog. There was, however, a greater prize than I could have imagined. A journal. It was bloody, and someone had already written in it, but only the first fifth or so was truly marred. The rest of the book was mine. I had my spell book. I flipped through the journal, seeing if the previous owner had written anything of note. Unfortunately it was in Dusk Speak, a language I recognized but did not speak. As I flipped through the journal whispers rose in my mind unbidden. Louder and louder until finally a voice shrieked in my ear. Spawning Cauldron Was that a warning about how the frogs had been created or a new spell? Maybe it was both. Seeing as I didn¡¯t have a cauldron, and didn¡¯t need more frogs in my life, I¡¯d not be finding out. Now that I had two spells I could feel a sort of sickness in my mind. The whispers seemed a little louder than before. A little more chaotic. A little more warped. Reality seemed thinner, as if it could change at any moment. Dark magic at work? I knew it was inimical to natural order. That greater build up I felt in this dungeon had to come from somewhere. Unless... Perhaps reality was not what it seemed. Perhaps the natural order of things was constant change. It made sense. Nothing was the same from day to day. No waters flowed through the same stream twice. No tree stopped growing. No animal didn¡¯t collect scars. No human didn¡¯t grow old. The idea of natural order as a constant, as unchanging, it was stifling; arrogant. Who was I do declare things could not change, simply because it made my study of them more difficult? If there were constants they were the exception, not the rule. I¡¯d have to be careful not to allow me need for false order to stifle my observation of the world as it was in the future. Who knew what I had already missed? Still... I shouldn¡¯t be hasty to leap from arrogance to arrogance. Just because my teacher¡¯s had been blinded by their need for order, did not mean the warlocks were right. They were called warlocks, after all: Oath breakers. Not all who used dark magic were warlocks, but they were all equally as disreputable. I¡¯d still need to exercise caution in my reliance on the spells. I was now left with a dilemma. Two of them, actually. A didilemma, if you will. My candle would not last forever. I could extinguish it, but I had no means of relighting it. I could take advantage of its light now, when I didn¡¯t have any spells, or wait until dawn to continue exploring, and be limited to a single hour of light. I needed to take into consideration as well my need for water. If I waited here I wouldn¡¯t find any. I wasn¡¯t above drinking the frog¡¯s blood for satiation, if I didn¡¯t suspect it to be highly poisonous. Many frogs were. Even the possibility was too dangerous. I¡¯d had water this morning, so my need wasn¡¯t desperate, but going without was far from pleasant. Secondly was this cache. The cask had held treasures beyond my wildest dreams, and this book was the first major step I¡¯d made in advancing my magic since I¡¯d broken free from my chains. The problem was, I couldn¡¯t carry them all with me. Not without a spell. If I didn¡¯t take advantage of the candle now I¡¯d be wasting my new spells on light, not on lifting things. If it wasn¡¯t for the reality warping nature of this place I wouldn¡¯t concern myself, I could just return here when I became hungry, but I¡¯d already seen how the rooms could shift and move. Teleport swam in front of my eyes. I¡¯d become adept at ignoring the rune. However... I still had it. The risk from Teleport was there, but it was low. I¡¯d only had a mind rune go wrong once in nearly twenty casts. And the risk of stumbling across such a deadly trap as the ice fog seemed fairly low as well. I¡¯d found perhaps one every other day. I¡¯d take my candle and explore a little, if only to map out what I could before the dungeon or myself were moved again. I returned the items to the cask and hammered the lid back into place as best I could. The orcneas had said to go north, so north I went. Thankfully, there was a door set in the north wall of the frog room. Iron, and stuck fast in its frame, but nothing I couldn¡¯t pull free. My view was immediately obscured by a pile of rubble. It didn¡¯t fully block my entry, but I had to scramble over it to view the rest of the room. There was a hiss. This room glowed without my candlelight. There, in the centre of the room, was a shimmering red beetle. VI - The Return I had thought it was the light reflecting off its ruby carapace which had made it appear to glow, but now I saw that something deep within the beetle itself also gave off a gentle light. The beetle hissed at me again and scuttle backwards to the far door, the one the Mushroom-King had sealed with dirt. I guess it remembered me too. I hurried over to the archway to my right. The stream could be right nearby. Or the dungeon could have shifted. Or a pack of poisonous sea serpents could have moved in to defend it. But if they hadn¡¯t... No. I couldn¡¯t get my hopes up. I dared not, it would crush me. I hadn¡¯t paid much attention to this room on my first time through. The hunger pain and thirst had been distracting me. Now, with the darkness closing in around my candle on all sides, I didn¡¯t spare it much more than a glance to make sure it was indeed statues I saw in the dark and not corpses. I couldn¡¯t see most of the room from my candle¡¯s dim illumination anyway, even with my newly improved eyesight. I hurried through the wooden door which was located (as I now knew) in the south wall, and down the corridor beyond. My feet slowed as I reached the intersection. I¡¯d forgotten about that. Did I go left or right? Seeing as the right-hand path had never failed to fail me, I took the left. It turned to my left once more almost immediately, which I took as a good sign. I vaguely remembered it doing something like that. Voices greeted me. Not just one or two, a whole crowd. It sounded like a tavern. I peered around the corner cautiously. Though my candlelight would probably give me away, I could at least prepare to flee in a hurry. The unnatural darkness was finally gone. Nine people, six men, three women, were splayed about at the end of the corridor outside my cell. They wore the same uniform as the mercenaries who had capture me, though theirs were in far worse repair. Shattered stone! Despite my resolution my hopes had been high, and now they were plummeting. To make matters worse, they saw me. Mine was the only source of light in the corridor. ¡°Heaven forfend! A demon!¡± I pulled back quickly, but when they gave no signs of chase I paused, listening. ¡°You saw it too? I thought I was going mad.¡± ¡°Did you see its sunken skin, its glowing red eyes? The warlocks said orcs walked these halls.¡± Glowing red eyes? That explained my night vision, I supposed. Hopefully it was just the reflection from my candlelight. ¡°Its hair alone was a horror. Like a storm cloud or great smoking fire about its head.¡± Ouch. These people were doing wonders for my confidence. ¡°And its clawed hand? Did you see that as it gripped the stone like spider? Scrabbling like a rat?¡± Okay that was enough. I stepped back around the corner. ¡°Are you through? Or would like to mock my nakedness as well?¡± ¡°Come no closer demon!¡± called one, raising his sword weakly even as one of the women replied, ¡°It¡¯s too dim to tell. Can you move your candle down a little?¡± I blushed and retreated further into the shadows. Thank the heavens the tuttenseck hadn¡¯t been magical. I¡¯d have died of embarrassment so hard even the Mushroom-King wouldn¡¯t be able to bring me back. ¡°I have no quarrel with you. I merely come seeking water.¡± One of the men laughed, ¡°You want to join us in our madness? Feel free.¡± Another stirred angrily, also raising a sword. It swayed, ¡°No he¡¯s not. Strict no demon policy here. One step closer and I¡¯ll run you through.¡± ¡°Run him through? You don¡¯t run demon¡¯s through. You... you... you run from them. Yeah. You run.¡± One of the other woman spoke, ¡°We ain¡¯t running. We can barely stand. We¡¯ll have to fight. Which one of you was the warlock again?¡± ¡°Dave¡¯s the warlock.¡± A new man, presumably Dave, spoke, ¡°I am not a warlock. I was a warlock yesterday. Today, I am a king.¡± ¡°Right. Right... So... we don¡¯t have a warlock anymore?¡± Something was off here. Very off. All of them were either slumped over on the floor or leaning against the wall. ¡°Are you guys alright?¡± The second woman spoke again, ¡°Getting hungry demon? Don¡¯t even have the patience to let us live our last days in peace?¡± Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. ¡°What happened to you? I know something of healing. Perhaps I can help.¡± ¡°Nice try. I know the stories. Never accept a demon¡¯s help. The price is always your soul.¡± ¡°How can I convince you I¡¯m not a demon. I¡¯m human just like you.¡± She began to laugh, ¡°Human? Human? Me? We may both be men, but I am the king of the faeries. I can sense demons.¡± I could just kill them. The thought rose quickly. I didn¡¯t smother it right away. There was nine of them, true, but they were all nearly helpless. They were guarding the only source of water I¡¯d found in this dungeon, and they had a large amount of gear on them. I wouldn¡¯t need to rely on my spells so much if I had a sword. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. There were other avenues I could explore first. They were clearly mad. I could play into their madness. ¡°I apologize, your majesty. I didn¡¯t recognize you in the dark. In truth my demonic appearance is a curse and am seeking one wise and pure of heart to break it. If you cannot lift my curse, may I at least sip from this water of your before I go on my way?¡± ¡°Do you take me for a madman?¡± asked the king of the faeries. She drew a sword as well. Lot of swords here, I guess spears were a pain to navigate through these halls. ¡°No, not at all. Madmen would not have your... natural beauty,¡± I answered truthfully. Madmen were not madwomen, and she was quite beautiful in the dark. What I could see of her, anyway. ¡°Hmph,¡± she demurred, ¡°There is some truth in that at least. But we have no use for flatterers here. This is your last warning, begone!¡± She brandished her sword limply at me. That was quite enough. I strode forward several steps and drew myself to my full, entirely unimpressive, height. ¡°Do not mistake my compassion for weakness!¡± She shrank back from me, sword wilting. ¡°f¨¤g!¡± I gestured and cast Push as I spoke. The Language of the Gods was rare enough I doubted they understood me, which was the point. The sword flew from her limp fingers and pinned itself against the ceiling. She retreated, pressing herself against the far wall. Her companions rose unsteadily. ¡°thusa cuideachd¡± I gestured again along with casting PushII pinning the other king¡¯s weapon to his chest. It cut a furrow across his chin, and he too fell back, sword in pursuit until it had him pressed against the wall, desperately pushing with his glove to keep it from his neck. ¡°Drop your weapons. Nise!¡± The weapons clattered to the floor. ¡°Good.¡± I ended my Push spell and caught the blade as it fell from the ceiling. Blind me, I¡¯m good. I crouched, sword still at the ready, and scooped water into my mouth with my other hand. I stood. ¡°Now, any of you have a waterskin?¡± They all nodded except for the guy pinned to the wall. Guess he¡¯d forgotten his at home, poor man. ¡°Toss them here.¡± I grabbed four of them at random and filled them. They were going to be a pain to carry without a belt but ¨C Far be it from me to wear another man¡¯s dirty pants, but the only clean pair I had access to smelled of fish and was several decidedly important sizes too small. ¡°You,¡± I pointed my sword at one of the men who was about my height, ¡°give me your clothes, all of them.¡± Apparently, that was a step too far, for he rallied and lifted his own weapon once more, ¡°Get your own clothes.¡± I raised an eyebrow at him, though the effect was probably lost in the dark. I tilted my head towards the man still struggling to keep the sword from his neck. ¡°You want his death on your hands? Or do you want to do as I say and I¡¯ll end the spell as soon as I leave here. If you hurry, he even might not be tired before then.¡± The man glared at me a moment before stripping down into his underclothes and tossing the rest to me. I¡¯m pretty sure he aimed for the water, the jerk. I might have demanded the smallclothes too if it wasn¡¯t for my skin¡¯s newfound resilience. I could probably wear the armour by itself if I wanted to. I pulled on the trousers, tunic, belt and gambeson quickly, juggling my sword back and forth as I did so and keeping an eye on my hostages. The belt still had a dagger attached, which was a massive boon. Unbelievably, his boots fit as well. It was truly my lucky day. I filled another waterskin and strapped all five to my belt. I¡¯d leave them the other three, plus the one still attached to the man struggling against his sword with them. They might need to journey away from the spring at some point as well. Plus the weight of five was already awkward enough to manage. Anymore and I¡¯d waddle. Not wanting to push my luck, I left them without another word and retreated back to my stash of fish. Thankfully, the path was unchanged, and the ruby beetle still avoided me. It was only when I¡¯d got back to the stash some minutes later that I remembered the PushII spell. Hopefully the others had pulled the sword away from him once I¡¯d left. I ended the spell anyway to keep my side of the bargain. I set my candle down in the pool of wax I¡¯d made for it previously and pried the lid off my cask. The smell of fish made my mouth water. I didn¡¯t even like fish. The fish was hard, and I chewed slowly ¨C my jaws were stiff ¨C which was the only thing which paced down. I devoured bite after bite of the salty fish and washed them down with great gulps of water. A feast. I leaned back against the wall opposite my boulder with a sigh of contentment. My stomach hurt ¨C I felt a little sick, actually ¨C but I was completely satiated for the first time in over a week. Even whatever the Mushroom-King had truly doused my hunger. It wasn¡¯t enough to have all your nutrients supplied to you artificially, you had to eat. I¡¯d thought I would die here since I first woke in the prison. For the first time, I wasn¡¯t so sure. Cruel guards, the warlock, my injuries, hunger and thirst, I¡¯d somehow overcome them all. Stress I didn¡¯t know I¡¯d been carrying left me. I settled against the wall, allowing a grin to slowly spread across my face. I was safe. Before I knew it, sleep claimed me. VII - The Demon in the Mirror I woke with the dawn. My bladder and bowels were both making their demands heard to me and I didn¡¯t have a Mushroom-King to magic them away this time. I didn¡¯t really want to squat down in front of the beetle, and I doubted the orcneas would appreciate it either, even if they hadn¡¯t told me not to return. The way I¡¯d come in was still barred to me, and without light I couldn¡¯t be sure of other exits. The room was large. I¡¯d have to settle for doing my business on the far side of it. I fumbled about for the ledger of names to clean myself and then began to circle the room to the far corner to do my business. After just a few steps I had a thought and hurried back to the cask. Giddy Flames The jack-o¡¯-lanterns rose around me. By their light I hastily grabbed my new spell book and then stood there, hopping about and grimacing. I needed ink. I needed ink. I was going to explod- my eyes fell on the puddle of wax where the candle had been. I quickly levered the whole thing up with my new dagger and then sent my lights flying ahead of me to the far corner of the room. I began waddling after them, but it was rapidly becoming obvious I wouldn¡¯t make it. I threw with wax and journal with a PushII behind them to the corner. Safe Teleport Free from my trousers, I caught my items as they came skidding towards me. I dispelled the PushII, squatted, and raised wax and parchment. Eliminate: Nightsoil is teleported from inside the caster to the ground beneath them over the course of 1 minute. It took the ledger, a sheet from my journal, the woman¡¯s red pants, and half a waterskin to clean myself. That¡¯s what I got for leaving it for an hour, but it was worth it. To the non-trapped-in-a-dungeon, the spell might seem a frivolous waste (heh) of time, but down here it could save my life. Infection and disease were real threats, as was the sheer vulnerability caused by a need to squat down with trousers about my ankles. I ran my fingers over the transparent wax which made up the spell. I couldn¡¯t read the spell, but on the plus side I could very easily feel it. It was possible to cast spells written in ink in the dark, but it was a pain. Breakfast was more fish in the dark. I could have perhaps added some of the onion, but I wasn¡¯t really keen on eating it raw. It was a shame I didn¡¯t have a fire spell, but my candle had burned itself out while I¡¯d slept. I could have extinguished it, but then I wouldn¡¯t have been able to light it anyway. Looking back, it would have made more sense to record the heat of the torches rather than the light, but recriminating myself was just another way of trying to avoid responsibility. What was done was done, and I¡¯d have to live with it. I settled in back against the wall. The dead frogs were starting to smell. I might need to get rid of them if I could. Hopefully there were no flies in the dungeon. While food and water were easy I wanted to stay here and improve upon my spells. The spellbook would help too. It would be easy to grow bored here, but it was amazing what security after a week of deprivation did to you. The contentment would last me through. That and planning my next day¡¯s spells. And if all else failed I could lose myself in my... *** The sun rose. I¡¯d planned for the next day to go much the same, but after I cast Giddy Flame to guide me to my latrine, the rune vanished from my arm. Thankfully I had my spellbook on me as I¡¯d been planning to upgrade Eliminate. I cast Eliminate while sprinting over to the corner and cast Push on the spell for good measure, just in case. With my toilet underway to be taken care of (it was weird for me as well) I set about recording my jack-o¡¯-lanterns before they disappeared. Will-o¡¯-Wisp: Two large glowing masses, bright as candles, slowly fade over the course of an hour. They move following the whims of their master. I immediately cast my new spell to light my path back to my cask. Only one spell carved into my body now, and Safe Teleport barely counted. It was more of a scratch than any sort of serious injury. So far it appeared only spells written in such a way disappeared, which meant I¡¯d want to make a copy of Safe Teleport in my spellbook as soon as possible. If any spell could disappear... I¡¯d be here for a long time backing up spells. I wanted to move the frogs before they became problem, especially the one pressed against my boulder. If I had time, I could even make a spell to mop up the blood, but that was seeming less and likely. I ate breakfast and then circled round to assess the dead frog. It was huge, probably three or four hundred pounds if not more. I might be able to move it on my own given my new strength, but I wasn¡¯t about to touch the thing. Bright green wasn¡¯t as dangerous a colour as yellow or red, but it was unnatural enough to warrant caution. I didn¡¯t have much hope, but without anything else to do I cast PushII and PushIII. The frog rolled over from the uneven force and began to slowly slide away from the boulder. It didn¡¯t make it to the other end of the room, but by the time the spell ran out it was next to its partner. It was a start. I decided to properly explore my room (it was mine now, not the frogs¡¯) before my light ran out. I¡¯d been here for two or three days now and I¡¯d never had the chance. The pile of glass bottles I¡¯d seen before. They could have been very useful under the right circumstances, but with my new waterskins I didn¡¯t have a need for them. The one I shared with the orcneas ¨C the one they claimed was South ¨C had writing on it. I¡¯d not noticed it before. It was somehow both jagged and looping, and every sentence ended (or began?) with a burst of fire. I had no idea what it said, nor even a notion as to what the language was. Given the long history of Bleak Fort it could have been anything written by anyone. More interesting to me was the room¡¯s fourth exit. I¡¯d already been through the other three, but I hadn¡¯t even known this one existed. It was actually near my latrine, only twenty feet away, but sunken in the wall as it was, and distracted as I¡¯d been, I hadn¡¯t noticed. It was stuck (as expected at this point), but not so stuck that my first kick didn¡¯t pop it open. My will-o¡¯-wisps flew in ahead of me to scout the room. Blood was splattered on the walls and floor, something black still dripped from the ceiling. I looked up, not wanting to see. Sure enough, there were corpses impaled on the ceiling; I¡¯d been here before. I back away from the entrance and pulled the door shut behind me. In a way, it was a relief. If all the paths from the corpse room led back towards it, it meant that the whole section of dungeon to my west was a dead end. I¡¯d been worried I¡¯d need to eventually explore through the spike room and beyond. It did mean I had absolutely no idea where to go next, but there was options. The entire statue room past the beetle, for one thing. Breaking down a few of the doors which had stopped me before was another option. For the time being I was content to sit and idly stuff fish into my mouth. I¡¯d survived my deprivation of the past week, but that didn¡¯t mean I¡¯d fully recovered from it. My body was demanding rest and relaxation. As my lights went out, I acquiesced. *** The next day was uneventful. I mostly spent it finishing what I¡¯d started the day before. I pushed one of the frogs to the far wall with my spells and recorded a new Safe TeleportII spell in my spellbook by sprinting about the room. It was slow going for a day¡¯s work, but I had plenty of fish and water, I could be patient. If I waited long enough, the guards would eventually be forced to move on from the stream or die. Either would give me free access to it. I found ¨C somewhat to my surprise ¨C that I didn¡¯t really care either way. *** I¡¯d decided I needed a second light spell. In many ways, a stronger push spell was more important, but if there was any chance I could lose spells from my spellbook I needed a backup. Force spells I could create from the ground up, light spells were far less accessible. As the sun rose, however, my plans were interrupted. The dark whispers of dark magic were back. They bubble and roiled. Ebbed and flowed. A thousand voices murmured at once. One rose above them all, louder and louder until it became an ear-splitting screech. The screech grew in noise and intensity as the seconds passed until I forced to my hands and knees, hands covering my head. Abruptly, it ended, leaving behind only gentle sussurations. Hindering Claw That made even less sense than the last two. No wonder warlocks were insane. That and the screaming. I was finding it harder and harder to believe dark magic was natural. Still, I had to remember that simply because something was out of my experience didn¡¯t mean it was outside the nature of things. Most were surprised to learn of fire bodies, pyrosomes, the giant glowing worms of the sea, and yet they were in harmony with the rest of creation. Creation whose imagination was far greater than our own. I rocked back into a sitting position. I could still feel the other dark magic spells tickling at the back of my mind, waiting to be cast. Was this how warlocks gained their power? Storing up an endless well of magic to draw upon? It was more versatile than I expected, but also much slower. Less useful as well. No wonder the warlock¡¯s actions had seemed mostly random when I¡¯d tore his throat out, he didn¡¯t have the right spell stored up. Almost made me feel sorry for him. Almost. I summoned my light, did my toilet, and pushed the other frog to the wall without incident. My new Will-o¡¯-WispII spell might have been a minute or two shorter for it, but I¡¯d still nearly doubled my options while further cleaning up my room. I could continue exploring further, but with only a handful of spells at my disposal I didn¡¯t think it was worth risking antagonizing the ruby beetle. *** Dawn broke. Under the light of Will-o¡¯-Wisp I combined Eliminate and Push much like I had two days prior. EliminateII: Nightsoil is teleported from inside the caster over a distance of 70ft over the course of 1 minute. Not only did my new spell provide me a much needed backup, it also worked at range, which meant I¡¯d have to do far less stumbling through the dark. Just because I hadn¡¯t found any traps in my room, didn¡¯t mean there weren¡¯t any. Additionally, my spellcraft left me with plenty of spells for exploring. I was starting to get restless. My belt had come with a single pouch, which I used to store the hammer and chisel. I looped the whistle around my neck. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d have much use for either, but they were easy enough to carry. The whistle might still even be magical. North then. I entered the beetle¡¯s room cautiously. It was gone. I sent my will-o¡¯-wisps dancing around the room to be sure and found no sign of it. It made sense. A creature of its size must need quite a bit of food. I was surprised whatever moss or insects or whatever it ate in this room had sustained it for so long. I wondered how it got around the dungeon. Could it open doors? The image of a giant beetle on its rear legs fiddling with the same locked and stuck doors I¡¯d dealt with flashed through my mind. I shuddered. Hopefully it could just teleport or something. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. The statue revealed few new details under the dim light of my jack-o¡¯-lanterns. A number of doors near the north end, a tapestry on the north-east corner of the room, and the words ¡°Stay right¡± scrawled in a shaky hand on the north wall. The statues themselves were of interest. I didn¡¯t grasp the pattern at first, but as I moved through the room I realized they were all female, and all headless. Studying what heads remained intact on the floor, as well as the women¡¯s clothing or (occasionally) lack thereof, I began to realize that they were all female rulers, or the wives of rulers. In fact, as I wended further north, I began recognizing multiple rulers in a row who had served directly after one another. And not always in the same kingdom. I stopped and surveyed the room once more. If my guess was correct, this room contained a record of every single female ruler who¡¯d ever existed, going back in chronological order for thousands of years. It was unbelievably valuable. I noticed my hands and jaw clenching and forcibly relaxed them. The warlocks had had this enormous treasure for who knows how long, and they¡¯d squandered it. Let it fall to ruin. Probably desecrate the statues themselves given the uniformity of the destruction. If I ever got out of here I was leading an expedition against Bleak Fort. Perhaps a horde of curious archaeologists would succeed where armies had failed. It was a nice thought, anyway. The tapestry was dull and faded, I could just make out some sort of pastoral scene. At one point it might have pulled the room together, but now it just looked dull. It was also incredibly suspicious, especially combined with the instructions to stay right. I pulled it from the wall, keenly aware of my hypocrisy. Sure enough, a small wooden door was set in the wall behind it, raised a few feet off the ground. It was locked, but the wood was flimsy enough I was able to batter it down easily with my hammer. Despite the constant wailing and moan about me, I¡¯d grown fairly blithe about making noise in the dungeon, it didn¡¯t seem to attract any notice. Or what heard me didn¡¯t care. Either way, I was vindicated when nothing came to eat my face after hearing all the splintering and crashing. The door had concealed a short tunnel leading into a massive circular chamber, with a large raised pool of water in the centre. Despite the pool not containing any noticeable aeration, it was crystal clear, completely free from moss and algae. That was suspicious. Poison? Or had the warlocks found a way to enchant a reservoir? On the off-chance it was harmless it was good to have a back up in case I lost access to the stream. My lights winked out. I¡¯d spent more time studying the statues than I¡¯d thought. Will-o¡¯-WispII Besides the pool the room was empty. Just a rusted old axe in the corner and not much else. I looped it through my belt anyway. A sword might be more convenient in close corridors, but an axe could get me through the more stubborn doors. Speaking of doors, the room had two of them (not including the one I¡¯d smashed) and an empty archway to what I thought was the north. It was harder to tell in a round room if everything was arranged cardinally or not. I stepped cautiously through the archway, sword and spells at the ready. A demon with red glowing eyes stepped out of the shadows. Its face was gaunt and its long white hair billowed about it in a mad halo. I leapt back, sword at the ready, but the demon was content to stand there, neither retreating nor pressing the attack. ¡°What is the matter, Oswic? Afraid of your own shadow?¡± I knew that voice. Deep and menacing. Melodious and cruel. It was my own. ¡°Who are you? What are you.¡± ¡°Come closer, Oswic. All will be made clear.¡± The demon¡¯s eyes flared in the dark. Despite my better judgment my curiosity overcame me. I approached slowly, not lowering my sword. The demon had a sword also, I noticed, clutched in its clawed hands. ¡°Yes, that¡¯s it. Just a little closer.¡± Strangely, the words which would have sent me running if they¡¯d come from the mouth of an eight year old girl in a field of flowers did not disturb me here. They felt natural coming from a demon. I stopped just a few feet away from the demon and studied it. In turn, the demon bared its teeth at me with a grin. In spite of the rest of its appearance they were completely normal. ¡°Like what you see?¡± ¡°No.¡± I answered truthfully. ¡°That¡¯s a shame,¡± it stretched out a hand towards me, stopping midway and pressing flat against the air, ¡°What would your mother think?¡± My mother? What did she have to do with anything? Lights appeared beside the demon. Two of them. They were identical to my own will-o¡¯-wisps, but I couldn¡¯t control them, and the light they cast was strange. Muted. They flew away from it at a diagonal to one another and illuminated an intricate scrollwork metal frame which lay between myself and the demon. As the jack-o¡¯-lanterns touched the corners their light refracted, multiplied and bent, as if... My mother. It all made sense now. Perhaps I¡¯d been a little slow on the uptake. The demon laughed, ¡°Have you figured it out yet, Oswic?¡± It shifted, matching my stance, moving with my moves. I walked over to it and pressed my hand against its own. The silver was covered in smooth glass, but glass of such quality I couldn¡¯t see the faintest warp or distortion. I couldn¡¯t even tell where it ended and the silver began. I was looking at a monster. I was looking at myself. My face ¨C the one in the mirror, not my own ¨C turned into a frown. Pitying. ¡°How can you love one who doesn¡¯t love themselves? What other option do you have? To live among the monsters?¡± Its appearance changed. Its waist shrunk, it hips and chest expanded. Its face shrunk. It even somehow lost a few inches in height while still managing to mirror me. ¡°Love yourself, as all men should, or there will be no escape in freedom. Love me, Oswic. It¡¯s not so bad. Love me and love yourself.¡± I leapt back from the mirror. She did so as well, copying my actions with a slight mocking bounce. I drew my lights back to examine myself, but I was unchanged. She copied me, running her hands slowly over her body with a gentle smile. Emotion roared through me suddenly. Unprecedented. Unexpected. Anger, fear, disgust, longing, desperation... envy? Despite her shared deformity; her molten eyes, her white and wild hair, her long claws; there was something about her. Men would still desire her, still worship her. She would not feel the hollow bite of loneliness. Even in her imperfection, she was perfect. I lurched forward. I wanted that power for myself. I needed it. To be alone, but not just alone; to be feared if I ever left this place. Better to die forgotten in these dungeons. I pressed my hand against the glass, filled with a profound emptiness. There she was, just out of reach. She no longer seemed to notice me, growing more distant the harder I stared at her, growing more indistinct the more I focused. I was losing her. Only her beauty remained. I needed her. Needed her to be whole. I fell to my knees, painfully aware of how pathetic I looked. Perhaps... perhaps pathetic would be enough. Perhaps it would be what it took. Better to be pitied than ignored. Right? Whatever it took. ¡°Please,¡± I begged, ¡°Please.¡± I didn¡¯t know what I wanted. Didn¡¯t dare ask myself. Didn¡¯t dare know. She titled her head. ¡°Please what?¡± she laughed. ¡°I... just-don¡¯t go. I need-,¡± No. Too desperate. Nothing drove people away more than being needy. I¡¯d have to choose my word carefully, ¡°You¡¯re so beautiful.¡± She beamed, ¡°Thank you, that¡¯s very kind.¡± Light filled me, buoyed my soul... left me empty. That wasn¡¯t what I¡¯d meant. I¡¯d meant... why didn¡¯t she understand? I¡¯d have to be more direct. Courage, Oswic. ¡°I want... I want to,¡± to love you? To love myself? She¡¯d said it first, but it seemed so stupid coming from my mouth, ¡°What I meant was, please, let¡¯s sit by one another. For a little while.¡± She walked over and sat ¨C cross legged ¨C on the stone floor next to me. ¡°I¡¯d love to. It gets boring down here.¡± Boring. Not lonely. I doubt she was ever truly alone. How could you be when you were loved? I caught myself smiling stupidly at her and quickly stopped. I looked like a fool. She didn¡¯t seem to mind though, and returned my smile easily. She did everything easily, I noticed. Even the way she sat was relaxed; confident and sure. I felt stiff and awkward next to her. She continued to stare at me expectantly. Stars and shattered stone. My mind was blank. Except for the rune- not now! I wrenched my thoughts away. I needed to say something, anything. ¡°Your hair is nice.¡± She titled her head at me, bemused. Had I said too much? Too little? ¡°I mean, in comparison to my own, you know? The acid scorched mine, but... I¡¯ll need to shave it off. Need to shave my hair off, not yours.¡± ¡°Thanks? I think?¡± she laughed, ¡°I¡¯m sure yours will grow back fine.¡± I mentally shook myself. She was a reflection in a mirror. I was her, she was me. I couldn¡¯t mess this up. Literally, I couldn¡¯t. As long as I sat here, she would remain. Although... hadn¡¯t she moved away before? If she was a reflection she was a strange one. She was female, for one. Somehow I found that harder to accept than the whole moving slightly out sync thing. ¡°Why do you look like me?¡± I allowed myself a grin, ¡°only less ugly?¡± ¡°It¡¯s the silver. Silver is the metal of-¡± ¡°The metal of truth,¡± I interrupted. I¡¯d heard that before, ¡°I¡¯ve heard of the association. But it still doesn¡¯t explain,¡± I gestured vaguely at her, ¡°All this.¡± Did she look annoyed by my interruption? Perhaps I¡¯d been to hasty to show off my knowledge, but no, the smile was back on her face. ¡°A normal mirror shows your image. This mirror shows you as you are.¡± I frowned and looked down again at my body. I poked and prodded, but as far as I could tell, I¡¯d remained unchanged, ¡°Are you sure about that? I don¡¯t think I¡¯d pull off a dress half as well as you. I¡¯ve been dieting for days, but I just don¡¯t have your figure.¡± She laughed, ¡°Oh I don¡¯t know. I bet you¡¯d look cute in a dress. You¡¯ll never know if you don¡¯t try.¡± My grin returned, ¡°We should have a contest. See who does it best.¡± ¡°Now that would be a sight to see,¡± she tittered, ¡°But yes, the mirror shows you your potential. What you could be. What you should be. Alchemists created it to show the inner divine within us all.¡± ¡°If I changed clothes would you?¡± I ask curiously. ¡°I could try to find a dress for our contest. There appears to be noble lady down here. I already found a tuttenseck and some pants.¡± She raised an eyebrow, ¡°You really want to do this contest, huh?¡± My heart leapt into my mouth. Had I..? No... I¡¯d just been trying to keep us on track. It was hard to follow the conversation with her constantly changing topic. ¡°Well... I guess I could think about it. Don¡¯t know if I could stack up against the competition.¡± She winked at me and I laughed, half in amusement, half in relief. ¡°Just you wait,¡± I flexed my arms and lowered my voice, ¡°I can be very feminine.¡± She smiled, ¡°The alchemists would be delighted, that was one of the highest callings of their art after all.¡± I glanced about. She sure was going on about the alchemists. Perhaps... The scroll work about the mirror was beautiful. Whorled, mysterious, etched in arcane runes. It appeared very alchemist. But that was just it: appeared. No alchemists had made this mirror. Even as I realized this the frame darkened. I called my will-o¡¯-wisps to me, but I still couldn¡¯t make out the symbols, their light was dimming fast. Too fast. They died. An hour had passed in what felt like minutes. I looked back towards where I¡¯d last seen the demon in the mirror. ¡°Hello? You still there?¡± Nothing, not even the glow of her eyes. She was gone. Just a reflection after all. A feeling of embarrassment grew in me. What had I been doing? I¡¯d been acting like a teenager. Worse than one, really. As my mind cleared I realized she had lied. The demon had lied. I had lied. Mirrors didn¡¯t reflect you as you were. They reflected a distortion. Even the most perfect mirror was only an image, an object. No number of objects could represent a person¡¯s true self. I pulled my thoughts into the present. My lights had gone out. This was not a trivial problem. First, it meant time had moved faster while talking to her. Second, I was stranded away from my food and water. I could continue to explore without the light, but that greatly increased my odds of losing my way. I retreated, returning back to the room with the pool. I couldn¡¯t stay in the mirror room. A very real fear compelled me, but in the end it was because I couldn¡¯t stand the shame. I crawled until I hit the retaining wall of the pool and put my back to it. I groaned and put my head in my hands. Regret, shame and self-admonishment bubbled up inside of me. My stomach twisted as my mind mocked itself. Louder and louder, moving towards a crescendo. Fool. Freak. You debased not only yourself but all of woman kind. Dresses? Why did you go on about dresses? Did you think you were tricking her? Coward. Better to ask her to strip naked in front of you than deny your own desires. Serpent Moment I stopped. Had that been the dark magic, or me? I thought I¡¯d learned years ago that self-recrimination was just another method of avoid pain. Yet here I was. Following that path of reasoning, I couldn¡¯t blame my thoughts on the dark magic either. Even if it was its fault I couldn¡¯t regain control unless I took responsibility for them. I¡¯d been caught off guard by the mirror, and I¡¯d made a fool of myself. I¡¯d have to live with it. And my mistakes. I still had most my spells, just no light. If my guess about the mirror distorting my perception of time was right, it was still early in the morning. Perhaps I could pass the time by trying to destroy the mirror? If I wanted to go through that room again I didn¡¯t trust myself to do so with it active. I didn¡¯t think I could risk it. To make such a mirror the warlocks may have indeed bound a demon inside of it. Destroying the mirror might free it, and I was in no condition to be fighting a demon. Even the greatest of mages did not engage them lightly. I¡¯d have to just sit here and wait. I didn¡¯t even want to circle about the pool for fear of traps. After many boring hours, sleep came. VIII - Bloody Reunion I¡¯d never been one to suffer from disorientation when I woke, but the dungeon was starting to get to me. I still remembered I¡¯d fallen asleep in the pool room, but I was no longer certain of the direction of the mirror room. If I raised a light, I might activate the mirror. If I sat in the pool, the wall was high enough it would shield my line of sight in all directions, but then I¡¯d be risking the pool against the mirror. The mirror had proven itself mostly harmless, at least as long as I had water, whereas the pool might dissolve me into paste for all I knew. I also really need to use the bathroom. I would risk the light. Will-o¡¯-Wisp The spell vanished from my spellbook. Tragedy. Despair. Woe was me. I had bigger problems to worry about. I spun, clenching for all I was worth as I sent my lights to the far corner of the room. EliminateII Sweet relief. My spell, right. I flipped to a new page of the journal and began recording my light immediately. I¡¯d wanted to do so anyway, so the only thing I¡¯d be losing was an hour of light, not a day¡¯s work. Spells took an hour to record. They could be recorded faster, as I¡¯d done against the Warlock, but there was risks involved. Large ones. They also only recorded up to an hour¡¯s worth of actions. However, as every young mage who pushed the boundaries just a little bit soon discovered, any spell which was recorded played out in full. Even if cast at the last second of recording, and hour of light would still shine for an hour afterwards. This meant it was possible to append longer and longer spells to a newer spell, slowly increasing its length an hour at a time. And so, as the hour approached its end, I cast Will-o¡¯-WispII as well. Marshlight: Two large glowing masses, bright as candles, rhythmically fade and swell over the course of two hours. They move following the whims of their master. I stood, stretched, and took a swig from my waterskin. Time to assess my situation. On the plus side, my lights hadn¡¯t triggered the mirror. I guess I¡¯d ended up sleeping off to the side of the archway connecting the rooms and so had managed to stay outside its line of sight. It might not work at this range anyway. Sometimes I forgot how dim my lights truly were. I¡¯d hate to think there were no benefits to my demonic appearance. On the negative, I could apparently lose spells from my spellbook. I¡¯d never heard of that occurring to any mage before. Something about the place didn¡¯t like true magic. Another point against dark magic. To be fair, I supposed there could be a third factor at play. The warlocks clearly had many magical items and creatures sequestered away down here. Perhaps a demon or arcane artifact was responsible. On the plus negative side, I seemed to be gaining spells faster than I lost them. It meant my power would grow slower than I¡¯d like, but it¡¯d still grow. My stomach growled. It was past due for breakfast. I made my way back to my room without incident and sat down for some salted fish. I¡¯d heard of rabbit starvation, I was beginning to worry about fish starvation. I didn¡¯t know if that was a thing, but I took a bite of the onion, just in case. Several minutes of running around, eyes burning, tongue screaming later, I was ready for the day. If I ever discovered fish starvation wasn¡¯t a thing I was going destroy every last onion on earth. I returned to the statue room. ¡°Stay right¡± was still scrawled on the wall there, but that had led me to the mirror room. There had been an archway past the mirror going north, but I could I always risk that later. This room also had a north exit, two of them in fact. I took the door the on the left, just to spite the sign. It was stuck, but I was strong. It barely slowed me. The corridor contained a shaft in the ceiling about midway along its length. I sent one of my lights up, but lost sight of it before it revealed anything of note. It would be too small to fit through, even if the dungeon hadn¡¯t been cut off by the rift. The only other concern was that it was a trap, but a long search of my environment revealed no physical triggers. I ran past the chute, teleport spells at the ready, but nothing happened. I made it to the door on the far end without incident. The door was locked, naturally. It took me several minutes of forceful kicking but I got it open. The shattered lock protest as it finally gave it, and the door stutter stopped open, hinges mangled beyond use. Two things happened at once. Raised voices echoed in from the room beyond as people began closing in the source of the noise and a large grinding noise filled the air. I looked up just in time to see a massive stone block descending towards me, sliding free from the ceiling. Safe TeleportII There was a crash behind me and I thanked the heavens I¡¯d kept my finger on the page while kicking down the door. That would have to become standard operation procedure in this dungeon. If I survived the next few minutes it would have to become my standard operating procedure while in this dungeon. Unfortunately I was now surrounded by a group of heavily armoured men and women. Worse still, I recognized them. There was only six where there had been nine. Both self proclaimed kings were missing, as was the man who¡¯d donated my clothes. Perhaps I hadn¡¯t ended my spell in time, or perhaps he had succumbed to his disease. I had troubles feeling guilty either way. That worried me. Should I feel guilty? What influence did the combined powers of the Mushroom-King, the dark altar ¨C Salted Sands, even the dwarf goddess ¨C have on my mind? They noticed me, despite the darkness. ¡°The demon has returned! Look there! See his red glowing eyes!¡± Welkin, weald, and wasteland, that was inconvenient. I¡¯d have to fight. My spellbook was gone, probably crushed under the collapsed ceiling, but I still had my tattoos. There lay most of my offensive spells. They would have to be enough. Push Before they could full overcome their surprise or regroup themselves, I sent two of their swords free from their belts to pin against the ceiling. That disarmed the two near nearest me, but also cost me my spell. I could feel a new looseness in my arm, left by the tattoo vanishing. It was confirmed. Nothing was safe in these warrens. One of the men drew back and fear, but the other simply continued to advance, fists raised. I could probably take anyone in hand to hand combat, what with my toughened skin, strength, and claws, so I ignored him in favour of his fellows advancing with swords. Two men and two women. BiteII One of the men stumbled into the other and slid down his body, blood pouring from his throat. His companion recoiled in fear. He fled blindly back through the gloom to the far corner where he began to let out a blood curdling wail. I¡¯d found my way back. This momentary thought was confirmed, and a mystery put to rest, when the now thoroughly disturbed wailing man fell through the adjacent doorway and vanished without a trace. One of the woman had had enough. She too fled through the teleportal, unable to see as I had in the dark what had befallen her companion. PushIII Stopped in her tracks and began to slide backwards towards the far wall. She resisted and dug her feet in, but was ultimate pinned against the wall. ¡°Just me and you now,¡± I said to the advancing pugilist, raising my own claws to match him ¡°are you sure you want to do this?¡± I pulled my will-o¡¯-wisps in close from the hallway where I¡¯d nearly been crushed. The man¡¯s eyes darted left and right when he saw them flit past, took in how very alone he was. He stopped. Took a step back. ¡°What do you want from us demon? We¡¯re all dead down here already.¡± I looked at the corpse of his fallen comrade. Waiting for remorse to overcome me. It didn¡¯t come. ¡°I want to leave this place. End the rift.¡± ¡°We cannot help you there. We¡¯re as trapped as you are. Why have you pursued us so?¡± ¡°Pursued?¡± I sent one of my lights to hover over the block which had nearly hung my ears round my ankles. ¡°I was simply trying to avoid being crushed.¡± ¡°And at the water? You took advantage of us in then in our maddened and diseased state.¡± ¡°That was the place where your masters held me captive. I was dying of thirst. I was merely returning for a drink which you denied me.¡± He looked ashamed. ¡°We had... No... We¡¯re not innocent of our crimes. Why then did our masters capture you? And how can a demon claim such innocence?¡± This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°I am no demon. I was warped by the dark magics of this dungeon. Believe me, I¡¯m more disturbed by my appearance than you are.¡± There was fear in his voice now, ¡°Could the same happen to us? To any of us?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t think of any reason it wouldn¡¯t happen to you. Be careful where you rest and who you listen to.¡± He nodded, ¡°Where do we go now?¡± I ended my spells. The woman fell from the wall and the swords from the ceiling. ¡°That¡¯s up to you. Gather your companions, or wait for them here and hope they make their way back. Journey down into the depths or don¡¯t. That is where I will head. I have hopes about ending the rift. Perhaps waiting back by the stream or another water source is safest.¡± A callous voice whispered in my head, gave me an idea. A place I could tell them to wait. The pool. I pushed it away. The man and woman retrieved their swords and sheathed them warily. ¡°We¡¯ll talk it over. Do you truly wish to brave the depths?¡± I nodded, though they probably couldn¡¯t see me. ¡°If I can find them. Do you happen to know where the stairs are?¡± He pointed vaguely towards the teleportal, ¡°Somewhere that way, I think. It¡¯s hard to navigate and recognize these rooms in the dark.¡± ¡°Through the teleportal?¡± ¡°Teleportal?¡± I guess he hadn¡¯t seen his companions vanish. ¡°The door doesn¡¯t take you to the other side. In my experience it brought me to a room full of bone. I don¡¯t know if it does that every time or not.¡± ¡°Things have shifted since the rift was opened. Passages have become blocked, traps activated, doors stuck,¡± I nodded sympathetically at the last one, ¡°I think it might be part of the defence mechanism. Let¡¯s you wait while the dangers from the caverns work themselves out.¡± ¡°Any other advice you can give? My success would be yours as well.¡± ¡°Likewise. We mostly stayed in the top two layers. Even the warlocks rarely braved the caverns. We¡¯ve told you all we know. Unless- you seem to be comfortable in the dark...¡± I neither confirmed nor denied his unasked question. ¡°Anyways, there is a way to navigate in the dark down here. Better than nothing anyway.¡± I perked up, ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡± ¡°The walls laugh ever so faintly. If you are still and put your ear to them you can hear it sometimes. It sounds like children¡¯s laughter in the chambers, and like a dog¡¯s in the halls. And the rooms sound different based on their size. More like boys¡¯ laughter in large rooms and girls laughing in the smaller ones.¡± I started. That was unexpected. ¡°This is... Surprisingly useful. Thank you. In return I can say this: The stream where I found you is safe to the best of my knowledge, but you must drink from it up stream. I left bodies there.¡± ¡°As did we,¡± the woman muttered darkly. She¡¯d been listening, then. ¡°Yes, well... There is a pool not far from here, formerly hidden behind a tapestry. I have no idea if the water is drinkable or not. Beyond the pool is a mirror. Do not look in the mirror. And if you see a mushroom, run.¡± I was being cryptic, purposely so. My knowledge of such things was incomplete. If I told them only what I knew and suspected, I¡¯d leave them unprepared to face the true unknown depths of their dangers. Better to say too little, than risk them taking my speculation for law. I considered offering to share my food, there was enough for a small village, but there was no accounting for what desperate people would do if they learned of my treasures. Slit my throat while I slept, probably. Plus they seemed to be doing well enough as it was. I wouldn¡¯t doubt they had their own cache squirrelled away somewhere. I took my leave silently. There was nothing left to say, and what pleasantries I could offer would not be heartfelt. The stone block was large, but of the large enough to kill you variety, not the large enough to seal the passage. Even my strength couldn¡¯t lift it, but I didn¡¯t need to. Miraculously, my gear had scattered free when I¡¯d teleported. I dressed myself, gathered my sword and spellbook, and went to examine the teleportal. The two mercenaries were still standing in the room awkwardly, whispering occasionally to each other. My hearing was keen, but I only picked out the occasional word here and there. Seemed they didn¡¯t know where to go next. I had no advice to offer them. Naturally, I started wailing as I entered the corner where the teleportal lay. I¡¯d somehow forgotten about that. The mercenaries fled from me then, and I couldn¡¯t blame them. I was disturbed myself. Still, I couldn¡¯t retreat now. I wanted passage through the door, even if it meant standing here wailing like a fool. A runestone in the archway was the first to catch my attention. I brought a will-o¡¯-wisp as close as I could dare and could just make out another way written in the Language of the Birds. That in of itself was unusual. Speakers of the language were very rare, and it couldn¡¯t truly be written. A crude transcription had been invented which even fewer employed. The margins of error in the language were large, meaning even ¡°another way¡± could only ever be a rough translation based on context. It might have also read ¡°tree mill¡± ¡°porridge¡± ¡°to can on¡± and a dozen other things. I sent my will-o¡¯-wisp to touch the face of the rune. Sure enough, it vanished before it got there. The rune was on the other side. To a normal man that might mean it could only be disabled from the other side, but I was no normal man. PushIII I pushed the stone towards me, trying to dislodge it from the arch. It was stuck fast, didn¡¯t even budge. I studied it some more. The warlocks, or whoever had designed this particular obstacle, had surely wanted to be able to navigate their own halls. Which meant that there was a way someone could disable the teleportal. Maybe a display of dark magic, or maybe something as simple as putting your finger against the rune. They had servants after all, even if the ones I¡¯d met had not received such privileged information. PushII This time I tried pushing the runestone in. The rune moved, sliding in a finger¡¯s length before stopping against some unknown obstacle. Not taking my eyes off the portal, I shuffled backward and cast about until I found the dead man¡¯s sword. I chucked it through the teleportal and it vanished. Hmmm. (Or rather, ¡°WAAAAAAAoooOOaaaOOAAooaAA¡±, I was still wailing, after all.) Maybe there was more than one rune which need to be depressed. I searched the archway once more but found nothing. My spell ran its course and the ¡°another way¡± rune slid back out of its hole. And continued to slide. It clattered to the floor, bounced, and landed by my feet. I picked it up, eyes focused on my surroundings. Nothing changed. The dead man had a dagger which I donated to the cause, chucking it through the teleportal as well. It clattered against the wall on the other side. I sent my remaining light after it. It passed without troubles. Salt, Stone, and Sea be with me. I stepped through the portal... ...and joined dagger, light, and runestone on the other side. I¡¯d made it. My wailing had also stopped, confined to that forsaken corner of the dungeon room as it was. I rubbed my chin with the palm of my hand. I think I¡¯d nearly dislocated my jaw. I retrieved both dagger and stone. Worse come to worse, I could use them as projectiles. With the teleportal disabled, the doorway led to a long passageway which turned twice to the right before ending with a wooden door on the left. I had no idea which direction was north at this point. Hopefully the way forward would be obvious. I took some time studying the door and it¡¯s surroundings. I wasn¡¯t about to fall for the same mistake twice. Three times. Five. Anyway, no loose flagstones loomed above my head, no vats of acid or holes in the walls for poisonous gas. No runes were embedded in the walls or needles on the door handle. I opened pressed down the handle with the pommel of my new dagger and pushed it opened with the blade. No surges of lightning or buckets of snakes met me. Safety thus assured, I sprinted through the open doorway with my Safe Teleport spell at the ready. I was no expert in detecting traps, and I wouldn¡¯t trust my own judgment for a long while. Perhaps ever. The room was of average size, empty save for a handful of iron spikes scattered about the room. They were set firmly in the floor at odd angles as if to catch poor wandering strangers who had just run through a doorway heedless of other dangers unaware. Thankfully there were only a few of them, and I hadn¡¯t stepped on any. Some of them were nearly a foot long. The wall to my left contained yet more writing. The atmosphere of the dungeon seemed to encourage vandalism. It was written in the Orc Runes, which I could recognized but not read. Was this a sign from the orcneas that I was on the right path? Had they been following me this whole time? It was said they could walk secret paths where no living man could follow. Directly opposite me, on the far side of the room, was the room¡¯s only other exit; an open archway. I studied the archway carefully, waved my sword through the open portal, and checked the brickwork for runes. Darkness descended. Of course. There was a trade off to such cautious exploration. My light was severely limited. It might be safer to spend ten minutes on every doorway I approached, but it would drastically reduce the pace of my exploration. I might not be able to afford it. While I had plenty of food and water for now, it couldn¡¯t last forever. Marshlight My lights returned. Still early morning and I¡¯d used up all my spells but a couple teleports. The archway was tempting. More than tempting. Another day spent waiting for sunrise filled me with nearly as much dread as the possibility of stumbling across a new trap. I¡¯d never imagined crawling through a dungeon could be so boring. Boring and deadly. The worst possible combination. But the ¡®nearly¡¯ in ¡°nearly as much dread¡± was doing a lot of heavy lifting. All it took was one bad teleport near and cliff or pool of lava and I¡¯d lose all my gear. Or another boulder would fall, and this time it would become trapped beneath for all time. I needed my spell book. I need my waterskins. I needed the waterskins even more so in many ways. I could find another spell book (maybe) or carve words onto my skin. And even if I couldn¡¯t, I didn¡¯t actually need the spells to transverse the dungeon. They just greatly improved my odds. The waterskins, on the other hand, were absolutely necessary. Without a way to transport the one safe source of water I¡¯d found, I was trapped in the top several floors of the dungeon. Perhaps I couldn¡¯t even delve beyond this first floor. There was know knowing how large the dungeon truly was. I could at least use my two remaining hours of light to refill my waterskins, they were getting low; half empty. The journey back to my cell was quicker than I remembered. The dungeon was much smaller when the path was safe and the way was lit. I wasn¡¯t totally at ease however, I kept one ear out and one eye on the watch just in case. I¡¯d run into the mercenaries twice, and a source of flowing water was bound to attract more interlopers. And indeed, it did. My caution was rewarded when I detected the monsters waiting in my stream (I¡¯d come to think of it as mine) before I rounded the final corner to my cell. They didn¡¯t sound like any animal I recognized. Talons clicked on the ground, slowly but sharply, interspersed strangely, like someone slowly and erratically tapping their fingers. My sword and spellbook were already at the ready. I¡¯d risk a peak, and then decide if I wanted to deal with them now, or when my spells had recharged. Perhaps they¡¯d even move on if I waited long enough. I still had nearly a week¡¯s worth of water if I was careful. My peak revealed two creatures of the same species and vastly different sizes. One had the appearance of an unnaturally large spider, large enough to give me nightmares. It clicked about on the stone on its taloned feet as it sloshed through the stream getting water. It was the size of a hunting hound, maybe two feet high and it alone might give me reason to abandon the stream. I didn¡¯t like spiders. Especially not lean, twisted spiders without a proper abdomen and weird, wiry hair. It wasn¡¯t a spider though. Its companion made that perfectly clear. It was crouched on one of the many bodies I or the mercenaries had left here. Its entire head was buried in their flesh and by the loud slurping sounds, it was drinking. The second creature had a large silver rear end, maybe an abdomen, maybe a sack for containing human juices which pulsed as it drank. Large didn¡¯t do it justice. It was bigger than me, bigger than the frogs. The top of the sack scraped against the ceiling of the tunnel and the edges pressed against both the walls. I could feel my gorge rising. I might have preferred spiders over giant ticks. The smaller of the pair looked up. It had noticed me, but it didn¡¯t seemed unduly concerned by my presence. When I took a step closer, however, it danced back and forth in an aggressive manner. Warning me. I wasn''t ready to fight. I retreated back down the corridor, heading back to my room. I¡¯d deal with them later. It was going to be a long, boring day. IX - Master Tom Oldshoe At last, my spells were renewed. There was a million spells I wanted to record, but the most pressing was a way to prevent me losing my gear like I nearly had yesterday. To that end, I cleared out an area which to the best of my knowledge was 150 feet. I ran back and forth along it a few times, trying to get my timing down. After my third pass I fell into a rhythm. Now or never. I began recording. Light failed before I finished, but I could write in the dark. I¡¯d had plenty of practice. In the end, I had a brand new spell, timed better than I could have imagined. Transport: Move all of the caster¡¯s gear 150 ft over the course of eight seconds. One half of the spell complete without incident. Hopefully I would be as lucky on the new day. The hard part was done, anyway. I summoned another light. I¡¯d leave the ticks for now and deal with them if my day ended with some offensive spells left over. Hopefully it wouldn¡¯t come to that. The archway in the spike room (The one with spikes on the floor. Without the bodies) awaited. By rough estimate I figured the archway 3-500 feet away from my room. I didn¡¯t know what I could do with that information, but I¡¯d been trying to measure distances all morning so it was on my mind. Shorter than I¡¯d expected, anyway. I decided to learn from my mistakes yesterday, and go through the archway with only a cursory glance for traps. I¡¯d not been struck by any traps from a doorless portal yet, and I couldn¡¯t afford to waste light (and food, and water) combing over everything which looked slightly foreboding. I kept my spells and sword at the ready, of course. The archway led to a tunnel which bent to the right at a right angle. Strike me. I¡¯d meant to see if I could figure out where north was again. I¡¯d have to do it later. The tunnel ran on for several dozen feet before bending to the left. About halfway down, also on the left, was a door set in the wall. I tried the door first, on the principle that it was closer. Careful studied revealed nothing my limited experience could constitute a trap, so I tried the handle. It was stuck, of course. I had to ram the thing with my shoulder a good few times before I got it open wide enough to squeeze through the gap. If I ever got out of here I was returning with an army of carpenters, not archaeologists. We were going to drive the warlocks out and fix every last door in this twisted dungeon. On the plus side, I doubted the doors would be swinging shut or locking behind me. Footsteps filled the air. I leapt back. I sent my lights forward to illuminate what they could. It sounded like a small army was in there. My lights found the far wall and circled back without revealing anything. Rapid. Pounding. Clattering. Tapping. Someone was running up behind me. I spun and swung my sword wildly. It was too dark to see my target and my sword only connected with air. I backed up involuntarily, taking a step into the room. I sent one of my jack-o¡¯-lanterns ahead of me, but before it could make it, the pounding foot steps had closed the distance and run through me, joining the others in the room. I spun again, sword swinging, feeling like a top. ¡°Hello? Who¡¯s there? Reveal yourself!¡± Steady. Creeping. Sneaking. I twisted and stabbed. Nothing. I was beginning to suspect whoever had left these footsteps had passed long ago. I moved into the centre of the room and waited. I had my spells at the ready, still half expecting a knife in my back. Footsteps ran by. Others walked. A man with a peg leg tap tap tapped through the one of the doors. Another man, a noble by the sound of his high heels, strutted back and forth ceaselessly, only pausing to stamp dramatically by the fireplace next to the door I¡¯d entered by. I say man. They could have been women or even children with exceptionally heavy footfalls. Or it could be the only thing making the sounds was the footsteps themselves. Normally footstep and foot went hand in hand, but there was no rule which said they must. Perhaps there was some poor noble somewhere out there stamping in front of his fireplace to no effect. Perhaps a child ran gaily through the streets with a pitter-patter no one could hear. They didn¡¯t seem to mean any harm. Not that I rested easy. Every new or sudden sound had me twitching. I¡¯d never done well in cities. I went over and studied the fireplace. The hearth had run down to ashes, but a few good timbers still remained stacked next to it. A poker, shovel, and broom even leaned against the wall next to it. Clearly someone had cared for this room. It was far cleaner than the others. Far more homely. I¡¯d move my casket here away from the rotting frogs if it wasn¡¯t for the noise. Even if I could get used to them, and even if they didn¡¯t disturb my sleep, they¡¯d cover the sounds of any more corporal entities sneaking up on me as I rested. Plus the doors were less secured. In the frog room two doors led to a dead end section of the dungeon and a third was guarded by a pack of orcneas. I myself could watch the final door. Here, every door, even the one I¡¯d entered through, was a source of unknown threats. There were three other exits from the room. Since I didn¡¯t know which way north was, I gave them all a quick once over. All of them were simple wooden doors I could break through as easy as open. Metaphorically. Turning a doorhandle was always going to be easier, and far less likely to attract trouble. I chose the door opposite the one I entered by on the principal that out would be furthest away from in. A second examination of the door and its frame revealed nothing new to my senses. The dungeon designers had done well to make the traps rare enough to make searching for them boring rather than terrifying. Nothing was more deadly than dangerous and boring. I tried the handle and, by the lupins which blossom in spring, it opened. Footsteps beside me gave a little celebratory tap-dance to accompany the small chuckle which escaped my lips. I pivoted and sliced through the air on reflex. Nothing. The possibility of traps still had me a little high strung. Besides, you never knew. Maybe this time my sword would connect. The way beyond was a small antechamber which led immediately to a wooden door on my left. I wasn¡¯t yet brave enough not to check for traps, so performed my little ten minute door opening ritual once more. After the customary grunting and cursing and trying to squeeze through an opening half my size (army of carpenters, I¡¯m telling you), I managed to get my head far enough in the room to twist around and look up. I still remembered the room of spikes. I¡¯d been checking every ceiling since then, but this was the first to actually have something. This time it was a vast mural rather than more impaled corpses, thank heavens. It depicted a great battle. One, I realized as my jack-o¡¯lanterns swept up and down its length, I recognized. The Springtime War, also known as the Battle of a Thousand days. It had been a siege of this very fort. It wasn¡¯t the longest siege but it was the most violent in recorded history. Not just for Bleak Fort. For anywhere. There had been no reprieve. No pause in the fighting. The invaders had thought it would be a quick campaign, hence the ironic name of ¡°The Springtime War.¡± They hadn¡¯t been blind fools either. The Fort had been operating with a skeleton crew at them time, and most of them were out on patrol when the attack began. It had been timed perfectly. The mural recounted what they had failed to account for. Monstrous forms manned the walls. Giants towered above the attackers. Thousands of fist sized spiders strung great webs across holes in the wall. Manticores rained down hails of spikes on the besiegers. Hordes of undead poured from the sally ports. The denizens of the dungeon and the caverns below had joined in the defence. How the defenders had secured the alliances, and what it had cost them, was a secret lost to time. Not even the warlocks knew, or they wouldn¡¯t have needed to activate the rift. The room itself was perhaps a bit smaller than average for the dungeon, though still large by normal metrics. A large pile of sticks stood in the centre of the room; broken arrow-shafts. How strange. Curious, I walked over and pushed some aside with my sword. As I did so metal briefly scraped against metal. Arrowheads? No. It had been longer than that. I wiggled my sword around feeling the outline of whatever was buried beneath the shafts. And wider, though not by much. An iron band. Like a chest. I dropped my sword and pulled the remaining shafts away with vigour. Had a found another traveller¡¯s cask? More food perhaps? Something other than fish? The chest was smaller than the first, and locked. It was a good lock too, not just the kind you used to keep a hinge closed. I couldn¡¯t pick it without some tools, but I might be able to break it with the hammer and chisel. I hammered away for a handful of minutes without success other than to make the lock completely unpickable for anyone who came by after me. A few more minutes ruined the hinge as well. The lights went out. This was going well. Marshlight I hadn¡¯t wanted to risk breaking the contents of the chest, but there was nothing for it now. I threw the chest against the floor a few times until the lid bent, and then wedge my sword in and pried it open the rest of the way. My activities didn¡¯t pass without notice, which might have been a first. When I finally looked up from my task I discovered a small hairy man was watching me. A dobby, or some kind of hobgoblin. Or maybe a very ugly dwarf. I pulled my sword free from the mangled chest, ¡°Who goes there?¡± The creature was dressed in cardinal red motley, including a hat with dangling ends. He doffed this hat and held it against his chest as he spoke to me, ¡°Master Tom Oldshoe if it pleases you, Sir. At your service.¡± ¡°Truly?¡± Hobs were known tricksters. It could be a great boon to have one working for you, or a never ending nightmare. I¡¯d heard of at least one family which had been forced to abandon their home to get away from a house hob. He grinned impishly, ¡°True enough, Sir.¡± He danced half a dozen steps closer to me, ¡°Might old Master Tom ask what you¡¯re doing to his treasure?¡± I glanced at the chest, ¡°This is yours?¡± He placed the back of his hand against his forehead dramatically, hat still bunched up in it¡¯s grasp, ¡°Oh indeed Sir. Old Tom has a love for...¡± he squinted at the pile, ¡°arrow shafts and battered boxes. Woe be you which has taken them from me.¡± I lowered my sword, a trickster then, but a harmless enough one. I didn¡¯t sheath my sword though, just in case. ¡°Then you may have them, Master Tom. I make no claim on your broken shafts and twisted chests. Only the treasure within is mine.¡± ¡°Treasure?¡± The hob¡¯s eyes widened and he danced ever closer. Back and forth, making his motions hard to follow. ¡°Indeed, Master Tom. More of it than you can imagine.¡± He frowned, and then a crafty look crossed his face, ¡°This treasure is not yours, Sir. It can¡¯t be! The treasure is in old Tom Oldshoe¡¯s chest. What¡¯s in yours is yours, sir. It¡¯s the knowledge of babes.¡± I nodded amicably, I¡¯d been expecting something like this. Thankfully an answer entered my mind almost as fast as he spoke, ¡°I can¡¯t help but agree, Master Tom. But in this case I am prepared to make an exception and return you your box and arrows. For this room is mine.¡± He slammed his hat back on his head, spun, and glared at me, ¡°The room, sir? Old Master Tom has been under Bleak Fort for twenty years, and never has he seen you here! By what stake does Sir claim this room? Warlocks live here, Sir, not Magi.¡± The last was said with a sly tilt of his head. Hobgoblins often had access to far more knowledge than they had any right. He knew the treasure wasn¡¯t mine and he wanted me to know he knew it. But he¡¯d already fallen for my trap. ¡°By the same stake with which you claimed your chest and arrows, Master.¡± His face took on a struck expression. He stopped dancing. ¡°No fair, Sir, no fair. To use poor Master Tom¡¯s words against him, to use his word against him! I¡¯m bound by it, Sir, surely as you are.¡± ¡°How could I do otherwise, Master Tom? Would you have me take what is rightfully yours from you?¡± He shook his head sadly. He knew I had won and he already knew why. This was now simply a performance on both of our parts. I continued, ¡°However,¡± he perked up, ¡°I may be willing to trade some of my treasure.¡± This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Tom Oldshoe readjusted his hat and straightened his collar. ¡°A trade? I hope Sir does not think to take advantage of poor old Tom once more. Tom is a terrible trader. He is too honest sir.¡± Somehow I doubted that. I tried not to let my thoughts reach my face. ¡°Of course not, Master Tom. We are both honest men here. Us honest men are incapable of taking advantage of one another. A fair trade is all I ask.¡± ¡°What would Sir trade then? What has Sir got?¡± I smiled at him, doing my best to appear mysterious, ¡°Let me show you.¡± And let me see, I silently added. It was as good an opportunity as any to discover what my efforts had won me. Red. What?... The majority of the space in the chest was taken up by a large box filled, of all things, with blood. My efforts to open the chest had liberally painted its contents crimson. Even the hob recoiled as I began to lay out my treasures. They were unfortunately few in numbers and in quality. First came out a pair of blood-soaked workwoman¡¯s gloves. Even at a glance they were too small for me. Next a skinning knife, and then a tin tankard. Three large stones were the last of my treasures. Oldshoe and I stared at them in silence. The tin could be useful, and would wash easily enough. The knife¡¯s handle might never recover, but a few stains wouldn¡¯t stop it from keeping its edge. The gloves were a lost cause and the stones were a mystery. I suppose before the ceiling collapse they had been rarer in the dungeon, but who need to always have a few stones on hand? The other items suggested she¡¯d been a hunter of some sort, perhaps hunters had a use for stones I wasn¡¯t aware of? Ballast in the stomach of a gutted animal? Tom broke the silence, ¡°If it pleases Sir might old Master Tom ask why sir has filled my chest with blood? And why Sir uses women¡¯s gloves for his work? And what the stones are for?¡± I kept the mysterious smile plastered on my face, ¡°Magi have their reasons, Master. What do you have to offer? I offer you your pick of my treasures.¡± The sly glint returned to Tom¡¯s eye once more, ¡°Master Tom would very much like Sir¡¯s tankard, if it pleases Sir. Master Tom could fit Sir¡¯s gloves in return. Old Master Tom wouldn¡¯t want Sir¡¯s poor fingers to go cold. Sir¡¯s fingers must have been about to drop right off without Sir¡¯s gloves.¡± I showed him my clawed fingers, ¡°I have little use for the gloves, Master Tom. Even the best fit pair would would soon have holes in it.¡± ¡°Oh Sir, Master Tom can fix that as well. For the tin and the knife shall we say? For the tin and the knife Master Tom will make Sir¡¯s gloves fit, and never need worry about holes.¡± My heart skipped a beat. I tried not to let it show on my face, but felt my eye twitch all the same. Hopefully he hadn¡¯t noticed. ¡°You can undo this magic? Fix this transformation?¡± Calm. Calmly. That had been far too direct for dealing with a hob. Tom waggled his head back and forth, deigning not to notice the breach in protocol, ¡°Magic cannot be undone, Sir. Magic is magic. But old Master Tom can make Sir¡¯s gloves fit all the same.¡± The claws were useful, but I had my dagger now. And the prospect of being human once more... ¡°What about the rest of my appearance? Can you fix that as well, Master?¡± ¡°One trade at a time Sir, one trade at a time. Poor Master Tom can¡¯t keep it all in his head.¡± ¡°My apologies, Master. It has been weighing on my mind.¡± He nodded sympathetically, ¡°Old Tom understands Sir, truly he does. To be aught from what you should be is a terrible thing indeed.¡± He reached up to pat me on the back, ¡°Sir¡¯s tin and knife, that Sir¡¯s hands might fit Sir¡¯s gloves once more, then?¡± I took his tiny hand in my clawed one. ¡°You have yourself a deal Master Tom.¡± He cackled, ¡°Wonderful, wonderful. Was there anything else, Sir? Anything at all?¡± I wanted to immediately bargain to fix more of my appearance, but I caught myself. Not all my changes were negative. The strength. The nightvision. My toughened hide. I might not make it out of the dungeon at all if I removed them. Perhaps I didn¡¯t want to escape if I didn¡¯t remove them, but that was out of my hands. I¡¯d have to be careful. Hobs were tricksters and easily offended. Famously, giving a hob clothes would banish them. Who knew what other things would offend them? Every deal I made had a chance of being my last. My being screamed in protest, but I forced myself to stop and think. More than anything, I needed to destroy this keep, and to do that, I needed to escape. If I got another chance then I would think about restoring my appearance. If I didn¡¯t, the debate would be solved for me. It might not work the other way around. ¡°Perhaps we could trade for some information, Master Tom? You must know things.¡± He grinned and his head bobbed up and down, ¡°Master Tom knows many things, Sir, many things indeed. Master Tom knows the names of all creatures and the form of every knot. He knows how to catch fish without a net and how to draw poison from a wound. He knows the habits of kings and the thoughts of peasants. Old Master Tom even knows much of Sir¡¯s journey, Sir. The whos and the whys and the whiches, Sir.¡± He paused, as though wondering if he should say something, then added, ¡°Old Tom knows how to free Sir from the Mushroom-King Sir. Warlocks too.¡± I grew still. I would find the exit eventually, it was just a matter of time and searching. But breaking free from the geasa laid upon me was something I might never be able to do on my own. ¡°You can free me, Master Tom? Truly?¡± ¡°From one Sir, but not the other. Master Tom knows many things, Sir, but some knowings are only that. Master Tom understands the soaring of birds, but no matter how he flaps his arms, old Master Tom has yet to fly.¡± He waved his arms up and down in demonstration. ¡°Master Tom can free Sir from the warlocks Sir, but he only has knowings of how to be free from the Mushroom-king.¡± The last was said in a whisper, and Tom looked over both shoulders before continuing, ¡°Be most careful talking about him, Sir. The Mushroom-King has spies everywhere.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll give you my dagger, my sword, and my undying thanks if you would grant me this information, Master Tom.¡± But Tom was sadly shaking his head, ¡°Oh no Sir, Master Tom could not take such a deal. As much as he wants to, old Tom¡¯s mother would not allow it. To risk the Mushroom-King¡¯s ire for such trifles, Master Tom¡¯s mother would drive him from the house with a broom Sir. A broom!¡± There was little else I could offer him. My hammer, my chisel, and my waterskins. My spellbook I need almost as much as I needed his help, and would be of little value to anyone other than myself. I knew better than to offer him my belt or armour. They were far too close to clothes. That left only promises and more abstract concepts. My first born child. The light of my lover¡¯s eyes. That sort of thing. The sort of trades which famously backfired. But what choice did I have? ¡°What then, Master, may I offer in trade?¡± A light lit up in the hobgoblin¡¯s eyes. He knew he had me. ¡°On the fourth floor of the dungeon is old Tom¡¯s poor mother¡¯s house. She is too frail to clean it, is old Tom¡¯s Mother. In exchange for the information Master Tom only asks that Sir cleans it for her. Top to bottom. Just the once.¡± That was it? That was worth the Mushroom-King¡¯s wrath? How dirty was her house? Why couldn¡¯t Tom clean it? He¡¯d played me straight so far, but this felt like a trap. I said so. ¡°Master Tom, surely you can find better use for a Magi as I? I have no objection to cleaning your mother¡¯s house, but the deal is so unbalanced as to feel you are tricking me.¡± Master Tom pulled the hat down from his head once more and held it in both hands against his chest. He wilted, ¡°Sir has the right of it. Aye, he does. Old Tom is afraid, Sir. Afraid of the dungeon and his mother both. Master Tom can¡¯t bear to face her. It was bad enough when warlocks wandered the halls, but now they¡¯re full of monsters, Sir. ¡°And Old Tom¡¯s mother? She has grown wickeder and wickeder as she aged, Sir. She only judges, Sir, never happy with Master Tom¡¯s treasures. Never listens to his hopes or dreams. Truth be told Sir, Master Tom fled her house. But he loves her still, Sir.¡± Elves were tricksters, but they couldn¡¯t lie. I patted him gently on the shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ve seen it before, Master. I know something of your troubles.¡± He nodded at me, still looking ashamed, ¡°And she is on the fourth floor, Sir. Finding her place will be no easy task! It is a fairer trade than Sir realizes.¡± Once more I stuck out my hand, ¡°Give me the information I need to free myself from the Mushroom-King, Master, and I¡¯ll clean your mother¡¯s house one time. As bargained.¡± He grasped my hand as firmly as his tiny fingers allowed, ¡°A fine deal happily made Sir! Would Sir like to make another? There is more Master Tom would ask of Sir.¡± I hadn¡¯t been sure the warlocks had done anything to my mind until Tom confirmed it, but now I answered without hesitation, ¡°Remove what influence the warlocks have on my mind-¡± My mind raced to catch up with my words. Exact words were important when dealing with elves. I didn¡¯t want to lose my ability to be influenced; who knew what would happen to me? Even a well meaning hob might make an honest mistake with my wording there. Their minds were known to work in strange ways. ¡°-Rather... could you tell me the nature of the warlock¡¯s influence upon me, Master Tom? Not in trade, but so that I may properly dictate the terms of our bargain?¡± Master Tom smiled at me knowingly, ¡°Of course, Sir, of course. Master Tom would not like Sir saying he cheated Sir. ¡®Tis your mind Sir, stuffed full of the warlock¡¯s dark magic. It grows and grows Sir, but old Master Tom know the trick of it.¡± ¡°Is the dark magic a problem, Master? It has save my life once already.¡± ¡°Master Tom doesn¡¯t like, oh no Sir, he doesn¡¯t. Sir would become a warlock, no doubt about it. But there is more, Sir.¡± ¡°More?¡± He nodded vigorously, ¡°Indeed Sir! A dark cloud on Sir¡¯s thoughts. Master Tom does not like the look of it. He thinks he should blow it away. Poof!¡± He blew out his cheeks in demonstration. That disturbed me. I hadn¡¯t noticed anything different. A dark cloud? When would the warlock have had time to alter my mind? The whispering hadn¡¯t started till I lay on the altar. Perhaps the cloud was the whispering. And the source of my dark magic. Was that something I wanted to lose? But a compulsion on my mind, unbeknownst in nature even to myself... That I couldn¡¯t abide. I had my spell book and my waterskins. I no longer needed the dark magic. I would not be bound. ¡°Then blow away, Master! I ask that you remove the dark magic from my mind, and the dark cloud from my thoughts. What would you ask in return?¡± ¡°Master Tom would like a secret, Sir. The name of Sir¡¯s true love.¡± ¡°Do you swear to do no harm to her, Master? To cause her no anguish?¡± ¡°Master Tom swears to only do alike to her as she would do to old Tom, Sir. Provided Sir tells Tom her name.¡± There was a dangerous gleam in his eye, and my blood ran cold. That had been a threat. Tom was a dobby. I was certain. Dobbys were identical to hobs in all but maliciousness. If I didn¡¯t tell Tom the poor woman¡¯s name, he would now be under no compulsion to leave her alone. In fact, he¡¯d have every reason to, simply as a matter of revenge. He didn¡¯t know who she was or where she was. It would take him time to find her. But he would. Hobs were immortal, and could hold a grudge for centuries. There were stories of house dobbys tormenting the descendants of those who wronged them for generations, going so far to follow them even if they fled home or county. I¡¯d have to be careful. Where a hob might trick you, a dobby would cheat you. They were bound to the letter of their promises, but were famous for doing everything they could to break the spirit. I thought of my last two bargains. What had been my exact wording? Make my gloves fit? Knowledge of ¨C My breaths started coming in fast and shallow. My heart began to flutter in my chest, pound in my ears. I was- I forced my breathing to be slow. Calmly now. What was done was done. I had to have my wits about me. ¡°Promise me you¡¯ll not deal with her, Master.¡± Tom shook his head, ¡°That¡¯s two deals in one. One at a time, as Tom has said.¡± ¡°Will you stay for a second bargain?¡± ¡°Tom will, Sir. Or he won¡¯t. Master Tom will do as it pleases him in the moment, Sir.¡± ¡°Very well. Master Tom, for my first bargain I ask you promise not to deal with, harm or cause anguish to my true love.¡± The gleam in Tom¡¯s eye danced, ¡°Very good, Sir. Very good. Master Tom will be kind Sir. Let it not be said Master Tom is cruel. He asks for a mere trifle, Sir. The name of the girl (which is of no use to old Tom) and Sir¡¯s word, Sir, to never speak of Master Tom. There are warlocks about, Sir, and Master Tom would not like to meet them, oh no Sir.¡± ¡°I am sorry Master, but I cannot give you her name. But as you said, it is a mere trifling thing, perhaps I can offer my sword or dagger instead? They would serve far better than a useless name.¡± Tom¡¯s face drooped, ¡°Master Tom did want the name, Sir, for his own curiosity and kindness. But if Sir considers her name more than a trifle (and it is wonderful Sir does, Sir) than Master Tom will ask instead for Sir¡¯s vow and a favour.¡± ¡°What favour, Master?¡± Tom shrugged, ¡°Master Tom does not know Sir. A favour for the future in old Tom¡¯s time of need.¡± ¡°Any favour, Master?¡± ¡°Just so, Sir.¡± It was my turn to shake my head. Everyone knew better than to grant elves such liberty. I¡¯d have flat out refused if it wasn¡¯t my love¡¯s life on the line. But as it was, I couldn¡¯t afford to offend Master Tom and have him storm off before her safety was secured. Thankfully, there was a precedent for such things. ¡°If you let me veto your requests, I¡¯ll give you three favours instead of one Master Tom.¡± The hobgoblin licked his lips, ¡°And what shall be Sir¡¯s binder?¡± ¡°My memory of my love, Master.¡± ¡°All of Sir¡¯s love?¡± I swallowed. In theory I¡¯d get them back. And memories of my loved ones wouldn¡¯t help me get through these black halls beneath the keep. ¡°Exactly so, Master.¡± ¡°For three favours Sir can veto, with the binder of Sir¡¯s memory of love, and a promise Sir will speak to no one of Master Tom Oldshoe the hob, Master Tom will swear not to deal with, harm or cause anguish to Sir¡¯s true love-¡± ¡°-Whether or not a remember she is my true love.¡± Tom nodded evenly, ¡°Whether or not Sir remembers she is Sir¡¯s true love. Does Sir agree to this bargain?¡± For the third time I shook Tom¡¯s hand. ¡°Then, Sir, it is done.¡± My will-o¡¯-wisps dimmed and swirled out of my control, began multiplying without end. The world spun. The ground rocked. Wind roared. A thousand twinkling stars danced. Laughter echoed off the walls. Tom¡¯s laughter. But the man himself, along with the arrows, chest, knife, and tin, had vanished. I¡¯ll admit I found the whole thing slightly ominous. My lights returned to me. The gloves, as well as the stones, remained. I picked them up. They were bigger than before. I placed my hand beside them. Exactly my size, in fact. I could just make out the stitching where the hob must have added the extra material. Noticing the stitches was secondary. My claws had indeed gone. My fingers were now tipped with thick black stubs, like a sorcerers nails. Like the hob had merely taken a file to my talons. It still didn¡¯t look human, but it didn¡¯t look in-human. I pulled the gloves on with a bitter sigh. They fit perfectly. It could have been far worse. He¡¯d shown unusual clemency for a dobby. He could have shrunk me down to fit the gloves. Or turned me into a woman to ¡®fit¡¯ the gloves. By the River that Runs to Ocean, depending on how I¡¯d worded it, he could have turned me into a hand. Or shrunk the gloves to fit my toes or nose. The bitterness remained. My mind felt changed. Different. Something was missing, but I couldn¡¯t remember what. That oo had been part of our bargain. What I had bargained for, I could not remember. Not until I did old Master Tom Oldshoe¡¯s three favours. I hope it had been worth it. There was a tugging sensation there too. Something calling me through the arch at the far end of the room. Like the dark whispering of the warlocks in my mind, but different. Gentler. Less urgent. More of a simple knowing. Freedom. I rushed through the archway, not bothering to check for traps. The Mushroom King could learn of- Your thoughts are your own, till such point you disobey me ¨C no, best to think of something else. Keep moving. The archway opened into a long corridor which turned right, then right again, bending back on itself. Rather than continuing down the corridor, the tugging in my brain pulled me to my left, where a second archway lay. Another room lay immediately beyond it, one perhaps twice the size of the one which I¡¯d recently vacated. The room was dominated by a large stone statue of wyvern in the centre. In front of the wyvern lay a body, covered in moss. The bodies hands were clasped to its chest, as if in arranged for a crypt. The moss was brilliant green ¨C bio-luminescent ¨C and so much so I could even make out its colour in the dim light of my jack-o¡¯-lanterns. What drew my attention, however, was neither body nor statue, for the room contained other occupants. Instead my attention was drawn to the other occupants of the room. The giant frogs. Four of them. X - Hamadyads Final Rest May the land slide into the sea! I¡¯d barely survived my encounter with two frogs, let alone four of them. True, I now had armour and spellbook, and I better understood the ¡®gifts¡¯ the altar and dwarf goddess had bestowed upon me, but I doubted they¡¯d do much to stand up against one of those frogs crashing into me. Or swallowing me whole. In any other circumstance I¡¯d turn around. Even if I need through this room I could simple build up my arsenal of spells until I was ready to fight them, to win the battle before it began. But time was burning down. Something twisted and stirred in my brain, demanding to be noticed. The tugging in my brain was pointing directly at the corpse. Something else twisted and stirred. Best not to think of that. Act first, then think. I took a step towards the body. It was there the hob¡¯s knowledge was directing me. The knowledge of what? I dared not think of it. The frogs eyes, previously fixed on my jack-o¡¯-lanterns, swivelled to face me. That gave me an idea. I stopped, and darted my lights past the frogs, bobbing and weaving around their darting tongues. I couldn¡¯t actually move them fast enough to avoid the tongues, but as they were no corporeal, the frogs had no way of knowing that. I led the frogs on a tantalizing hunt to the corner of the room, slowly following behind them as I did so. They didn¡¯t notice. Just before the statue, my concentration slipped. I was doing too much at once. Controlling my lights, controlling my limbs. Listening heavily to some thoughts, desperately ignoring others. One of my limbs moved a hair too fast. I was too focused to even notice which one. The sudden motion attracted one of the frogs¡¯ notice. As one they turned from the lights to stare at me. Their legs tensed. I took an involuntary step back. The moment I did so, the tension in their legs eased. I took another step back and they eased further. The frogs continued to watch me warily as I retreated from the room, turning back to my lights only once I¡¯d crossed the threshold. It was the room then. Their room. Their lair. As long as I wasn¡¯t trespassing they had no quarrel with me. Could I access the corpse without entering the room? Perhaps if I pushed it towards myself with magic? But that had the risk of attracting the frogs¡¯ attention. They seemed particularly sensitive to sudden motion. And a sudden force might also have a chance of blowing the corpse apart, which would be messy to say the least. Fine. An idea was brewing in my head. Complicated. Crazy. Precise. But I was pretty sure I could pull it off. As long as I was prepared. As long as I was careful. As long as I got lucky. One step at a time, Oswic. I moved back into the corridor and began unbuckling my belt. I left my waterskins and sword on the floor, along with my dagger and chisel. I took only my hammer and spellbook. I moved back into the archway, hefting my hammer, getting a feel for its weight. Okay. I could do this. I wasn¡¯t hoopstone champion for nothing. I readied my spellbook, fingers marking the spells I needed. Breathe in. Breathe out. In truth, it wasn¡¯t even that difficult. Or rather, it was difficult, but difficult like walking a beam across a chasm. In normal circumstances you could do it every time. But it was the added risk of failure which changed the whole equation. Breathe in- If I thought about it any longer I¡¯d not have the courage to do it. I spun to face directly away from the corpse, angled along the imaginary line leading from it to the archway. Safe TeleportII Several seconds later I was standing just behind the corpse, facing the archway. I couldn¡¯t even make out its outline in the dark, but I¡¯d dared not bring my lights back for this. The frogs would have followed. I threw my hammer towards where I hoped the archway was, then bent while it was mid-flight to scoop up the corpse in my arms. My new strength still surprised me. The corpse hardly felt like it weighed anything at all. There was less than a second of silence, an instant, fast as thought, and still I felt a prickling on the back of my neck, expecting a frog to crush my skull or devour me whole. I didn¡¯t dare turn around to face them. The hammer struck. I focused on the sound, triggering two spells simultaneously. Transport Safe Teleport I staggered when I landed from the sudden loss of weight. I managed to hop over my hammer, which in turn caused me to trip and sprawl across the corpse which had arrived at the same time. My spellbook landed in in heap atop us, cold against my back. I¡¯d lost all my clothes. Fortunately, or perhaps horrifyingly, I still managed to avoid touching the corpse with my naked body. Horrifying, because the thing separating us was my clothing and armour. They¡¯d arrived on the corpse. Ewww. I need to wash them. And then maybe burn them. First things first. I glanced back into the room. The frogs were staring at me. They¡¯d probably heard my hammer strike the floor. Fortunately, they¡¯d stayed in the corner of the room where my lights were. I wondered if they¡¯d follow the lights out of the room. I didn¡¯t want to test it. I turned back to study the corpse by its own (very) dim glow. My clothing covered most of her ¨C it was clearly a her ¨C but what I could see was strange. I¡¯d noticed she¡¯d felt unusually solid for a corpse, but I hadn¡¯t expected her to completely retain her shape. She filled out my clothes with a woman¡¯s shape. Her flesh hadn¡¯t shrunken or collapsed in on itself. Her eyes were even intact, they hadn¡¯t shrivelled away. What skin was visible hadn¡¯t been eaten at by maggots or turned black with putrefaction. She didn¡¯t even smell bad. And yet she was clearly rotting. Moss grew all over her. One of her fingers had crumbled away into nothing. Her scalp was just a bed of moss. I pulled at my clothes to studied her further, giving off more light as I did so. Again I found no signs of decaying flesh. Her abdomen was the strangest of all. It had crumbled in places much like her fingers, but where it hadn¡¯t it looked as smooth and natural as a person at rest. I found myself checking her pulse, just in case, but there was none. What happened happened to her? As I tugged off the gloves she¡¯d taken from me it began to grow clear. The skin there was textured, getting steadily rougher from her wrists to the tips of her fingers. Tugging off my shoes confirmed it. Her toes ended in thick brown roots. She was a hamadryad. A tree nypmph. That explained it. Hamadryads were made from wood. A very soft, supple, yielding wood, but wood none the less. Which meant... Which meant I could take my clothes back! I quickly stripped the body and sorted out my gear. My tunic and pants needed to be shaken out first, but once I got the moss out they were good as new. Better even. Smelled like the forest. Smelled like home. I finished re-buckling my belt then bent to study the corpse once more. ¡°What am I supposed to do with you?¡± I murmured. Supposedly, she could ¨C nope, don¡¯t think it. Supposedly she could help me with problem. Had the hob though she was still alive or- Consume her flesh. Drink her blood. Swallow her heart. I glanced around, sword and spells at the ready. It had sounded like something the Mushroom-King might say, but the tone itself had been nothing like his. More matter of fact than demanding. Nor had it sounded like the voice of the warlock nor the altar nor the whispering of dark magic. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. Consume her flesh. Drink her blood. Swallow her heart. Again. I lowered my sword. I recognized it now. It was my own thoughts, buried beneath all the others. My intuition, bolstered by the blessing of the hob. I understood. To partake of the flesh and blood. To make her heart my own was to become her, and for her to become me. Not in truth, but symbolically. Symbols held power, especially in a place infused with the chaos of dark magic. Nymphs were the embodiment of nature. As a king serves his people so to did Dryads, being a floral sort of nymph, hold some small dominion over the flora they served. Hamadryads especially were particularly close to the earth. I wondered what happened to her. Down in the dungeons, so far from the sun. Another prisoner of the warlocks? Or an experiment? I rested my hand on the pommel of my dagger. She didn¡¯t deserve this. She didn¡¯t deserve any of this. But what could I do? I drew the dagger. There was ritual and there was desecration. Which was which wasn¡¯t always obvious, but there was ways of telling. When you sought power for yourself, when you forced your will onto the world, when you struggled towards the outcome you wanted rather than the outcome given to you, you were toying with dark magic. When you acted in harmony with nature, when you brought about its miracles, when you accepted what was given to you, when you submitted to its will, when you allowed yourself to feel pain, that was true magic. This was dark magic. My dagger hovered over her, face, chest, arms, stomach, thighs. Each time I tried to lower the tip, to score her flesh, but each time I moved on. To start anywhere was monstrous. Sacrilege. I was no stranger to butchery. Disembowel, round the ankles, pull off the skin, separate the muscle, etc. I couldn¡¯t dress her like a rabbit. That was fundamentally wrong. The thought to leave her be never entered my mind, I wouldn¡¯t let it. This had to be done. It was merely a question of how. I¡¯d make my own ritual. Give her what sacredness I could. Try to bend back towards the path nature had laid, if only a little bit. Dark magic might not be wrong, might be another facet of natural order as the warlock had claimed, but even there I felt there was a right and wrong way of doing things. Otherwise we¡¯d all be cannibals and the world would be awash with blood. I placed the dagger at the base of her ribcage, beneath her moss covered breast. The breast of a mother, or a lover. Even hamadryads, most alien of the nymphs, were human through and through. ¡°Wind lift my wings that I do not fall.¡± I hadn¡¯t meant to whisper the prayer aloud, but it¡¯d slipped free. I took a deep breath and cut. Cut deep; aiming for her heart. I was met with sapwood and cork rather than muscle and fat. Brilliant clear sap oozed from the wound rather than blood. Maybe it shouldn¡¯t have helped, but it did. It was more like desecrating a statue than butchering a human. No. She was as human as any other. I wouldn¡¯t allow myself that thought. To devalue her dignity was to devalue my own. My dagger found her rib, a sturdy thing made from heartwood. I traced around and under it until I found her heart. It was shaped like an inverted acorn almost exactly. An ironic simulacra of man¡¯s, of wood rather than flesh. I cut it free and pulled it from the wound. It was large, the size of my closed fist. Unlike the rest of her body it felt nothing like a human¡¯s flesh and bone. It was harder, smoother, exactly like the nut it resembled. I raised her heart to my face. Brushed it against my lips. ¡°Forgive me.¡± My newfound strength easily tore through the heart¡¯s shell, but it was delicate enough any normal person could have succeeded. It tasted good. Too good. Like syrup and honey. Like fresh nuts from the tree. Blood and flesh. I caught myself licking my fingers of some of the sap when I finished. Was that the warlock¡¯s influence? Or the altar? Or the Mushroom-King? Or was that me? Me unaltered, tempted by power and raw hedonism above the dignity of eternal slumber. Better me than the moss and worms. The thought made me sick. Why had that come to mind? What was wrong with me? Always trying to find the dark joke in everything. Always trying to run from the moment. I shook my head clear. Even in failure I was too harsh on myself. Sometimes you needed to run. Self recrimination was another way of avoiding pain. I couldn¡¯t count how many times my master had tried to hammer those words into my brain. The words might have even been true. They were certainly a sign of his own private struggle. I looked at the dryad¡¯s body once more. Still mostly untouched save for a wound on her left side. Eat her. Moss and all. Only then will you be free. The hob¡¯s intuition guiding my thoughts once more. I had work to do. *** My lights died before I finished, but the frogs left me to my work. I rose, unconsciously placing my hand on my stomach. I could feel her there. Feel me. She was long gone. Feel her power. Unbelievably, I¡¯d somehow eaten an entire other person. It shouldn¡¯t have been possible. My stomach should have ruptured long ago. Instead, I was suffused with a feeling of oneness. Of rightness. Of attunement with the creative forces of being. Was this how dryads felt all the time? Was I now a dryad? I didn¡¯t feel different. My toes hadn¡¯t turned into roots. My fingers hadn¡¯t begun to sprout leaves. My mind was a conflicted mess. Remembering raising crumbling flesh to my lips... Each had been worse than the last. Breasts. Genitals. Eyes and lips. I was a monster. But this feeling of wholeness which had risen in me had only grown stronger as I¡¯d continued. I didn¡¯t know what to make of it. More than guilt, more than shame, more than disgust at the horrors I¡¯d committed, I felt a feeling of absolute content. Was I acting in accordance with Nature after all? Was this how dryads paid their final respects? If so, why did couldn¡¯t I get rid of the horrors waiting behind my eyelids? Even the Teleport rune seemed dim by comparison. Even so, a pressure had eased from my mind. One I hadn¡¯t even realized was there. I felt sturdier. The mycelia patching the hole in my brain remained, the Mushroom-King remained, but he was contained- integrated. Contained held the possibility of escape. Integrated was a better way to think about it. Like bone of the enemy mixed into iron. I was free! Free! Only my proximity to the frogs prevented me from yelling in exaltation. I¡¯d not be bound by the warlocks, and I¡¯d not be bound by the Mushroom-King. My mind was mine and mine alone. The warlocks had their claim, but it was weak. A far subtler approach then the Mushroom-King. Suggestions rather than orders. So I couldn¡¯t trust my thoughts, that was nothing new. It had been years since I¡¯d learned the difference between thinking something, believing it, and it being true. All sorts of funny ideas roamed through the ?ther. Most of the ones imposed on my mind I ignored. Conscientious minds were particularly susceptible to self-destructive introjects. I was free. Free and a dryad. That brought with it all whole new bevy of experiences and questions. Though my appearance hadn¡¯t changed (as far as I could tell) my senses had. I could make out the faint traces of bioluminescent moss on the ground, even with my eyes closed. I could sense the Mushroom-King¡¯s mycelia coursing through the floors and walls of the dungeon. Rising up from the cracks in the flag stones. I could sense the life within me. The glowing core of the dryad at the centre of my being. I could feel something else. Each source of life contained a string, which thrummed with subtle energy. It was a matter of will, I didn¡¯t even need to lift a finger to reach out and pluck it. To bend it to suit my purpose. The moss flared in the dark. All of its stored energy released at once, still not enough to see by. And somehow I knew, I knew exactly how long the new light would last. I couldn¡¯t words to it ¨C hours or minutes ¨C human metrics were alien to the plant¡¯s senses, but some part of tracked it all the same. Not much longer. What did that mean? What did it mean to be a dryad? Did I now have some tree to serve? Was I bound to it? Was my life contingent on it¡¯s survival? The hob had said he¡¯d free me from the Mushroom-King, not from involuntary service. If he had tried to cheat me, tried ensnare me once more, I¡¯d find a way out of it. I, Oswic of Blackbridge, Magi of the Sacred order for six long years, would not be bound. One thing at a time. Which way led back home? Home. The sunless room with two rotting frog corpses and a casket of fish. I couldn¡¯t stay here. The frogs might wander from their room eventually. I held my breath and listened, what had it been? Children¡¯s laughter in the halls? I had to place my ear nearly flush against the wall to make the noises out at first. They sounded like no children I¡¯d ever heard. Yipping howls. Whines. Cackling. Once I knew what to listen for I could make it out among the moans, screams, and whistling winds of the dungeon, even when I stood in the centre of the hall. In theory, I could wall securely down the middle of the corridor with confidence as long as kept the balance of sound in both ears. If the laughter grew louder in one and fainting in the other, I could move back in the direction of the faint sound until they equalized again. In practice, I wasn¡¯t sure I had the skill. Perhaps a musician could do it easily, but I was no musician. Singing with the village ¡®round the fire and a few tunes on the recorder was the limit of my abilities. Still, I¡¯d give it a shot. The mercenaries had said the laughter was different in the rooms, though I couldn¡¯t remember how. Hopefully it was obvious. As it turned out, it was. The first path I chose (the fork to my left) ended in a doorway after less than a minute of cautious stepping. I turned around, hugging the wall to my left so as not accidentally end up back with the frogs. After another minute of walking the yipping, howling laughter gave way to the laughter of children playing. Girl children. Hadn¡¯t the mercenaries said the something about the sex of the child depending on the size of the room? The hob room hadn¡¯t been small, but outside of my cell and the spike room it was probably the smallest I¡¯d seen. Girl¡¯s laughter for smaller rooms then. I circled around the room until I found the door on the far side. It was still wedged halfway open as I¡¯d remembered. I squeezed through and pulled it shut behind me. The yipping howls returned. Where was I now? Another hallway? It had only been a couple of hours since I¡¯d last past by here, but they¡¯d been a very stressful couple hours, so my memory was a little shaky. Shouldn¡¯t the room of footsteps be next? For that matter, why hadn¡¯t I noticed children¡¯s laughter in the room of footsteps? Perhaps you could only hear it when looking for it? Or perhaps I¡¯d been too distracted. It was fairly faint unless my ear was against the wall. I hit a second door after a couple dozen steps. Right. The tiny antechamber between the two rooms. I¡¯d completely forgot about it. I pulled the second door shut as well. I sat and took a pull from my waterskin. I didn¡¯t fancy risking the darkened chambers and corridors all the way back to my room. If anything this room was probably safer than my own. Anything trying to open these doors would wake me instantly. Not even the wailing corner had produced such tortured screaming. I rested my head against the wall. There was severed roots behind the wall here. Probably from when the soldiers had activated the rift. Majestic green lines of life slowly fading away. The world was full of life, even here. My awareness spread, finding the glowing lights in the dark. Lights which waxed towards brilliance, and others which waned away to nothing. Both were beautiful beyond measure. And there, at my core, filling me with that feeling of wholesome satisfaction, was the most beautiful glow of all. Shining like the sun, but infinitely more pleasant to look at. Life filled me. Sitting here in the dark, far from home, kidnapped by warlocks, a hand¡¯s breadth from death every moment, with the echoes of screams and demented laughter ringing in my ears, I was content. XI - Dark Magic Dawn. My eyes snapped open. My sense of that invisible threshold had increased to the point where not only was I aware of the rising of the sun, it also woke me. Will-o¡¯-Wisp I forced open the door to the hob room, pulled it shut again, and forced open the door to the footstep room instead. It was easy to get turned around here. I hurried through the chamber, invisible footsteps chasing after me, through the hallway beyond, and into the room with spikes scattered around the floor. It would have to do. I hurried over to one corner to wrap up a spot of urgent business. Eliminate The spell vanished from my book. Thankfully, it had still worked and I was able to continue walking at a much more sedate pace back to my room. It was unfortunate, but I¡¯d used the lesser form of the spell for precisely this eventuality. The worse part was not the loss of the spell itself, but the fact that I¡¯d have to waste the morrow recording a copy of EliminateII. More delays. Nothing I could do about it. Feel the pain while moving on. It took me another 5 or so minutes to return my room. Once their I broke my fast and drank from my waterskin. The skins were running low. I¡¯d have to take care of that today. I shut the fish cask and placed my journal and wax on top of it where I¡¯d able to access them easily and quickly. Then I drew my sword in a double hand stance. I swung it around a few times, getting the feel of it. I only had a little training with a staff, and even less than a sword. The principle was roughly the same, however. Hit the other guy with as much leverage as possible. My strength would make up for what I lacked in skill. At least I hoped it would. I started swing the sword around, going through the motions, practicing imaginary blocks and strikes, stepping backward and forward, lunging and parrying. I dashed to the far side of the room, then spun around in a circle holding the sword at arm¡¯s length. I danced back to the cask, ducked low with a sweep, and then jumped high for an over hand strike. I stabbed at the air as high as I could reach and even threw the sword as far as possible several times, running over to retrieve it. All the while I was recording. The lights went out. I was ready for that. With the darkness came whispers. Screeching, cloying, begging, demanding. Lightning Cascade Those I hadn¡¯t expected. My concentration shattered. Another mark against dark magic. How was anyone supposed to get anything done with the voices in their head? It would drive you insane. I shook myself, rolled my shoulders, and raised my sword up once more. I¡¯d lost an hour, but only an hour. Spells could only be recorded once per day, but on the other hand, they could be recorded once per day. I still had my opportunity. Interruptions didn¡¯t waste the attempt. It was annoying, but my day was normally too long as it was. Besides, I¡¯d had an idea brought about by the loss of light. I raised my sword and began recording. Marshlight Once more I danced with my blade. This time, two lights joined me, dim, but bright enough for my demonic eyes to see by. Again I pushed myself to the limit, this time with my concentration split between controlling both will-o¡¯-wisps and sword, dashing and diving and weaving all around. Magic Sword: An invisible blade dances and strikes with the base force of 484 lbs over the course of an hour. Two lights swirl about it, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. All move independently following the whims of their master. Those ticks wouldn¡¯t know what hit them. Combining disparate spells in this manner was an old trick, but the practice of which was generally discouraged. It allowed for mages to garner far larger, more versatile pool of spells at a much faster rate, but there was a drawback to every blessing, just as their was a benefit to every curse. I¡¯d given myself another lightspell, and a new weapon, true, but the weapon could never properly be used stealthy, as it it would always be announced by my will-o¡¯-wisps. Thus, it was considered good practice to keeps spells pure and clean. But the standards had not been made by mages limited to a dozen or so spells by the forces of dark magic. Nor were most mages on such a pressing time limit. Patience was all well and good when it was warranted, but here it could get me killed. I only had so much food, and my water supply was running low. I hefted my sword and spell book. I¡¯d be changing that. Immediately, while light and confidence lasted. I took one last pull from my waterskin, and began picking my way back to the cell where the warlocks had imprisoned me. *** The ticks had yet to leave my stream. I wasn¡¯t sure if they could at this point. Both were now bloated, swollen so large their rubbery flesh pressed against ceiling, floor, and wall. The bodies had all be reduced to shrivelled husks. I was standing around the corner, peeking in at them. My lights hovered between us, a fact the ticks seemed keenly aware of. Why could all these creatures from the caverns see light? I¡¯d seen cave dwelling animals before, salamanders, fish, bats. All of them blind, or nearly so. So were the monsters I found here inhabitants of the dungeon itself, or had they all been brought here from the surface? I remember the slurping sounds from the first tick last time I¡¯d been to my stream. Even the warlocks wouldn¡¯t tolerate such creatures to wander freely. Perhaps, then, the caverns themselves were lit by some source. That would be a relief. I jumped around the corridor, fingers ready against my spells. ¡°Boo!¡± The ticks started, and tried to twist towards me. The lead tick ¨C the smaller of the two ¨C even went so far as to lunge at me. It was like watching a water droplet try to escape a pond. Its heads lunged forward, stopped, and snapped back, ripples spreading across its bloated body. I¡¯d made my earlier observation half in jest, but it now appeared they had actually managed to completely wedge themselves in the corridor. I still didn¡¯t dare approach. Their bodies were malleable enough that the lunge had moved its head several feet. But I didn¡¯t need to. Magic Sword It was almost anti-climatic. Creatures which had blocked my passage for days fell in seconds to my invisible sword. Blood ¨C black, red, yellow and grey ¨C erupted from sudden wounds along their bodies. It poured from their abdomens in a torrent. The stream beneath them turned dark as the creatures writhed in agony. I kept most of my attacks focused on their heads and legs. I doubted they had much in the way of vital organs stored in those enormous sacks, and deflating them too much might merely allow the ticks to actually attack me. A blade which your opponent couldn¡¯t see, and one which you didn¡¯t need to risk wielding was a powerful thing, even without my strength behind it. Beheading the ticks became trivial. They couldn¡¯t see to twist away from my blows, and I didn¡¯t need to risk an engagement near their biting jaws and flailing legs. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. With luck my Magic Sword would work as well against human foes. And warlocks. With even more luck I¡¯d never need to test it. The heads fell to the ground and the ticks died. Neither their heads nor bodies knew it for several seconds, but die they did. Their thrashing slowed, then stilled. Their remaining legs collapsed under them and their abdomens began to slowly deflate. Thankfully the stream was wide and their was still room upstream of the ticks on this side. I filled skins before the torrent of blood and bile overwhelmed the stream. Hopefully I¡¯d be able to develop some sort of corpse removal spell at some point. The dungeon was turning into a charnel house. I couldn¡¯t just eat every corpse I came across. I was still surprised I¡¯d survived eating the first one. Once my waterskins were full I hurried back to my room. I hadn¡¯t thought much beyond killing the ticks and getting water, but now that I had a magical sword available to me for nearly another hour, ideas were beginning to flood my mind. I wasn¡¯t about to risk fighting the other frogs. I doubted a single sword blow would fell them, and even if I got lucky, there was four of them, and they could jump far faster than the invisible blade could fly. If I myself were invisible myself it might be a different story, but even then their panicked hopping would be enough to kill anything smaller than an ox. Instead, I could take advantage of the opportunities a temporary blade I wasn¡¯t concerned about preserving offered me. I had a shovel, saw, and axe all in one here. Plus it might be able to trip traps if I sent it before me, sparing myself the risk. I should have thought of it before- some sort of homunculus to take my place in the risks of exploring the dungeon. I¡¯d add it to the ever growing list of spells I needed to record. Once back in my room I oriented myself with the orcneas¡¯s room. Then, I sent my magic sword to wailing away on the north wall. With my added strength behind the strikes it didn¡¯t take long to carve a large, deep, and unmistakable ¡®X¡¯ into the wall. Hopefully I¡¯d be able to recognize it even if the lights went out. I moved into the room where I¡¯d first met the ruby beetle and did the same to the north wall there. I wondered if the Mushroom-King could hear me on the other side of his wall. It created quite a racket, but he didn¡¯t lower it so I continued into the room filled with statues. I put the next one right between the path to the wailing room and the doorway I¡¯d never opened. Until I had a reason to, I wasn¡¯t going to bother. The doorways here had caused me more trouble than the monsters. It took me three tries until I was confident I¡¯d kept the angles straight after crawling through the secret passage, but I also put an X in the room with the large pool of water. I was careful to avoid allowing my gaze to move beyond the archway where the demon mirror lay. Unfortunately, that did turn out to be the north-most passage, but for the time being I had other options. North of the statuary room was the wailing room. The northern wall was directly opposite the passage which had nearly crushed me. I marked it with an X. The room had an exit set in the northern wall, which eventually led to the warlock¡¯s altar if I remembered correctly. The other passage led to the west through where the teleport trap had been, but the passage beyond twisted a number of times, making it very possible that it too headed north. By my estimation I¡¯d been drifting slowly east, and the orcneas had said to go north, not north-east, so I decided upon the west passage for now to balance things out. The passage turned to the right. I marked the far wall to keep my orientation. As I finalized my ¡®X¡¯ I began to make out a new sound over the din of scraping rock. Squealing. Squeaking. Like an army of rats. Thousands of them wouldn¡¯t be so loud. The sounds was coming from everywhere at once. If I was unable to pinpoint its source, moving forward was as safe as retreating. The corridor turned right once more, then left, ending abruptly against the south end of the room with spikes on the floor. The safe spike room. My cluster of lights went before me, while my magic sword hovered above my head, ready to defend my from either side. As the marsh lights spilled out into the safe spike room they split apart and multiplied, turning into a winking glimmering sea at the far end the room. Reflections. Reflections of dozens of eyes. I recoiled and brought both my mundane and magical sword in front of me. The squeaking and squealing intensified at my sudden motion. Without a doubt they were its source. The sea of eyes roiled as the creatures startled from the sudden light. It was too weak to properly illuminate them, even as the will-o¡¯-wisps moved directly above them, but I could make out their forms. Small scurrying figures, perhaps two feet in length with long tails dragging behind them. They were covered in a thick fur, but it was too dark to make out the colour. Not disturbing on their own, but the way they scampered and surged, the way they clambered over one another, and in such numbers, my my stomach churn. Miniature rats, going by the standard of everything else in the dungeon. A whole pack of them. This was unfortunately the situation where my magic sword was at its least useful. If I attacked them I couldn¡¯t guaranteed I would kill them all before I was overwhelmed. Even a single bite could be deadly. Normal rats were bad enough. Who knew what kind of diseases a dark magic dungeon rat carried? I would probably win if I attacked them. Their constant motion made it hard to tell, but I could only make out a dozen or so beyond the north doorway. They also appeared to be afraid of me and my light. Perhaps I¡¯d startled them. Perhaps the warlocks had hunted them for spo... Warlocks. As if the twisted whispering in my ears had read my thoughts (and perhaps they had) they spoke in synchrony with my thoughts. Lightning Cascade. If any spell was designed for dealing with a pack of rodents, this was it. I didn¡¯t truly know what it did, but the name alone filled me with confidence that it would be spectacular. How important was it to me to continue this path? I could still return to the room with the dark altar, or travel beyond the demon mirror instead. That was just the paths I knew. There were plenty of doors I¡¯d ever opened. Which was greater? The risks of traps, or the risk of dark magic? Dark magic had yet to live up to its reputation, whereas three of the four traps had nearly killed me. I didn¡¯t want those rats creeping after me, or devouring me while I slept. I backed up, recalling one of my jack-o¡¯-lanterns as I did so. The lantern drifted back down the corridor, past the ¡®X¡¯ I¡¯d carved there, until it was almost out of sight. My fingers were already bookmarked throughout my spellbook. At some point I¡¯d gone from wondering if I was going to cast the spell, to preparing to cast it. There had been no conscious thought leading from the one to the other. Normally I¡¯d call that decisive. In the context of dark magic, it worried me. But there was no time for hesitation, the rats would recover any second. Lightning Cascade It moved almost like a cylinder, striking down, rolling forward, catching against the ground, falling, and striking down anew. An endless wave, bright as the sun, tumbling over itself again and again and again. I triggered my other spells, barely able to seem my destination through the corner of my eye. The rest of my vision was taken up with glowing spots of fire. Transport Safe TeleportII Deafening booms still rocked the corridor once I arrived. My feet went out from under me. I landed on a heap atop my gear, thankfully without the further injury. Scorching air rushed overhead so fast it formed a howling gale. I desperately burrowed under my armour hoping the thick leather would protect me. I fumbled for my waterskins and emptied two of them in desperation on top of the pile, soaking them through. My shirt too I soaked through, draping it over my face and ears. I was pretty sure I had to be careful not to put water directly on my skin, but I couldn¡¯t remember why. Couldn¡¯t think straight. Steam maybe? I couldn¡¯t see. Lightning danced in front of my eyes. My ears were ringing. The only sound was the ringing and the beating of my heart in my ears. My back was on fire, burnt between the gaps in my armour. I could barely breathe. My impromptu cloth was hot against my face. I blindly found another water skin and emptied it over my back and face. Eventually, the ground stopped shaking. My clothes began to cool. The air became breathable. I wasn¡¯t going to try my sword or dagger for a while, nor was I going to risk blindly searching though my gear for them. I sat. The stone all around me was hot. Higher up on the walls it was still too hot to touch. My sense of life was dimmed. Whatever mosses and fungi had dwelled between the stones of the walls and floor were gone. Even some of the roots beyond had shrivelled. I was shaking. I was nearly a hundred feet from where I¡¯d summoned the lightning and it had almost killed me. So this was dark magic. Random. Unpredictable. Power without reason. The Ice Cloak had been tame by comparison. Even the warlock¡¯s crushing spell hadn¡¯t been a cent as devastating. The only thing stopping them from ruling the world was the inherently chaotic nature of their magic. And now I knew why they wanted to capture a mage. XII - An Old Friend Piercing Shield Spawning Cauldron Hindering Claw Serpent Moment Whispers in my mind. Demanding to be used. Demanding to be... remembered. Recorded. Could I record the spells? If I couldn¡¯t it would settle the debate as to whether they were natural or not. If I could record them... No. It was more than that. They didn¡¯t just want a warrior bound to their will. They wanted a teacher. A teacher who could create an army. The power of the warlocks bound with the skills and precision of a mage. A cool wind blew by me. A small vesper, a stirring of air, nothing more, but it was enough to pull me away from the thought. The air had cooled. The stone was still warm, but this far from the incident I could stand on it without harm. With my boots on I¡¯d be able to walk closer. If only I could see. As I was fumbling around for my clothes my finger brushed against hot metal. I pulled my hand back with a hiss of pain, but the pain faded instantly. I¡¯d felt the illusion of pain, nothing more. Like when hot water felt cold or vice versa. Cautiously, I found the blade again. It was my sword, warm to the touch, but cool enough to grasp fully in my hand. My vision started to return shortly after I¡¯d finished dressing. The light of my will-o¡¯-wisps, all four of them, was still barely enough to illuminate the ground direct in front of me, even when I pulled them all together into a single mass. Still, I managed to find all my things, scattered about as they had been, and attach them back to my belt. It was my spellbook I was most concerned about, and when I found it I could see that it had indeed suffered. The cover had cracked from the extreme heat, and the edges of each page had become stiff and rippled where the parchment had been exposed. Thankfully my frantic efforts with the waterskins had soaked the book as well, and it had been protected from drying out too badly. Leafing through the book itself revealed that the wax had run, but not so badly I couldn¡¯t make out the spells. As I came to the page with Transport on it a jolt went through me. Something was wrong. Transport: Move all of the caster¡¯s gear 150 ft over the course of four seconds. Four seconds. Four. The spell was twice as fast as it had been. No wonder my I¡¯d landed on top of my gear this time. It had arrived long before me. On one level that was annoying. I¡¯d been hoping to use the exact timing for my own purposes. On another level it was terrifying. I¡¯d had my summoned lights double in number, but that had been an alteration of the effect. Spells were more than words. They were recordings of that which had happened. Their magical nature was derived from the truth of their observations. And the dark magic of the dungeon had changed that. Had changed reality itself. The Lightning Cascade. I¡¯d been toying with forces which warped reality. Which changed not only what was, but what had been. How could the warlock claim it to be natural when it literally disrupted the natural order? And by casting Lightning Cascade, by casting Ice Cloak even, I¡¯d been part of that disruption. I felt ill. No no no nono. My back hit the wall and I slumped to the floor. I¡¯d violated my vows. I was unclean. I¡¯d- people would look at me and see the corruption in my eyes. I¡¯d undone any good I¡¯d ever done in the world. I¡¯d frayed the fabric of reality. How many deaths, present, past, and future were now on my hands? I was- Breathe. I took in a deep breath. Slowly let it out. Never again. No. I wouldn¡¯t hide from the truth of my actions with false promises. I¡¯d not push away my pain. My fear. My loathing. I took another deep breath. And then another. I let the pain course through me. Felt its sickening, twisted, sting. Felt it and opened my eyes anyway. Let it sit as I stood. I squinted through the light tattoos burned onto my eyes. I could make out a little more the hallway now. I brought my lights closer, all four of them, and sent them along the wall to my left. Sure enough, there was my ¡®X¡¯, carved in stone. I traced my fingers over it. The noise had probably been what had attracted the rats. If that was the case, the lightning might bring every creature in the dungeon down on my head. Or scare them away. I thought I¡¯d gone deaf, but I realized I could still make out the yipping laughter over the ringing in my ears. The silence wasn¡¯t one of personal injury. The moaning and wailing had stopped. My spell had- There was four lights. Four. Why did that matter? What did that mean? It stood out to me for some reason. Because... I blinked rapidly. A wry smile crossed my face. It had been less than an hour since I¡¯d finished writing my last spell. Two hours since breakfast. I¡¯d spent 95% of the last several weeks in abject boredom, and the remaining 5% desperately fighting for my life. It would be nice if the dungeon could pace itself. Boring and deadly was a dangerous combination. I cautiously made my way back to the safe spike room. My fingertips trailed along the wall to my left, feeling the heat rise as I went. I didn¡¯t want to rely on my booted feet alone and suddenly find myself on fire. The light scars continued to fade. By the time I rounded the corner I could make out the first ten or so feet of what I had done. The stone floor had been turned to glass. Smooth yellow-black glass. It was cracked all over, pitted in place where subsequent strikes had chewed it from the floor and spat it across the room. Any spikes which had been set in the floor between the two doorways were gone. Either flung aside or melted into oblivion. The rats were gone. As I wandered about the room I drew close enough to the other spikes to make them out in the gloom. Or rather, I drew close enough to the places where the spikes had been. Their metal must have attracted the electrical surges. Not a single one remained in the ground. They had all been twisted and flung aside, or destroyed. Now that I knew the way was safe I was able to move more quickly. The only danger was the shards of glass crunching beneath my boots, and the slightly unstable footing they provided. I strode back into the corridor and double-checked my orientation. I still had my magic sword for... for however long I still had it. It was hard to keep exact track of the time. I was going to use the sword while I had it. I carved another ¡®X¡¯ into the north wall, to the far right of the doorway where I¡¯d (unfortunately) done my business the other day. The rest of the walls were too melted for my blade to easily find purchase. If the noise was noticed by any creatures they stayed away. I figured if the sound of hundreds if not thousands of lightning bolts hadn¡¯t immediately attracted them to my location, then they¡¯d avoid this place for a good long while. I would¡¯ve. I carved a second ¡®X¡¯ in the corridor a the end of my field of glass. Turning 90 degrees to my right, both the footstep room and the continuation of the corridor were to my left. That was now three? four? maybe even five? possible route I could take to find the stairs down. ¡°North¡± as a direction was turning out to be somewhat vague. If I took the footstep room I¡¯d eventually end up having to go through the corridor with frogs, or hope the door I¡¯d found wandering in the dark also headed north. Plus, I still had a light spell and a teleport spell. And my magic sword. Down the corridor it was then. The corridor went turned back to the east after about thirty feet. I marked the northern wall at the corner and continued on down. The hairs on the back of my neck rose as I moved farther and further east. The hallway was probably 200 feet in length, completely interrupted. I kept expecting something to happen at any moment. Another douse of acid, or a masonry block sliding from the ceiling. The floor giving way to a pit of spikes. The walls suddenly closing in and holding me in place until I starved to death. The longer I walked the more elaborate my imagination became, and the slower I walked, eyes darting left and right, looking for traps. Finally, the end of the corridor came into sight, turning left and north once more. I was still on the right track. The hall ended in an archway leading out into a moderately sized room. Moderate by the size of the dungeon. I could barely make out my will-o¡¯-wisps when they flew to the far corner, though that may have been more a function of my light-blindness than the room¡¯s size. My path into the room was barred by a simple wooden gate or portcullis. My sword (magical or otherwise) could probably get me through it with a bit of work, but it turned out the much more expedient option of lifting it was far easier. I slipped underneath and into the room without more than a cursory look for traps. If my lights and sword had gone through without trouble, I couldn¡¯t afford to waste my remaining minutes checking for them. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. I lowered the portcullis gently to the ground behind me. No reason to make more noise than I needed to, even if my carving was likely to make more. There was a strange smell in the air. One of those smells which was hard to identify as good or bad. Like curing meat. It could make you hungry or turn your stomach, depend on your mood. This smell was... soapy? Lemony? Acrid like vomit? All of them and none. Sweet like lilies. Cloying like rotting grass. Far from overpowering. Easy to ignore. Perhaps the room had inhabitants which produced the scent. The east wall held some clue as to their potential nature. Someone had painted it with the same strange scrawling script I¡¯d seen before. I¡¯d seen it nearly every day in fact, or might not have recognized it. It was the same script which covered one of the walls in my room, the one with the fish casket. I doubted the frogs had written it. I wouldn¡¯t call it impossible, but the smell in this room had not been in the two others with the frogs. The orcneas had their own language, and as far as I knew, dwarves used the Language of the Gods or their own secret tongue. So this was a script most likely written by the warlocks. Directions perhaps? I was surprised I hadn¡¯t seen more signs already. But I doubted the mercenaries could read these words, and hired help would be in the most need of direction. I¡¯d have to keep an eye out for more of the language, ask the mercs about if I ran into them again. The rest of the room was empty. Just an iron door to the south, and a wooden door to the north. I set my magic sword to work next to the wooden door before I lost track. It was too easy to get turned around in these featureless rooms. While it worked I studied the door, frame, and handle. ¡°What¡¯s that racket? Master Tom can hardly think! Who¡¯s scratching at old Tom¡¯s door?¡± I froze and raised my mortal sword. My magic sword withdrew from the wall and floated between myself and the door. ¡°Is that you, Master? Master Tom Oldshoe?¡± The dobby cackled, ¡°Oswic sir! Oswic of Blackbridge! Old Tom thought he¡¯d never seen Sir again, and yet here Sir is, only a day after Master Tom last said his goodbyes. Did Sir miss old Tom so badly, Sir? Did Sir wish to make another deal?¡± I desperately probed my memory. When had I told him my name? I hadn¡¯t, had I. Had he been researching me? Tracking down my home? ...and, what was more, did I wish to make another deal? The warlocks still held some unknown power over my mind, and the orcneas¡¯s directions had been vague at best. Even if he was a dobby, he was still bound to the letter of his word, and there were stories of people getting the upper hand against them. My best bet, whether I wished to flee him or strike a deal, was to keep him talking. He would take my silence as fear, or a sign I no longer trusted him. I had every right to both emotions, but what offended a dobby was far from logical. And with offence came anger. Dobbys delighted in the suffering of others, and would take advantage of the slightest weakness. ¡°I was on my way to your mother¡¯s house, Master, though I¡¯m afraid I¡¯ve gotten myself somewhat turned around. These corridors are no easy place to navigate.¡± I almost see his little bobbing nod, ¡°Indeed, Sir, indeed. These tunnels were not made by sane minds. Not like Sir¡¯s and Master Tom¡¯s, Sir, no indeed. But why is Sir scratching? Is Sir trying to tunnel into poor old Tom¡¯s home? Has Sir given up on knocking? Has Sir given up on doors altogether?¡± I was fairly certain elves could detect lies, perhaps even without looking at the one speaking them. I could say I would have knocked, but in truth, I¡¯d have turned around and gone the other way unless I had no other options. ¡°I didn¡¯t know this was your home, Master. I¡¯d never wish to be seen as boorish or impolite by one such as yourself. I was merely marking the wall to guide my passage.¡± This was completely true. An angry hob might make hallways connect in new ways, loop back on themselves, or lead nowhere. Wandering the dungeon for ever was the least of my concerns. He could even redirect my path through every trap and den of monsters if I annoyed him enough. ¡°Mark away, Sir! Mark away. Old Tom has as much need of directions as Sir. And the other poor wanderers need it twice as much as Tom!¡± Time was running out. I set my magic sword to carving once more, keeping my other one firmly raised and at the ready. ¡°Others, Master? Have you met others down here?¡± I immediately thought of the mercenaries. I didn¡¯t like them, but they¡¯d suffered plenty, both from disease and by my hand. And they¡¯d done right by me. I didn¡¯t wish them any more ill will. Plus any favours Tom extracted from any denizen of the dungeon might work against me. The less people he interacted with, the better. ¡°Old Tom knows everyone Sir. Everyone! Master Tom doesn¡¯t talk to them all, Sir, but he watches. Watches and waits.¡± Tom¡¯s voice came from behind me that time. I spun. He stood between me and the portcullis. His cap was in hand as he toyed with the tassels. ¡°Would Sir like to make another deal? Sir has not paid old Master Tom back for his first bargain, but old Tom trusts Sir to him. Master Tom is willing to extend credit.¡± ¡°That¡¯s very kind of you, Master. I appreciate your latitude in this manner,¡± Tom bobbed his head in acknowledgement. I continued, ¡°You said you could remove the influence the warlocks and their altar had on my mind, Master. Do I remember correctly?¡± Tom rubbed his hands together, ¡°Indeed Sir does, Sir! Indeed Sir does. Master Tom would be very happy to remove their nasty influences. Very happy Sir.¡± ¡°And in return, Master?¡± Tom stuck out is tongue to the corner of his mouth in thought. He crossed his arms and tapped his foot. Just as my sword finished carving my latest ¡®X¡¯ into the wall he raised a finger in declaration. ¡°Old Tom lost a chest of his, Sir, a very valuable chest. Master Tom...¡± he went silent, looked up at me, and winked, ¡°Master Tom lost a chest of his and the contents therein, Sir. The contents are Master Tom¡¯s as well.¡± He¡¯d learned from our last encounter. I wasn¡¯t sure how he did that, actually. Claiming things for his own. Either elves could lie ¨C perhaps only under certain circumstances ¨C and it was just a very well kept secret, or there was no lie in declaring something yours which became yours through declaration of ownership. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if elves could lie about all things but for when making deals, but if that was the case I¡¯d have to be even more careful when listening to the hob¡¯s words. Tom continued, ¡°Poor Master Tom dropped the chest in a pool, Sir. A pool just over there.¡± He pointed vaguely south-west. ¡°Retrieve poor Tom¡¯s chest, Sir, and old Tom will be oh so grateful to Sir.¡± ¡°Is this the pool south directly south of the magical mirror, Master?¡± Tom nodded, ¡°The very same Sir. The very same.¡± ¡°When did you lose your chest, Master Tom?¡± ¡°Old Tom lost the chest long ago, Sir. Long before Sir entered the dungeon, Sir.¡± ¡°I¡¯d be happy to get it for you Master, in exchange for removing the warlock and altar¡¯s influence, but I must know, why haven¡¯t you gotten it yourself?¡± ¡°Master Tom doesn¡¯t want to get wet, Sir.¡± ¡°Is the pool dangerous, Master Tom?¡± Tom blinked rapidly, ¡°Dangerous, Sir? Of course it¡¯s dangerous! Sir could drown!¡± I had to stop myself from clenching my jaw, ¡°What of the properties of the pool, Master? Is it poisonous? Cursed? Magical?¡± A pantomime of understanding crossed the hobgoblin¡¯s face, ¡°Oh! Perhaps Sir, perhaps! If Sir were to bring Master Tom a sample of the liquid Master Tom could tell Sir.¡± ¡°Which would cost me another bargain, Master?¡± ¡°Of course, Sir. Master Tom can not give such information freely, Sir. Master Tom¡¯s mother would never let him hear the end of it!¡± I bit back another sigh and stuck out my hand. I had some idea of how to get back his chest, ¡°I¡¯ll retrieve your chest Master Tom, and in return you¡¯ll remove the warlock and altar¡¯s influence from my mind.¡± ¡°And it¡¯s contents, Sir. Unbroken.¡± ¡°As unbroken as they are when I find them, Master.¡± His eyes twinkled and he grabbed my hand, ¡°We have a deal Sir! I¡¯ll await your return! If Sir just knocks on Master Tom¡¯s door it will open!¡± My sword and two of the lights had given out sometime while we were speaking. The other two lights would remain for an hour more. Hopefully that would be enough time to refill my waterskins and retrieve Tom¡¯s treasures. I sidled around Tom to the portcullis. He watched with polite interest as I lifted it, slipped under, and then gentle lowered it behind myself. He waved at me, cap in hand, as I gave him one last look before turning and walking down the tunnel. I was beginning to wonder if he was truly a dobby. He¡¯d been far kinder than necessary with my gloves, and he hadn¡¯t taken the opportunity to prank me as I¡¯d been lifting the portcullis. All he had to do was make it heavier the higher I lifted it, or make me sneeze at a critical juncture, and the whole thing could have come crashing down around me. Perhaps he really did want his chest back. I¡¯d have to see what was in it. The pool was closest, so I went there first. My first glance over its waters revealed nothing of its depths. A more careful second glance was much the same. Given the crystal clear nature of the water, either the hob¡¯s chest was in a different pool, or the refraction was such that the bottom appeared much closer than it was. I dipped my sword into the water, excepting it to find the bottom after two or three feet, but it sank to the hilt without touching anything. I pulled it back and studied the blade. It was unharmed. Just to be sure, I dipped the tip of my glove in next, to see if the waters had any effect on organics. It too seemed fine. Focusing, I sent out my plant-life sense over the pool, checking for any algae or moss invisible to the... demonic eye. The waters were as clear as they appeared. So, not filled with acid nor any strong alkali, and yet, life failed to bloom in the still waters. Poison and magic were the most likely culprits. I sent my jack-o¡¯-lanterns into the pond and started circling them around the base of the pond, spiralling towards it¡¯s centre. There. I moved both lights closer. The refraction made it nearly impossible to make out its form, but something in the water there was casting strange shadows midway between myself and the centre. It was enough to cast my next spell. PushII I aimed the force straight up, in case the box was lighter than expected, to give me more time time to cancel my spell and protect its contents. It was well that I did so, for the small chest rocketed from the water in a massive plume of water. I cancelled the spell as quickly as I was able, but the chest was rising too fast. It was going to crash into the stone ceiling. PushIII I kept the second spell going for less than a fraction of a second, just enough to send the chest down and towards me. I wasn¡¯t trying to retrieve the chest at this point, just prevent it from smashing into pieces. It splashed down in front of me, sending a spray of water my way. Safe Teleport I landed (naked) on the opposite side of the pool, near the eastern door. I wasn¡¯t taking any chances when it came to waters the hob refused to touch. I circled back round to my gear. It had been lightly sprayed with water, but nothing was soaked through. I draped it along the retaining wall of the pool to dry all the same. I considered taking my belt and waterskin ¨C which had escaped most of the torrent ¨C and heading back to the stream to refill them, but the thought of leaving my gear unattended for some wandering creature or hob to mess with kept me firmly in place. It ended up only taking a dozen minutes or so for the worst of it to dry. I redressed, and despite the occasional spatter here and there, felt no worse for it. I decided to cut my losses there. I¡¯d used nearly every spell under my command to attempt to retrieve the chest and had nothing to show for it. I¡¯d go refill my skins, and make a spell to retrieve the chest on the morrow. I¡¯d wanted to make a new eliminate spell, but I had no idea how patient Master Tom would be with delays. Not immediately retrieving it was a risk enough. Though there had been no time limit in our deal, neither had he promised to stay his ire should I take too long. XIII - Discovery I¡¯d returned to the stream and refilled the bottles without incident. Half the water was brown, but the side of the stream furthest from the giant ticks still ran clear. I¡¯d spent the rest of the day in my room fiddling with the bottle there and planning my next spell. I¡¯d briefly considered emptying the pool with them, but that sound both dangerous and boring, which I was trying to avoid. The spell I¡¯d almost entirely decided upon as my gear had been drying, so that too occupied very little of my time. Eventually, I resorted back to my old faithful of bringing up the run in front of my eyes, and losing myself in its... Dawn broke with the sound of whispers. Intoxicating Blood That was a hell of a thing to wake up to. It wasn¡¯t doing the whole ¡°dark magic isn¡¯t evil¡± argument any favours either. Probably be pretty useful if I ran into any vampires though. Marshlight I began my day by taking care of business the old fashioned way. I wasn¡¯t about to risk my spell in its entirety while I had easy access to clean water and parchment. I fed and watered myself before readying my wax and spellbook and crouching down by my fish casket. It was time for a new spell. Will-o¡¯-Wisp. I lifted the cask with ease and ran to the opposite end of the room, then back again. I slowed to a walk, then ran again, alternating the speeds at ran- Whispers filled my head, long tattered fingers struck from the shadows of my mind, tore my concentration to shreds. Bark Swarm ¡°Bitter Waters!¡± I¡¯d been expecting the interruption. I was a mage after all. We weren¡¯t called wise for nothing. We were taught to pay attention. And what I¡¯d now noticed, and before somewhat expected, was I was far more likely to be interrupted if I took a while to get around to recording my new spell in the morning. That, or the interruptions were getting worse. ¡°I¡¯ll tear this sun-denied castle to the ground!¡± I grumbled. Mages were also taught acceptance, but that lesson had had more trouble sticking. This whole dungeon felt like it was a continuation of my master¡¯s lessons. Probably was in a round about fashion. ¡°Every setback a lesson, every hardship an opportunity¡± as he¡¯d put it. ¡°Life is a metaphor for life¡± and all that. If the tentative pattern I¡¯d established was anything to go by, the sooner I started rerecording, the better. Will-o¡¯-WispII. I lifted the cask (again) with ease and ran (in a slightly worn-out manner) to the opposite end of the room, then back again. I slowed to a walk, then ran again, alternating the speeds at random. Four lights danced about me as I ran, two of them staying with me the whole time, two others dying twelve minutes before it ended. Levitate: An object weighing up to 80lbs is moved following the whims of the mage. Two lights swirl about at the beck of the mage, lighting such areas as they desire. The object can be moved at up to the speed of a gentle run. I snapped my spell book closed with satisfaction. That would do the trick. I was out of light spells, but by this point I could make the journey in the dark. I held my sword out in front of me to guide my passage and headed for the pool room. Time to retrieve Master Tom Oldshoe¡¯s treasure. *** Of course, I needed to see the chest in order to cast my spell on it. Somehow this had only occurred to me after I¡¯d bashed my shins on the retaining wall of the pool. There was no helping it. Magic Sword I sent the sword to hover above me while the two jack-o¡¯-lanterns dove into the pool. It took less than a minute to find the chest again, now that I knew where to look. Now that it was closer, I was able to lean over the retaining wall and, by stirring the surface of the water with my magic sword, occasionally get glimpses of it through the waves. That was all I needed. Levitate The box rose into view. My brief glimpse of it before, when I¡¯d nearly dashed it to pieces against the ceiling, had done little to appraise me of how truly small it was. The little iron box was a third the size of bread box, if that. It looked like iron anyway. The hob had suggested the box had been in the pool for some time, yet the box showed no sign of rust. Another mark against the pool being water. A quick examination revealed the box was secured with a lock which had also failed to rust. Unfortunate. I¡¯d promised to retrieve the chest and its contents, not give them to Master Tom after all. I didn¡¯t know how I¡¯d slipped that one over the hob¡¯s head, but it seemed he¡¯d get the last laugh. I¡¯d been banking on stretching the definition of retrieve anyway. I sent box and invisible sword hovering ahead of me as I walked back to Tom¡¯s abode. The path was fairly long and twisting, and I¡¯d only been there once before, but I managed to get back to the portcullis without getting lost. I lifted it to allow my sword and box to pass, then ducked under after them. Once more I was hit by that strange odour outside Tom¡¯s house. What was that? It was like nothing I¡¯d ever smelled before, and yet, somehow familiar. Tom would know, of course. For a price. Maybe that was why it was there in the first place. To drive people mad enough to pay it. I knocked on Tom¡¯s door. ¡°Just a second! Just one second! Who¡¯s there? What¡¯s that racket? Who¡¯s knocking at Master Tom Oldshoe¡¯s door?¡± ¡°Oswic of Blackbridge, Master. I¡¯ve come to fulfill my end of our bargain.¡± Tom let out a merry cackle, ¡°Master Oswic, Sir! Wonderful! Wonderful! Old Tom had wondered if Sir had forgotten where Tom lived. Where has Sir been?¡± ¡°Your chest proved difficult to retrieve, Master, but I got there in the end.¡± The door swung open to reveal a beaming Tom, ¡°Excellent Sir, most excellent! Where is it? Ah! It is there, Master Tom is going blind in his old age. Can¡¯t tell a turnpike from a tea kettle. Set it down on that table there Sir.¡± It didn¡¯t escape my notice that Master Tom hadn¡¯t gone to grab the still wet chest from me. Still, I did as Tom bid and followed the chest into the room. It was as if the doorway led not to another room of the dungeon, but was a portal to a lord¡¯s favourite den in their manor. Perhaps it was. Tom¡¯s chamber was large, though not compared to any other room in the dungeon. It was about the same size as the cell I¡¯d been bound in. He¡¯d decorated the place to be quite cozy, with rugs on the floor and strange looping carvings on the walls. A little fire burned merrily in its hearth in the corner. A pot bubbled gently atop it. A night stand and a tiny bed were bundled near it, and a large dining table stretched by close enough to aid in Tom¡¯s cooking. The far walls were hung with lanterns, and between them Tom had wedged a number of shelves which stood proud under the weight of books, baubles, and knick-knacks. Laughter filled the room. The laughter of little girls, much like all the other small rooms in the dungeon, but much louder and far more numerous. Rather than emanating faintly from the walls it filled the air. A knot in my neck eased I didn¡¯t know I had and my gaze became at once sharp and clear. I had even realized I¡¯d been feeling so worn down. It had just snuck up on me. A smile came unbidden to my lips though I couldn¡¯t fathom why. I still felt the glowing wholeness of the dryad suffusing my being. This was different. Simpler. Gentler. The simple ease of coming home, not the deep current of boundless creation. Tom had probably made his home that way on purpose, to lure weary travellers astray, and to set them on edge. I set the chest on the dining table. ¡°There you have it, Master. Unbroken and untouched.¡± Tom skipped over and stood on tipped toes to better observe his chest. The furniture, save the bed, was all of the size of a normal human for some reason. ¡°One second Sir, and Old Tom will fulfill his bargain as well. Master Tom merely wishes to inspect his goods, Sir, to make sure of Sir¡¯s promise.¡± Tom gave a snap of his fingers and the chest sprung open, revealing its contents. A single round bottle of maroon liquid, cushioned in a seat of velvet. Tom beamed at me, ¡°Very good Sir, very good! Until we meet again!¡± Tom doffed his hat and gave me a flourishing bow- I blinked. The room was gone. So was Tom. *** Trying to figure out what Tom had done was nearly impossible. It was only by his word that I knew of the warlock¡¯s influence on my mind in the first place, and only by his word I knew it was gone. Supposedly. Were he not an elf I¡¯d think the whole thing was set up. Even then, I had my doubts. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. I probed the depths of my mind for a change and found nothing. Not that I expected to find one. The probing mostly involved poking the roof of my mouth with my tongue, which did little to yield me answers. Were the warlock spells gone? Piercing Shield Spawning Cauldron Hindering Claw Serpent Moment Intoxicating Blood I was suddenly assaulted with a deluge of whispers. The swirled about me, almost physical. The room spun and the ever present laughter of the dungeon was drowned out by their repeated phrases. I collapsed to my knees, eyes shut, hands over my ears, but still the whispers continued. I hadn¡¯t expected it to, but moving closer to the ground and shutting off my senses did let me keep my balance. I fought down the voices, forcefully ignored them one by one. It was a skill like none I¡¯d ever exercized before, but it worked. The whispers subsided. Tom hadn¡¯t removed them then. The dark magic was separate from the warlock¡¯s influence. The idea was something of a relief. They didn¡¯t have exclusive control over their practitioners. The were not united in their goals. They could still fight against one another. Still stymie each other¡¯s efforts. I stood and took in my new surroundings. I was clearly in the same room as before, minus Tom¡¯s furnishings. The furniture, rugs, personal effects, hearth, and lanterns were all gone, but the doors and strange carvings on the wall remained. The last two items hurt more than even Tom leaving. Access to light and fire would open whole worlds of possibility for my spells. A proper light spell especially would allow me to navigate the dungeon without the need for my demonic eyes. Not that I had a way to get rid of them anymore. I¡¯d ran into Tom twice in two days. I might yet meet him again. I headed back through the door I¡¯d entered by (through the door I thought I¡¯d entered by) to get my bearings. Sure enough, I remembered correctly. I was back in the large, strange smelling room with my ¡®X¡¯ on the north wall. North was straight through Tom¡¯s former abode then. I turned 180?and marched over to the opposite door. I still had my magic sword and teleportation spells and I wasn¡¯t about to pass up the opportunity to keep exploring. My sword to carved an X in the wall while I studied the door. Both door and frame appeared safe. Still, I didn¡¯t trust my limited knowledge of traps to truly know what to look for, so I readied my spell book and corporeal sword all the same. I turned the handle with my sword hand and- Stuck. Of course it was stuck. The hammers of my carpenters would shake the earth. A few good kicks and a shoulder shove later and- Thwap. Thwap. Two darts were sticking out of my chest. Huh. I reached up with my sword hand and pulled them out. They hadn¡¯t gone in far, not even fully penetrating my armour. If I brought a will-o¡¯-wisp close enough, and squinted just right, I could just about make out an oily sheen on the surface of one of the darts. Poison, probably. I tried to match the angle of impact to where the darts could have come from. It only took a moment. A series of holes lay beyond the door about a foot from the frame. They were angled inward to shoot through the door as it opened. Try as I might, however, I couldn¡¯t figure out how the trap had activated. String? Gears? Shifting weights? All were possible (probably) but I couldn¡¯t find evidence of any. Still, the holes gave me something to work off of. Next door I¡¯d keep an eye out for them. They couldn¡¯t always be on the opposite side of the door. The corridor beyond turned left almost immediately. Its northward journey ended with a horrifying relief made up of demonic faces. Dread rose in me. I wanted to look away, but found I couldn¡¯t. I was compelled by an unseen force, far more powerful than any enchantment. Sick curiosity drew me forward, wholly natural and horrifying. The face in the centre of the wall, surrounded by leering devils and succubi of ethereal beauty. The face whose eyes stared directly into mine, with a look of stricken horror carved into its stony features. The face whose weathered visage spoke of decades, if not centuries dwelling beneath the Bleakfort. That face was my own. *** I reached out a hand to touch the horrific carving. It was a mirage. It must be. A clever illusion. Another mirror, set between the gargoyles surrounding it. My gloves pressed against hard stone. Someone had carved my face, warped as it was by the demonic altar, long before I¡¯d ever come this way. What if I¡¯d found this hallway before the altar? What if I¡¯d died in the cell? What if I¡¯d succumbed to the ice fog? Who were the other demons? And who had wasted an apparent gift of prophecy to show them to me? Or show them to others who lived in the fort? Was it a warning? Or was it the very carving which had led to my capture? I¡¯d thought I¡¯d been captured to record dark magic spells for the warlocks, but I still didn¡¯t know if that was possible. Besides, they could have captured any number of magi to do so, or simply learned the techniques of true magic themselves if it was possible. Perhaps there was a temporal order to things. You couldn¡¯t become a warlock then a true mage, only the other way around. That explanation would have sufficed a minute ago. But this carving now raised all sorts of questions. I sheathed my sword and drew my hammer. Whoever had made this had made it for a purpose. Perhaps they¡¯d left me a further message. I struck at my visage with my hammer, putting all of my supernatural strength behind the swing. Another blow echoed through the corridor, than another rang in my ears. Not a single flake of stone was disturbed. The points of impact were barely scratched. I lowered my aching arm. That was no natural carving. No ordinary stone. Whoever had made it had wanted it to last. A trap followed by an adamant warning. It meant something, even if I had not idea what it was. Perhaps I¡¯d find further answers ahead. I turned to my left, not bothering to attempt to carve an X next to the faces. Even if I could pierce the stone, I could see the corridor was short enough not to warrant the effort. It turned right once more almost immediately, revealing an archway with another room beyond. There was a hiss behind me. I spun, magic sword, sword, and spellbook at the ready. One of my will-o¡¯-wisps darted back down the corridor, the other shot off into the room beside me to prepare my retreat. There was nothing. There was nothing and yet... The lights of my jack-o¡¯-lantern wavered. The hissing didn¡¯t stop. Lights? I saw my swords drooping before me. I was seeing double... ... Gas! I could barely summon the urgency required by the thought. It was filling the corridor. The room, it would spread out there. Hopefully be too thin. I turned my head languidly. My eyes were droopin- No! Stay awake! I cast Transport and Safe TeleportII simultaneously. I landed in a heap on my gear for the third time in what, three days? My vision began to clear almost immediately. My breathing and rate sped up, returning to normal. I called my magic sword to me as I scrambled to my feet. I didn¡¯t know what I¡¯d be facing in this room, I didn¡¯t have time to find my normal sword. Nothing charged me. No large stones fell from the ceiling to squash me. The hissing of the gas was mercifully silent. The room was empty of immediate threats. I let my guard down long enough to find my spell book and sword, then sent my lights to scout about the room. It was medium sized for the dungeon, though it had the tallest ceiling I¡¯d seen by far, maybe twenty or thirty feet high. The high ceiling had been taken advantage of, with a staircase leading up to a balcony in the room with which to survey it by. The balcony was made of thin wooden beams, spaced far enough apart so that whoever was standing on it could still see what was going on directly below them. The rest of the room was filled with iron cages. My imagination filled in the rest. A torture room. A room for an overseer to watch his slaves. A gladiatorial arena. An underground veterinary clinic. Not a pleasant surrounding for sure, but not dangerous either. I got dressed. It was becoming a bit of a habit to don clothes and armour, rebuckle my belt, find all my tools, pull on my boots, and retrieve my sword and spellbook. I¡¯d nearly made a solution for the whole thing but... Transport was gone. Missing from my spellbook. I flipped through twice to be sure. It had been altered to be quicker the day before, and now it was gone. I was losing spells faster than I was writing them at this point. The dungeon was really starting to get on my nerves. I set my sword to working on the north while I took a more hands on approach to exploring the room. There were five exits from the room, including the one I¡¯d come through. none of them led north and only the archway led south. The view from the observation deck was the same as the one from the floor, only higher. The place was empty and contained no new exits or treasures. I even felt along the high up western wall to see if it contained another of the dungeon¡¯s numerous secret doors. Nothing. I didn¡¯t want to go back the way I¡¯d come. The gas might still be there, and if it wasn¡¯t there was no reason to guarantee whatever had triggered it couldn¡¯t be triggered again. Even if I couldn¡¯t continue north from here, having my bearings was still useful. I could head east or west, then head south and west or east at the nearest opportunity, and try to reconnect to the explored portion of the dungeon through a trap free route. If worst came to worst I could spend a day or two with this as my new home base until I readied my spells. The balcony was a fairly defensible position and the room didn¡¯t smell like rotting frogs which was nice. I might even try to relocate my food here if I could find a reliable way around the traps. The first door I tried was locked. I hadn¡¯t bothered checking for traps this time. Last time I¡¯d looked I¡¯d not found anything and still triggered a trap. I was out of light spells and there was four doors to check. I didn¡¯t have enough time. The next door I tried, also on the west wall, swung open smoothly and silently on oiled hinges. Light poured out from the room beyond. That gave me pause. The most likely explanation was that I¡¯d stumbled upon a commonly used door that the warlocks had bothered to maintain, but a small paranoid part of my brain was screaming at me that this was a trap. Bleakfort didn¡¯t have oiled hinges. They didn¡¯t have doors made by halfway competent people. It didn¡¯t have light. I gave the doorway a once over for teleport runes, and the space beyond a check for any visible holes in the walls or ceiling. I sent my magic sword through the doorway and panned about its edges with the blade. Then I chucked my stone from the other doorway through for good measure. Nothing happened. No traps went off. No walls of spikes sprang from the walls to crush my like a vise, the ceiling didn¡¯t collapse, nothing exploded. Good enough. I stepped through the portal and nothing happened. That didn¡¯t mean my precautions were for naught however. I¡¯d also been observing the room beyond and had come to the conclusion that someone had been through here recently. The door had been oiled. The torches looked fresh. The torches burned. It didn¡¯t really matter how new they looked. It had been three weeks since the warlocks had severed the connection with Bleakfort. Unless the torches were magical, any sign of life was a sign they were new. I couldn¡¯t use the torches. They¡¯d die before I was ready to record my spells were ready once more, but if I found the one who had lit them I¡¯d have access to fire and true light. The rest of the room was empty except for a faded tapestry on the wall to my left. It depicted a battle between knights, but not a battle I recognized. Nothing of interest, at least for now. Two doors exited the room. One to my right and one to my left. North and south respectively. I decided to try the south door first. It might be my path back to my room and around the traps. I wanted to continue following the orneas¡¯s directions, but securing my line to food and water was more important. Naturally, that careful line of reasoning led to the discovery that the door was locked. It was made of simple timbers, my new strength would be able to make short work of it, but I tried the north door first, just in case. The north door fared little better. The mechanism turned, but the door itself was stuck. If I was going to be breaking down doors, I might as well start with my first choice. Besides, whoever had been through here had oiled the door I¡¯d come through, I doubt they were going back and forth through the stuck door and pulling it shut behind them every time. The door shattered under my assault. Each kick I brought against it tore a board free until the hole thing gaped open in ruins. I pushed through the dangling crossbeam which caused it to clatter to the floor, soon followed by the remains of the door. Beyond the empty frame, to the left of the scattered timbers, was a stairway leading down into the depths. XIV - Erin and Brace The stairway was long and twisting. I soon lost all sense of direction, and didn¡¯t want to waste time back tracking to try to mark its curving length. I¡¯d probably be wrong anyway. A compass spell would be trivial to make, but there simply weren¡¯t enough hours in the day. Or rather, there were too many hours in the day, but not enough days in the week. About halfway down and across one of the stairways many landings I passed by a wooden portcullis leading into a room with a truly garish floor. It was covered in a bright mosiac I could only partially make out, but what I could see seemed determined to catalogue every sin imaginable in explicit detail. Murder, torture, incest, rape, and far, far worse were drawn out there in little colourful tiles. It had to go. Another man might not have bothered. I might not have cared on a different day, or at a different hour, but for some reason, here and now, I did. I don¡¯t know what overcame me. It wasn¡¯t the influence of the Mushroom-King, nor the warlocks. Master Oldshoe had said my mind was my own. Perhaps it was the unit of my dryad soul which cried out for justice, perhaps it was simply because I was human. I grabbed the portcullis and heaved. The wood was heavier, the mechanism less smooth. The portcullis didn¡¯t move. I shifted position and tried again, but the wood stood firm. The way was shut to me. I could teleport in, of course, but that would strand me without my gear and an easy way to destroy the mosiac. There were many injustices in the world, and I couldn¡¯t be responsible for all of them. Perhaps another day, or when I finally escaped this place and returned I could deal with the blasphemy against all which was good in the world. Instead I continued to hurry down the stairs. Whoever had lit those torches was drawing away from me. I wanted to meet them before my light ran out. I didn¡¯t want them to meet me after my sword did. My wishes went unanswered as my sword ran out just as I finished descending the stairs. I wouldn¡¯t have normally noticed, but I had been tapping it against the wall every few seconds to check. I¡¯d thought my time was running low. The stairs ended in a stone doorway and a dark corridor to my right. On the logic that the path the person would have taken would be lit, I tried the door. Stuck. Or too heavy to move. What sort of room had a stone door anyway? A crypt? I wouldn¡¯t put anything past the owners of Bleakfort at this point. The corridor then. The torch lighter might have been carrying a torch and not needed to light the rest of their passage. I hurried despite the fact I had an hour of light left. I wanted to close the gap between us. Even without my sword a still had a number of offensive spells tattooed to my body. And a sword of my own. I couldn¡¯t forget that. At worst I could still use it to bluff my way out of trouble. The corridor forked onto a kind of three-way intersection. Three exits leading to two different rooms. One barred with a portcullis, one with a door, and one with nothing at all. The two blocked paths led to the same room, and if the torch bearer (as I was thinking of them) was keeping ahead of me, they weren¡¯t stopping to lift heavy gates or fight with cantered doors. I rushed path the other two exits and stopped in the archway of the room on my right. I was pretty sure I¡¯d found my torchbearers. Nine of them. *** Clubs, swords, and shields were brought to bear against my intrusion. Their torches drowned out any traces of my will-o¡¯-wisps, so it must have been the sound of my boots on the flagstones which had given me away. These people were on edge. ¡°Be at peace. I mean you no harm,¡± My voice had gotten hoarse from lack of use. Combined with how sinister it already sounded, I think it did little to set them at ease. One of the women at the front of the group (there was two of them) took a step toward me, sword and shield raised. Her hair was nearly as wild as my own, though red where mine was white. The dungeon hadn¡¯t been kind on anyone. ¡°What would a demon know of harm? What are you, an incubus then? I promise you demon, assaults against our honour will go answered as surely as those against our bodies.¡± I took a step back to match her. I hadn¡¯t been expecting that. Incubus? Did she think I was there to... I shook my head, horrified. ¡°I am no demon, though I have the appearance of one. I was cursed by a dark altar on the first floor of this dungeon. I truly mean no harm.¡± This seem to put the woman slightly at ease, but strangely, if anything the other woman appeared to be even more on edge. ¡°Then why are you here?¡± I didn¡¯t want to tell them before I knew who they served, but as they outnumbered me, the onus of sharing information was on me. ¡°I¡¯m looking for a source of fire and light. I¡¯m tired of wandering these halls in the dark. Ultimately I am seeking a way out of here to end the rift between the fort and the dungeon. If you¡¯d help me in my quest I¡¯d be most grateful.¡± Her eyes narrowed. ¡°Let me rephrase, how did you end up here. We all want out, obviously.¡± I readied my teleport and spells. This was a make or break moment. I couldn¡¯t even lie to them, because I didn¡¯t know what lies would serve me. ¡°I was captured by the warlocks. They held me prisoner for some time before I escaped and ran into their various traps and monsters which disfigured my appearance.¡± The other woman, the brunette, had her eyes lit up and ¨C by the breeze which trembles the oak she was beautiful. Her armour and club partially concealed her form, but her face, eyes, hair, she was no simple village beauty, hers was the face which started wars. ¡°Prisoner? Was there others? Did you meet Eric? Is he alright? Did he escape as well?¡± Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. A blinked a few times. I¡¯d gotten lost in her eyes. They were such a light grey they reflected the ambient light, flickering orange with the flames of the torch. It was like two tiny fires staring into your soul, or burning in hers. I lowered my sword slightly, ¡°I met no other prisoners, I¡¯m sorry. But... does that mean you don¡¯t serve the warlocks?¡± The redhead growled, ¡°They captured Erin¡¯s brother, what do you think?¡± Erin was the pretty one then. ¡°And you were here to rescue him?¡± Erin spoke. Her was surprisingly deep and rich, though far more timid than her companion¡¯s, ¡°We¡¯re going to rescue him. No matter how the warlocks have trapped us here.¡± ¡°Do you know the way out? I can help you if you¡¯ll have me, I¡¯m a Magi of-¡± Erin fell back with a panicked look in her eyes. The men in the room moved forward to put themselves between her and me. They¡¯d been content to stay quiet before, but that didn¡¯t mean they were passive. Their faces were hard and their eyes were angry. One of the men spoke. His voice was surprisingly high and soft. What was with these people? ¡°Mind your tongue, demon-kin, and don¡¯t speak of your dark arts in Erin¡¯s presence.¡± ¡°True magic is hardly a dar-¡± The men moved forward to stand abreast of the redhead. Scowls abound. ¡°We did know a way out,¡± the redhead picked up before I could respond, ¡°Some surface caves come close enough to this floor that we were able to mine our way in. When the rift was activated the way was sealed.¡± ¡°But that was weeks ago, what have you been doing since then?¡± The moment I said the words I regretted them. I was one to talk. It had taken me nearly a month to find the stairs to the second floor, and they were trying to search the whole thing. She looked at me strangely, ¡°Weeks? It¡¯s been three days. We had to move slowly to avoid detection and traps. And we don¡¯t know what floor Eric is held on so we had to search in both directions.¡± Three days? That was impossible. Mages had a better sense of time than anyone, and I was a dryad (sort of) besides. Not that I¡¯d tell them. Erin¡¯s companions might tear my head off if I mentioned magic again. Perhaps I¡¯d ask one of the men about it once Erin was out of sight. We stood in awkward silence for a few moments while I tried to figure out what to say without setting off the brunette. ¡°So... Eric, your brother. Why was he captured? Why are you rescuing him?¡± Again a strange look, a different one this time. ¡°He¡¯s Erin¡¯s brother. We¡¯re his friends. You¡¯ll have to be content with those answers alone. Even if you don¡¯t work for the warlocks we have no reason to believe you wouldn¡¯t want him for the same reasons if you knew what they were.¡± I nodded, though her statement had probably had the opposite intended effect. If I was as untrustworthy as she believed I might be I¡¯d just capture Eric for myself and work out the details later. All she¡¯d done was made him sound valuable. But I understood not trusting me. I wouldn¡¯t trust me if I met me. Come to think of it, I had met me, and I¡¯d been completely untrustworthy. Mirror me, at least. Still, I wanted to help the man, and I wanted what aide these people could grant me. Perhaps they¡¯d trust my self interest more than my compassion. ¡°You have no reason to trust my word, but I truly do feel compelled to help your brother. No man should be bound. Not by the warlocks. Permit me to extend a branch of trust by offering a trade. I need help getting out of here. If you can lead me to an exit, or at least guide me to the lower floors I¡¯ll help you free Eric in whatever way I can. Failing that, I¡¯d content myself for a flint and steel and some torches. I¡¯ve no desire to continue wandering in the dark.¡± The woman crossed her arms. She still held sword and shield, but it was a fair sight better than her having her weapons at the ready. I lowered my sword in response. ¡°You¡¯re not coming with us, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking.¡± I shook my head, ¡°Of course not. I¡¯ll help in whatever way you deem is best.¡± The redhead glanced back to her companions. Then she took, held, and released a deep breath before buckling her sword to her side. ¡°Then let¡¯s start again. I¡¯m Brace.¡± She stuck out her hand. I sheathed my own sword and took it, ¡°Oswic of Blackbridge. Starca- Oswic. Oswic is fine.¡± ¡°Well Oswic, to start with, where were you held prisoner?¡± ¡°On the first floor of the dungeon. At least, I think it was the first floor. I never found a staircase up. Two floors above this one anyway.¡± ¡°And you said you saw no sign of a prisoner? That¡¯s... we focused most of our efforts on the lower floors. We figured if we didn¡¯t find him there soon we never would. It gets more dangerous the closer to the caverns you get. Especially since the warlocks left.¡± I winced. Evil though they may be, the warlocks were the only things holding back the denizens of the deep. I might inadvertently be responsible for Erin¡¯s brother¡¯s death. ¡°I spent wee- I¡¯ve spent most my time exploring the first floor. I met some other humans, but none named Eric. They were mercenaries in service of the warlocks besides.¡± I hoped none had been Eric. I hadn¡¯t gotten the names of those I¡¯d killed. ¡°Where are the mercenaries now?¡± ¡°Most of them are dead. Either by disease or... or by my hand.¡± It would do little to set them at ease, but neither would lying or skirting around the truth. ¡°Good.¡± Brace¡¯s eyes were hard. Grey as well, I noticed, though true grey, piercing and bright, unlike the mirrored surface of Erin¡¯s. I¡¯d forgotten how vibrant colours could be by a proper source of light. It was hard to stand steady under her gaze. ¡°They¡¯re as trapped as we are. I think they¡¯re regretting their choice of employer. Maybe they never had a choice to begin with. These are warlocks we¡¯re talking about.¡± This time I noticed Erin tense up when I mentioned the warlocks. Even the mere idea was enough. What had they done to her? ¡°Be that as it may,¡± Brace waved her hand dismissively, ¡°So you say never saw him on the first floor? What about the second?¡± ¡°I skipped over it entirely. My goal is the caverns, and I couldn¡¯t lift the portcullis besides.¡± ¡°If we lifted it for you, would you search the floor for Eric?¡± The orcneas had said I had all the time in the world. If the floors got more dangerous the further down I went, it made sense to spend more time on the upper floors to spend less on the lower. ¡°If you supply me with torches, flint and steel, and guidance as far down into the dungeon as possible, I¡¯ll find him.¡± ¡°You find him first.¡± ¡°Of course, as long as you can spare me a few torches to begin with. And if I can at least borrow a flint and steel for the day.¡± Brace shook her head, ¡°Torches we can spare, but we have no way to trust you won¡¯t simply run off with our flint and steel.¡± I did my best to keep my frustration from my voice. Trust was a more valuable commodity than assurances and she wasn¡¯t trading, ¡°Then I¡¯ll return tomorrow for the torches and your aide.¡± She frowned, ¡°Tomorrow? Our sense of time isn¡¯t that bad. It¡¯s hardly past noon isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°Noon or there about. Be that as it may, I have other things to tend to.¡± Like staring blankly at a darkened wall while I waited for my spells to come back. By the Last Peak after the Flood, I was going to go insane down here. XV - The Goblin Hoard Dawn came silently this time. I¡¯d slept on the balcony on the first floor. I still didn¡¯t have a way back, and didn¡¯t want to explore back without access to my full suite of spells. Unfortunately I¡¯d been needing them for finding Erin¡¯s brother. I had my waterskins, but I¡¯d be going without food for some time. I drank and took care of business. I wanted to duplicate my EliminateII spell and remake my Transport spell ¨C and make a time travel spell for that matter ¨C but I needed those torches and again I¡¯d made a deal. Will-o¡¯-Wisp I sent the lights out before me as I headed back towards Brace and Erin¡¯s band of would be heroes. I¡¯d have to hide them before Erin saw them. Fortunately the light of their torches almost entirely drowned out their own. The staircase was as long as it had been the previous two times, but I was moving with much more confidence now as I¡¯d yet failed to set off any traps. In less than fifteen minutes I was back in the room of hostile and scared faces. ¡°Who¡¯s coming with me?¡± I asked, ¡°We¡¯ll probably need at least four people to lift the portcullis.¡± ¡°We all are,¡± said one of the men. He¡¯d introduced himself as Stovepipe and then refused to elaborate. He also had a strange, high-pitched voice like the other one had had. Were they all eunuchs? It might explain why they were travelling with two young women. ¡°We don¡¯t trust you splitting off members of our party.¡± I didn¡¯t complain. The more the merrier as far as I was concerned. It meant I was at less risk of revealing my supernatural strength to them, and that I¡¯d need to use less spells to defend myself from threats. It also meant more eyes looking for traps. I sent my will-o¡¯-wisps careening up to hide on the first floor while they gathered their things. No sense scaring Erin again. Instead, I accepted a bundle of torches, one of them lit. Several minutes later we were off, myself and Brace leading the way, and Erin and another of the men taking up the rear. It was another ten minutes before we arrived back at the portcullis. Moving with ten was far slower than on my own. We moved at the speed of the slowest person, and that person changed with every step as one person stumbled, slowed, stuttered, or stopped to look at something. It was kind of nice. Anything which reduced the amount of time I spent staring into the darkness at the end of the day was a plus in my books. It couldn¡¯t have been the first time they saw the mosaic, but as it came into view I could see several of the men pale. Erin flat our refused to look at it. ¡°Monsters.¡± That was another of the men. Also high pitched. The eunuch angle was looking more and more likely. They didn¡¯t trust me to help them lift the portcullis, so while six of the men worked I tugged free my hammer and chisel. ¡°If you lot don¡¯t mind making a bit of noise I¡¯ll lend you these while I¡¯m gon-¡± *WHAP WHAP WHAP* Two of the men working at the door had hammers of their own, and were driving spike into the stone archway for the raised portcullis to rest on. ¡°Well then,¡± I pressed the hammer and chisel into Stovepipe¡¯s hands, ¡°You know what to do.¡± He nodded, ¡°It¡¯s a sick thing the warlocks have done here. Why? Why would anyone create this?¡± I¡¯d been thinking about that while I¡¯d waited for sunrise. It made very little to create a perversion at such a scale for no purpose, and I couldn¡¯t imagine anyone actually enjoyed looking at the thing. Even truly twisted men would be turned off by at least half of the scenes depicted, if for no reason other than that a single mind couldn¡¯t fit that many blasphemies. I moved closer to Stovepipe and lowered my voice, with a significant glance in Erin¡¯s direction, ¡°Dark magic. It¡¯s everywhere down here. Perverts the air, twists the natural order of things. This is probably an attempted anchor point of sorts. A way to purposefully warp things. I can¡¯t say for certain if it works, or if destroying it will eliminate the dark magic in the air, but it can¡¯t hurt. For the sake of decency if nothing else.¡± Stovepipe put a hand on my shoulder, ¡°We¡¯ll see what we can do,¡± he tilted his head toward the room, ¡°Let¡¯s see how they¡¯re getting on.¡± The work crew had moved into the mosaic room and started working on a second portcullis there. From the looks of the six men struggling under the load, I wouldn¡¯t have been able to lift that one either. At least, not without a spell. If I used my magic sword right I could probably effectively double my strength in certain situations. I felt unclean just walking on the mosaic, but even besides it, the room was strange. The walls on two sides had several long square holes set into them, which acted as windows of a sort. They were narrow enough and deep enough that the light from our torches barely filtered through, but with my enhanced sight I was still able to make out the areas beyond. Due to the length of the holes I wasn¡¯t able to examine much more than directly ahead, but from what I could see the holes directly across from the initial portcullis all came out into a corridor of sorts. Assuming every window was showing me the same corridor, the corridor was at least 40 feet in length, probably more. There were more holes set in the wall bearing the second portcullis. The portcullis clearly led into another corridor, but the holes instead appeared to show a room running parallel to the portal. From what little I could see the room appeared empty, and no sounds came from it. Beyond immediately finding Eric, that could only be a good thing. I didn¡¯t fancy another encounter with some giant frogs. The men finished their work with the second portcullis and moved over to examining the door on the opposite side of the room. Looking for traps I presumed. I¡¯d been too preoccupied with scouting the room beneath them. Brace had also moved over to stand beside me sometime in the interim. ¡°See anything?¡± I shook my head, ¡°I¡¯ll see if I can head into the room on the other side of this wall to begin with, but it appears empty. For better or worse.¡± She nodded, ¡°We would have heard him by now if he was that close. It¡¯s best these first rooms are empty,¡± she pointed over to the men examining the door, ¡°we¡¯ll be exploring up that way while you¡¯re heading the other way. We¡¯ll meet back here or in the room you first found us once we¡¯ve gone as far as we can for the day.¡± She glanced down at the floor and grimaced, ¡°Some of us might stay behind to deal with this if we have time.¡± And if they didn¡¯t I might smash it to smithereens with my sword when they weren¡¯t looking. I pulled away from the hole, ¡°I guess I¡¯ll be off then. Good fortune to you.¡± Her face softened briefly, ¡°Good luck to you as well.¡± I couldn¡¯t send the light of my torch running ahead of me ¨C at least, not yet ¨C but it gave off so much more light than my will-o¡¯-wisps that I didn¡¯t need to. Several steps down the corridor and already the whole thing was lit. It was short (obviously, given that the torch lit the whole thing) and quickly ended in a dead end. However to my left was a side passage which I could only assume led into the room I¡¯d been observing through the holes. And sure enough, the wall was set with a sunken archway with the room directly beyond. A quick glance back through the holes into the mosaic room confirmed it. Unfortunately, the room was a dead end. The only thing of note in it besides the holes was a message scrawled on the wall opposite them. The king of serpents has marked this passage. Whatever that meant. It might not mean anything. Words void of meaning were what warlocks lived for. Literally. Trying to understand anything might simply drive me insane. I gave the room a once over just to be sure, but nothing new revealed itself. I returned to the others just as they were opening the door. It was stuck in its frame (of course), but not nearly as bad as some of the others. On the second charge one of the men managed to knock it opening, stumbling through the exit. Disaster struck. ¡°Goblins!¡± That had come from the man who¡¯d fallen into the room. He was still struggling to his feet as he¡¯d called it, which was impressively selfless. Even if I¡¯d wanted to put the safety of the others above my own, I doubted I¡¯d have the presence of mind. The others were still scrambling for weapons when the first cries of the (presumably) goblins started echoing around us. I ran for the doorway, arriving just in time to see Brace and another one of the men pull the third man back through the door. The goblins were right on his heels. I¡¯d never seen a goblin before, but they were exactly what I expected. Small, horrible, twisted men, of the sort found all across the mosaic. Their skin, clothing, and beards were all the same greyish-brown colour, making it impossible to see where one ended and the other began. Their weapons were crude and wicked. Made from bronze, though so black it was more patina than metal. At our ten versus roughly a dozen, I fancied our odds against the smaller creatures. It might not be pretty, but we were almost guaranteed to win. Part of my brain whispered to me (wholly free from magical influences) to let the others fight without my assistance. I¡¯d be on a timer the moment I started using my spells, and Erin would probably freak out besides. Another part of me felt like I should want to help, but I wasn¡¯t sure why. I barely knew these people. Not that¡¯d I¡¯d neglect my duty. Even as I had the thoughts I was moving into position beside Erin, ready to stand in at a moment¡¯s notice. ¡°Form up!¡± called Stovepipe, ¡°Semi-circle behind Brace and Oscar. Catch anyone who slips through.¡± Brace and Oscar (apparently) were holding the doorway. There wasn¡¯t enough room for all of us in the semi-circle, but I found myself as one of the members after we all finished shuffling around. That was fine. From what I saw I knew how to use my sword as well as any of them, and I was better protected besides. Even though we had a choke-point, the goblins were small enough to assault the doorway in pairs. The first goblin ducked under Oscar¡¯s wild swing and aimed up with a twist, stabbing him in the armpit. The sword dropped form Oscar¡¯s hands almost immediately, but he managed to stay standing as he stumbled back, left hand clamped to the wound. I was closest. I stepped forward to fill his place as Stovepipe ran to see to him. Brace had fared better against the second goblin, though that wasn¡¯t saying much. Her plate¡¯s gorget had deflected an attack aimed at her throat into her face and she was bleeding heavily. She replied with a heavy stroke, but the pain must have gotten to her because she stumbled and swung into me rather than the goblin. Her sword bounced off my armour and tumbled from her grasp. The goblin took advantage of her stumble and got her across the brow. He¡¯d missed her eyes, but with the amount of blood pouring from her forehead I doubted she could see either way. My goblin tried the same ducking under manuever it had on Oscar, but I was ready for it. I stepped back as I swung. My sword cleaved straight through his raised arm and buried itself in his side. He fell back with a howl and collapsed to the floor. Even before he finished dying one of his companions darted past, avoiding my backswing as I tugged my sword free, and began attacking someone in the back line. I could only hope they had my back, because a third goblin had also rushed forward to meet with me. Brace had been replaced by another of the men I didn¡¯t know and he was wailing away on the goblin, keeping it on the back foot. Despite his success, it was unfortunate Brace had been taken out so early. She had by far the best armour of anyone here. All of us, goblins included, were wearing simple gambesons and leather, whereas Brace had somehow managed to acquire a full set of plate. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. My goblin tried to parry my swing with clever little trick which might have worked against an ordinary man, but my extra strength deflected both our swords back, tearing off his ear and a good portion of his face in the bargain. I managed to keep my cool, but only barely. I¡¯d been trained with a sword, but not in combat. Even after killing those mercenaries I... That had been the dark altars influence hadn¡¯t it? That bloodlust hadn¡¯t been- Later. I needed to press my advantage. The goblin side stepped my second attack and followed up with one of his own, a lunge against my left leg which drew a red line down its entire length. From the sound the impact made another man might have lost his leg. The goblin¡¯s arm was trembling with the reverberation. What was I doing? I couldn¡¯t afford these risks, even if I lost Erin¡¯s favour. I simply wasn¡¯t skilled or prepared enough, and from the looks of it, neither was my party. I tore the goblin¡¯s throat out with BiteII and used PushIII to send his companion flying back into the others. The force didn¡¯t let up once he hit them, of course, causing them to pile up behind him. While they were still tangled I retrieved my spellbook and summoned my Magic Sword. I felt the spell vanish as I did so, so I immediately started recording, leaping forward with my mortal sword to join the fray as my magical one smote the goblins where they lay. ¡°Get back!¡± I shouted, ¡°Close the door and leave me to it for at least two hours. Don¡¯t open the door unless I knock!¡± I couldn¡¯t afford to check if they had obeyed. I was too busy recording myself commanding a pair of swords whilst fighting a horde of goblins. It wasn¡¯t much of a fight. The goblins were small enough, and my sword strong enough, that it could actually lift them through the air, or cut them in half if they were unlucky. Skill didn¡¯t even matter here, on my part or theirs. There was only so much you could do against an invisible blade, especially one striking with the force of a bear. It was trivial to line up my blade to cleave through their necks or line up the point with their hearts and punch through both armour and rib cage. They were all dead in seconds. Sounds of combat rang out behind me for far longer than I would have liked, but I ignored them. I couldn¡¯t afford to lose my spell. Naturally, that was when the whispers started. A susurration as loud as thunder, a scream as soft as falling rain. Promises of dreams unkept and a reality made of lies. By the time the swirling voices faded I¡¯d forgotten I was doing anything at all. Hasting Stasis There was a pressure there, I realized. More than just the confusion at trying to decipher that nonsense. Each spell added to it. It was the first time I¡¯d noticed. What was more, I could feel the new spell, pushing into my mind, waiting to be remembered. I could just... leave it there. Let it drift away if I wanted to. I held onto the spell. The goblins had been a wake up call. My leg was still bleeding slightly from the wound. Oscar was probably dead. Brace might die of an infection. I might die of an infection if I couldn¡¯t figure out how to get back to my poultice. I needed whatever help I could get, even if I had misgivings about them. The warlocks had proven themselves immeasurably corrupt, but that didn¡¯t mean their magic was. (It did heavily imply it, but I did my best to push away those doubts.) I¡¯d lost my recording, but the magic sword remained. It had only been about fifteen minutes. The door was shut behind me, and the sounds of fighting had faded. I¡¯d theoretically bought myself two hours when I¡¯d called back to the others. I was going to use it. I swung my magic sword around opposite my mortal one for as long as it would last. I continued on with the mortal sword for the rest of the hour, unmarked by interruptions. At the last moment I cast Marshlight, bring the swirling lights to bear in a final flourish of glory. Magic Swords: Two invisible blade dance and strike with the base force of 484 lbs. One for 45 minutes, the other for an hour. Two lights swirl about it, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. Two more lights join in at the end of the first hour, and end an hour after the first lights fade, providing 3 hours of light total. All move independently following the whims of their master. It was a mess of a spell, but it would more than do. The one sword had been easily enough to slay a band of goblins. With two of them I might even be able to deal with those frogs should it become necessary. My bevy of lights revealed that this room had probably been the goblins¡¯ lair. A small mound of treasure was heaped in the centre. The wall to my left also bore the text ¡°It is awake¡±, but that was par for the course at this point. I still theoretically had well over half an hour left before the others presumed me dead and came to check on me. More than enough time to take the treasure for myself. Maybe it seemed selfish, but they had been very clear that they didn¡¯t trust me. As such, I didn¡¯t trust them. And I didn¡¯t need people I didn¡¯t trust to have even more leverage over me. I went over to examine the treasure. The goblins had gathered themselves quite the hoard. The first thing I noticed was that it glowed slightly, even when I hid my jack-o¡¯-lanterns behind myself. I poked through the mound carefully with my sword. Given how filthy the goblins had been, and how rusted their swords, I didn¡¯t dare dig though it with my hands. Not unless I was very careful. I pushed aside several scraps of leather and a pile of broken glass as well as several scatterings of coins. Beneath them lay a strange powder blue object, shaped like a handful of flickering flame. Its base was roughly tear drop shaped and its top had four curled points. It was translucent like quartz, but with the lustre of something like a sapphire or ruby. It was obviously the source of the light, perhaps two or three times brighter than a torch now that I had it uncovered. A frozen flame. Cautiously, I removed a glove and reached my hand out to it. It was quite warm, hot even, but obviously the goblins had managed to store it here without the whole thing bursting into flame. I put back on my glove and snatched the flame with my hand. The heat quickly radiated through my glove, but didn¡¯t burn me or crack the leather. As I brought it closer to my face to study I noticed that it had cooled significantly. Without really thinking I pressed my bare cheek to it. It was warm, but not unpleasantly so. It was quite comforting even. I transferred it with my belt pouch and wedged my bar of wax between the pages of my spell book so it wouldn¡¯t melt. This would be immeasurably useful. Who had made such a thing? How had the goblins found it? It couldn¡¯t be warlock work. It felt too pure. Too harmonious. Too right. The next items of interest were three small vials, bound together by a net of sinew. Each was sealed with wax and had a wax seal on top. Each bore a separate pictograph stamped in the wax in the style of the magi. Health, Breath, and Ascension. Potions. Those I strapped to my belt. The seals appeared untampered and I doubted goblins could or would forge magi marks. I wasn¡¯t exactly sure how they worked, as they wouldn¡¯t have actually been made by a mage, at least not one using true magic, but anyone they trusted enough to give their marks could probably be trusted to make their potions in accordance with nature. You got a sense for these things. I hoped. Next was a magnifying glass (that went in the pouch) and beneath it an invitation to meet with some village elders addressed to one Eric ¨® Briain. That went into my pouch as well. I was sure Erin¡¯s crew would want to see it. The goblins had to have gotten it from somewhere. Hopefully from his confiscated possessions rather than his corpse, but either way it was a sign we were on the right floor. Broken glass, scraps of leather, dried meat, a giant egg, a dirty handkerchief, stale bread, hardtack, all things I had little use for. Under other circumstances it might at least be the starts of a feast, but not from a goblin¡¯s filthy pile. There was also a skin full of a dark liquid which smelled like wine which I attached to my belt. I wouldn¡¯t be drinking from it, but if I could wash it out thoroughly I could always do with more waterskins. Underneath the wineskin I found a mangy fur hat next to a pair of candle clocks. I didn¡¯t need a hat, but more wax and/or a source of light was always welcome. The wicks were stilled joined at the top, so I looped them over my belt and secured them. It was a guarantee they were going to break, but it was the best I could do given the circumstances. The hat had been lying on top of a leather glove, and after a bit of digging I found its partner on the other side of the pile. They were clearly woman¡¯s gloves like mine, and upon closer inspection, their makes was so similar that I was almost certain they were made by the same person. I couldn¡¯t be sure, due to the fact that the hob had changed the size of my gloves, but they might have been the exact same size originally, and therefore made for the same person. They were too small for me and, after a moment¡¯s testing, of a non-magical nature, so I left them on the floor as well. With that in mind I went back and tested the hat, placing the filthy thing gingerly on my hair, but nothing happened. The rest was a smattering of smaller materials. Gold, silver, and copper coins. A chunk of quartz filled with tiny black stars. Two runestones, one clearly druidic in nature, the other carved in the jagged style of the warlocks. I had little use for currency, but the coins themselves might prove useful so I gathered what I could find. Quartz was always useful, whether or not the stars signalled a supernatural quality. Mindful of my magnifying glass, I wrapped the quartz in a few of the leather scraps before putting it in my pouch atop the coins. The coins were heavy, I was pretty sure most people would find them too heavy, but unlike the frozen flame and magnifying glass they didn¡¯t take up much space, and my extra strength could handle it. That left the runestones. The warlock rune was clearly magical. Dark magic swirled about it with such force I could feel the disturbance in the air without touching it. The druid stone on the other hand appeared entire inert. Just a simple rectangular slab carved with a single large rune on each face. It wasn¡¯t. The moment I touched it, even with my gloves on, it felt like I¡¯d been struck by lightning. My back arched and I keeled over stiffly to the floor where I¡¯d been crouching. Power rushed through me, thrumming in sync with my heartbeat and the beat of the green core within me. It wasn¡¯t painful, just overwhelming. Like the early stages of a limb falling asleep, or a powerfully involuntary stretch. I felt like I was falling, rushing, and flying all at once. The core of my being, that place of gentle satisfaction deep within my abdomen swelled all at once, growing until it encompassed my entire being in a blinding flash of brilliant green. It filled me utterly. The core was me. I was the core. It had filled me entirely, there was nowhere else to go, and yet the feeling continued to grow. The current running through me strengthened like a storm surge without end. Even as it grew, even as the beating of my being filled my limbs so strongly I thought they would burst, or sprout leaves, or tear themselves from my body, my strength grew faster. I could not stay the feeling, could not prevent its boundless growth, so I mastered it, almost without thinking. I leapt on the back of the bear and made him my steed. I stood, thrumming with energy, as light pulsed through me and out into the world. I could sense the flora around me without concentrating. Green lines running out from me, running back into me. Down here it was simply moss and lichens, the occasional pool of algae, and what few roots had wormed their way this deep into the earth. They were mine and I was their guardian, even more than before. It was as if I had become the vessel for a magical ocean, where every drop of seawater contained its entirety without diminishing the whole. Normal sight returned to me. It had never left, but my strength was now firmly in control of the ever swelling sense of being within me. Instead of green lines and an endless of ocean of life I saw the dungeon and the bodies and the looted heap before me. I saw them both, dungeon and infinity both. Somehow one didn¡¯t obscure the other. While I was focusing on my sight, my hair floated before me. I¡¯d gotten so used to it curling and dancing around me independent of the wind that I immediately knew something was different. Not off, different. For one thing, the locks themselves had separated. Silken wisps blew about me like a silk banner in the breeze, rather than angry clouds in a storm. And silk was an accurate word. The acid and the altar had left my hair patchy, jagged, and brittle, but now it was whole. It was still white, but even the nature of the whiteness had changed. The colour of moonbeams rather than a corpse. I took off my left glove to feel it (the right still held the stone) and all thoughts of my hair left my mind. My hand was restored. The thick, black, dog-like, nails were once more pink and clear and thin. My skin was no longer pale and waxy, but hale and smooth and brown. It faded rapidly as it dissipated up my sleeve which I tugged back to get a better look. Sure enough my skin (save for my hands) had all become a ton which, while still technically pale, I could only describe as fair. The delicate glow of a maiden, rather than the underbelly of a fish. It was the same story tugging back the hem of my tunic and armour to look at my chest. What was more, the sinews and tendons no longer stood out. I¡¯d filled back out, no longer taking on the appearance of a flayed man. I ran one of my delicate new nails across my softened skin. The hard leathery feel from the blessing of the dwarves was gone. It tingled from the slightest breeze, as sensitive as a newborn¡¯s and yet... I pulled drew my dagger from my belt and ran the point across my skin, slowly increasing the pressure. My skin dimpled gently, as though it were a finger running across it rather than cold steel. The blessing remained. I returned my dagger to my belt and stared at the runestone in wonder. It had restored me. It had more than restored me. And yet at the same time it had left me who I was. My left leg still had the long gash clotted with blood. My right leg (upon tugging up my trousers) still was brown and woody from where the Mushroom-King had healed me, though even then it was soft and smooth and supply, skin and joints both. I could fully bend my knee for the first time in weeks. Two treasures remained in the goblins¡¯ hoard. The warlock rune and my very own flint and steel. Treasures I might have been ecstatic to find only moments ago, but they paled in comparison to this stone of the druids. I feared to even release it, in case the changes reversed, but I had to know. Breath held in anticipation, I put the stone into my pouch along with everything else. Nothing. Still, it had worked through my glove. I had to be sure. I removed the rune and placed it back in the goblins¡¯ horde before stepping away. Again, Nothing. The power still swelled within me, my hands still remained human and whole. Tears sprung suddenly to the corners of my eyes. I was no longer a monster, a demon. I could leave the dungeon. I could walk among the townsfolk without seeing them flee in fear. I could- The thought escaped me, but it didn¡¯t matter. I was human once more. XVI - Conan The last goblin had extracted a heavy toll on their party. One of the men was dead, one had lost his leg, and another had lost an eye. To make matters worse, Oscar had also succumbed to his wound while I was busy recording my spells. I doubt I could have saved him, but guilt gnawed at me all the same. They¡¯d not recognized me when I¡¯d first returned to the room. Somewhat unfairly, they¡¯d appeared less tense for doing so than when I¡¯d met them for the second time this morning. Even Erin seemed relaxed, which had surprised the others. It turned out that even my voice had changed, becoming resonant and melodious rather than menacing, though it was still far deeper than it had been before. My eyes too were different. Red still, but now they were ¡°gemstones which sparkled with the light of the stars¡± according to Rian, the man missing the leg. The wounds would need to be treated, even Brace¡¯s cuts and my scratch. I didn¡¯t trust that patina on the goblins¡¯ swords. To do that, I¡¯d need to return to my cache, and to do that I needed to find a way around the sleep trap. I briefly explained my idea to the group, with the intent of heading immediately off on my own, but they were having none of it. ¡°You¡¯re taking me with you,¡± said another of the men. He also had a high pitched voice, basically confirming my theory. Given the note I¡¯d found regarding Eric, I assumed they were royal attendants of some sort. ¡°I¡¯m our best trap finder, and you discovered our biggest lead on Eric in less than an hour. We can¡¯t afford to lose you, and I¡¯m your best bet.¡± I¡¯d given them the note, which Erin had said was consistent with his disappearance. They¡¯d wanted me to immediately start searching again, but a single groan from Rian had changed their minds. I don¡¯t even think he¡¯d done it on purpose. It was one thing to go on an adventure to save your friend, it was another to lose two other friends in the course of that adventure, and be at risk of losing three more. Spirits were fairly low. As for the self professed trap-finder, I was hardly going to argue. My own record with traps was fairly lacklustre. ¡°I¡¯d appreciate the help...?¡± I shivered at the sound of my own voice. Having it change every couple weeks was disturbing, even if it sounded better than it ever had before. ¡°Conan,¡± he replied, sticking out his hand, ¡°means ¡®little-wolf¡¯.¡± ¡°Oswic of Blackbridge, but you already knew that.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve never been good with names,¡± he said with a small smile, which was immediately replaced with a frown, ¡°We should be off as soon as possible. Rian needs whatever help you can offer.¡± I agreed. We gave some quick goodbyes, and I roughly sketched out the path we¡¯d be taking in case we didn¡¯t return. I also warned them about the sleeping gas trap and the others I¡¯d found. Even if the monsters from the cavern hadn¡¯t made it in such strength to the higher levels, the dungeon itself was very dangerous. Conan lived up to his name. He was fast, easily able to keep pace as I hurried up the stairs. I was walking, not running, but considering the number of steps, keeping up with my supernatural strength even at a walk was a feat of endurance in of itself. ¡°What are your thoughts on magic?¡± I asked as we walked, ¡°Are you all afraid of magi or is that just Erin?¡± Conan shook his head, ¡°Suspicious of it, maybe, especially of sorcery. But whatever lets us find Eric sooner.¡± Sorcery was the act of binding other beings into your service, typically trapping them within the pages of a grimoire. Like breaking horses or rearing dogs it could be good or bad, in accordance with nature or against, though almost all who practiced sorcery were disreputable. It was a natural consequence of the tradition of passing down grimoires through blood or violence. Anything stolen or unearned couldn¡¯t be wasn¡¯t respected or understood. ¡°And Erin? What happened to her?¡± ¡°You might think the story a little strange, but you have to keep in mind she¡¯s royalty. We all are, really, but Erin¡¯s old nobility. You know the sort. Traditional.¡± I didn¡¯t really. In the small towns I inhabited nobles were a distant thing. A far off idea which might occasionally drift through our village, but never stayed. I shook my head, ¡°Not really, but I can imagine. Please, continue.¡± He stopped for a moment, then shook his own in wonder, ¡°Need to get out of the palace more. Anyway, the ¨® Briain family is more traditional than most, and has weirder traditions than most traditional types. Raising bears, for one thing.¡± He let that sit for a moment before continuing, ¡°Each ¨® Briain is given a cub when they¡¯re born, or as soon as possible anyways. They grow up together like siblings. Her bear in particular was a bit of a miracle. Erin and Eric are twins, and so were the bear cubs. Less than a year apart between them. Way I heard it, it was common to see all four go crashing past as they chased one another about the manor or hear the growling and children¡¯s laughter as they wrestled in the great hall. Would have been a sight to behold.¡± His voice grew softer, sombre, ¡°Erin might have been eight or nine when the sorcerer showed up. Can¡¯t say for sure. Didn¡¯t know Erin myself then. We¡¯re about the same age, but I was busy with my studies. Maybe saw her once or twice at gatherings. ¡°Anyway, the sorcerer appeared out of nowhere, just walked into the great hall one day. Erin was there with some servants, no one else. Shame her father wasn¡¯t there. His bear was grumpy old thing, but he was the size of a horse. He¡¯d have dealt with the sorcerer right quick.¡± We reached the top landing and I took the lead, heading straight for the hall with the sleep gas. ¡°Or maybe not,¡± Conan sighed, ¡°thing is, sorcerer walked right up to Erin¡¯s bear. Didn¡¯t even say anything. Just looked it in the eyes and did something with the book at his side. Kinda like yours, really.¡± I winced. My spellbook was nothing like a grimoire, but superficially they would be indistinguishable. Especially to someone who didn¡¯t understand the tradition of true magic. I could see where this was going. ¡°The bear followed him back out, didn¡¯t it.¡± Conan nodded, ¡°Got it in one. It¡¯s not even-¡± I put a hand out to stop him, ¡°We¡¯re here. This is the hallway where I was hit by darts and some kind of gas.¡± Conan crouched down and began studying the ground, continuing his story as he worked, ¡°It¡¯s not even the loss of the bear, mind you. Understandable sure, but you get over that kind of thing. ¡°The real problem is that sorcerer. Came from nowhere, completely unexpected. If he could do it once he could do it again. Never feels safe that one. Every new person she meets could be the next one to tear her life apart. Especially if they show up out of the blue. Especially if they can do magic. It¡¯s hard on all of us, not that we blame her. Meeting someone new can put her into a spiral for a week. Almost a guarantee if she¡¯s not warned about it. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°I think the only reason she¡¯s holding up as well as she is right now with you is because she¡¯s so worried about her brother. Bit of a miracle she didn¡¯t break down completely when you changed your appearance. We all thought you were a complete stranger. How did you go about that anyway? Glamour kind of thing?¡± I shook my head. The rising tide of the power had not ebbed once, ¡°This is me. Closer to me than I was anyway. Found a druid stone buried among the goblins¡¯ things. It undid the curses laid upon me.¡± Conan whistled, ¡°You mind if I give it a go?¡± I was about to give up the stone anytime soon, but I had to admit, I was curious. I handed it over to him. Conan held it for several moments, his face caught between apprehension and anticipation, but no change was evident. ¡°Well there¡¯s a thing. Why¡¯d it work for you then?¡± I shrugged as Conan handed it back, ¡°Couldn¡¯t tell you. Worth a try though.¡± There were countless reasons why it might not work on him. It might only undo curses, might only work on magical people, might only work on nature bound people, might only work on nymphs, or perhaps it only worked once and I¡¯d used it up. Conan turned back to studying the hallway, his shoulders slightly hitched, ¡°Have to say, I¡¯m a little relieved. It might be different for you wizards sorts, but changing your appearance willy-nilly is no little thing. I should know. ¡°You¡¯ve probably guessed, but we ¨C the men ¨C we¡¯re eunuchs. It¡¯s a political thing. Makes us nobles of a sort, power behind the throne and all that. We¡¯re reared from a young age into it, fully know what we¡¯re getting into. Lotta power, lotta benefits, but some nights... I have trouble sleeping from the regret. Wake up screaming.¡± I grunted my understanding, ¡°It was the same for me. Thought I¡¯d be an outcast, a monster. Saw how you guys looked at me.¡± There was a pause of sympathetic silence. Then Conan stood, breaking the moment. ¡°Found the trigger. I¡¯ll head down the hallway first to prove it, you follow me after. If I¡¯m wrong...¡± That¡¯s what PushIII and Levitate were for. It might not be pretty, but it would get the job done. ¡°I can pull you out of there with a spell or two if necessary. No worries there.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t that grand?¡± he pointed at one half of the hallway, and then the other side a few later, ¡°don¡¯t step on those flagstones. They¡¯re slightly loose, springy, like. Three of them in total. If there¡¯s a fourth we¡¯re about to find out.¡± Conan walked forward slowly, clearly demonstrating the places he stood and avoided. It was mostly unnecessary, I could see the scrapes along the sides of the flagstones he¡¯d pointed out, but I didn¡¯t complain. I wasn¡¯t so arrogant as to think I wouldn¡¯t miss something. Not when the stake were this high. He made it down the hallway without incident, turned back, and guided me past the trap. It was fairly simple to avoid, clearly made to trip up invaders without slowing down the warlocks themselves. I¡¯d be able to do it myself with just the will-o¡¯-wisps in the future. We passed by the demonic faces without comment. I wasn¡¯t sure if it was because he didn¡¯t notice them, or didn¡¯t want to bring it up. Either way, I was grateful. We travelled mostly without incident, with the wailing corner being the only obstacle of note. I¡¯d remembered it just in time, but even forewarned it was disturbing. Conan¡¯s high pitched ¨C but normally soft ¨C voice became more of a shrieking scream than a wail, and my new melodious voice was dredged from such depths of despair it made the both of us weep. Mixed together it sounded like a maiden being torn apart by mournful wolves. I led Conan to the stream first so we could drink and refill our skins. I also took the opportunity to rinse out my new wineskin and fill it with water. ¡°By the blessed branch, what are those things?¡± asked Conan, gesturing at the two rotting lumps at the end of the hall. ¡°Giant ticks. They were eating the bodies of the warlock and mercenaries I killed when I came back here, so I killed them as well.¡± Conan looked at me sharply, ¡°You killed a warlock?¡± I raised my torch high and walked into my cell, ¡°I had to to get out of this prison.¡± Conan followed me in, ¡°So you were held here. Look at this place. Water running over the prisoner¡¯s feet, manacles without an inch of slack,¡± he approached the wall where I¡¯d be bound, ¡°a metal spike?¡± I swayed as the memories rushed back to me all at once. I¡¯d been trying to avoid thinking about my time here without realizing it. ¡°And my head was wrapped, my eyes covered, ears and mouth stuffed up with cloth. All in the name of preventing me from moving or sensing anything. If you¡¯re worried about Eric, don¡¯t be. This was made specifically for me and my kind. Mages are very hard to contain.¡± Conan¡¯s face twisted with empathy, ¡°That¡¯s horrible. That¡¯s... who could do this to another human being? Who could do this to anything?¡± ¡°Warlocks,¡± I said simply. My feelings about the matter were far from simple, but the rage had been tempered by the fact I¡¯d managed to kill one of the salt-bonded blights. Conan stared at my bindings with disbelief for a few seconds more before shaking his head. A wry grin slowly crept across his face, ¡°And after all this, you still managed to escape from the bastards?¡± I mirrored him with a savage grin of my own, ¡°I will not be bound.¡± It was a warning as much as an exultation. I still didn¡¯t fully trust Conan and the others, didn¡¯t even trust that they weren¡¯t working for the warlocks. If they had any plans of betrayal, hopefully my grim tableau would give them second thoughts. The bodies of the frogs would only add to it. And the goblins. The sensible parts of me pointed out getting killed by goblins was an elaborate way to try to gain my trust and let my guard down. But the rest of me pointed out they could be no different from the other group of mercenaries. Servants of the warlocks trapped in an increasingly hostile dungeon after it was locked down. I might have been able to logic out an answer, or reveal Conan¡¯s loyalties with a clever set of questions, but I wasn¡¯t thinking clearly. I knew I wasn¡¯t thinking clearly. I was afraid, probably sick, and trapped in a dungeon with little hope of escape. It was a wonder I was thinking at all. But even knowing I wasn¡¯t thinking clearly didn¡¯t mean I knew what I wasn¡¯t thinking clearly about. I didn¡¯t want to show Conan my sources of food and water, but circumstance was forcing me to. I could just let the others die from their wounds, but I still needed to treat my own. I could have forced Conan to stay, but having someone to get me past the traps had been invaluable. The fact he¡¯d been able to find the traps in the first place might be a sign he¡¯d been the one to set them. Or his employer had warned him about them. Conan¡¯s grin simply grew, ¡°Good. Eric is in good hands. We need someone like you.¡± After all that- It was hard to distrust someone who acted and sounded so genuine. I exited my cell and began walking, ¡°My stash is nearby. We¡¯ll grab some food and medicine, and then we¡¯ll be off.¡± Conan noticed the smell before I did. I guess I¡¯d gotten used to it. ¡°What is that?¡± he said, a look of disgust on his face. ¡°Dead frogs,¡± I gestured to the far corner, ¡°And nightsoil. I wouldn¡¯t go over there.¡± He wrinkled his nose and, despite my warning, took a few steps closer, ¡°God forfend. They¡¯re the size of horses.¡± I cracked open my cask and grabbed a mouthful of dried fish. I was starving. It had been more than a day since I¡¯d last eaten. ¡°I was lucky to kill them. I barely had any spells at the time, and they move like they¡¯ve been shot from a cannon,¡± I rested my hand on the small boulder next to my cask, ¡°Mostly I just hid behind this and prayed.¡± Conan walked back toward me, appraising my room, ¡°What do the ¡®X¡¯s mean? I¡¯ve seen them all over.¡± I grabbed my ointment and began applying it to my leg, ¡°North. I marked all the north walls I could to help me find my way out of here.¡± Conan whistled, ¡°That must have been a lot of work.¡± I rocked my head side to side, ¡°More than I¡¯d have liked, but not too bad. Several days, nothing more.¡± At his incredulous stare I added, ¡°Magic.¡± He nodded, ¡°Ah. You want to move that thing out of here?¡± he pointed at to my chest, ¡°I¡¯ll help you carry it.¡± It was a good idea. If possible I didn¡¯t want to have to keep coming up here and the smell was terrible. I would still have to make trips to the stream, but not nearly as often as I needed access to my fish. Levitate Two will-o¡¯-wisps circled around my cask as it rose from the ground. It was fitting to use the spell to lift it, given that it had been what the spell was based on in the first place. True magic was fond of such tidy circles. ¡°Magic.¡± Conan let out an honest laugh, as warm as spring, ¡°Of course. What was I thinking?¡± I found myself relaxing despite myself, ¡°We¡¯re all set here. Let¡¯s go.¡± XVI - Conan Pt.2 I dropped the cask and my will-o¡¯-wisps off on top of the balcony near the stairs. The ointment I brought with us back down to the second floor. I doubted the magic would be appreciated, and I didn¡¯t want everyone knowing about my supplies if I could avoid it. Stovepipe and Brace met us at the portcullis to the second floor. Their swords were drawn and they were on high alert. After the goblins they weren¡¯t taking any chances. ¡°Back so soon?¡± asked Stovepipe, ¡°thought you said it took days to find the second floor.¡± ¡°It¡¯s more dangerous than large. I had to pace myself.¡± ¡°He¡¯s got the whole place mapped out,¡± Conan interjected, ¡°Markings carved on the wall and everything. Just needed me to get by one trap.¡± ¡°And you managed to get the ointment?¡± asked Brace. She looked tense. I held it up in confirmation. Her face softened, ¡°Rian first, then the others. If he survives the bloodloss he¡¯ll need all the help he can get.¡± I followed her in to the room with mural. Nobody had had time to deal with it. The two men who had remained uninjured (besides Stovepipe and Conan) had spent all their time tending to Rian. I was surprised he was still alive. We¡¯d had people die from far less than losing a leg back in Blackbridge. The shock alone of losing a limb was enough to kill. I quickly knelt down beside him and unscrewed the cap. Then I removed my glove and put a dollop of the ointment on my finger. It was probably cleaner than the glove. I didn¡¯t trust my waterskins to clean myself given that I¡¯d been drinking from them. Human saliva could be toxic to humans if it got in a wound. I pointed my chin at the man to my right, ¡°You, lift up the bandages for me so I can see what I¡¯m working with.¡± I immediately regretted my order upon being faced with the stump of his leg. The blade hadn¡¯t cut cleanly, and some things had torn. It might be that I should use my magic sword to make the wound a clean cut, but I didn¡¯t know enough of medicine to be sure, and I was apparently the most knowledgeable here. It didn¡¯t bode well for Rian¡¯s survival. ¡°I know of two places which might help you, three if you¡¯re willing to end up as I was,¡± I said as I began gently rubbing the ointment over his wound, ¡°There is a statue to dwarf goddess on the first floor. She might help you overcome your injuries if you pray to her. ¡°There is also a pool of water I suspect to be magical though have no actual proof. It might just be poison, but if you¡¯re willing we could try that as well. ¡°Finally, there is the dark altar of the warlocks. It gives you supernatural strength and might be able to save you or even restore your leg, but it twists your mind. The corruption is subtle, but an elf told me it was there. I had to make many difficult bargains to overcome the corruptions.¡± I didn¡¯t bother mentioning the Mushroom-King. He could undoubtedly save the man, he¡¯d fixed my leg after all, but... but it wasn¡¯t my choice to make. Rian was biting down on someone¡¯s belt, but his eyes had never left my face. I met them once more, ¡°There is another option. A creature known as the Mushroom King dwells in this dungeon. He can save you. Of that I have no doubt. But if he chooses to do so, and doesn¡¯t simply kill you on sight, you will be bound to him for eternity. He will control you, body and mind. He may force you to turn on your companions, or to wreak destruction on your homelands. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°I don¡¯t tell you of him lightly. If he orders you to turn against us, I will be forced to destroy you. But... but the choice should be yours to know of him. Not mine.¡± Rian spat out the belt, ¡°Thank you. I¡¯ll stick it out here for now,¡± he managed a wry smile despite the pain writing across his face, ¡°I¡¯ve had worse,¡± he jested. I finished my administrations and passed the ointment to Stovepipe, ¡°See that Brace and...¡± I¡¯d never learned the name of the guy missing his eye. ¡°Fionn,¡± Stovepipe supplied. ¡°Fionn. See that Brace and Fionn have their wounds tended to.¡± I turned back to the other two, ¡°Does anyone have any more cloth? I want to bind the wound itself to protect from the air. Might help it heal fast enough to ease off the tourniquet.¡± One of the men nodded and began digging through his back, ¡°Healer back home used to say a bad tourniquet killed as often as the wound.¡± I didn¡¯t if that was true, and I certainly didn¡¯t know what to do if it was true. We¡¯d just have to hope for the best, and find a way to get Rian up to the first floor if he changed his mind.¡± I took the proffered cloth and began wrapping the wound as best I was able, trying to give Rian a bit of padding so he wouldn¡¯t feel every twist and breeze. It was a bit of a blood soaked mess when I was done, but far better than the slapdash job he¡¯d had tossed on him before. Stovepipe returned with my ointment, ¡°That¡¯s everyone. How are things looking here?¡± I stood and took it. ¡°Hard to say. I¡¯ve done the best I can, but...¡± ¡°Don¡¯t mind me,¡± Rian spoke up from the floor, ¡°I knew what I was getting into when I signed up for this. No one to blame but the goblins for whatever happens. Thank you for your help.¡± The other two men had left to switch posts with Brace. She came over, joined by Erin. ¡°What now, Oswic?¡± asked Stovepipe, ¡°Are you still with us?¡± ¡°Are you still going to look for Eric?¡± Erin clenched her jaw, ¡°Of course! It¡¯s not a simple calculus of life for life, that¡¯s not how it works. We don¡¯t trade it lives. It¡¯s about not abandoning him. He¡¯d do the same for any of us.¡± ¡°Do you still swear to guide me down as far possible?¡± Stovepipe looked like he was about to say something, but Brace interrupted him, ¡°If you find Eric, we will.¡± Now would be the time to ask for more. They were shaken, and their quest had revealed itself to be far more dangerous than they¡¯d expected. But that wasn¡¯t me. If the dangers had been new, maybe, but so far it had been par for the course. I¡¯d been faced with nothing I couldn¡¯t handle, and I was more able than the others to handle said dangers. I¡¯d even gotten the druid stone out of the bargain. Now that I knew the treasures which could be found on each floor, I might explore them without an incentive. Finding Eric for smoother passage through the more dangerous floors was just a bonus. ¡°Any treasure I find is mine, and I¡¯d like to see any you find as well for potential trade. That¡¯s my only stipulation.¡± ¡°Of course. You don¡¯t need to ask to keep what is yours by right,¡± said Brace ¡°I like to make myself clear,¡± I replied, ¡°I¡¯ll be off. Be careful without me here. I might be gone for several minutes, or several hours. My methods only allow to explore in uneven bursts.¡± Conan walked up, ¡°I¡¯ll go with you. You¡¯ll need someone to search for traps.¡± I shook my head, ¡°So will everyone else. And I can deal with traps. If I find a suspicious hallway you¡¯ll be the first I call, but I work best alone. At least for now.¡± Conan began to protest, but Erin put a hand on his shoulder, ¡°He¡¯s right. We can explore faster with you scouting ahead. You can even make a map for Oswic, then we¡¯ll be covering ground twice as fast.¡± ¡°Fair well,¡± said Brace. ¡°Same to you,¡± I replied, and headed back out into the unknown. XVII - Foes and Flight The first door I tried after leaving Conan back with his party was trapped. I discovered this when, instead of the handle moving the bolt, it opened a pit under my feet. The mechanism itself must have been magical because there was no warning. No sound, no trap door, the floor simply disappeared beneath me, and I was at the bottom of a pit. The pit was small, perhaps ten feet deep and half that in both length and width. I was no expert, but I¡¯d been up enough trees in my youth to escape the hole with no great difficulty, even loaded up with gear as I was. With my new strength it was trivial. I clambered out quickly and took a quick glance around. Everyone was still in the mosaic room. I¡¯d been spared that at least. Still, embarrassment and self recrimination flooded through me. How had I been so careless? I knew the dungeon was full of traps. I¡¯d gotten lucky. That one hadn¡¯t even hurt me. I- I stopped myself. I must have been more shaken up than I¡¯d thought. I knew better than to blame myself ¨C blame anyone ¨C for what was already come and gone. I sidled around the hole and turned the handle the other way. Locked. On the plus side a second pit didn¡¯t open up under me. I wouldn¡¯t have put it past the warlocks at this point. Their dungeon was far too dangerous to practically get around. I had no idea how they managed. There was just enough room to wind back for a kick at an angle which wouldn¡¯t send me careening back down into the pit. It wasn¡¯t ideal but it would have to do. The handle tore free from its mount and the slammed open, bouncing off the wall behind it. I proceeded cautiously after it, torch and spell book held high. The chamber beyond was huge. Huge even for the dungeon, which was saying something. My torch¡¯s light barely illuminated the far wall, even with my enhanced vision. To my right, the room stretched on into darkness. Darkness which I couldn¡¯t repel even after walking for over one hundred feet. Fifty feet later and something finally came into view. Not the far wall, but a raised pool, similar to the one I¡¯d discovered on the floor above. The pool was large as well, perhaps twenty feet across. Shadows lay beyond it for another ten feet, and then finally, I discovered the far wall. I doubted even the feast hall of the king was this large. Perhaps his whole manor would fit inside this single room. And yet, it was empty. Besides the pool there was nothing. No carpets, no carvings, no pillars. I had no idea how the room hadn¡¯t collapsed in on itself. Perhaps the magic of the pool itself kept the room whole. And it was magical. It radiated from it. A gentle buzz against the backdrop of the earth-shattering quake of the druid stone. It was a shame I hadn¡¯t left one of those goblins alive. I could have thrown him into it. Despite the sheer size of the room, circling the perimeter only revealed for other exits other than the one I¡¯d come through. Of those, one was an open archway, so that was the one I took. I didn¡¯t have the time to spare searching every doorway for traps I wouldn¡¯t find, but neither did I want to risk them if at all possible. This room was far smaller. I could make out all four walls from the centre, if only barely. Maybe thirty feet off in every direction. A mural covered the ceiling. Like the room on the first floor, this mural also depicted the Springtime War. However it depicted a different moment from the war. The first had shown a battle in full swing, perhaps the first resistant against the attackers. This one should the end of the war. The attackers retreating from the castle as monstrous figures harried them from the land, sky, and tunnels underground. The victory of Bleakfort, perhaps the fortress¡¯s greatest moment. Why it had been relegated to a barren room on the second floor of the dungeon I had no idea. Perhaps it was directly beneath the first and they built a sort of three-dimensional tapestry if looked at from an outside perspective. The next floor might show the defenders gnawing on their attacker¡¯s bones. Other than the mural the room only contained one thing. A ladder. You could do a lot with a ladder. Not that I was going to carry it everywhere with me, but it was nice to have the option. I could even turn it into some fairly useful spells given the chance. After I recorded a dozen other more pressing ones. The room contained a single door on my right. It opened with a gentle ramming from my shoulder, practically a masterwork hinge by the standards of the dungeon. The new room was identical in dimensions, but not contents. Where the first had two exits, this room had four. Instead of a ladder a row bookshelves and demonic masks lined the wall to my right. There was nothing on the ceiling. Instead of nothing happening when I crossed the centre of the room- *Phwip* *Phwip* Two darts stuck out of my chest. Again. I was never going to take this armour off. Judging by the angle the darts had come from the masks, either their eye sockets or leering mouths. Nothing had shifted when I¡¯d- *Knock, knock, knock* A sudden rapping rang out behind me. I spun, spellbook raised, but there was nothing. I waited, eyes scanning the darkness. Nothing moved. I took several steps back, ready for something to come charging out of the doorway I¡¯d just entered through. *Patter-Pat* There was another knock behind me. I spun again and called beyond the door there, ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± No one replied. I strode over to the door and kicked it open. Metal twisted, the lock snapped, and the mangled hinge slowly swung outward. No one but an empty corridor. More ghosts. I continued on into the corridor. If rooms could also be trapped, nowhere was safe. Hesitation at every step wouldn¡¯t get me anywhere. I may as well keep moving. The corridor had one dead end and one end which ended in a portcullis. The portcullis offered a view of a staircase leading up to an allure of sorts leading around the room. The floor was covered in broken shields and little else. Disappointing, but safe enough. I leaned my torch against the wall to allow myself a better grip on the portcullis. My spellbook stayed in my other hand. It was awkward, but I¡¯d run into enough traps today. The portcullis slid up smoothly and easily. Erin might have been able to manage it with one arm. I guess I¡¯d found the one well made piece of architecture in the whole dungeon. I held it open with one arm while I squatted down to retrieve my torch and then did a proper survey of the room. The room was round, and had three exits beyond the one I¡¯d just come through, but was otherwise as I¡¯d seen it peering between the bars of the portcullis. One of the exits appeared to double back, coming from roughly the same direction as the portcullis. The portal there was simply an open doorway, which was why it had caught my attention. The other two doors, undoubtedly stuck and trapped, could wait. The archway led immediately into another small room, which was to say it was roughly the size of my house back in Blackbridge. Unlike the room I¡¯d just left it was square, had only one exit, and the Mushroom-King was standing in the centre. *** So, Servant of Nature, you have returned to me. Why have you forsaken your king? I turned and fled. The flagstones heaved beneath me as I ran. The walls buckled, the ceiling cracked as masonry began to fall. Between the broken cracks in all of them earth surged, seeking to seal off my exit. Fortunately, my reactions had been faster and I dove into the round chamber just before the archway slammed shut with a wall of earth and stone. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. I wanted to lay there and collect my breath, but I didn¡¯t dare. The Mushroom-King might be able to travel after, or send his mycellia after me. I ran to the opposite door and barrelled through it. My life sense showed me several pieces of rotted wood lay scattered about the room. My light showed them to me a moment later, as well as the lack of other exits from the room. My life sense. I could see plant matter, but not the Mushroom-King or his mycellia. Couldn¡¯t I see his presence in my mind before? Had he somehow hidden himself from me? There wasn¡¯t time to wonder. I spun around and ran back through the door, running for the final exit of the round chamber. By some miracle it was also unlocked, untrapped, and swung open easily. The round chamber was the work of a master craftsman. Relatively speaking, at least. I ran into a wall of bristling iron. Nine people were arrayed before me, weapons drawn. Some had swords, some had bows or crossbows. One of the women even had a pick. How many people had been trapped down here? ¡°Halt!¡± cried another of the women, this one brandishing a club. She could have been Erin¡¯s mother. With her silver hair and brown eyes she looked nothing like Erin, the complete opposite in fact, but she was also stunningly beautiful, even in her old age. I¡¯d just killed nearly a dozen goblins. I doubted nine people would be much harder. Physically, that was. There was a word for the one who was able to slay a dozen humans without a hint of compunction. We called them monsters. I halted, closing the door behind me. ¡°I mean you no harm, but I am perused by a creature known as the Mushroom-King. Can we please continue this in the room beyond?¡± The woman seemed taken aback, ¡°No. I know not what games you play, but they shall not work on me, fae. Leave at once, for we will not play your games.¡± Right. My appearance. Fae was a step up from demon. They might have shot on sight earlier this morning. Maybe I could use it. ¡°I cannot fair lady,¡± I said in my best sing-song voice. It was surprisingly easy, my voice had become overwhelmingly melodious. It would be harder to speak normally, ¡°I have a geas laid upon me to continue through yonder door,¡± I bowed, ¡°I beg of you, forgive my tricks, and allow this poor servant passage.¡± ¡°Shoot him if he doesn¡¯t turn back at once.¡± Fine then. They¡¯d left me little choice. Serpent Moment The world bent around me. The floor rushed up to meet me. I moved more like a vesper than a serpent. I moved like bolt of lightning. The room elongated. Time and space both stretched around me. It was as easy as skipping to dash across the room. To wind my way up, around, through their legs, and out the other side. I slipped under the opposite door and the world unfolded around me. I was human once more. Human adjacent, at least. In less time than it took me to blink it was over. And I¡¯d wasted the morning recording a spell to give me another sword! Once more, the nature of dark magic was called into question. Once more, there was no time for introspection. For all I knew, I now had nine people as well as the Mushroom-King after me. I was going to need a lie down if I survived this. I was standing in the centre of a corridor going to my left and right. I took the left hand path on the principle that it moved me further away from the Mushroom-King¡¯s chamber. I wasn¡¯t sure what the range of his influence was, but it seemed better to be safe than sorry. The corridor split once more after fifty feet, this time forking off to my left. I continued on running straight until another T-junction where I turned right without slowing. There was a door at the end of the corridor, but I could go through doors, even locked ones. Distance. Distance was what mattered. I crashed into the door at full speed causing it to shriek and wail as it was slowly levered open. I slipped through the gap once it was wide enough rather than wasting any more effort trying to push it open. The room beyond was mostly empty, except for another broken shield in the corner, so I continued straight on through to the door at the opposite end of the room. I stopped to push this one rather than crashing into it. My shoulder still ached from the previous impact. Plus this door was made of stone. Stone and lead from the feel of it. Despite my best efforts the door didn¡¯t even move. PushII I couldn¡¯t see the hinges from this side either, so I had to settle for using the spell to add to my own strength instead. It was enough. Barely. The door slowly ground open under the combined might of my legs, arms, back, and spell. I squeezed through the gap and ended my spell. Then I kicked the door closed behind me. Hopefully that would slow them down. The door led to a twisting turning corridor. The corridor in turn led to a door. Wooden this time, but only slightly easier to open than the door of stone. The round chamber had led me into a false sense of security. On the plus side, I¡¯d hear any pursuers from a mile away. I pulled the wooden door shut behind me and looked around. The room was hexagonal, which seemed to be as unusual for this dungeon as anywhere else. Three of the walls (thankfully the ones opposite me) were coated in a thick green slime. A handful of empty bottles lay scattered around the floor at my feet. If not for my torch I might have stumbled on them. Otherwise, the room was empty, and yet... Under the gaze of my life sight the walls blazed like the sun. The slime was a mold or moss of some kind. One I could move. And there was a gap in it. A prism buried in one wall. Almost like a- I sent the slime crawling away from the spot. To my normal vision it appeared like ripples spreading out from a point, becoming shallower as I watched, until all that remained was a small chest nestled atop a pillar of slime. Ew. I pulled the chest down easily enough. It was perhaps the size and weight of a child on the cusp of manhood. I set it on the floor and attempted to open it, only to find it was fastened with a lock. My hammer and chisel made quick work of it. Thankfully, my control of the slime allowed me to avoid getting any on myself or my clothes as I worked. I pried the lid from its ruined lock and peered inside. What had been so important it had been locked in a chest then hidden in a wall of slime? Apparently a variety of items to put the goblins¡¯ hoard to shame. The first thing I noticed was a small figurine. It was silver in colour, but not made of silver. Neither did the material appear to be lead. I¡¯d heard tales of master metal workers who could shape antimony, and it did seem to match their descriptions. But if that were true this was an artifact, a masterpiece from far away lands. So why did it look like me? Not exactly like me. The figure had a different nose and eyes. But the long, magnificent hair. The delicate strength. The ethereal build. If the druid stone had made me another species, the statue would be depicting my brother. Perhaps the chest had belong to the druid himself? The other items supported my theory. A small pipe packed with calabash. A lock of emerald hair. A rabbit¡¯s foot. A small wooden carving of a bear. A painted animal skull. A charm of some kind, perhaps made from the remains of a shield or bucket. A lead amulet. A piece of chalk. A vial of quicksilver. A chunk of iron stuck to a large lodestone and finally a large bloodstone. Each I tried in turn, trying to discern their nature. Only the chalk stood out as unusual for its make, but even then it wasn¡¯t magical. Instead, it was of a refinement I¡¯d never seen before. It felt almost like a piece of marble rather than chalk. I ran it along the flagstone to be sure, and sure enough, it produced the purest, richest line I¡¯d ever seen. I could barely wipe it away with my fingers. A quick test on my spellbook found it could even write on parchment. I immediately put it in my pouch. A writing tool of this quality was worth holding onto. There were other things too. Less druidly, but still useful. The kinds of things anyone might carry with them on their travels. Most exciting to me was another journal, this one not covered in blood, though it was half full of writing in an unknown language. The journal joined the chalk, though with protests. It was a shame the chest didn¡¯t contain a backpack or the rest of the bottle gourd. I next investigated and discarded a spoon, set of iron keys, a vial of what was probably perfume, two maps of the surrounding environs of Bleakfort, and a deed to a small property in turn. That left a bundle of ribbons and a pair of cloth gloves which fit. I used the first to tie the second to my belt. From the first stack of goods I took the quicksilver and lodestone. The rest I regretfully put back in the chest and put the chest back in the wall. Though the figurine interested me, I simply didn¡¯t have the room for it. The other goods were undoubtedly of some significance, but not to me, and I didn¡¯t have the time nor desire to learn. The druid¡¯s path was a hard one, and took a lifetime of dedication. My calling was with the Magi. The far door was locked and covered in slime. I fixed both problems in quick succession, but was almost immediately brought up short by an iron portcullis just beyond the door. I half-heartedly tried to lift it and it didn¡¯t even budge. I then tried whole-heartedly, but the only which threatened to dislocate was my spine. I was out of push spells, levitate too. I could teleport through the portcullis, but that would involve leaving all my gear behind, which I didn¡¯t want to do. My magic swords could almost certain lift the gate, maybe even chop through it if necessary, but that was a last resort. What I wouldn¡¯t give for the ability to use Serpent Moment at will. I headed back the way I came. The non-slimy door was easier to open than it had been the first time; I might have scraped something loose. The stone door at the end of the twisting corridor ¨C more of a horseshoe now that I was paying attention ¨C on the other hand refused to open. I was trapped. I moved back into the slimy hex room. Now might be as good a time as any to rest for the day. I could get my spells back, and then deal with whatever path was most desirable. Would Brace¡¯s party be worried about me? I couldn¡¯t remember if or when I¡¯d told them I¡¯d return. Too bad. I wasn¡¯t about to risk my life to put them at ease about my safety. That would be pure insanity. I amused myself waiting for night fall by moving all the slime in the room to cover the wooden door, creating a thick barrier between myself and any potential intruders. The slime moved slowly in the grand scheme of things. Even an ant or small spider would be faster. Plant or mold, however, whichever it may be, it moved far too quickly for comfort. Hopefully there would be some warning before I woke up engulfed in the stuff. I rested my back against the opposite wall of the chamber just in case. I spent some more time seeing if I could write in the slime with my mind alone, tracing runes of magic through its surface. I could, but the process was slow, and the slime so non-portable that the idea had limited application. If I were trapped in a cell again maybe. As long as I could see. And there was a good supply of slime. I eventually grew bored of drawing in the goo and turned back to old faithful: watching the Teleport rune dance before my eyes. Just for a moment. Just until I felt tired. Just to pass the ti- It was morning. XVIII - The Place Before the Door The voices roused me gently this morning. A child babbling away while I lit a torch, drank, and attended to my morning routine through a hole in the slime wall and into the corridor beyond. Withering Insect It was a suggestion rather than an order. There was no imposition. If I desired it I could simply... not. I let the spell enter my mind. I hadn¡¯t understood Serpent Moment until I¡¯d needed it. Withering Insect might be the same. Isolated as I was from all recognized paths, I was going to cling to every advantage at my disposal. I began running around the hexagonal chamber, measuring my steps, tracking time. Once I gained a handle on the distances and speeds required I began recording my spell. My gear was carried with me. Transported along my circuitous path. I stopped after less than a hundred steps. I could go further. Much further. That was not my goal. TransportII: Move all of the caster¡¯s gear 150 ft over the course of eight seconds. Magic had one known limitation. Albeit, one with workarounds, but the limitation was there. A recorded spell could only ¨C unless cast in tandem with another spell ¨C could only effect either the mage or not-the-mage. Otherwise I¡¯d have recorded TransportII to move my gear and myself. It did mean, however, that I could record TransportII and Safe Teleport together to gain the desired effect. TransportII would suffice for now. Needing to get dressed again was a small price to pay for getting through the iron portcullis. Unfortunately, it would require two spells, neither of which I could afford to lose. I could use my Magic Swords spell instead, but if anything, that was even more valuable. Given how heavy the portcullis had been, I doubted my Push spells or Levitate would be enough, even combined. They might be enough to get me through the stone door, but if I encountered any traps which lost my spells I¡¯d be set back another day. Then again, if I waited in the room all day ¨C I¡¯d been toying with the idea ¨C I was guaranteed to lose a day. Teleportation spells weren¡¯t hard to record. I¡¯d try the stone door. I wasn¡¯t even losing my spells 50% of the time, the odds, as far as I knew, were in my favour. It took nearly an hour to move the slime fully away from the door. I lit another torch and used the light to study the ragged edges of the slime, idly using them to draw runes as I waited. Disturbingly, the slime didn¡¯t remain in place. I hadn¡¯t noticed in the morning, being to focused on making a tunnel to do my business through, but the slime moved on its own. The path seemed mostly random, almost like it was melting against the wall. Tendrils spread out in every direction from the edges, questing, prodding, merging back into the whole when they didn¡¯t find anything. In all my years I¡¯d never seen a plant like it. If I wanted to spend another night sleeping in here I¡¯d have to make sure to move all the slime back to the opposite side of the room. Otherwise, it might end up suffocating me in my sleep. The path was clear. I squeezed out the already ajar door and headed for the door of stone. I¡¯d considered removing pins from the hinges again but decided against it. For one thing, it would take multiple spells (one per pin) to open the door. For another, I might want to close the door behind myself in the future. Instead, I used PushIII to move the door towards me as I pulled on it. I felt the tattoo on my chest vanish. It was a sudden easing of breath, a chill, a relaxing of skin I hadn¡¯t known was tight. It actually felt mildly pleasant for a minute. I¡¯d have rather had the spell. I¡¯d have to make it count. It was enough. More than enough. Once I overcame the initial friction, the spell pushed the door open the rest of the way on its own. I let it press the door up against the wall before dispelling it. I probably wouldn¡¯t be able to risk closing the door again. It was only now I noticed the writing on the far fall. It had been to my back when I¡¯d last fled through the room, on the same wall as the door I¡¯d come by. ¡°I¡¯ve forgotten my name.¡± I wasn¡¯t sure who that message was supposed to be for. Who it could be for. Was it a warning? It was a poorly written one if so. Far too vague. Was it a note for the writer to return to? In case they later were under the impression they hadn¡¯t forgotten their name? That was... that was a disturbing thought. I wasn¡¯t sure if the warlocks could do something like that with their natural talents, but the Mushroom-King probably could. Dark magic could, if you got ¡°lucky¡±. The room also contained a third doorway, one to my left. Unbelievably, the latch slid free and the door swung open like doors were supposed to. I had a moment of irrational fear that I¡¯d returned to the round chamber near the Mushroom-King. I¡¯d been joking, but some part of me appeared to subconsciously believe only the architect of that room could truly make working doors. My subconscious fears were put at ease by the fact that, after a short corridor, the passage beyond the door ended with another iron portcullis. First Rain of Spring, I was saved. I gave the portcullis a go all the same. You never knew. Perhaps this one was ratcheted or had oiled its runners. Luck was with me. The portcullis lifted smoothly in its track. I was just strong enough that as long as I applied steady pressure I could keep it moving until there was enough space for me to duck under. I¡¯d seen the candles before entering the new room, of course. I wasn¡¯t about to expend all my strength on lifting an iron gate into a room full of bloodthirsty wolves armed with battleaxes after all. They were lit and scattered about the room haphazardly, as all candle arrangements in the dungeon seemed to be. It probably made the lighting feel more natural than with ordered rows. A warlock interior decorator. It did raise the question of who had lit the candles. They were six-hour candles at most by the look of the wax. Probably less than two hours since they¡¯d been lit. Another possibility was that the rooms were in a sort of stasis, much like the dungeon as a whole. Time might stay paused until someone entered ¨C or left ¨C the room. That last theory was a long shot. The torches on the upper floor had almost all burned out by the time I¡¯d escaped imprisonment. Whatever the reason for the lit candles, it was better to treat them as a reminder to keep my guard up. I was far from alone down here. The room had a single (stuck) wooden door as its only other exit. I pushed my way though it (eventually) and moved out into the long corridor beyond. I could have moved the hundred foot distance far faster were it not for my caution due to traps and a potential encounter with the candle lighter. As it was it took me a full minute to reach the end of the featureless corridor before it turned at a perpendicular angle to the left. A wooden door waited at the end of the corridor flanked by grey flagstones on all four sides. That was normal. But as I drew closer, the door seemed to move further away. I say seemed because it didn¡¯t get any smaller. The door remained fixed in place, as large as ever, but the horizon grew, like my eyes could suddenly account for more dimensions. Everything else got bigger. I hadn¡¯t shrunk, I was almost certain. The thought had been dismissed almost the instant it had crossed my mind. My perspective of the door remained identical. There was simply... more. More between me and the door. My life sense flared up as cobbles gave way to bright green grass. A moment later the ever present howling laughter of dogs was drowned out with bird song. Light shone down from above. Not a lantern or chandelier, but the warm bright light of the sun. And yet when I looked above me there was no sun. There was no ceiling either. Just an endless black expanse stretching off into infinity. ¡°Sky without stars,¡± I breathed. Perhaps the oath held more than an illusion to chaos. The ground felt unstable. Like I could fly upward into that endless void at any moment. Like each step might never come back down. I fished out the stone I¡¯d taken from the teleportal and tossed it in the air to check. It came back down promptly. The feeling was vertigo, or some equivalent. Not a reality. Probably. I put the stone back in my pouch. The walls had also fallen away at some point. The grassy field now stretched out to the horizon in all directions. There were figures there. Pale. Shadowy. Drawing closer. I started jogging for the far door. A quick glance behind me showed that the corridor I¡¯d come from was gone. The door seemed my only egress. When I turned back, the figures were everywhere, spread evenly throughout the field. One was stood directly in my path, though it didn¡¯t seem to be paying me much heed. I stopped before I ran into it. It was a man, or at least man shaped. Male. He wore clothes and armour, somehow I could see both at the same time, though the extravagance of either should have been exclusionary. He had long hair and a simple band to keep it out of his face. His face was shadowed, as though it we were in a very dark room, but even my torch and night vision could not penetrate the gloom, and the grass he stood on was brightly lit. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. His clothing too was the same dark shade, so that the whole figure appeared more shadow than man. He had no colour to him and I could faintly see through him, as though he wasn¡¯t entirely there. A shade of some sort. I moved around him carefully. I didn¡¯t know if shades were hostile, if he could even see or harm me, but I didn¡¯t want to take any chances. My spells might not work here. The other figures had shifted again. It seemed they occupied space whenever I wasn¡¯t looking at it. Disturbing. There was probably a dozen directly behind me right now. The hairs on the back of my neck rose as I cursed myself for the thought. ¡°By the endless tide Oswic, why¡¯d you have to think that?¡± I muttered, eyes pointedly fixed on the door ahead. I was not going to check. One of the shades turned her head to follow my progress at the sound of my voice, but otherwise the shades didn¡¯t react. I stopped again, scalp itching, and addressed her, ¡°Can you hear me? See me?¡± She nodded distractedly, then craned her neck slightly, as if trying to look behind me. She didn¡¯t appear to be worried. Disinterested maybe. But it certainly didn¡¯t help my paranoia. ¡°Is there something behind me?¡± She looked at me with bemusement and rolled her eyes before nodding once more. I couldn¡¯t take it. I spun into a crouch spellbook and torch at the ready. Shade or not, I was going to go down with a fight. Nothing. Well... to be fair she was technically not lying. There was the rest of the field. There was the hordes of shades milling about. There was the empty sky. But nothing directly behind me. I turned back to the prankster. ¡°What was that abo-¡± She was gone. Of course she was gone. The grass probably moved too if I paid attention to it. The only thing which hadn¡¯t moved was the far door. Unfortunately, it also didn¡¯t seem to have moved any closer while I¡¯d been walking towards it. It was as far as ever, a fixed point in the distance, like it was a floater behind my eyes. ¡°Oswic?¡± I jumped and swung my torch wildly. The voice had been right behind me. Naturally, I hit nothing. What was with this place and phantoms? ¡°Oswic, is that you?¡± Behind me again. I took a deep shaking breath and closed my eyes. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°Oswic, it¡¯s me, Oscar.¡± They snapped open. There he was, standing in front of me. He was a shade like the others. A shadow drained of all colours. The only difference being I could just make out enough of his face to recognize him. ¡°Oscar? Am I dead? What¡¯s going on?¡± I¡¯d heard tales of a field of the dead. Several, in fact. From multiple different cultures. It might have been cynical, but at this point my first instinct being I¡¯d died without somehow noticing wasn¡¯t that unreasonable. There was more than enough traps in the dungeon to do me in. I just needed to be unlucky once. ¡°Dead? No. This is not a place for the dead. It is a place for heroes,¡± he grinned ruefully, ¡°It just so happens that most heroes are dead.¡± ¡°Does that make me a hero?¡± I didn¡¯t know what to think of that. Obviously, I was dealing with things far beyond the normal calling. But I didn¡¯t really have a choice. There was nothing else I could do. Not unless I simply wanted to curl up and die. Which... I¡¯d tried that before, in my early twenties. Clinging on to life back then hadn¡¯t been a battle with magic swords. Just pain tearing my heart asunder. Endurance was an ugly thing. Half the time I hadn¡¯t wanted to keep going, the other half the time I couldn¡¯t. But it had been enough. Second by second I¡¯d weathered the storm for eternity. I suppose I¡¯d had a choice back then. Oswic nodded. His eyes closed slowly, sharing my pain, ¡°It was enough. More than enough. Wisdom is bought dearly.¡± They opened, and he smiled widely, ¡°But such is the way of heroes. We get what we deserve in then end. Here at last is Elysium.¡± At his words a hundred thousand flowers bloomed. They¡¯d not so much risen from the ground as unfolded from nothing. One moment we stood in an endless field of emerald grasses, the next it was turned to gold. A cool breeze set the flowers swaying, loose petals danced on the wind. The breeze was welcome, a perfect counterbalance to the warm air. I felt my worries slipping away. I couldn¡¯t hold onto them if I tried. The feeling was unsettling. Would have been unsettling, if it too didn¡¯t drift away with the breeze. All the same... ¡°Truly? Elysium dwells in the dungeons of the warlocks of all places?¡± ¡°Bleakfort was not always owned by the warlocks. Bleakfort was not always called Bleakfort. Its history is long and tumultuous. I myself know very little of it. ¡°But fear not and know this: You are safe here. You shall need for food nor water while you dwell here. You shall not need for sleep. Nor shall-¡± I joined him. I¡¯d heard the words before, ¡°Nor shall the ravages of time mar your face, nor the pains of man touch your heart.¡± The words were such I knew they were true. Truer than true. Even the Mushroom-King couldn¡¯t make me believe something as thoroughly. It was the difference between being unsure if you were dreaming, and knowing you were awake. He smiled again, ¡°Such are the Elysian Fields.¡± Intellectually, a single concern remained. I gestured to the door in the distance, ¡°Can one leave this place?¡± ¡°Any time.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t approach the door.¡± The shade put a hand on my shoulder, ¡°All you have to do is want to leave.¡± I sat, stretching out in the grass. I could do with a moment of respite. The world could wait. Oscar joined me. We were on the slope of a gentle hill now. A crystal river wound its way across the fields beneath us. The more I didn¡¯t notice, the more there was. The slope we now lay on was covered in beds of moss, kinder than the gentlest of pillows. ¡°Will you leave with me?¡± I asked. The clouds were gentle white wisps above me, somehow still beautiful against that pitch black sky. ¡°My place is here,¡± Oscar replied, eyes fixed on the distant snow-caped mountains, ¡°Leave the world to the living.¡± ¡°Is there anything you want me to tell them? Any messages you need delivered?¡± He thought about that for a long time before finally shaking his head, ¡°Leave that to the living as well.¡± I propped myself up on an elbow to look at him, ¡°You sure?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡± I lay back again, grass tickled my cheeks. I¡¯d known Oscar for a couple hours at most. I¡¯d probably spent more time with his corpse. But here, side by side his shade on this easy hill above the shining fields, I¡¯d known him for my whole life. In this moment, and perhaps only this moment, time would tell, we were brothers. ¡°Ho there! Oswic!¡± I raised my head. A man, not a shade, was gently jogging down the hill towards us. ¡°Conan!¡± Oscar exclaimed gladly, leaping to his feet. For that¡¯s who it was. ¡°Oscar?¡± The two men ran toward one another and embraced, then clasped arms and danced among the flowers. ¡°What is this place? How did I come here? How did you? What¡¯s Oswic doing here?¡± Oscar laughed, ¡°Enough, enough. I¡¯ll answer all your questions and more. Come. Sit beside us. The sights will do your heart good and every word here is true.¡± Oscar wrestled the other man to his knees. Conan retaliated, jumping at him, and the two tumbled down in the grass beside me. They wrestled there on the grass til a cloud had passed from one horizon to the next under my watchful gaze. Finally they stopped, both men heaving for breath as they flopped onto their backs. Conan¡¯s arm was still linked tightly about Oscar¡¯s shoulders. As we all three watched the river flow out to become a gentle sea, Oscar finally answered Conan¡¯s questions, much as he had mine. ¡°What¡¯s beyond the sea?¡± asked Conan when Oscar was done. ¡°Another island.¡± ¡°And beyond that?¡± I could hear the grin in Oscar¡¯s voice, ¡°More sea.¡± Conan clouted him on the side of the head, ¡°And beyond that?¡± ¡°As far as I know, the Elysian Isles go on forever. The world is a heroic place.¡± ¡°So why are we all here? Shouldn¡¯t we be impossible scattered?¡± ¡°It would hardly be Elysium then, would it? It would just be... lonely.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t it lonely already?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not how often we meet, it¡¯s the knowing that there are ~~~~ ones out there to meet.¡± I twisted my head to look at Oscar. ¡®That there are ones out there to meet.¡¯? That was always true. Perhaps not in Elysium, but- ¡°I¡¯ve heard you can still exile a woodsman,¡± said Conan in apparent agreement. Whatever Oscar had said, Conan seemed to think it had answered his question. Maybe I¡¯d missed some turn of phrase from wherever they were from? Conan freed his arm and rolled on his side to face the two of us, ¡°When we leave, can we bring the others back here to see you? I¡¯m sure Eric would like to say hello. Or goodbye. Whichever this is.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t return here, not in this lifetime. You may stay here as long as you like, but the point of death is to move on.¡± ¡°But the others. We could send them your wa-¡± Oscar raised a hand to stop him, ¡°This is your respite not theirs. Everyone must find their own way. You cannot guide them here. If they find this Land of Heroes, they will find it. If not, they will not. All you can do is trust them.¡± That sounded similar to one of the lessons of the Magi. ¡°Lead and trust they will follow?¡± I asked. Oscar shrugged, ¡°Something like that. But you must lead by virtue, not rote. There is no map to Elysium. Nor any path which may be tread twice.¡± Conan bit his lip, ¡°It¡¯s a shame-¡± ¡°It¡¯s your respite, not theirs,¡± Oscar repeated, ¡°Do not begrudge them their own when the time comes.¡± Conan shoved him in the shoulder, ¡°When did you get so wise?¡± The shade looked sheepish, ¡°It¡¯s not my wisdom. Don¡¯t let me start putting on airs. It¡¯s truth. Plain and simple. Things are easier here. The answers lie closer to the surface. Give it some time. You¡¯ll see them too.¡± Several other shades had joined us by this point to watch the distant islands rise from the sea. Neither myself, Conan, nor Oscar seemed to know any of them, but their company felt easy all the same. I stretched out on the mossy grass and closed my eyes. The thrumming power of the druids was like a warm blanket here. Stronger than ever, and getting stronger by the second, but no longer overwhelming. A blanket of sunshine, safe and familiar, beating in time with my heart. Beating in time with the waves crashing on the distant shore. With the clouds undulating across the sky. With the breath of the wind. With the pulse of the land itself. In this moment, death didn¡¯t seem so bad at all. XIX - Fair Thee Well There was no good time to leave Elysium. I could have stayed on the slope of that sun-kissed hill forever. Guilt nagged at me, but guilt was always nagging at me. I¡¯d listen to my conscience when the time came. It was far less underhanded. It simply spoke the truth. Things like: ¡°If you don¡¯t wake up now you¡¯ll be sore all day.¡± ¡°If you want a clean room you have to clean it.¡± ¡°You have lost something important enough to Master Tom Oldshoe he considers it a binder against your betrayal even if you can¡¯t remember what it was.¡± There it was. Reason enough to leave, but not reason enough to leave right now. *** ¡°Is Eric here?¡± Conan asked suddenly. Oscar shook his head, ¡°I cannot say.¡± Conan frowned, ¡°You don¡¯t know or...¡± ¡°To answer your question would be to rob your quest of its core, which would be the same as continuing the quest myself. This I cannot do. Duty is for the living. Not the dead.¡± The three of us were walking along the beach, watching the waves crash upon the kindly sand. Conan¡¯s question had come out of nowhere, but clearly he¡¯d been thinking about it for a while. I stayed silent, content to let the two friends talk. Conan clutched at his chest, ¡°Don¡¯t you care? ¡°I desire Eric with all my heart. I desire all of you with every fibre of my being. Even Brace,¡± Oscar smiled briefly, then clasped his own hand over his heart. I wasn¡¯t sure what the gesture meant. From Oscar¡¯s face it was a sign of earnestness, ¡°but I¡¯ve done my time. Your burdens are not my own.¡± ¡°I-¡± Conan stopped. He squatted down and began poking in the sand with his finger, ¡°So that¡¯s what the old coot meant. ¡®True desire is free from burdens.¡¯ I thought he just meant it was easy.¡± Desire this and desire that. It was a bit much. Perhaps a turn of phrase in the Delta language. It made feel uncomfortable. But the conversation wasn¡¯t for me. Oscar picked up a stone and sent it skimming across the waves, ¡°Old Master Finn. I¡¯d forgotten about that. I always thought he was saying you should do whatever someone else asks without complaint. Or that one necessarily removes the other.¡± If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Conan sent his own stone after Oscar¡¯s, ¡°Guess it was more complicated than that. And simpler. It¡¯s no one¡¯s duty to suffer. Especially for one they desire.¡± And again. Made me feel like an object. I preferred to respect others rather than covet them. ¡°Destroy the mosaic.¡± Oscar said suddenly. We both looked over at him. ¡°I can tell you that much. The mosaic. We were right about it. Its effects are transcendent. It dampens everything in the dungeon. Nature, harmony, desire. Even these isles.¡± That got my attention, ¡°Are the isles in danger?¡± He shook his head, ¡°They cannot be harmed. But their touch is no longer felt by the living. The mosaic has smothered it.¡± ¡°Then it shall be done.¡± Conan promised, ¡°Even should we fail to find Eric, our journey will not have been in vain.¡± *** There was no good time to leave Elysium. But eventually, we left. The timing of our departure was somewhat arbitrary. Having decided we¡¯d leave at some point, one length of time in Elysium became much the same as any other. So we did not linger. Neither did we hurry. Eric and mosaic may indeed need to be dealt with, but there was a time for everything. If everyone put their lives on hold to fulfill their duties they¡¯d simply be living their lives for others, which was to say no one would be doing any living at all. Our happiness did not come at another¡¯s expense, despite the voices clamouring in my head. HURRY! HURRY! HURRY! My head had been full of voices which were not my own long before I¡¯d ever had my first taste of magic. Everyone¡¯s heads were. I ignored it, as I had all the others. Conan and Oscar talked endlessly as we (and the shades who had joined us) walked under fair trees caught at the cusp of autumn. An ageless blanket of golden leaves was the carpet upon which we trod. Conan and I needed the respite. Even though he hadn¡¯t faced the same tortures as me, he¡¯d lost a number of friends, and the dungeon itself was oppressive. Monsters, death, and madness aside, all men needed the kiss of the sun. When finally our path brought us to approach the door once more, we found ourselves able to near it, with the shades as our guide. Conan wrapped Oscar in a simple embrace before departing through the door. No embrace could last the men a lifetime. To my surprise, Oscar approached me next, ¡°Something clouds your mind Oswic. Something you yourself do not see.¡± I nodded, ¡°I made a deal with a dobby to protect... something? Though I do not remember what I gave him as collateral to insure I kept my side of the bargain, nor whom I asked him to protect.¡± He smiled, ¡°As long as you are aware you are not aware. I wasn¡¯t sure.¡± He placed me in an embrace of my own. Though we¡¯d only spent a short time together we felt as ancient friends, fast and true. Even with the other shades whose faces I could not see did I feel a bond of loyalty between us. Such was Elysium. ¡°Fair thee well, Oswic. Better days have come at last.¡± XX - Eyes of Shadow The sun was rising as we exited the portal. Somehow we exited together even though we had left several minutes apart. ¡°There¡¯s something in your eyes. Something about them.¡± I looked at Conan. There was a warmth to his gaze. An intensity. The light of Elysium. ¡°In yours too.¡± No man could enter Elysium and leave unchanged. ¡°I already want to go back. Isn¡¯t that strange?¡± ¡°I too,¡± I said, meaning it. It was a strange feeling. Like wanting to return to a dream. A dangerous feeling too. Like wanting to return to a dream. ¡°It¡¯s sunrise,¡± I said. Not everyone had my senses, ¡°We¡¯ve lost some time.¡± Conan looked around, ¡°I¡¯ve been here, I can get us back. The others will be worried about us. You were already missing for a day before I found you.¡± Looked around. We were in the room with demonic faces lining the wall. The bookshelf sitting by them had been moved, revealing a passageway beyond. Huh. I lightly touched the side of Conan¡¯s arm, ¡°Carefully though. Better they worry then we rush through a trap,¡± I pointed to the masks with my chin, ¡°Last time I went through here one of those things shot darts at me.¡± Conan rubbed his chest, ¡°Ran into something like that earlier. Probably would have been dead if it weren¡¯t for my armour. Found two other traps two, though I couldn¡¯t disarm them.¡± ¡°Can you figure out this one?¡± Conan padded gently over to the masks, hugging the wall to come at them from the side. I stayed in by the doorway to the room we¡¯d come through on the off chance I set something off while he was working. Conan spent several minutes poking and prodding at the masks. He tried to pull one from the wall but they were affixed tightly, or perhaps even carved from the same stone by the looks of it. Eventually he gave up. ¡°Can¡¯t figure out what sets them off, let alone how to disarm them. It¡¯s undignified, but probably best if we just crawl under them. Might have to borrow Brace¡¯s shield next time I head out.¡± I joined him in crawling under the masks. About half way I was struck by a thought. ¡°You hungry?¡± Conan frowned over where he was standing by the bookshelf, ¡°Not at all. Not thirsty either. you sure it¡¯s morning?¡± I stood and joined him. ¡°I¡¯m sure. All Ma- I have my ways.¡± ¡°Ways Erin wouldn¡¯t like.¡± ¡°Even so. I have my ways. Strange that.¡± ¡°Elysium,¡± Conan filled the words with such longing my heart ached. ¡°Elysium,¡± I agreed. *** Conan led me on an unfamiliar route back to the mosaic room. We travelled past the magical pool and through a room stacked high with crates full of rocks. Conan consulted a little map he¡¯d drawn as we walked, and provided commentary on doors we¡¯d passed. ¡°Pool of water¡¯s safe. Drank from it no problems.¡± ¡°Door leads to a room of men with heads for torsos.¡± ¡°Strange smell through that door. Has some sort of horrific altar in the centre. Got out of there fast.¡± I not made more than cursory comments on anything he¡¯d mentioned after the first. I was too lost in thought. He¡¯d drunken from the magic pool without serious effects? I watched him carefully out the corner of my eye, gaze still focused on the terrain just ahead. Just because he hadn¡¯t set off any traps the first time through, didn¡¯t mean they didn¡¯t exist. ¡°Pit trap over there. O¡¯ course you know about that. Didn¡¯t want to come back that way, but good finding that.¡± My face flushed, distracted from my thoughts at last, ¡°Fell into it actually. Lucky I wasn¡¯t hurt.¡± Conan looked at me with a grin, ¡°You didn¡¯t!¡± With my pale, almost porcelain skin, I must have looked like I was glowing, ¡°I did. Fell right out from under me as I was closing the door.¡± Conan guffawed, ¡°That¡¯s one way to do it. I¡¯ll stick to my methods though if you don¡¯t mind.¡± ¡°So you say,¡± I said bringing the topic around, ¡°but that pool you claim to have drank from, I swear it is magical in nature.¡± It was Conan¡¯s turn to turn red, ¡°Thought it might be.¡± ¡°You did?¡± ¡°You mentioned a magical pool on the first floor earlier. I thought this might be similar. Don¡¯t know what overtook me. Just thought, you know, maybe it could help Rian.¡± ¡°And you felt no effects from drinking it?¡± Conan shook his head, ¡°Nothing. Better than it being poisonous or turning me into a duck I know, but...¡± He trailed off. ¡°Yeah.¡± The odds of a random pool being able to help Rian were actually quite a bit harder than they might otherwise be. The warlocks had no reason to keep around nor create magical pools which were not useful to them. Unfortunately that meant both poisons and panaceas. ¡°Might be worth bringing some to Rian if he¡¯s doing worse when we get back. Even if it didn¡¯t have noticeable healing properties it might be an antiseptic or even limb restorer. Stranger things have existed.¡± ¡°I think I¡¯d notice if it restored missing body parts,¡± Conan said dryly, ¡°but I get the point.¡± We¡¯d been standing just outside the mosaic room to finish our conversation. Conan now reached out and knocked on the door, ¡°Erin? Brace? We¡¯re back!¡± There was no reply. Conan knocked again, but louder. After several minutes he muttered, ¡°Guess they¡¯re not there,¡± and pushed open the door. The room was destroyed. Tiles lay cracked in heaps around the room. Many were broken. The floor had been laid on a simple concrete pad, and that too was scored here and there by whatever had torn up the mosaic. My first thought was of an attack, but I quickly calmed myself. We¡¯d spoken of destroying the mosaic, and now it appeared they had done it. I¡¯d not noticed, so used to Elysium¡¯s calming presence that I¡¯d become in the short time I¡¯d been there, but the tension on my heart the Isles had eased had not returned when we¡¯d left. The touch of Elysium now eased all men¡¯s hearts as it was meant to from the beginning. If we could now just end the Rift, no matter what we did or achieved after that point, the accounting of our life would be more than balanced. Now that I was looking for it, I could feel it, a gentle whisper in my heart. Live well. A blessing. And an order. Those wicked souls who strove every day to hide from the truth of their own actions would burn from the pain. It might even save them. ¡°Where do you think they went?¡± asked Conan. ¡°No clue. Perhaps they left some sign behind?¡± The two of us began searching the room for some clue of their passage. As our search brought us to the far wall a voice called out, ¡°That you, Conan?¡± It was coming through one of the square holes cut in the wall. ¡°Tadhg?¡± Conan replied. ¡°Conan¡¯s back!¡± Tadhg (one of the men I hadn¡¯t been introduced to) called excitedly. With his high pitched voice he sounded like a child on his birthday. ¡°Conan?¡± Erin called softly. She sounded muffled, like she lying at the base of the wall. We heard scrambling, quite a bit of it, before her voice came clearly through the hole, ¡°Conan, is that really you? We thought you were dead!¡± Her voice was quavering, as if she was holding back tears. ¡°Dead? Why would I be dead? I can look after myself. Not the first time I¡¯ve been gone for a while. Found Oswic too!¡± ¡°Oswic is there?¡± Her voice now contained equal parts fear and hope. Something had happened while we were gone. ¡°Do you know the way to this room?¡± I moved to stand behind Erin, ¡°I do. That room was one of the first I checked.¡± Erin took a deep gulping breath, and then another, as if gasping for air, ¡°Then please come over here. We need your help. Please.¡± I exchanged a glance with Conan. Had something happened to Rian? Or to... what was his name? Fionn? I¡¯d already done all I could for them. I wasn¡¯t sure what they expected of me. None the less Conan and I hurried out of the room and around the long corridor which took us to the rest of his party. Darkness hung heavy in the room. At first I thought the others had failed to light their torches for some reason, but then I saw the orange flame lick out past the black shroud. Even my night vision couldn¡¯t pierce that darkness. It was like peering through a heavy veil. Tadhg walked out of the darkness to stand in our torch light. The darkness didn¡¯t follow him. ¡°What happened here?¡± I asked. It reminded me of the sphere of darkness the warlock in my cell had created, but more tattered, less absolute. Tadhg nodded to the far corner of the room, ¡°Away with me, will ya? Conan, you come too.¡± Only when we reached the far corner did Tadhg begin to speak in a low voice, ¡°We suspect it¡¯s a curse. Erin¡¯s been holding it together, but the rest of us are on edge. Funny world that.¡± I frowned, but remained silent. Tadhg continued, ¡°After Oswic didn¡¯t return it had us on edge. Conan, you went out a second time and we were worried for you, but trusted your expertise. Then you didn¡¯t return.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been gone less than a day myself,¡± Conan said with some surprise, ¡°Why all the worry?¡± Tadhg looked at us face twisted in confusion, ¡°You¡¯ve been gone nearly a week!¡± I exchanged a glance with Conan, my stomach suddenly lurching as if I¡¯d accidentally missed a step along a wall. We¡¯d been in Elysium for but a few hours. Thinking we¡¯d spent the night there had already been something of a shock to us. I was in no particular hurry, but all the same, to miss so much time... I suddenly felt unmoored from reality. It was as if my consciousness had slipped free from my body and was rising over my head. Like I was observing myself through someone else¡¯s eyes. A stranger to my own life. Conan blinked rapidly and shook his head, ¡°We¡¯ll discuss that later. Please, continue. What happened to the others?¡± ¡°After a couple days we could see Rian wasn¡¯t doing so well. Drifting in and out of death as it were. We thought we¡¯d chance the magical pool Oswic had described after all. But to do that, we wanted a guide, so everyone went out looking for you, just a quick journey. If they didn¡¯t find you in a couple of hours they¡¯d head up regardless. They left me behind with Rian and Fionn to look after them. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. ¡°Way Erin told it ¨C others were in shock ¨C they hadn¡¯t been gone nearly half an hour when they stumbled across an altar of some kind.¡± Conan started, ¡°I¡¯d found that altar myself. Had a bad feel to it.¡± Tadhg shrugged, ¡°Couldn¡¯t say myself. Something about it drew them in, even Erin, so it must have been something special. Erin was saying maybe it could help Rian. Maybe find Eric for them even. Or find you and Oswic.¡± ¡°Whatever the heart desires,¡± I muttered. ¡°Even so. Weren¡¯t to be though. Erin isn¡¯t sure if they did something wrong, insulted the altar like, or if it were just going to curse them all along. Blinded them entirely. Snuffed their light. Doused them in darkness. They had to crawl back along the wall. It follows them wherever they go. They¡¯ve kept all their torches lit for the smallest succour.¡± I glanced back to the other corner of the room, ¡°And why are we over here?¡± ¡°That¡¯s the thing: The darkness is alive. We were discussing how to fix it before, and it started smothering us. Tried to take our eyes and our breath. Tried to wrap around me and crush me. I escaped but the others couldn¡¯t. It follows them. Nearly killed Cillian before it calmed down.¡± ¡°How long has it been like this?¡± ¡°Three, four days? Hard to say. Rian¡¯s been in and out of consciousness and Fionn¡¯s eye¡¯s been acting up. Darkness freaked him right out at first. He¡¯s holding together well, but the thought of going fully blind is too much for him.¡± Conan clenched his fist around his torch so tightly the wood creaked. I could only imagine the thoughts going through his mind. If he¡¯d left them his map, or just warned them off of the altar, the whole thing might have been avoided. The pain of what could have been could destroy a man. ¡°I might be able to fix it,¡± I said slowly, fingering the druidstone in my pouch. It had worked on my altar curse after all, ¡°I can¡¯t promise anything, but we can hope. Send Erin out to the corridor first, Conan and I will wait for her there. To keep the darkness ignorant.¡± Conan and I went out to the hallway. Erin joined us soon after. Her arms were wrapped around one of Tadhg¡¯s to keep her from falling. ¡°I¡¯m so glad you¡¯re okay Conan. When you didn¡¯t return I- I worried about you.¡± ¡°I-¡± something caught in Conan¡¯s throat. His voice came out harsh, guttural. An odd sound from a eunuch, but no less powerful, ¡°I made my choice. Eric is my friend. I¡¯d be glad to die rescuing him. A true hero¡¯s death.¡± Erin released Tadhg and ran towards Conan, stumbling on the uneven ground a little, but not deterred by doing so. Conan caught her in a hug and held her there for a moment, ¡°Let¡¯s let Oswic look at you, eh? Then I can see your-¡± The darkness about Erin began to lash and writhe, like a swarm of wasps roused from their nest. Conan stopped. Slowly, the darkness stilled. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re safe as well Oswic, don¡¯t think I¡¯m not,¡± Erin said carefully. The darkness remained still. ¡°We¡¯ve only just met, but I must admit, you¡¯ve tremendously increased our optimism. After so much struggle to even travel in this dungeon seeing you face down all those goblins... we could have been killed!¡± ¡°I am glad to bring you such hope, miss. It warms my heart,¡± deciding now was better than ever I added, ¡°I have something for you. It¡¯s at the bottom of my pouch, won¡¯t take a moment. If you could just hold this for me.¡± I opened my pouch as if to rummage through it while I handed her the druid stone. The blind woman didn¡¯t even question why I gave her my things to hold rather than either of the two men next to her. The effect was instant and if anything worse than what I experienced. Erin screamed and collapsed to the floor, fall slowed only by Conan¡¯s quick hands. I¡¯d told him enough already for him not to attempt holding on to her, but I could see the pain in his eyes as he let her go. Erin began to thrash about where she lay, knuckles white where they clenched around the stone. I didn¡¯t know if her lack of magical knowledge would make the process easier or harder than it had been for me. If anything, she might know more of druid lore than me. Conan¡¯s story about her bear was certainly a family magic. If they had such knowledge of animals they have knowledge of other things too. The darkness about her was also screaming and writhing. It was a silent scream, but no less loud for it. It was an oppressive silence. One that invaded my ears between clasped fingers and set them ringing. Other sounds were muted, distant, as if behind a thick fog. Conan¡¯s torch guttered wildly on the ground where¡¯d he¡¯d dropped it. Tadgh quickly kicked it away from Erin¡¯s spasming form, plunging the rest of us into even darker shadows. The darkness lashed out at each of us standing there before whipping around and turning back on Erin. At each tilt it failed. The tendrils slid off of us like water on glass, against Erin they didn¡¯t even get that close. She was glowing now, faintly with white light. Faintly, but with strong illumination. It was such that she didn¡¯t light her surroundings, but we could see her form entire through her leathers and read the twisted agony on her face. The darkness shattered against that light. It burned away like fog. Its silent scream faded to echoes, and slowly, Erin stilled. Her heart, which we could see even through the glow of her skin, began to calm from the rapid throb it had held before. Her gyrations stilled and the light dimmed till all we could make out in the sudden dark was the torches and her beating heart. Eventually, that stilled as well. From my own experience I knew this wasn¡¯t the end of it. The feeling never stopped. Never stopped growing. Even now I could feel the sympathetic buzz in my own limbs, my heart crying out in kinship with hers. She had begun to fight back, but it would take time to become its master. We waited. Conan went and retrieved his torch. Tadgh sat and pulled Erin onto his lap against the wall so she¡¯d have something soft to lay on rather than the dungeon floor. He rocked her gently back and forth as she fought. Outwardly she appeared at ease. Her breath was deep and even. Her face relaxed. The only sign of her struggle was her exhaustion. She clung sleepily to Tadgh like a small child in his arms. When the colour returned to the knuckles of her right hand I knew she had won. The pain, the harsh reprimand of the druids, the energy of the entire universe crammed into one spot ¨C whatever it was ¨C had delivered its lesson. They now stood as equals, one no longer to be feared by the other. Erin slowly opened her eyes and looked up at Tadgh, smiling. ¡°It¡¯s gone. I feared I¡¯d spend my whole life blind. Blind and alone. Shunned.¡± He rose carefully, helping her stand. Erin handed me back my stone, if a little bit reluctantly. Her fear of all things magical seemed to have changed. Sometimes once the worst has happened you plumb the depths of your fears. In the right circumstances, that can be enough for them to stop being fears. At least, they stop being the kind of fears which keep you up at night. ¡°Thank you Oswic I- My family and I owe you an irrepayable debt. Should you ever need anything, ask.¡± I smiled at her, ¡°My pleasure.¡± She turned to Conan and he started, bringing the torch closer to her face, ¡°You did not escape the shadows without scars.¡± Erin raised her hand to her face, fear once again marring its perfection ¡°Is it bad? Dangerous?¡± A stain spread out from her eyes like an explosion of black powder had gone off in her pupils. It framed her colourless eyes powerfully in the dark, causing them to dance with the fire of the torch. I raised a de-gloved hand to her face, ¡°May I?¡± She nodded, lips tight. I ran a finger across the top of her cheek, under her brow. The stain felt of nothing, didn¡¯t smudge. From my own experience I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if it was permanent, but it didn¡¯t seem to have disturbed the integrity of her skin, just its colour. I retrieved my vial of quicksilver and handed it to her so she could check her reflection. ¡°It appears harmless, though I¡¯m not sure if it will fade. Perhaps with time, or with sunlight, but it is probably best to accept that it is how you will look from now on. I¡¯m sure you know of some powders or paints which could cover it if necessary.¡± Erin nodded, taking it in, ¡°It doesn¡¯t look so bad. Makes me look fierce maybe. Like warpaint,¡± her lip trembled slightly, ¡°It will take some time to get used to.¡± ¡°You¡¯d be surprised how little stains of the flesh mar who we are,¡± said Conan. I wasn¡¯t sure if I agreed. Being treated like a demon everywhere I went had certainly twisted me, and the physical transformation had come with a mental one besides. My body was my story, and that story had been forcibly changed by an outside force. If my actions led to me losing a finger, it said I was daring, perhaps careless or unlucky. A chance encounter with dark magic giving me crow¡¯s feet shouldn¡¯t mean I smiled all the time, but perhaps it did. Appearance was far more than skin deep, it was a reflection of our souls. Was a man forced to wear a fool¡¯s motley a fool? Of course not. But that very forcing, that fibre which still fought against it with all its strength, those things could be seen clearly. With the altar there was only acceptance. I hadn¡¯t felt a demon, but I had killed a number of men with little thought or loss of sleep. But perhaps that very forced acceptance was a sign of the unnaturalness of dark magic, and perhaps that unnature could be sensed independently of the soul? I couldn¡¯t be sure, so I kept silent. I was coming to respect the wisdom of Conan. Erin left to the room of the broken mosaic with one of Tadgh¡¯s torches while Tadgh himself went to fetch the next person. We couldn¡¯t risk the darkness seeing others freed from its grasp before we got the druid stone into their hands. The others went much the same. Each was marked with shadows about their eyes; the same explosion of darkness heading outwards from their pupils. Each was reluctant to return my stone. Each took their new appearance in stride about as well as Erin did. Cillian was the exception. He burst into tears upon seeing his reflection in the quicksilver before quickly rushing off to join the others freed from the darkness. It could have meant anything. I didn¡¯t pry. *** Stovepipe was the last to be freed from the curse. Conan went to fetch the others while Stovepipe was still thrashing about on the floor, and Cillian himself helped Stovepipe to his feet to show him the quicksilver. ¡°Well there¡¯s a thing,¡± said Stovepipe, ¡°going to have to change my name now.¡± Once again he didn¡¯t elaborate, leaving me more confused than ever about how he got the name. We met back in the room they¡¯d relocated Rian and Fionn to. I could see why. The mosaic room, aside from a now dirty and uneven floor, had two entrances and holes about the other walls for creatures to peer through or even slip through if they were small enough. This room was far easier to defend. It still had the holes, but they were from the mosaic room only, and the only entrance to this room was at the end of a long corridor. A single man could face both the holes in the wall and the entrance at the same time, and any intruders would be heard through the network of holes long before they made it down the corridor. Conan went over to Rian¡¯s unconscious almost immediately upon seeing him. There was a strange fire in his eye. He¡¯d not shown nor claimed medical experience before, but now his hands were steady and his motions sure as he examined, stripped, and redressed the wound. A chirurgeon couldn¡¯t have done better. He rejoined us. ¡°What was that?¡± I asked. Conan¡¯s expression was grim, ¡°Rian¡¯s not going to make it. Not without more help.¡± I raised a hand before others could reply, ¡°Hold on. This could be important. How do you know that? How did you know to treat the wound? You didn¡¯t offer any assistance before.¡± Confusion struck, ¡°I... don¡¯t know. It just felt the most natural thing in the world. Do you think it could have been Elysium?¡± ¡°Another time,¡± I shook my head at the other¡¯s questioning stares, ¡°I don¡¯t think so. I have no such knowledge nor any other knowledge beyond my knowing. What about the magic pool, the one you drank from?¡± Conan¡¯s eyes widened, ¡°Now that you mention it, yes! The knowledge, it was there from the moment I drank from the pool. I couldn¡¯t sense it, because how could you sense a knowing? But yes, looking back, that is when I learned it.¡± ¡°The warlocks kept a pool of medical knowledge,¡± Stovepipe mused, ¡°they might care about health more than we thought. Perhaps the other pool is the same. Similar I mean.¡± I met his gaze with my own, ¡°You want to try for the magic pool on the top floor?¡± ¡°We¡¯ve got to try something.¡± ¡°I can lead you there. I know where some empty bottles are as well. I might even have-¡± my fingers brushed the vials hanging from my belt. Health. How had I forgotten? I¡¯d not know about his injury when I¡¯d found it and then I¡¯d spent two hours- Glass Aura? The whispers formed a question, not a demand. If I wished it, the spell would fade, back to the ethereal nothing from which it came. I grasped onto it, held it in my memory. Thrice now these spells had saved me. Whatever a Glass Aura was could be the difference between life and death in the near future. ¡°Oswic, are you alright?¡± That was Brace. I jerked as my consciousness was pulled back to the present. How long did those whispers last? they¡¯d always felt instantaneous, but if Brace had noticed then it could be noticed. ¡°Fine, sorry. I was distracted. I found-¡± I stopped myself. I didn¡¯t want to admit I¡¯d been holding onto the potion this whole time, but... but life was better without deception. Without lies. Living in the truth, ¡°I found a vial labelled ¡®Health¡¯ in the goblins¡¯ hoard. Better we try that first than an unknown pool.¡± Truth was a tricky thing. There was as time to lie. A time to deceive others. That time was never when the truth was inconvenient, or painful. Inconvenience could take many forms, powerful ones, despite the mild connotations the word bore. It was a lie, pure self deception, to hide your suffering and/or to blame others for it. To do so was to divulge responsibility for your own being. The truth was, no one could make you feel anything and you could not deny your self. There was no white lie. The heart of living outside the truth was intention. I knew when every word I said to the warlock, to the Mushroom-King, to the mercenaries, was a lie. I could make the decision to lie to tyrants, so long as I held the truth in my heart. So long as I didn¡¯t hide from what I felt. From who was I was. Even if I didn¡¯t like either. So long as I didn¡¯t lie to myself. As per most of the deepest struggles in my life, Brace didn¡¯t even bat an eye. She even smiled when I handed Conan the potion. ¡°Just pour it in his mouth, careful not to let him choke. We can¡¯t truly trust anything down here, but that¡¯s a mage¡¯s seal on the stopper. It¡¯s about as close as you can get to a True Word.¡± Conan bent down and administered the vial with the care of a physician. I¡¯d have to see about drinking from that pool myself. That sort of knowledge was invaluable. We waited for any signs of effect. After several minutes without incident, Conan put a hand on his forehead, checked his pulse, felt his breathing. ¡°Nothing,¡± he said, ¡°how long should it take?¡± I frowned, ¡°The effects of any Magi¡¯s work should be instantaneous. But recognizing the effect is another matter entirely.¡± ¡°Do we try the pool then?¡± asked Brace. ¡°I don¡¯t think we have much of a choice,¡± Tadgh said, ¡°Not unless we simply want to leave him to fate.¡± ¡°That may be for the best,¡± Conan said, looking at me, ¡°There are fates worse than death.¡± ¡°We could also try one of the dark altars,¡± Stovepipe mused, ¡°and then Oswic could use his stone to cure him. I shook my head, ¡°We could, but I doubt it would work. The druid stone restores what is lost, it does not circumnavigate bargains taken in good faith. That would be a perversion. If we plan to use the altar, better to plan to use it and it alone.¡± Erin walked over to Brace until she stood directly in front of her. Then she took a deep breath and put out her hand, ¡°Give me your sword.¡± Brace looked confused, but did as she said. Erin moved over to stand by Rian, ¡°We¡¯ll give him the water from the pool. If it truly offers a fate worse than death, I¡¯ll kill him myself. He will not suffer for our foolish actions, but neither will I abandon such an opportunity chance when it is available to us.¡± ¡°It is decided then. No sense wasting any time. With me, Oswic?¡± Conan asked. We headed for the stairs. XXI - All Which Was Lost Our first stop was the frog room. My old room. I¡¯d encountered a few places with empty bottles in the dungeon, but I couldn¡¯t remember exactly which rooms they had been or where they were. By comparison I¡¯d lived in the frog room for weeks and knew its every last detail. We made the journey quickly, only pausing once to navigate the gas trap and once for Conan to brace himself before we passed through the wailing corner. ¡°Hate that,¡± he said as we squeezed around the stone slab which had nearly crushed me, ¡°hate how powerless I feel.¡± He was shaking slightly. I didn¡¯t like it either, but I hadn¡¯t given it much thought. Now that Conan had mentioned it, it was creepy. Even the Mushroom-King hadn¡¯t controlled my actions. Not like that. Not that anything could. Not quite. ¡°If it makes you feel better, I don¡¯t think it¡¯s controlling you. It¡¯s more... the nature of the corner. It exists to produce screams. If no one ever came along it would find another way to scream. ¡°It¡¯s like gravity. How most things fall down. There¡¯s no control there, it¡¯s just the nature of reality. It¡¯s just what is.¡± ¡°A place where rules are different.¡± I grunted in agreement. We were silent as we entered the statue room. Conan presumably thinking about the implications of altered natures, myself keeping an eye out for giant beetles. When we about halfway through picking our way across the broken masonry (perhaps fifty feet from each door), Conan broke the silence. As it turned out, he had not been thinking about the screaming corner. ¡°I could swear... Is that Caoimhe? And that¡¯s Queen Siobhan. And that¡¯s the Princess in White!¡± Conan pointed to each in turn, ¡°I¡¯d say they¡¯re all rulers, but the Princess never ruled. She was a poet, a consort to a forgotten king.¡± ¡°And that¡¯s Brona and Cwen, the two sisters who went to war to force the other to rule. And Eadgyth the Spinster, wife of Alfred the Third, first of his name,¡± I added, pointing to them in turn. ¡°Are they all women? I¡¯d not noticed last time.¡± ¡°There are debates about Esla over there, but yes. I suspect it¡¯s a chronology of every female ruler, or ruler¡¯s spouse for the past 500 years. Perhaps more.¡± Conan¡¯s eyes went wide. He raised his torch high to view the room anew, ¡°The value of this place. The debates it could settle, the timelines it could resolve; languishing beneath Bleakfort. A dozen other treasures like it no doubt.¡± Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. I lightly touched his shoulder, ¡°Come on.¡± He swept his gaze once more over the room then shook his head and followed me through the archway. I couldn¡¯t say what exactly passed behind his eyes then, but I knew this would not be the last expedition Conan guided to this place. *** Brace greeted us on our return. ¡°All went well?¡± ¡°An incident with a mirror, but I stopped Oswic from doing anything too rash,¡± Conan said with a wink to me, ¡°And look! Two bottles!¡± The ¡°rash¡± action in question had been me physically removing Conan from the pool room. He had been the one to be ensnared by the mirror this time, not me. Thankfully it had been at a distance, in the dark, unable to even make out the forms save for a faint torchlight reflected in the mirror. It had been enough to pin him to the wall until he¡¯d regained his senses. The call of Elysium in the end had won out. Live well. It could be felt anywhere now. Brace made to accept the proffered potion then stopped, ¡°You¡¯ve got more skill at these things. You should administer it. If you will.¡± I could see the steel fill Conan¡¯s spine, brimming up into his eyes, ¡°I will.¡± Erin sprung up from where she was sitting, sword in one hand torch in the other. Her movements were desultory, random, but pointed in the right direction. She made it to Rian¡¯s side. ¡°Ready.¡± She swallowed as Conan knelt down beside her to tip the potion down Rian¡¯s throat. His eyes fluttered for a moment and then were still. A long sigh escaped his lips and then his breathing deepened, becoming slow and steady. Conan checked his pulse, watching him carefully. After five minutes he lowered him gently back to the floor. ¡°It seems to have eased his breathing somewhat. Eased some tension from his limbs and back too. Beyond that, couldn¡¯t say. Might have just knocked him fully out. No harm in it, at least.¡± Stovepipe held out a hand towards me, ¡°If I may?¡± I was slow on the uptake, but got it the second time when he inclined his head towards the bottle I was carrying. I handed it over to him. ¡°Are you sure you want to try that?¡± Erin asked. Stovepipe sat on the floor, ¡°Got to see if it is a sleeping potion or something else,¡± he raised the bottle in a toast and then down its contents in a single pull. He sat for a moment, contemplating. ¡°Can¡¯t say I feel any different. Don¡¯t feel tired anyway.¡± ¡°It could be it simply eased his pain,¡± Conan said, ¡°Restful sleep could make all the difference in surviving this. And if it doesn¡¯t... it was worth doing anyway.¡± The others murmured their agreement, myself included. There wasn¡¯t much more to say. XXII - Headless Men EliminateIII: Nightsoil is teleported from inside the caster over a distance of 70ft over the course of 1 minute. It wasn¡¯t fancy, it wasn¡¯t flashy, but you couldn¡¯t beat waste management. Sanitation, comfort, and cleanliness all in one. I didn¡¯t know how the others were surviving. I didn¡¯t want to know. I was the in the goblin room, giving myself privacy while I practised magic. I would have done it for the other¡¯s sake as well, but their opinions seemed to have changed. Conan was off counting paces, trying to properly map the rooms he¡¯d explored the week before. He was hoping to find any inconsistencies in places we¡¯d visited, whether that be secret rooms or just corridors and chambers we¡¯d overlooked. Once he had the general layout down here figured out he even had plans to measure the stairs and try to line up the north-south axis based on my markings on the floor above. Originally, we¡¯d considered continuing exploring together, but Brace had pointed out that if we hit a trap while together, or lost another week, her party would be out both their explorers. I wasn¡¯t sure if I wanted to be included in her party, but the point was a good one. As such, Conan had instead pointed me through the one door in the goblin room I hadn¡¯t been, then set about mapping the dungeon. He¡¯d also warned me to stick in that general direction, as every other path he¡¯d taken had led to creatures, traps, or unpickably locked doors. Armed with knowledge, and the confidence that he¡¯d not been horrible skewered by some trap walking the same corridor, I made good time out of the goblin room right up to the second door. At which point I discovered the room with the pit in the centre, just as he¡¯d described, and the crowd of nine people, which he¡¯d somehow failed to mention. ¡°Halt fey creature!¡± I was getting tired of that sentiment. At least they weren¡¯t calling me a demon or attacking me on sight. ¡°Where did you come from?¡± I demanded, I didn¡¯t bother correcting them on the fey thing. It might be the only thing keeping them from attacking me. Their apparent leader, an exceptionally cute and unbelievably-short woman gestured with her axe to the wooden platform suspended above the pit. It was as if the goddess of the dwarves and a cherub had had a beardless baby. ¡°We took the elevator.¡± ¡°Do you serve the warlocks?¡± She puffed herself up indignantly, looking up at me with fire in her eyes, ¡°We are knights of the emperor! I am one of his personal advisors! Who are you and why are you here?¡± I glanced around at the others. Strangely, they were all women. Perhaps the emperor had a type? Three of them weren¡¯t even wearing armour. One of the women had a strange looping scar on her neck, too jagged at the edges to be part of a ritual, yet order enough to not be caused by natural means. She¡¯d fought warlocks before, yet wore robes instead of armour. Magicians. None carried spellbooks in their hands, so they weren¡¯t magi. Nonetheless I¡¯d have to be wary. I didn¡¯t know what they were capable of. ¡°I am Oswic, Magi of the Sacred Order, Wise Man of Blackbridge, The Starcaller of Dawn, Master of Twilight, Voice of the Storm, Speaker on the Wind, Five Time Hoopstone Champion of Ravenhold, and I am here searching for a man known as Eric. We were both captured by the warlocks, so you¡¯ll pardon my caution.¡± The cherub woman took a step back. Magi, when not freshly escaped from a prison cell without the book of spells they¡¯d built up over a lifetime, were exceptionally dangerous. ¡°We have no quarrel with you Magi, nor however, can we allow you to pass. Your kind are too dangerous. Leave the way you came lest we be forced to defend ourselves.¡± It was a flash in my mind. One not from the dark altar nor the Mushroom-King. A dark impulse. Invisible swords slashing. Nine women dead at my feet. My path unimpeded. They were putting myself and Eric at risk. It would be just. Show them what their lack of trust deserved. I fled the room without another word. It was one of the dangers of magic. Impulses could turn to actions as quick as thought. Even a sword took time to draw from the sheath. Time in which sense could be regained. Time in which others could flee. There was a reason Magi trained mind, body, and spirit. I found Conan in the giant chamber with the magic pool. ¡°The room with the pit is blocked. Nine women; mages and warriors.¡± Conan frowned, ¡°Where did they come from? Did they climb up from the pit itself?¡± ¡°So they claimed. There was a lift suspended over the hole. Something I¡¯d be very keen to investigate, but they prevented my passage with threat of violence. Is there other routes you deem safe to explore?¡± Conan consulted his unfinished map, and his previous notes of passage. ¡°Three creatures wait calmly through the door there,¡± he pointed at one of the two exits closest the pool, ¡°Humanoid. They might be reasoned with or defeated with your talents. Beyond that door,¡± he pointed at the other of the two exits, ¡°is a portcullis leading to a strange room full of candles and fire. But I swore I heard whispering, and saw small creatures dancing in the shadows. The candles didn¡¯t cast light properly either, and moved around when I wasn¡¯t looking. I didn¡¯t dare investigate. ¡°And finally,¡± he pointed to the door opposite the room with the three creatures, ¡°if you continue that way ¡®til you find a hallway, then follow the hallway left for a few hundred feet, you¡¯ll come across a trapped door I couldn¡¯t bypass. The hallway is also trapped, so I¡¯d be careful down there.¡± The hallway of traps was the least appealing of the three options. Foes I could reason with or fight, and I was good at reason and fighting. Traps, either they killed me or I got lucky. My luck had held so far, but it could only last so long. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. The flames and candles sounded like sprites of some kind. Sprites, much like elves, loved making deals and bets, but also like elves, they could be temperamental and had a cruel streak of humour. The room of three humanoid creatures then. I pushed open the door cautiously with my foot, spellbook and sword at the ready. Behind me, Conan held aloft his own sword, and a torch to grant us light. The room was large, square. About the size of the goblin room. The left side was dropped away to a sloping pit filled with spikes. If I was careful I could probably pick my way through them. Between me and the pit were three people, mostly naked, crouched facing away. They turned to face me at the sound of the door. For a second I felt a thrill of fear. They were missing their heads. I¡¯d heard there were some warlocks practiced in sorcery, but I¡¯d not thought they¡¯d stooped so low as to bind corpses. The fear faded an instant later, replaced with a sense of revulsion and curiosity. They had heads on their torsos! They were two men and one woman, mostly naked save for basic loincloths about their waists. Instead of bellybuttons, they had mouths. Instead of abdominal, they had noses, and instead of nipples they had eyes. The woman¡¯s eyes in particular were distracting, nearly thrice as large as a normal person¡¯s, and staring in two different directions. ¡°Rivers rise,¡± Conan breathed, ¡°They were in shadow before.¡± A mouth twice as wide as my own split the middle man¡¯s torso in two, I half expected to see his spine, ¡°No passage.¡± I could clearly see four doors from where I was standing, not including the one I was in, ¡°We mean no harm, just wish to explor-¡± ¡°No PASSAGE!¡± he wasn¡¯t any louder than a normal man, despite the size of his mouth. I guess he still had human sized lungs stored somewhere in there. Maybe even in the same space. But they¡¯d need a space to keep their brain as well, or everything would overheat. Perhaps a shorter intestine? Regardless, loud as a normal man was still pretty loud. I flinched back at the sudden change in tone. Conan put the hand holding his sword on my shoulder. He called past me, ¡°You¡¯re brave, but three naked people, without weapons no less, are no match for two armed and armoured men.¡± ¡°Heaven¡¯s punishment is for us to deliver,¡± the other headless man spoke this time. He had a beard of sorts, which lay over his loincloth as if it were a scarf. ¡°A bargain then?¡± I asked, ¡°Gold coins for passage? Ribbons? Gloves?¡± The three torso twisted back and forth. The woman¡¯s eyes swayed from side to side with the motion which was distracting in a way I couldn¡¯t quite describe. Shaking their heads, I realized. I tore my gaze from her eyes to stare instead at the middle distance just beyond the centre man¡¯s armpit. Time for a bit of bluffing then. I took a step forward, ¡°I will pass now.¡± I put the emphasis on the ¡®I¡¯ in hopes that Conan would understand to stay back. He did, moving back to stand in the doorway. The three creatures moved into my path, eyes bouncing with each step, some more than others. ¡°We are the punishment of heaven,¡± repeated the one on the left. I wasn¡¯t about to let a straight line like that go to waste. ¡°No,¡± I replied, ¡°I am.¡± Marshlight Eyes that large, especially the woman¡¯s, would be far more sensitive to light. Especially if it appeared suddenly right next to them. As such I made sure one of my lights was placed directly by one of the woman¡¯s eyes. I only needed one to waver to start the avalanche. The other light I placed by the man on the left, more or less chosen at random, but with the slight hope that if the sudden flash led them to retreating the middle man would feel all alone. Both flinched back from the lights before them, shrinking back and away from me. My lights followed them, dancing angrily before them, darting in then skirting away just before impact. ¡°I am Oswic of Blackbridge, Magi of the Sacred Order, The Starcaller of Dawn, Master of Twilight, Voice of the Storm, Speaker on the Wind, Five Time Hoopstone Champion of Ravenhold, and you will never again bar my passage.¡± The three looked up at me warily. I wondered if having their eyes so low made them feel shorter than they actually were. ¡°We are-¡± the woman began. ¡°Move.¡± I gestured an arm at her. PushII I aimed for her hair and her mouth, points of vulnerability seeing as the spell only could manage 80 lbs at a time. One of her pendulous eyes might have been more effective, but I was worried the force would cause it to rupture. Mouth and hair was enough. She stumbled into the right wall, back pinned against it by her mouth. The other two remained where they were. Brave creatures, whatever they were. I raised my hand again, ¡°Next time, you might go into the spikes,¡± the lights swirled, ¡°My patience wanes.¡± I couldn¡¯t follow on the threat even if I had the spells. I could kill the beetles and frogs in cold blood if I had to, perhaps even the goblins or orcneas, but these creatures were too human. They took a step closer. I was losing a spell today, wasn¡¯t I? Will-o¡¯-Wisp Two more lights joined the others, forming a wavering spinning barrier between us. The creatures didn¡¯t slow. Fine. Magic Swords I should have led with them. An invisible sword appeared beside each man, flat of the blade nestled in their armpits. Then the swords jerked to the side, pushing them towards the wall the woman was pinned against. Some injury was impossible to avoid, especially give that they couldn¡¯t see my swords, but if it served to let me pass I¡¯d deem it acceptable. Thankfully the spell I¡¯d recorded claimed ¡°Two invisible blades dance and strike¡±. Pushing them like this wouldn¡¯t have been possible if I¡¯d only recorded the striking. The dancing was responsible for a good deal of the injury as it was. Straight lines were impossible. I left them pinned to the wall as I made my way across to the only other exit in the room not shrouded by spikes. It could have been an intimidating scene for the headless men to remember if the door hadn¡¯t been stuck fast. I tugged in vain, trying to conceal my exertions, but the door only rocked in its frame. Sloppy construction all the way down. I took a dozen steps back and shoulder charged the door, smashing an Oswic shaped hole through the centre. The remaining pieces of the door rattled as they slid free of the framed and rolled along their oiled track- Oh. It had been a sliding door. I¡¯d have preferred not to look back at the headless men, but I wanted my swords back. ¡°Raise your arms if you want to keep them!¡± I called to the three. Despite their exaggerated expressions I couldn¡¯t make out any ridicule on their faces. Perhaps being able to smash through doors with ease made up for the fact that I couldn''t figure out how to open them. They all obeyed my orders, even the woman who I hadn¡¯t cut. I withdrew my swords and ended the spell on her simultaneously. My lights flew to my side as I gave Conan a salute with my corporeal sword. ¡°Fair well!¡± He raised his torch in response. ¡°To you as well Oswic! Til we meet again!¡± XXIII - Harem of the Mushroom-King The door came out into a small ten by ten foot chamber with another door to my right. This one was also stuck. To my credit I tried pushing, pulling, sliding it left, right, up and down, before giving up and smashing through it. I was learning. I¡¯d entered a throne room from the looks of it. Unoccupied. The throne sat along the centre of the wall on a large dais. The dais and throne both were carved from living rock. Given the nature of the dungeon it was important to make the distinction that ¡°living¡± in this case meant the rock rose from the earth itself, not that it had been animated with dark magic to pulse and breath on its own accord. Direct across from the throne was another sculpture of the same living rock, this one an enormous skull stretching from floor to ceiling. At this point it was safe, even necessary, to assume anything could be trapped. However, portcullises had yet to do me wrong, which naturally gravitated me towards the one in this room rather than the wooden door. The door was probably stuck anyway. The portcullis looked out onto a fair sized corridor, which had to paths leading off of it to my left. It was made of iron, which might have been a problem normally, but I had my magic swords ready to assist me. I tried without them to begin with, just to see if I could. I couldn¡¯t, so I set the swords in place and the three of us lifted the gate as one. It rose. I ducked under into the corridor and let my blades lower the portcullis gently to the floor. Spikes like the other had had would be nice. As it was, I was on a time limit to get back, or I¡¯d be taking a full day if not longer. The two offshoots of the corridor were close enough together I was able to view both almost simultaneously by standing against the right wall and taking a couple steps to the left or right as needed. The further of the two turned out to be a dead end, so I continued on down the closer one. This corridor split as well, a path to my right and one continuing forward both ending in doors. Both were wooden, but one was clearly the flimsier of the two, so that was the one I tried. I put a hole through it without even checking the handle. It was probably stuck anyway. It was an indulgence on my part, but a cathartic one all the same. Thankfully nothing was waiting for me as I wormed my way through the hole into the room beyond. The noise would have alerted a sleeping corpse. Text greeted me instead, bold letters on the far wall proclaiming, ¡°Death is the only exit.¡± This clearly wasn¡¯t true. I¡¯d just come in through one of them, and there were three others besides. Whoever was writing these needed someone to take away his pen. He was dampening everyone¡¯s spirits. Bet the warlocks weren¡¯t inviting him to any of their parties. Someone, possibly the very same warlock, had also dragged a large horse statue into a corner of the room, nose pointing at the walls, ears and forelegs scraping the ceiling. No taste for decoration. As always, I took the path of least potential resistance, the open archway to my right. I could smash the other doors later. Despite my best efforts the archway led to a hallway, and the hallway led to a door. I gave it a little convincing, and then a little convincing more. When that also failed I threw myself bodily at the door until it opened wide enough to allow me passage. My jack-o¡¯-lanterns spread out, revealing me to be in mid-sized room with a large mirror hanging on the right wall. Hole permeated two of the four walls, square ones just like the ones back in the mosaic room. The moment my eyes fell across the mirror I looked away and made for the only other visible exit in the room, a door on the same wall I¡¯d entered by. My life sight revealed that the fungus growing in the far corner of the room near the ceiling concealed or covered something, but I didn¡¯t dare take the time to investigate. Mirrors showed a reflection of the world, which in a way, meant they themselves were all portals to a similar plane. It was possible to navigate that plane, possible to move between the mirrors. The demon might be waiting. And now, myself more fae than demon, she might be more terrible than ever. Cowards fled when they shouldn¡¯t. That didn¡¯t mean it was bravery to stick your hand into a fire for no reason. I¡¯ll admit I felt a moment of panic when I realized the door ¨C made of stone no less ¨C was locked by magical means. A row of faint runes circled the edge of the frame and a second circled the edge of the door, attracting both to each other like a lodestone to iron. Fear lent me strength. The mirror had made me feel foolish, helpless, weak. Robbed me, if only temporarily, of that core of my being which granted me my will to go on. My self confidence and trust in myself had been damaged in that moment. It had not been irreparable. It never was. But it was never easy. Never pleasant. Never guaranteed. I strained against the door and slowly, one by one, the runes failed. It was like I was opening a door half submerged in water. Every step was a struggle, never easier, never harder. I reached the back of the hinge and released it. The door held position, suspended in place by the same supernatural forces which had sealed it. I left it there, rocking unsteadily in an invisible current. It would hold. Or it wouldn¡¯t. I had a dungeon to explore. I was in a hallway, one which forked into a ¡°T¡± after 50 or so feet. Left led to a door, right led to into a room through an archway. I took the right hand path. The floor beyond the arch was tiled in alternating black and white squares. Three empty alcoves were sunk in the wall to my right, with the tiles extending there as well. If anything, it reminded me of some of the fancier baths back in Twinford. Blackbridge had a bath of course, two of them in fact, but they were simply concrete and pebbles. Two doors led out from the room, as did another archway. The archways on either side lent more to the feeling of being in a bathhouse. The illusion wasn¡¯t complete. The walls weren¡¯t tiled and the alcoves had no discernible purpose, but with a little work... who knew? Maybe the warlocks had been building one and never got around to finishing it. The archway led down a short but wide corridor, more an antechamber than a hallway, to a third door. The doorway swung open easily enough, which should have been my first warning that something was off. The second should have been the lack of all life beyond the door. Even in empty rooms like the unfinished bathhouse I could make out faint traces of roots working their way through the walls. I shouldn¡¯t have been surprised, but I was. So servant of nature, you return. My surprise cost me. Before I could react, the earth and stones under my feet moved conveying me deeper into his lair. I spun about to the door and saw it was blocked. Not by earth as the Mushroom-King had done the first time, but a horde of nearly naked women. The women were achingly beautiful, so much so it hurt to look at. Breast, hip, waist, face, eyes, and legs, their proportions strained possibility. Not in size, but arrangement. Each curve and subtlety on its own would be the magnum opus of a master sculptor. In aggregate they composed the body of god. Nature could not create something so perfect, and yet something so pure could not be called unnatural. There was an edge in each of them, a hidden current, a wellspring of strength. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. I stopped dead in my tracks. ¡°Oswic, it¡¯s okay. I¡¯m here now,¡± another voice, this one outside my head. Female. Beautiful. A hand touching my shoulder. Unsteadily, I turned back to the Mushroom-King. Between the two of us stood another woman. This one clothed. She was still beautiful, though far less so than the others. I¡¯d have said more human, but even that statement couldn¡¯t be true. The others were painfully human. So much so I wanted to weep. The woman holding my shoulder had long sandy blonde hair, tangled and wild like she¡¯d just been running through the underbrush. Her eyes were dark blue and as bright as sapphires. She was tall. Her eyes level with my own, or nearly so. Her face... it wasn¡¯t her smile, though she wore one, soft and unsure as she gazed into my eyes. Neither was it her lips, quirked like a god¡¯s will. Or judgment. It wasn¡¯t her nose, proud and strong, nor the way her hair framed her face like a bride. It was all of them and none of them. Glimpses in the light from moment to moment. A ghost of divinity hiding in plain sight. In those moments she ascended. Perhaps not to the heights of the women behind me, but to someone like Erin, or the older woman from which I¡¯d fled. A faint concern tinged the woman¡¯s eyes, ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to say something?¡± I glanced over to the Mushroom-King. His large golden eyes were locked on the tableau of me and the woman. Expectant. What did he want from me? ¡°Are these hostages you plan to hold against me?¡± I demanded of him. The woman looked hurt, though I couldn¡¯t say why. Had she been expecting me to reply to her? The Mushroom-King¡¯s eyes widened. I see now. You are in need of an explanation. He wobbled on the spot, somehow indicating himself. This is not me. This body, this mind, they are dreams of a great whole. I have no form, no mind, no body. I am everywhere and nowhere. I touch the world through my dreams, and every dream is different. A different story, a different emotion. You have only so far met my wrath and my pride. Cruel facets of mine. Ones not to be crossed. My will-o¡¯-wisps were still behind me in the antechamber. I¡¯d only just realized because the room had lights of its own. It was full of them. Bioluminescent fungi gently glittering on every surface. And what surfaces they were. A thick carpet of moss, piled puffball pillows, translucent webbed drapes. A paradise of comfort made of mushrooms. The Mushroom-King nodded. Yes. This aspect of me is somewhat softer. You are my slave, but I do not begrudge my slaves freedom. Not here. I¡¯d rather they come to serve me through their own desires than through fear of force. ¡°If you¡¯ve not trapped me here to threaten me, what do you want from me?¡± The Mushroom-King looked disappointed in me. The woman, still gently holding my arm, was now staring into my face with a welling desperation. ¡°Oswic, please. It¡¯s me, Melinda. Don¡¯t you see?¡± I lowered my gaze from the Mushroom-King¡¯s eyes to her own. Melinda who? Surely my memory wasn¡¯t that bad. ¡°I¡¯m sorry have we met? It¡¯s been a hectic couple weeks.¡± She¡¯d have looked less betrayed if I¡¯d replied by stabbing her instead. Even the Mushroom-King rocked back in surprise. Women¡¯s hands ¨C attached to long, bodyless arms ¨C rose up from the floor, wrapping around my calves, thighs and torso. There is something different about you. Very different. Floral? Feminine? The grip of the hands tightened and attempted to pull me to the floor. I let out a yell and summoned my swords to my side, hacking and slashing. The first cut severed one of the arms in a spray of blood, red as poppies. Melinda screamed in fear and shock and retreated, running behind the Mushroom-King for cover. Other arms began to split and bleed, bone and gristle flying everywhere. It was gruesome work. I¡¯d nearly freed myself when the rest of the arms withdrew. Those which had been severed were engulfed by a rising carpet of woollen clouds. My apologies, servant of nature. My curiosity overcame me. Your being has been altered nearly beyond recognition. I meant you no harm. A simple desire to study you, nothing more. I flew my jack-o¡¯-lanterns over to myself. For comfort more than anything. ¡°Try it again and I¡¯ll go for you. I don¡¯t know how much you care about your ¡°aspects¡± but I¡¯m betting you have eyes for a reason.¡± And my harem? He sounded amused. ¡°I¡¯ll kill those who try to stop me. Better to be dead and free.¡± Easily said. ¡°I¡¯ve lived it.¡± You haven¡¯t. The words were like a blow. Images followed. Trapped. Bound to a wall with a blade digging into my back. Broken and groveling before the Mushroom-King. Driving myself into the blade before the warlock arrived. Using Bite not on the Mushroom-King but myself before he could react. You¡¯ve always fought. Always found a new path to freedom. Other images. These less clear. My own thoughts. Bargain after bargain with Tom Oldshoe. The dark altar. Dark magic. The dwarf goddess. Brace¡¯s party. Each deal binding me down, restricting me. Morality was the same. Chains on my behaviour. Limitations on my freedom. Death is the path of cowards. Only those who live can fight. Kill my servants. Self defence. Sadistic pleasure. It matters not. Break free from my domain. Run to live another day. Do what you have always done: Ensure your own survival at the cost of everything else. But do not pretend you do it for their sake. His words brought me to my knees. There was force their. Anger. A reminder that no matter how much kinder this iteration of the Mushroom-King might be than his fellows, there was a great power, a greater being behind all of them. He was doing it again. Mind control. My fingers flipped open my pouch and found my druid stone. The waves of electricity flowing through my body crashed behind my eyes. My head buzzed, my hair danced wildly, more frantic than before. I stood. The Mushroom-King¡¯s eyes darted to my hand. What is that? I closed my pouch. ¡°We are done here.¡± I turned back to the entrance. The women still barred my path. I can offer you strength, knowledge, healing, desire. Rian. If he died I might never be able to forgive myself for my next words, but a bargain was only a bargain given in good faith. I trusted the Mushroom-King less than the number of trees in the sea. ¡°Let me pass.¡± My price is cheap. A night with your desired. Even if you do not remember her, surely part of you calls to her. If not, there are the other members of my harem. Red lines appeared in perfect flesh. Women cried out in pain. I felt simultaneously like I was torturing a museum and desecrating an angel. ¡°Move.¡± You fear I will take your mind, but I cannot. Not while you wield that stone. I have my own motivations, true, but they are not ones which should concern you. A map of your mind, to teach your desired magic. Surely she is deserving of that? Unless you consider her your lesser? More lines appeared. Gods bled red. My heart was lurching in my chest, straining to break free. The women fell back from the entrance. A simpler trade, perhaps? A favour for a favour? Your stone for one of my many treasures? I walked out the door. The Mushroom-King¡¯s voice grew fainter as I returned to the checker-board room, still calling after me, Knowledge for knowledge? The way to what you seek, for the reason behind your transformation. The power behind your stone. A weakness of the warlocks. I nearly paused, but caught myself. A hitch in my step, nothing more. It was a trade I¡¯d make with an elf, any elf, but not the Mushroom-King. Elves couldn¡¯t (or didn¡¯t) lie. The Mushroom-King served only himself. XXIV - Toms Troubles Of the unexplored doors the door to my left was closest, but the door straight ahead was ¨C by definition ¨C straight ahead of me. Locked. Locked or so firmly stuck it made no difference. I didn¡¯t bother checking the other door. This one was only made of wood and iron. It twisted instead of breaking. A long tortured death which ended with me ripping the entire frame from the wall. I¡¯d revealed a small chamber. Broken glass was scattered across the floor. A crude drawing of a grey humanoid was sketched on the east wall. Next to it was a bookshelf set in a sunken alcove. The bookshelf contained no books, so I guess technically it was just a shelf. I moved to inspect the drawing. Something about the figure depicted was familiar. Their weapon perhaps? No, it was their head. A pig¡¯s head, with tusks whi- ¡°What a terrific noise Sir! Sir has woken half the dungeon!¡± My head nearly hit the ceiling. I spun as I landed, magic swords at the ready, eyes and will-o¡¯-wisps casting about. My mind caught up with my racing heart. Master Tom. I spotted him a moment later. I relaxed my stance, lowered my invisible swords. Tom watched them withdraw with polite interest. I¡¯d have to keep that in mind. He was right about the noise. I suppose I¡¯d grown used to it, too focused on other things, but the howling and wailing had risen to a roar. Mad cackling laughter bounced up from unfathomed depths, hacking, barking coughs set the dust falling from the ceiling, a moan so powerful I could feel the reverberations in my chest with my hand (I checked) fluctuated between pain, ecstasy, and despair. If I¡¯d tuned out all of that I¡¯d been down here too long. Master Tom grinned up at me, ¡°Sir was lucky Master Tom was the first to arrive. The others know Master Tom, Sir, they won¡¯t bother Sir while Old Tom is here, no indeed.¡± It would be best to polite, as always. ¡°And you, Master? Will you be bothering me?¡± Tom¡¯s grin grew wider, ¡°No bother Sir, no bother at all. Old Tom Oldshoe has come to collect a favour, Sir!¡± My heart dropped into my stomach even as my stomach leapt into my chest, leaving me feeling like my world was spinning. (Again, not literally. Had to be clear when dark magic was involved.) The hob nodded as if I had replied. He doffed his hat and clutched it in both his hands against his chest. ¡°Yes indeed, Sir. Poor old Tom has been met with misfortune, Sir, and poor old Tom comes cap in hand begging for Sir¡¯s aid.¡± He looked so miserable I nearly felt sorry for him. Not just nearly, I should have felt sorry; Tom had always dealt fairly with me, never gone so far as to completely trick me as was common for the crueller hobs and dobbys. So why didn¡¯t I? I could pursue that logic, drive away the feeling of mistrust, but I didn¡¯t. I¡¯d learned to trust my feelings, no matter how irrational they might be. That didn¡¯t mean I listened to them, not always, or even often, but they happened for a reason. They had their place. ¡°What do you need Master?¡± He dug his hand behind the chest component of his crimson motley and withdrew a large purple seed. He held it up for my inspection. It was the size of my closed fist, and glowed slightly in the dark, though fainter even than my will-o¡¯-wisps. ¡°Master Tom is needing this planted Sir, planted right away. But Master Tom cannot do it, Sir, oh no, he cannot. Do not ask poor old Tom Oldshoe why, Sir, Master Tom doesn¡¯t know, but plant it he cannot.¡± I didn¡¯t take the seed. ¡°Where do you need it planted, Master Tom?¡± Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. ¡°In thoughts, Sir, in dreams!¡± A new sound joined the clamour, distant, but growing closer; the baying of hounds. ¡°There they are Sir! One of Master Tom¡¯s many misfortunes! Sir must take the seed at once!¡± He took a step towards me and thrust it at my midriff. I didn¡¯t take the seed. ¡°Is it dangerous, Master Tom?¡± Tom looked affronted by the mere suggestion, ¡°Oh no Sir, not dangerous at all! As dangerous as a cup or a spoon or a drop of water! Old Tom wouldn¡¯t give Sir a dangerous seed without a proper warning, Sir.¡± The hounds let out another cry, this one much closer. I didn¡¯t take the seed. ¡°And the hounds, Master? Are they dangerous?¡± Tom bobbed his head rapidly, ¡°Very much so Sir, very much. But Sir need not fear, they chase Master Tom, not his little seed.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a large seed, Master.¡± The hob smiled apologetically, ¡°Large it is Sir! Master Tom did not mean to deceive Sir. No Sir, not at all! It is still a very small thing compared to the greater world of things which are large.¡± The earth rumbled. The room began to shake. Dust fell from the ceiling as stone ground against stone. ¡°Another misfortune, Sir! What terrible luck! Sir must take the seed quickly!¡± I didn¡¯t take the seed. ¡°What will it do, Master, if I plant it in my dreams? Will it affect my mind?¡± There was a cracking sound from my pouch. The dobby winced. ¡°I am sorry Sir, Master Tom did not want to do this Sir, but he does have some control over his misfortune. He won¡¯t let it touch him, Sir! He won¡¯t!¡± ¡°And you won¡¯t leave my presence until I agree to plant your seed?¡± I didn¡¯t bother with the honorific. Tom barely seemed to notice. He wrung his hat between his hands, ¡°Old Tom apologizes, Sir, but he doesn¡¯t know where else to go. Master Tom was at a loss and a lack until he heard Sir opening yonder door.¡± He gestured to the mangled mess on the floor. A bubbling sound rose from my waist. My waterskins shook with it, independent from the earthquake which still rocked the room. Burbling bursts of gas puffed free from their mouths. ¡°What happens when I plant the seed, Tom?¡± The dobby shrunk further on himself, ¡°Old Tom doesn¡¯t know, Sir. Not for sure. But Sir need not fear for Sir¡¯s mind, Sir! Not like with the warlocks and mushrooms. The seed is the seed always Sir. It occupies, Sir, it doesn¡¯t change.¡± ¡°Two favours Tom?¡± Flakes rained down about me. I looked down at my belt in time to see rust blossoming like ink in a glass all across the surface of my sword. Tom shook his head, ¡°One favour for a favour Sir. A favour cannot be two favours.¡± The hounds sounded as if they were nearly upon us now. Some of the ceiling stones were making sounds like they¡¯d nearly worked themselves free. And all that was excluding whatever misfortune would befall Tom¡¯s general vicinity next. Maybe my heart would stop. I couldn¡¯t let Tom fall into danger either. Not while I still owed the elf favours. Whatever it was he¡¯d taken from me, it was something I¡¯d want back, or something I¡¯d need. ¡°Very well, Master. I¡¯ll plant your seed to repay a favour, provided you leave and take your misfortunes with you.¡± The hob¡¯s face lit up, ¡°Oh thank you Sir! Thank you!¡± He pressed the seed into my hand, ¡°Master Tom will never forget Sir¡¯s kindness! Old Master Tom Oldshoe never does!¡± There was a terrific crack of thunder, and the hob was gone. The howling of hounds stopped immediately. The quaking followed a moment later. Even the distant weeping and wailing had stilled. Down to a murmur now. I looked at the giant seed clutched in my hand. It felt springy. Strong. Like rubber or a copper spring. It was surprising light as well. Perhaps slightly heavier than a piece of pine the same size. It wouldn¡¯t fit in my pouch, but if I tied the flap shut over it, it would at least be held in place. I placed the seed on the ground and opened my pouch. I was greeted by shards of glass. My magnifying glass had broken in the whirlwind of... whatever that had been. I removed my glove to carefully extract the pieces of the magnifying glass and added them to the broken glass already on the floor. The frame joined them. Perhaps someone would have a use for it, or a fix they could perform, but I needed the space more than the possibility. I picked up the seed, put it in, pulled the flap over, and secured it. I gave it a few experimental shakes and nothing seemed to move around. It would do. I dusted off my shoulder and brushed my hair. The dust had gotten everywhere. Now that I wasn¡¯t focused on something else, it was actually rather hard to breathe. The back of my throat tickled and my nose was starting to run. I returned back to the checker-board room once more. There was still one more door to try. *Thwip* *Thwip* Two darts stood out of my chest. Worse, I¡¯d felt these ones. XXV - Kill It with Fire Two darts were sticking out of my chest. Worse yet, they were smoking. Before I could react, the two darts burst into flame, as did my flesh around the two impact sites. I quickly batted the darts away with my gloved hand, but the fire remained. I tore a waterskin from my belt and squeezed the container onto my chest. Rather than water, a thick, lumpy, gelatinous mass oozed from the waterskin, turning black and smoking foully where it touched the fire. Tom¡¯s curse had curdled it. I threw the waterskin aside and began to pat frantically at my chest. Where ¡°water¡± failed, smothering seemed to do the trick. I held my gloved hands over the twin wounds on my chest until the pain became too much and then pulled my hands free, living the gloves in place as I pushed my hands on top of them. My armour cooled, though the pain did not subside. I pulled the gloves away. Twin holes had been burned into my gambeson in the middle of my chest. Each was about the size of a circle made with my thumb and middle finger. The clothing beneath had blackened and charred away. The flesh beneath that... an ordinary man might have had holes drilled into his chest. As it was, I had two shallow divots, as if twin orbs had been pressed into my flesh. The skin was red and shined like polished apples. the centre of each divot was torn and ragged, where the darts had pierced deepest. There, the burns went bellow my skin into the flesh of my chest. I could feel flesh slide beneath burns no matter how I moved my arms. Every action elected a wince or whimper. I¡¯d been so surprised the combustion I hadn¡¯t even thought to teleport. Teleportation might not have even worked. Poison would follow, of that I was fairly certain. Burning flesh? Hopefully I¡¯d never get the opportunity to test it. I bent with a groan and retrieved my gloves. The leather had done its job. They were a little stiff at the outset, but even the act of inspecting the damage worked the leather back into a softened state. I stopped just short of pulling them on. My burns. Right. I¡¯d need to get the ointment first. Burns always carried the risk of infection. Always. I tucked the gloves into my belt while I retrieved the ointment from under Oldshoe¡¯s seed. ¡°May the clouds never return!¡± The acts of twisting and manuevering required caused both sides of my wound to compress at one point or another. It felt almost... crunchy. I shuddered from more than the pain as I applied the ointment. What had been the Mushroom-King¡¯s deal? Knowledge for healing? Shame I didn¡¯t trust him. Several more minutes of yelping and ginger application later and I had everything packed back away. I bent (¡°Destroyer take me!¡±) one last time to retrieve my discarded waterskin. Time to move on. The only way out was through at this point. I¡¯d found enough wonders in the dungeon, perhaps this next room would contain another which could deal with my injury. I pushed the door open the rest of the way and cautiously entered my hard won room. It was empty of creatures thankfully, otherwise they might have taken advantage of me while I was otherwise occupied. It was not, however, empty. A stair case leading up to a balcony, much like the one I¡¯d discovered near the top of the stairs of the first floor was on my right. An archway stood in the centre of the balcony, leading off to some unseen alcove high above the rest of the room. To my left were more words scrawled upon the wall. ¡°Kill them with fire¡± Yeah, I¡¯d already gotten the gist of that, thanks. Shame they hadn¡¯t written it on the other side of the door. The stairs up had a hand rail, but I only used it for the first step. The pain from raising my arm was too great. I continued on without it, slightly less safe, but infinitely more comfortable. There was a chest at one end of the balcony, cleverly angled so it couldn¡¯t been seen from the ground level. At least I assumed it was clever. It could have just been a coincidence. Or my eyes might be going. Pain had a way of doing that. I opened it cautiously, one hand ready on my spellbook. My sword and spare torches remained at my belt. Carrying the book was hard enough. My fingers weren¡¯t responding to my commands properly. The chest opened without incident. Whether it was untrapped, or I¡¯d failed to set off the trap, it was good enough for me. I knelt to get a better look at what it might contain. First thing I noticed was that the chest stank. There was a small corpse on top of the horde; a rabbit or badger possibly. It was so decomposed it was hard to tell. It had been wrapped in paper at some point, but time had taken its toll, and the paper lay in flakes around it, soaked through and rotten. Birch bark. The whole mess rested atop a large iron ring. A longsword of all things, bent into a circle. This had the feeling of ritual about it. The rest of the cask confirmed those suspicions. Thorny brambles ringed the outside of the chest. A deck of tarot cards lay wrapped in black silk flanked by to a pouch of salt and a pouch of spices. All three rested on a cask of pine sap. Below them, oriented with the walls of the room rather than the chest, was a painted deer skull complete with one broken antler. The top half of its jaw was propped up on a blob of red iron ore. The base of the skull was held on either side by two bloody gloves. A pair of candle clocks protruded from its eye sockets. The whole of the chest¡¯s contents rested on a massive tangle of rusted chains. I had no idea what the ritual was supposed to achieve or if it had already served its purpose. It felt primal, almost barbaric. Like something the Rowing Men or even the North Men might do. All cultures had their own magics, but there was also gods to consider. Perhaps this was meant to appease them. Incongruous with the ritual items, tucked here and there around the chest in what spaces remained were five other items: A waterskin filled with what smelled like vinegar or spoiled wine, an apple, a sign looted from what appeared to be a tavern, a short list of household items, and a potion labelled ¡°Obscurement¡±. I took from these items first, feeling less confident about disturbing the ritual. From the five only the potion and waterskin truly interested me. The potion I swapped for the empty vial at my belt, the waterskin I tied on above the others. I could have saved the empty vial or emptied the waterskin first, but with the wounds in my chest, every action was at a premium. The other three items I gave a once over in case they revealed any magic chest-healing properties, but alas, I seemed out of luck. I shuffled around on my knees to study the ritual objects in detail. The arrangement felt powerful. Primal and crude, yes, but masterful all the same. In a place infused with as much magic as Bleakfort, breaking the ritual could cause all manners of aethereal disturbances. I wouldn¡¯t say there was no magic, as magic was found in all things, but there was a chance the arrangement was purely an aesthetic one. It was more likely than not, despite my gut feeling. I grabbed the deer skull first. Straight for the keystone of the whole thing. I wasn¡¯t disturbing the ritual because I didn¡¯t trust my gut, far from it. Rather, it was my curiosity and desperation at fault. I wanted something to happen. I wanted the ritual to backlash and turn me into a frog if it meant escaping the blinding pain of my wounds. I wasn¡¯t in the best state of mind to be making split-second far ranging decisions. Unfortunately, part of that was not realizing I wasn¡¯t in the best state of mind to be making split-second far ranging decisions. I waved it about a few times (gently), and placed it on my head. Nothing. I discarded the skull and grabbed the gloves, replacing my own with them. They fit rather well, but that was the only thing remarkable about them and I didn¡¯t need more bloody gloves. Brambles, tarot cards, and iron ore were likewise tested and discarded. I noticed the ground starting to shake again just after I finished testing salt, spice, and sap. Had the ritual- The world exploded. Sulfur, smoke, and fire roared and flashed all around me. The room attached to the balcony was bathed in red-orange light, sweeping bars of fire which only grew brighter as I watched. Heat, unbearable heat rushed from the room, rushed from below the balcony. The metal twisted and bent and I was thrown to one side. Thankfully I was already kneeling or I might have been bucked from the balcony. As it was, my injured chest impacted with the metal grate electing a fresh scream of agony from me. I laced my fingers through the grill and held on. Stone fell from the ceiling. The floor rippled and buckled beneath me. The wall, complete with the trapped door I¡¯d come through, suddenly crumpled inward, shooting under and past me and impact on the far wall. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Dust filled the air, black and hot. Ash. I tore the cloth gloves from my belt and pressed them to my face as the ash began to rise. I was soon covered from head to toe, eyes squeezed shut to protect against the swirling flakes. It smelled awful. It should have been the least of my worries, but the smell of sulfur and brimstone was so strong it was making me nauseous. There was no where to go for fresh air. Even if there was, the balcony was still shaking, still twisting. Red light still played over my eyelids, and the temperature still continued to rise. I was beginning to think the ritual had been doing something. Thankfully the rate of warming had slowed immediately after the initial blast. Not so much like my Lightning Cascade, and more like a large fire in a small room. It was uncomfortable, but not immediately dangerous. Speaking of Lighting Cascade: I called my list of dark magic spells to mind. inviting the whispers to drown out the deafening cracks and explosion reverberating about the dungeon. Some of the sounds were coming from far enough away, judging at least by how muted and distorted they were, that I didn¡¯t think a single corner of the dungeon had been left untouched. Hopefully Conan and the others made it. Eric too. Piercing Shield Spawning Cauldron Hasting Stasis Hindering Claw Glass Aura Withering Insect Intoxicating Blood It was like hearing my name spoken in a crowded room. The whispers were chaotic, overlapping, nonsensical, and yet each phrase leapt to mind with ease. I couldn¡¯t not hear them if I¡¯d wanting to. None of the spells available to me were obviously useful. No Ceasing Volcano or Pyroclastic Portal to be seen. Perhaps the Hasting Stasis or Glass Aura could be put to some use, but I couldn¡¯t think of anything which would do more than delay my problems. My true magic I likewise dismissed. I could teleport away from danger if I knew which direction to teleport in. I could slash at the burning gases with magic swords or bite them or push on the flakes¨C nothing which would actually effect the roiling clouds. The best I could do with the lava was cool it slightly with feces. My items then. Or the items remaining in the ritual chest. Wherever the ritual chest was. We¡¯d both been thrown about by the eruption, or the explosions, or whatever it was going on. The chest would have to be a last resort. I wasn¡¯t sure I could even access my own pouch come to think of it. One hand held over my mouth, the other clinging to the metal lattice. I couldn¡¯t even see, and I didn¡¯t dare open my eyes. If I thought of a solution, I¡¯d have to do it fast. The druid stone appeared to reestablish the nature of whomever held it. That would be less than useless even if it worked on non-living things. If ending the ritual had caused this explosion, it was highly probable that the dungeon had been carved, at least in part, into the side of a volcano, and by ending, had allowed nature to reestablish itself. My water had all curdled, whatever that meant. It wasn¡¯t about to put out any fires or trap any ash. The vinegar might succeed, but I¡¯d poured it out, hadn¡¯t I? Had I? I couldn¡¯t remember. The stress was getting to me. My potions then. What had they said? Healing... I was drawing another blank. Still, they were probably my best bet. I doubted drinking them at random would be good for me, but I doubted it would kill me. I¡¯d have to secure the cloth glove against my face somehow. Perhaps if I shifted position I could pin it against the balcony with my chin- The problem solved itself while I was busy trying to think of a solution. Typical. The shaking stopped. Hot air stopped wiping by my face, ash stopped invading my ears and the gap in my clothes at the small of my back. I gave it a minute and then dared cracking open one eye. A bit of caked ash fell into it, but the air itself was relatively clear. My watering eye could make out swirling flakes still dancing about the room, but the black cloud had settled. It was still hot. Unbearably hot. It might have been getting cooler but it was hard to tell. My gloves, pants, and gambeson all had a lattice of scorches lightly burnt into them from where they¡¯d pressed against the metal balcony. From the room attached to the balcony, the one which had held the red sweeping light, there was the sound of crackling and tinkling. Rock shattering and rock against rock. The lights had stilled, now only a steady deep red glow with heavy shadows. I pushed myself to my feet and looked down at my vials. The wax had run, but enough remained of the shapes to remind me of what they had said: Obscurement, Ascension, Breathing. They might have helped then. I¡¯d hopefully remember them for next time. I carefully made my way across the crooked balcony, twitching at every groan, creak, and pop from the tortured metal, and made my way into the adjacent room. It was a small thing. More of a hallway or observation gallery. Cut along its length were long rectangular holes, giving a view of another room beyond and below this one. I¡¯d probably been in the room before, or at least near it, given that it was located in the direction I¡¯d come from. I¡¯d been in several rooms now with holes cut into the wall, but if this was one of them I was peering at from the other side, there was no chance I¡¯d recognize it now. A field of lava blanketed it from wall to wall. Given the uneven shape of the room, and the crumbled corners of some of the walls, the lava had destroyed a number of the rooms walls, in some case completely subsuming them. A pillar of lava fell from the ceiling in the centre, which was the source of most of the light. It was dim, dim enough that someone without my enhanced eyes probably wouldn¡¯t be able to see with it, but to mine it was a bar of light in the dark. Even though I was on the second story, as it were, the lava was still far further below me than that would warrant. It suggested that the dungeon wasn¡¯t completely even. That this side of the dungeon rested on a shelf half a floor above the other half. Give that the lava had had no compunctions about blasting, melting, or pushing through the other four walls it had been adjacent to, the two step nature of the dungeon might have saved my life. Heat was still coming through the loopholes but it seemed to have equalized at a survivable, though very uncomfortable, temperature. Still, to be safe it would be best to get some distance between myself and the lava. Perhaps also to find my way back to Conan and Brace. There might be people in need of help or defending. The denizens of the dungeon had resumed their clamouring, more wound up than before. I¡¯d have to abandon the ritual box. Even if there was a magical cure to my injuries in their, I didn¡¯t dare fool around on the balcony for any longer than I needed to. In fact... I headed quickly for the stairs. Better to do it now before anything else. The structure was continuing to buckle and twist. I was too late. Halfway down the stairs the upper deck of the suddenly sagged, spinning me around and sending me careening for the wall. I jumped, trying to disentangle myself in a manuever which was half leap, half stumble. I managed to somersault over the railing and into the wall just as the stairs swung around and hit me in the small of my back. My armour softened the blows, both of landing on the stone floor and being struck by the metal stairs, and my toughened skin handled the rest. The only injury was a sudden headache and flashing lights as my brain bounced around the inside of my head. Better scrambled than spilling out of my skull. I staggered up to my feet, and tried to place my hand against the wall for support, but it dodged out of the way. I collapsed to my knees just in time for the floor to jump up and smack me in my jaw. My strengthened bones were getting a workout today. I curled up into a ball and rocked myself onto the balls of my feet. Then I closed my eyes and extended my legs, ignoring the feeling of launching through the air. When I opened them again I was standing, rocking back and forth like on the deck of a ship as the floor swayed beneath me. I wasn¡¯t sure if it was a second eruption or my own senses playing tricks on me at this point. The room resolved a few minutes later. I¡¯d manage to catch the wall in one of them, and leaning against it for support seemed to help. I wasn¡¯t sure if I could stand properly without it, even now that the room had stopped spinning, but it was becoming unbearably hot. I glanced to my left as I pushed away from the wall. ¡°Kill them with fire¡± indeed. First thing first, I stumbled along to the trapped door. Half the wall had been blown away, though not evenly. A pillar of crumbled stone still remained part way along, with blasted holes on either side. The checkerboard bathroom¡¯s tiles had been blown across the room and piled at the edge of a great rippling explosion like foam in front of a wave. A ragged hole on the ceiling right against the destroyed wall showed its source. A pocket of gas or heated rock, held at bay for who knew how long by the ritual. Beyond the shattered and scattered tiles the fractured glow of lava peeked out from beneath its rocky shell. The hallway I¡¯d entered by was completely flooded. I¡¯d have to find another way back. Perhaps this is what the other room had been referring to when it claimed death was the only exit. Prophetic graffiti, what would they think of next? There were two other exits from the room I was in. Both were wooden doors, though I wasn¡¯t sure if I felt up to smashing any doors down at the moment. I could use my magic swords. I should use my magic sword. Stand back while they triggered whatever traps the door had in store. But no-they were gone. Had it been over an hour already? Had it been less than an eternity? Time had moved both too fast and too slow. I held my left arm against my chest, covering the holes in my gambeson, with the spell book clutched between my fingers. With my right hand I opened the door furthest from the lava. It was stuck. I¡¯d hoped the explosions might have shaken some of the doors out of their frames, but alas it appeared they could get worse. I was regretting EliminateIII at this point. What good was avoiding infection, pain, and embarrassment if I couldn¡¯t even open a door to escape encroaching lava? I could try the other door, but on the other hand, had a stuck door ever been trapped? I couldn¡¯t remember. The question was, better to try my luck with a trap or with my chest? I might crack some scabs or make something bleed, but I did have more ointment. It was only pain. ¡°Aaaagggggghhhhh!¡± I was lying on the floor, stars about my eyes. I wasn¡¯t sure how long I¡¯d been lying there. My wounds had reopened and were leaking clear, sticky fluid down my chest. Jeers and howls met my scream. Something which sounded like a cross between a fox and an owl, with the lungs of a wolf, screamed in return. All were thankfully distant. Chains. Could I hear chains rattle as well? Was Eric near? I strained to listen, but the sound faded. My own broken breathing perhaps. The door was open. It hadn¡¯t taken much force. One good kick. The first kick hadn¡¯t worked. The second I¡¯d put all my strength behind, and here I was. I performed the juggling act that was undoing my pouch, moving aside the dream seed, retrieving my ointment, removing my gloves, applying my ointment, securing the lid with oily fingers, wiping my hands redoing my pouch and re-donning my gloves. By the end of it I was exhausted. My chest not only suffered from stabs of sharp pain, and tugs of hot pain, but now aches from abuse and the constant motion of my arms. I needed to find a place to rest soon and recover my spells. Also find water. Tom¡¯s curse had ruined all of mine and the heat wasn¡¯t helping matters. Images of the stream, cool and refreshing, running over my toes, soothing my forehead, flashed against my will. Thinking about it wasn¡¯t helping. I took up my spellbook in my right hand this time, and ventured through the now firmly wedged open door and into the hallway beyond. Water, and then rest, and then I¡¯d find the others. XXVI - One of Shadow, One of Light The hall was long and twisting and eventually led to a wooden portcullis barring the path to a room full of humanoid bones and piles of trash. Even at my best I¡¯d struggled with a number of the portcullises, I didn¡¯t bother trying to lift this one. Instead, I retreated back down the hallway a hundred or so feet to where it was coolest, and then sat, and rested there against the wall. I wasn¡¯t done for the day, not without exhausting more options or finding a source of water, but I needed a moment to stop and gather my thoughts. They¡¯d been spinning since the room had stopped. The Mushroom-King. I didn¡¯t trust him. But for a small baragain, water, passage, maybe there was only so much he could do to betray me. He¡¯d also seemed sincere that each of his aspects held a different opinion of me. Maybe I could trust him. The wounds in my chest were making me like the idea more and more. Which only served to make me feel hypocritical when I thought of denying Rian similar aide. The risk was mine, however, not his. I didn¡¯t have the right to bargain on his behalf. And in a cruel twist of irony, the severity of his injuries made them more dangerous to request help for. Before I tried the mushroom king I¡¯d try the other doors. Look for any obvious secret passages. The orcneas drawing bore further examination. I still had my Safe Teleport if the destroyer heard its name. So, the other door in the balcony room first, then the orcneas, then the Mushroom King. I had my plan. I stood (ow) and made my way back to the balcony room. It was so hot it was hard to breathe, but the room hadn¡¯t flooded with lava or a second cloud of pyroclastic gases, so I was still ahead of the game. Arm across the holes in my chest, I tried the other door. Power surged through me. A deep thrumming like the druid stone, but without any of the ensuing strength. My heart did a little dance in my chest and then exploded into action, beating faster than if I¡¯d just won a one hundred yard sprint. Sparks flew off the ground around my feet, and a ringing sound resounded from my sword and my pouch. My hand had clenched around the door handle, unable to let go. My arm jerked, swinging the door easily open. Much like the druid stone, the feeling did not let up, but grew and grew, my heart stopping and starting at random as it swelled. With what little control I could wrestle from whatever gripped me, I buckled one knee and pushed with the other, forcing myself to tip over. I fell. As my clenched hand slipped free of the handle I was suddenly free, in full control of my body once more just in time to feel it impact the ground for the fourth or fifth time in the last hour. The ground where my feet had been planted was smoking. Where my sword hung against my armour and trousers it had left a black sooty stain. My boots themselves were smoking and the stitching had frayed where the sole met the rest of the boot. As best as I could tell, I¡¯d been struck by lightning, but a lightning which did not end. Thankfully, I seemed to be unharmed. Whatever lightning the warlocks had captured and stored in the handle of their door, it was weaker than the natural sort- a rolling wall of light came to mind and I amended the thought. It was weaker than the natural sort or the sort they could summon with their dark magic. I tried dust my gambeson and trousers and much to my relief the damage was surface level only. The black marks fell away, revealing the nearly unharmed cloth beneath. As my hand went under my sword, the strangest feeling struck me; a tingling at the back of my hand, almost like it was being pulled backward by invisible strings. I pulled it away and the feeling quickly faded. I brought my hand closer, palm first this time, and the feeling returned. Now that I was paying attention, I could also see the blade of my sword sway, ever so slightly, toward my hand. Like a lodestone. I removed my glove and carefully extended a finger towards the pommel of my dagger, towards its metal counterweight. The tugging sensation rapidly grew as I moved closer and closer, almost unbearable and then¡ªsnap! My finger and the pommel both leapt the final distance and stuck together. The feeling ended. When I lifted my finger, the dagger lifted with it. I flicked my finger forward and the connection broke suddenly, and the dagger fell back down into place on my belt. I re-donned my gloves and removed my dagger, then placed the pommel lightly against my cheek. Once more that feeling, and then it snapped into place, and dangled precariously above my throat. My body had become charged like a lodestone. I¡¯d heard theories that lodestones were created when lightning struck meteoric iron during a storm, but never of a person becoming magnetic themselves. The effect seemed fairly weak, which I was grateful for. My master had owned several lodestones so powerful they could crush a man¡¯s finger between them, and one of them had shattered from the force when it had flown across the room suddenly as he¡¯d incautiously been moving a metal pot by its shelf. I pulled the dagger from my cheek and put it back on my belt. Hopefully the effect would fade with time. It might be a fun novelty or party trick, but I couldn¡¯t think of any use for it beyond that, and the chance of being stuck to a door or having a throw of some metal object being pulled off course far outweighed the benefits. Perhaps if I needed to scale a series of metal cliffs I¡¯d reconsider, but I doubted the force was strong enough to make much difference even in that unlikely scenario. I¡¯d revealed a hexagon full of hexagons. The room had six walls, and the floor was tiled with them with the accuracy of a honey comb. A damaged metal breastplate lay in one corner. To my right, shrivelled fungus near the ceiling outlined a small wooden door with red light oozing out from its edges. To my left, a stone dais covered one of the walls. Set in its centre was a mosaic depicting a bevy of legendary creatures. Great sea creatures with backs like overlapping shields and bellies like sledges clashed with monsters of the river and land. A giant with four legs of bronze and tusks the lengths of mountains tore into said bellies, while eagles who shoulders carried the sky retreated from the sea creature¡¯s fiery breath. Surrounding the image were depictions of the sun. Two of them, one on each shoulder of the eagle¡ªThree of them, one at the crest of each creature¡¯s head¡ªSeven suns, each arcing across the sk¡ªOne sun, held in the mouth of the sea creatu¡ªFour, each supporting a pillar of the earth. Every time my eyes moved the picture was different. It swirled in a manor which drew me towards it. Feet stepping unwittingly, hand reach for the centre of the image. There was a gap there. A small blemish in the mosaic. A missing piece. One of the pillars which held up the sky. The druid stone was in my hand. Had I retrieved it from my pouch? How could I have? The dream seed was still in place. Twelve suns, seventy-two, three hundred and sixty five, one for each day of the year, (I don¡¯t know how I counted them) and then there was six, three, one- I placed the druid stone in the centre and the possession left me. The image spun, not in my mind, now, but in reality, stones shifting, tiles clicking as individual pieces rotated and moved. Like a hand unclenching the mosaic opened into a portal resting atop the stone dais. A hole the size of a grain of rice. Then my hand, my head, and then- There was a loud screeching sound and the whole spinning frame ground to a halt. Bits of stone tile rained down onto the dais, revealing the iron working underneath, the mechanism bent and rusted. Typical. This was not something I could leave be, not after it had compelled me so. Even though my chest screamed at me as I did so, I grabbed both edges of the aperture and pushed, attempting to pry them apart, or at least continue along their paths. Something tore as they spun free. I hoped it was the door and not me. I toppled forward through the portal onto my face just to be sure. The mosaic fully receded into the walls of the dais with a boom. The spinning of the suns, that strange feeling which had compelled me, ceased all at once, and simultaneously became stronger. My mind ripped and my vision split as the sun rose up in one eye, and descended in another. The rising sun was black, the descending one a brilliant white. A circle of stone rose, trapped both of them in its confines, a single circle encompassing two different realms, an image viewed through a broken and scattered mirror on uneven terrain. Light filtered through the gaps in the circle of stone, blending and dancing, obscured by shadows just so in exact arrangements. A druidic circle. One which confined the sun rather than measure it. The dark sun fell, and the white sun grew a bright and pure as gold, rising its place. the dark sun became its shadow, no longer separate or free, no longer in ascendance. Good. I didn¡¯t hear it. Not quite. It wasn¡¯t something which was said, but I felt it. Felt it deep in that place of knowing and fullness inside me. That core which permeated my being with life and light. Something disordered had become ordered. It was like the destruction of the other mosaic, but opposite somehow. Rather than an evil being removed, this was a good being set right. Something was being made more. What it was, I couldn¡¯t say. But it was right. It was just. It was pure. Truth and beauty had prevailed in some small way, and all, even the wicked, would benefit for it. I knew this without knowing how I knew, but I trusted that knowing absolutely. Some truths were like that. I was in the room of bones and rubbish I¡¯d seen through the portcullis earlier. My journey had led me full circle. Hopefully that didn¡¯t mean I was trapped. Of course there was the fungus shrouded trap door directly behind me, but it was dark to my life sight. Dead. I was pretty sure I knew what was behind that door. I rose, wincing and groaning and my skin cracked and split. With the amount of times I¡¯d had to push myself back to my feet since being capture by the warlocks, you¡¯d think I¡¯d be an expert at this sort of thing by now. I didn¡¯t bother giving the room more than a perfunctory search. Whatever had left those bones might come back. And I didn¡¯t want that trash near my open wounds. I stopped in the portal as I exited to search for the druid stone, but as I had suspected, it was gone, sunken into the dais with the rest of the mosaic. It was a high price to pay for a door which led nowhere, I could only hope the vision of the two suns meant something. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. I returned to the room of the orcneas drawing, where I¡¯d met Master Tom before. I¡¯d been preoccupied before, but now I could see that it was indeed a crude depiction of orcneas as I¡¯d suspected. They were shown standing around an alcove with exaggerated ¡®u¡¯s for mouths, as if to show they were smiling. On the floor, which was checker-board, was a vial. Above the vial was an eye with an ¡®x¡¯ through it. My hand leapt immediately to the vials at my belt. Though the wax had melted, one of them still bore enough of the mark for me to remember: Obscurment. They wanted my potion as their favour? Easily done. I scratched an ¡®X¡¯ of my own through the drawing with the pommel of my dagger, and circled the- The sun rose. I stopped, confused. I¡¯d been circling the vial. The iron pommel of the dagger had made clear tracks across the charcoal drawing and the limestone wall. It wasn¡¯t the action itself which had caused the feeling. Several circles already surrounded the smiling faces. I¡¯d been trying to make my meaning clear. I flipped quickly through my spell book and- my spells had returned to me. I could feel the energy, an invisible potential at my fingertips, ready to be called into being. Had I lost time? I was thirsty, true, but only because of the heat. I had not sudden need to relieve myself. If I¡¯d spent the day drawing, surely I¡¯d notice more effects than that. Perhaps then I¡¯d been sent forward in time as I had from Elysium. But why? The drawing? I finished circling the vial, tensed, ready for the feeling to return. Nothing. I sheathed my dagger. There was another feeling. What was-yes! there it was again. My spells. I hadn¡¯t just had them returned to me, I could write another. Was this the effect of the double sun? Time moving twice as fast? Or perhaps two suns in the sky, two sunsets, two sunrises? I¡¯d have to keep track. I wasn¡¯t about to let the opportunity sit idle, but first, I needed to complete my favour for the orcneas. Two many obligations had stacked up, especially if I was thinking about giving the Mushroom-King yet another. Maybe I¡¯d try calling Tom¡¯s name before it came to that. I returned to the room with the checkboard floor. Sure enough, in the middle alcove was a small charcoal drawing of a grinning boar¡¯s head. Getting the vial of obscurement free without twisting my arms or tugging on my chest wounds was no easy trick. I had to lean one way and reach across the other with the arm furthest away from the vials. I still felt a few small twinges of pain as I pulled the vial free, but it was a far cry from the searing agony. I was likewise disproportionately proud of my ability to place the vial on the floor without pain a moment later. I had to lean precariously over into a half squat, with my non-squatting leg braced against the wall of the alcove, which was a vulnerable position, and must have looked ridiculous, but it got the job done. That done I returned to the room where I¡¯d met Tom. I wanted to record a new spell first, but something about the black and white alcove had given me an idea. The bookshelf was set in an alcove of its own. I¡¯d noticed it before, but I¡¯d not paid attention to the floor of the alcove. Why would I? But now having stared at the black and white tiles of the other room I noticed an inversion of the pattern I¡¯d noted there. Whereas the bathroom tiles had been more worn in the main room and less in the shelter of the alcove, the stone floor of this room was far more scuffed up directly under and around the bookshelf. In fact, the scratches traced an arc almost exactly the same width as the bookshelf if measured from its central support beam. The beam too was strange. It was not an especially wide bookshelf, but it was divided right down the centre with an unusually thick piece of wood. Even if anyone had wanted to store their books there, perhaps a perpetually chilly warlock looking for a bit of a retreat, there was hardly any room. Warlock spa. The lava, bath house tiles and smaller side room with a bookshelf suddenly all made sense in that context. Perhaps this area had contained, contained, or was planned to contain, a natural hotspring somewhere. Maybe the warlocks had even drilled into what was apparently a volcano in hopes of creating one. You¡¯d think they could just create one with their magic, but maybe when it came to relaxation, they preferred to go all natural. I was getting distracted. Now that I was paying attention I was almost certain the bookshelf had a central rod running inside the middle support beam which it could use to pivot in place. I tried pressing on the upper right corner, then upper left, moving my way dow- it was stiff, as though it had been poorly made (of course) or had been damaged in the explosion, but once it got going stutter-step, inertia took over and I rotated after it into a new, larger room. The room was mostly empty, containing only a ladder directly across from me, a few piece of rotten wood scattered about the floor and- my eye was drawn to the left hand corner. A large, pear-shaped pyramid sat there. It had... stains. Ropes and winches led from the corners of the pyramid to a circular harness which lay nestled around its peak. A quick glance told me all I need to about to how to use the device. I wasn¡¯t sure on the specifics, but I didn¡¯t want to be, and I wasn¡¯t about to waste time figuring it out. It was enough to treat it as a reminder of who I was fighting against. Still, it was cooler here. Cool enough I felt safe in trying to record a new spell in accordance with the second rising of the sun. The list of spells to record was ever longer, but given the utility, and the chance I might lose it, there was one spell I had to prioritize duplicating. I summoned my Magic Swords to me and swept them through the air in a spiralling pattern of attacks. I tried to drawn my corporal sword to join in the dance, but pain overwhelmed me and I abandoned the idea. The strength of two blades would have to be enough. Lights joined the dance as they ever had, two little candles valiantly struggling against darkness. Magic Swords II: Two invisible blades dance and strike with the base force of 484 lbs. One for 45 minutes, the other for an hour. Two lights, bright as candles, swirl about it, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. Two more lights join in at the end of the first hour, and end an hour after the first lights fade, providing 3 hours of light total. All move independently following the whims of their master. No whispers interrupted my writing, neither spell was lost in the process. Even more astoundingly, the process worked. I felt that subtle tug which indicated I¡¯d truly recorded a spell and not just written a pretty rune. Even though I still felt the loss of the druid stone keenly, it seemed too easy after all the difficulties spell crafting I¡¯d faced over the last month. Perhaps I¡¯d just gotten lucky, but I couldn¡¯t help but feel there would be a yet larger price to pay. Gift me a horse in a warlock¡¯s lair and I¡¯d count its teeth three time over, just to be sure. The room contained two exits other than the one I¡¯d come through, both on the wall to the right of where I¡¯d entered by. One was an iron door, the other a wooden portcullis. The portcullis would probably be harder to open in my current state, but was less likely to be trapped, which I also had less ability to deal with, injured as I was. I was down to a single push spell as well, which made me loathe to waste it on either one before I¡¯d at least tried opening the iron door by hand. The again, I¡¯d not expected to have the spells to help me at all in the first place. There were two ways to think about it from that perspective. Either I could open the door or portcullis without a spell, since I¡¯d have had to do so anyway, or I could see it as a ¡°free¡± spell and use it frivolously however I pleased because I wasn¡¯t supposed to have it anyway. Or I could treat it like a new day had dawned and act accordingly and normally, but that wasn¡¯t how my brain worked. I¡¯d at least try the iron door first. But if it was stuck I was blasting it open. And I had my guard up. One hand on my spell book, one eye on the corner of the bookshelf, which I could just barely see from where I was standing. The handle leapt into my hand when I reached for it, and the door stuck to my knuckles when I turned the bar. It was easy enough to break free, but could have thrown me off my game if I wasn¡¯t ready for it. The door itself didn¡¯t budge. Something ice cold brushed by me. Colder than ice. So it cold it burned like fire. Like lightning. My clothing crackled, and something pinged at my hip. I didn¡¯t bother turning to look. TransportII Safe Teleport I appeared, naked and clinging to the bookshelf, several seconds later. I¡¯d had to end the spell early to get the timing right, as I¡¯d only had to cover a distance of 30 or so feet. I pushed against the top right corner and this time there was no initial hesitation by the door. Whatever had caught before had been worked out or broken free. The bookshelf spun easily, depositing in the room full of broken glass onto my naked front. I became a convert of the dwarf goddess in that moment. My future children too, if they had an ounce of gratitude in them. Not a single shard of glass had managed to penetrate my vital areas. In passing I was dimly glass had also glanced off my thighs and neck, but my concentration was focused on more... sensitive matters. I stood and brushed myself off. My chest was still screaming, of course, but my heart and mind were racing fast enough that for once I barely noticed. I dared a peek back into the other room, sending my lights dancing about for any sign of what had impacted me. A chill lay in the air. My clothing and items lay in a pile just on the other side of the bookshelf, seemly unharmed. The iron door had a large streak of frost running up, with moisture beading and falling back down along the same line. The frost was wider at the top than the bottom. The metal had bent near the top, and appeared slightly discoloured, like oil in water. The stone above the door had shattered, as had most of the ceiling in the room. Pebbles now lay scattered across its surface. The gas had risen, then. And whatever it had been, it had been enough to almost instantly freeze whatever it had touched. I freed my sword from the tangle of clothing and raised it up to the ceiling. At this point it would be little loss if it broke. I doubt it could survive much more than one good swing. Nothing happened even as the point of the sword scrapped the shattered ceiling. It appeared the gas was quick acting, but not long lasting. I moved back into the room to get dressed. The cool air was soothing on my chest wounds. I needed a bit of a sooth, because dressing was every bit the nightmare I thought it would be. I was panting from a combination of the exertion and pain by the time I was done. I¡¯d been so close to a spell which would have prevented... I¡¯d been going about it all wrong. It was a useless spell under most circumstances, but a spell which let me wear the clothing I was wearing was all I needed. I wasn¡¯t completely sure on the exact specifics, but I had my next spell in mind. The iron door hadn¡¯t budged when I¡¯d tried to open it. However, whatever had held it in place when I¡¯d tried to move it seemed to have bent out of place when it had warped from the freezing gas. The faint breeze between this room and the orcneas drawing room was causing the iron door to sway. I prodded the door open with my sword, spellbook (as ever) at the ready. I didn¡¯t dare the doorhandle for fear of setting off the trap once more, and was crouched low just in case it went off anyway. The door opened out onto an empty hallway, just under fifty or so feet in length. My jack-o¡¯-lanterns scraped the walls on both sides to be sure, but there was nothing. Such was the price of exploration. The portcullis was my last easy avenue of exploration, then. It was I shame I¡¯d been so distracted by, well, everything because I could have used my blades to lift the portcullis while I¡¯d been recording my spell. The thought hadn¡¯t even crossed my mind until this very moment. Magic Swords II I summoned my new swords instead. They would be handy to have at the ready regardless. I wasn¡¯t about to try to lift the portcullis unassisted. The sun rose. XXVII - King of Despair The sun had risen twice in under two hours. My spells were returned to me. I could feel the question in the air, the next spell waiting and ready to be written. What was going on? Had the separation from the rift damaged time itself? At the current rate I¡¯d be dead in three or four years from old age even if the dungeon didn¡¯t kill me. There was no sudden growth I could notice. My fingernails and hair were... well, to be fair they were as long and strange as they¡¯d been since I¡¯d found the druid stone. I wasn¡¯t sure how fast they were supposed to grow, how I would tell, or if they even did grow. My life sense hadn¡¯t noticed anything either however. No sudden lurching of growth of roots or mosses. Surely I¡¯d see something if a day¡¯s growth happened all at once. Unless time was simply moving twenty or thirty times as fast, in which case, would I notice a change in the size of any plants? I wasn¡¯t sure. Maybe if there were flowers I could see them opening and closing, but then again, if there were flowers I could just watch the sun. Or suns. I wasn¡¯t about to record my new spell just yet, not while I had my sword- unless... I briefly considered recording the clothing spell while manipulating my swords but ultimately decided against it. My master would have whipped my hide for that spell. Not only were combination spells like that much harder to write, but they were basically impossible to scale. They were dangerous too. It was very easy to lose control of the plethora of simultaneous events, or be caught off guard by an unexpected interaction between constituent elements of the spell. On top of that, spells could only target the caster or anything else. It was possible to cast spells on spells, or record spells being cast while recording spells and get around that limitation, but it required starting recording before casting the spell not after. Instead I sent my invisible twin blades ahead to lift the portcullis. Floating lights, bright as candles, marked their passage. Together they were able to lift the wooden portcullis, though not without difficulty. This was due more to getting a proper grip on the gate and coordinating the lifting to be simultaneous rather than due to the weight of the gate, but that said, I wasn¡¯t sure if a single blade would have been able to lift the gate on its own. A long hallway awaited me. It was perhaps a hundred or so feet long, with a passage to my left and a doorway about four fifths of the way down its length. I ignored the door and check the passage first. A continuation of the hallway which split almost immediately to my left and right once more. The right hand path was a doorway, the left hand path a long hall ending in a panelled mechanism of some sort. Standing at the junction it became clear that the two halls stretching ahead of me were parallel in both direction direction and length. The room had a secondary entrance, a secret one. The door closest to me was wood, and the other was stone. I elected to go through neither for the time being. Instead I made my way down the second hallway to the mechanism at its end. It was a simple counter weight attached to some ropes leading into the walls and ceiling. A short tug on one of the ropes caused the stone panel to swing back towards me, revealing the room I¡¯d just come through. A new door way, trap free, and easy to open. I could rest a bit easier without my swords. Plus, I still had two sword spells available to me. I wasn¡¯t used to thinking in terms of my spells refreshing this often. I could afford to be more cautious. I¡¯d survived days without water before. A few hours delay would be nothing. I stood in silence, spellbook and sword in hand. When I moved, my clothing and gear moved with me. When I ran it ran with me. Jumped and it was the same. We were inseparable in that moment. A moment which lasted an hour. When the hour ending, my clothing was still on me. Clothes¡¯ Hanger: The caster¡¯s gear remains on him and follows him wherever he goes for an hour. At the end of the hour the clothing remains on him. The spell nearly slipped from my grasp as I was adding the final flourishes to the rune. It was a good thing there were no other Magi about to read the rune from my corpse. I¡¯d never live down the embarrassment of being killed by failing to inscribe such a ridiculous spell. The power to direct the whirlwind and I was using it to hang clothes on myself I was already wearing. I was being facetious of course. Such spells were actually quite common when trying to get a specific effect. Sometimes a mage might spend weeks preparing the component parts of a spell before they all coalesced into a spell of flight, or one which could build a house on the spot, or drill a well complete with winch operated bucket. But the even for those masters the jokes about their component spells never ended, and they never stopped feeling a little silly about it. It was part of the wonder of magic. *** Magic Swords The wooden door had been stuck. Had been. It now sported a wizard sized hole. The hole carving had gone surprisingly smoothly. Far from the normal crashing as I tore through a door, this had been quieter than a lumberjack splitting wood. The loudest part of the hole procedure had been when the bottom of the door had fallen free from the rest and clattered to the floor. A sliding door. One which slid up. I guess that explained the lack of hinges. I¡¯d been wondering about that. I sent my lights in to light up-ah. The downside of the operation going so smoothly and quickly was that it was over before I¡¯d had a glimpse beyond the door. It didn¡¯t help that I¡¯d been standing at the far end of the hallway to do so, just in case I triggered any traps. The entire room was to the right of the door, which only afforded me a basic view of the place from afar. A treasure chest, directly in front of the door, plainly in view. Not a travelling chest or clothing chest or anything of the sort. Jewels spilled from the top of the bronze plated surface, and gold coins patterned the floor about it. Fit for a king or the hoard of a dragon. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Beside it was a grand wall of text boldly proclaiming ¡°The Spear of Despair shall be destroyed when blades pierce the sky and the Golden Gate opens.¡± Which had the ring of prophecy to it. You know, vague and only useful in retrospect. It was when I drew closer I noticed the well, which promised salvation, and its guardian, which did not. I was really starting to get sick of running into the Mushroom-King. Oh, it¡¯s you. Leave me be. I can¡¯t deal with you right now. Too much. Too much. Never a moment¡¯s rest. His voice sounded off, even in my head. Morose. Strained. He sounded exhausted. Even stranger, now that I was paying close attention to him, I could see he was flickering. Sudden bursts of green in my life sight. Just lie down. Go away. Leave me alone. Just a moment to myself and I¡¯ll be fine. I could feel the words worming their way into my head. Pushing me. Influencing me. ¡°Stop that.¡± I sent one of my swords in a sweeping blow through his cap. The blade skidded across the surface, lightly scratching him, but doing little else. I stepped back, startled. How strong was he? Despite the ineffectiveness of my blow the mushroom king twisted and writhed like I¡¯d pierced his heart. No! Please. Please! Not today. Not today of all days. Why is it always on the worst possible day? I can¡¯t think straight. Can¡¯t think straight enough to explain why. But I¡¯m right. I¡¯m right! Why doesn¡¯t anybody trust me? He was still doing it. ¡°Stop trying to control my mind, or the next blade goes through your eye.¡± Golden tears welled in those same golden eyes. I don¡¯t-I don¡¯t know what to do. What do you want from me? Why is it always what you want from me? What about what I want? The whole world is so selfish so... please don¡¯t stab my eye. Please. I just... I just want a moment¡¯s rest. The sun rose. The Mushroom-King didn¡¯t react. I tried not to. He was on edge, clearly. Sudden actions would not be in my favour. People caught in throes of anguish didn¡¯t tend to like surprises. I doubted mushrooms did either. ¡°I won¡¯t be a moment. I just want to fill my bags from the well. Shouldn¡¯t take more than half an hour. Plenty of time to rest after. Could be done faster if we don¡¯t have to argue.¡± After. After! It¡¯s always after. Just do this and then you can rest. Just do that and then you can rest. There is always something else. Always a new demand. Why me? Why am I the one who has to serve the endless tides of other¡¯s demands? On and on until I die. I recognized this line of thought. I¡¯d had it myself at times. Moments in my life, sometimes lasting years, where everything went wrong and more importantly, nothing went right. Even friends and family abandoned you or were abandoned. The difference could be hard to tell. A proffered hand left you flinching, so used to the strike. I wracked my brain for what to say. For what I¡¯d have want said in those times. All words were poisonous barbs when you suffered, all comforts were false and shallow. When you were in the grips of despair, people didn¡¯t want you better, they wanted you to stop bringing down their mood. Selfish all the way down. At least, that was how it felt. ¡°Is there anything I can do to help?¡± I regretted the words the moment they left my mouth. I knew what was coming next. You can leave me alone. I just need a moment to catch my breath. Please. The problem with asking is you got answers. And the problem with helping, was if it was genuine, you had to respect them. I could say I wasn¡¯t going to do that, and trust of me would be broken. I could say I didn¡¯t think it would help, and the Mushroom-King would ¡®be proven right¡¯ that I didn¡¯t trust him. I could say ¡°I couldn¡¯t do that, because I need water¡±, but I¡¯d offered to help him. He¡¯d immediately see that my offer had come from a place of selfishness, and he¡¯d be right. When you didn¡¯t give a person what they requested, you were telling them "I know better than you". You were making ¡°fixing¡± them more important than their autonomy. It was dehumanizing. De-mushroomnizing. Whatever. I now had a choice. Prove the Mushroom-King right, or leave, and trust him to recover. I left. Once I could no longer sense his weirdly flickering presence I let myself think about the situation. I didn¡¯t trust him, but he was clearly able to read minds to a certain extent. I could come back later and attempt to... kill him? Threaten him into submission? I could barely hurt him. It hadn¡¯t been a full powered swing, and perhaps his cap was strong than the rest of his body, but another mistake might be my last. I remembered how easily the first Mushroom-King had sequestered me, and dominated me, mind and body. Plus I didn¡¯t want to kill someone in cold blood. I didn¡¯t even want to think about it, but he had water and I didn¡¯t. If he was so burdened he was of no use to me alive... I didn¡¯t like where that thought was going. He¡¯d not been kind to me before. Cruel even. A tyrant. A slave master who wouldn¡¯t even let me die. But it was hard to think of the various aspects of him as the same entity. The harem Mushroom-King had been right about that. Different reflections of an unknowable core. I suppose that meant even if I ¡°killed¡± the mushroom I wasn¡¯t actually killing the underlying structure. Maybe it was giving him brain damage. Maybe it was more like killing a thought or a dream. I hadn¡¯t forgotten the message on the wall. Blades piercing the sky. The spear of despair. It meant something. My magic blades and the Mushroom-King¡¯s despair. Almost certainly. There was no sky in the dungeon however. Even Elysium hadn¡¯t had a proper sky and I had no idea how to set about piercing it. As for the Golden Gates? I¡¯d heard stories about the Golden Gates, or a place called such. They guarded a well of annihilation. The history of any object which fell into the well was undone, and the universe changed to match. There were two major problems if those were indeed the gates. Firstly, they sounded like gates which should remain closed. If the nature of the universe could be rewritten such that something had never been, then nothing would ever be. Everything would eventually find its way into the well. Secondly, they didn¡¯t exist. They were a story. A thought experiment. A parable. If the spear was metaphorical, perhaps the gates were too. No further insights came to me with that thought. Without further inspiration I wasn¡¯t going to get past the Mushroom-King. For now, I¡¯d try the stone door I¡¯d passed on my way over here. Perhaps there would be some sky on the other side of it. Then, once my spell ran out, I¡¯d see about writing a new one. I didn¡¯t bother with the handle. Not while I had my swords available. I just sent the blades to batter against the stone. The door withstood my assault, but the housing for the bar shattered. I moved until the door was no longer visible, hopefully out of its arc of fire, and then used my blades to push it open. The noise didn¡¯t go unnoticed. Claws on stone. Scratching. Skittering. Squeaking. Gnawing. The rats had returned. XXVIII - Wealth Beyond Compare I can defend you. If you are willing. My heart sunk. I glanced back through the newly open door. I¡¯d made a complete circle. The Mushroom-King and his harem waited beyond. The rats had slowed their advance. Not stopped, but they were wary, careful. Cunning. Dangerous in that sideways rodent way. Willing to fight, but always coming at you from the shadows, striking when attention was elsewhere. ¡°For what price?¡± The same as before. We make a trade. Knowledge for knowledge. Knowledge for desire. Healing? I can sense that you are wounded. I sent my lights among the rats, which caused them to shy back, and snap at the will-o¡¯-wisps. Perhaps a dozen rats. No-- thirteen. It would be thirteen in a warlock¡¯s dungeon. I could take thirteen on my own. Magic Swords There was a tug. A swirling black sun gnawed and pulled at the edges of reality, and then spun away into a burning corona of shadows. My spell leapt from my book and then returned, victorious in an unseen struggle. The swords appeared as well. The spell was cast, but it had nearly been lost. Something had saved it. The druid stone? Whatever the cause, I now had four invisible blades at my disposal against thirteen rats. The rats were large, averaging two feet long, some of them two and a half. An unarmoured man would been in danger even in a well lit open space. An armed and armoured man might slay them, but later succumb to their bites. My swords destroyed them in four passes. I see. The offer of safety still stands. Of water? I can exert some influence over the sloth across the hall. I looked behind me at the Mushroom-King, and then down the hall to where the other Mushroom-King was. Across the hall indeed. They were less than a hundred feet apart. There had only been the one on the first floor, but at least three here. I wondered what attracted them to an area. Did they have a choice? The outline of the ¡°sloth¡± Mushroom-King flickered briefly in my life sight. The sun rose. I jumped. My mind was still on the rats, still twitching and dying in front of me. I hadn¡¯t even had a chance to write a new spell. ¡°Can you feel that?¡± The Mushroom-King... well he didn¡¯t really raise an eyebrow seeing as he didn¡¯t have any. His eye widened and his brow furled on one side, which conveyed the same idea. The endless risings of the sun? Only through your mind. You want to know if they are real. If time truly is passing. My mind. He could read my mind. I knew that. Why was that- I retreated. Ran from him without so much as a backwards glance. I¡¯d had an idea. One which couldn¡¯t be shared. He¡¯d atta- no best not to think even that yet. I ran ¡®round the corner and down the hall to the secret entrance of the ice fogged room. The door had reset, so I pulled on the rope once more, and squeezed through the still opening gap before it finished. I¡¯d died when I¡¯d met the first Mushroom-King. My spells had failed me, put a hole in my brain. The Mushroom-King had brought me back. He¡¯d brought me back by putting a mycilial mesh in my brain. The mind reading had reminded me of it. He was a master of the mind, able to dominate where the warlocks instead severed bonds. I¡¯d escaped his control by eating the dryad. Taking control of the patch in my brain. The druid stone had later integrated it into my being. What I¡¯d realized in the Mushroom-King¡¯s harem, what I¡¯d dared not think until now, was that the mycelium had been part of him. A miniature Mushroom-King all my own in a way. In fact, all the Mushroom-Kings may have at one point been other beings who had made similar bargains to mine. Now there was a terrifying thought. I was dancing around the issue. Afraid to even admit it, lest he somehow hear me, but if he had he already had all the pieces he needed to put it together. I could control the Mushroom-King with my dryad-like powers, even if I couldn¡¯t see him. I could make him wither away, or cut him off at the roots. I could force him to use his own powers against himself, collapse the ceiling on his head, tear himself apart. At least, I thought I could. It may be that his own control over his body would override mine, or that the fruiting body in the seat of his power was different from the tiny structure in my brain, but I had a chance there. And that was only part of the reason I¡¯d fled. The deal had been another. He hadn¡¯t offered a deal, but he¡¯d been about to, I was sure of it. Knowledge of the many suns in exchange for something. Something trivial on my part for something magnanimous on his end. I knew how these deals went. It didn¡¯t matter what he offered if he lied, or didn¡¯t intend to keep it. That was the downside to megalomania. Even if you gave no indication of duplicitousness, there was no reason for people to suspect otherwise. He acted in his interest and his interest alone. Or at least the first one had, and the others were still part of that same whole. That led to third reason I¡¯d fled. Another method for dealing with the Mushroom-King. The sad one, not the harem one. The risk was that the harem one could alert the sad one. It was getting a little confusing to keep track of them all. The Despair-King perhaps. And the Harem-King, counter-respectively. I still thought of the first as the original Mushroom-King. That or the Slave-King. He¡¯d left an impression. The rats had given me the idea, as had nearly losing the spell. Warlocks. What did warlocks have? Dark magic. What did I have? Hasting Stasis. If I understood dark magic right, I could give the Despair-King all the time alone he desired, and still have as much time as I needed to draw water from the well and even help myself to his treasure. The treasure in front of him, anyway. I probably wasn¡¯t above theft. Not when the stakes were so high. Not from the creature who had tried to make me its eternal slave. But that assumed he owned it the first place. That the Mushroom-King didn¡¯t simply sprout up where he pleased and take the room for himself. I doubted the warlocks would have left him alone, and I likewise doubted he¡¯d carried that treasure there himself after they¡¯d severed the connection between Bleakfort and the rest of the dungeon. I wanted to be ready before I faced him, wanted to take advantage of these endless suns. It had been ingrained in me from a young age to record one spell a day, rain or shine. Missing even one of these false suns like I had didn¡¯t sit right with me. Maybe it didn¡¯t matter as much when there was three suns an hour (or so it seemed, they weren¡¯t consistent), but maybe taking advantage of each of them was the only way I¡¯d survive the lower reaches of the dungeon. It would only get more dangerous from here. That and I had a huge backlog of spells to create. I cast Clothes¡¯ Hanger and Safe Teleport in quick succession. I teleported across the room, steering wide of the pyramid. When I reappeared, my clothing was still on me, my spell book still in hand, my sword still at my belt. True Teleport: The caster and his gear moves 150 ft over the course of eight seconds, but does not exist in the intervening space. Finally. It was still a slow teleport, but that was one of the harder details to manage without a horse or very carefully jumping off a cliff. If I truly thought it necessary I could try the well or that elevator shaft the emperor¡¯s knights had risen up. I returned to the hall outside the room of the Despair-King. Magic Swords I was ready. The swords were insurance, not truly part of the plan. I also held my rusted blade in my left hand on the off chance my spells failed me. My right held my spellbook. I moved until I was hugging the wall and then peeked slowly around the frame. The Despair-King was faced away from me, cap twisted, looking down. Faint whispering mutterers, separate from the voices of the dark magic in my head, danced with the rune behind my eyes. I couldn¡¯t make out what he was saying. Not without concentrating. I didn¡¯t know how his mind reading worked, but it seemed like focusing on him would be a bad idea. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Hasting Stasis I called the words into my mind. Coaxed them. Feed them like I¡¯d feed kindling into a fire. Like a fire the flames grew. Swelled. Faster and faster, spreading in every direction. My mind was aflame. The humming of the druid stone within me screamed as my being caught fire, as it was consumed by dark magic. The feeling faded as suddenly as it had appeared. It was new. I¡¯d not felt that before when casting spells. It had left something in it¡¯s wake. A black stain across my mind. A dark flame burned there. Whispers leapt from it. Called to me. Begged for release. A font of magic. Each whisper a new spell I could call into being at will. Convenient, but there would be a price. There was always a price. You couldn¡¯t reach into a fire without being burned. I don¡¯t think the change, whatever it was, had affected my mind. Not directly. Instead, it felt like the dark magic, one ephemeral and evanescent, had taken root in my mind. I¡¯d had the option to ignore it before, but I¡¯d used it, again and again, and that had carved channels in my brain. At least, that was my suspicion. The whole thing could have been a last minute attack by the Mushroom-King. The lashing out of whichever parts of him were unaffected by the stasis. And the stasis had worked despite the surge of dark magic. The Despair-King was rocking about rapidly in place, lunging from position to position, a dozen hours passing for every second outside his prison. And prison it seemed to be. He never turned to face me, never changed tack or command the earth about him. The colour of his golden body slowly faded. Aging, I supposed. He never even seemed to notice. I forced myself to stop watching. I didn¡¯t know how long the stasis would last or if it would alert the other aspects of the Mushroom-King. Hopefully it would just give him the time alone he claimed he desired. I wasn¡¯t going to count on it. The well, while possessing both winch and rope, turned out to be lacking the most vital component: the bucket. A quick search of the room turned up nothing leaving me with the options of fashioning my own from the Despair-King or his chest of treasure. Given that the Despair-King probably wouldn¡¯t fit down the well, and I wasn¡¯t sure even my enhance strength could lift him, I decided to try the chest first. First I¡¯d need to empty it. The top layer was jewels and gold as I¡¯d seen before¡ªwonderful in other circumstances, worthless here. Stuck (suspiciously mind you) to some of the gold was another lodestone, a smaller version of the one I already possessed. it skittered away from my fingers when I reached for it, spun about about on top of the pile of treasure, and then leapt into my fingers. I¡¯d forgotten about that. I didn¡¯t have much use for another lode stone, but not only was this one smaller, it appeared to be stronger than the one in my pouch. I managed to open my pouch and set the dream seed aside without spilling everything or breaking open the newly forming scabs on my chest. I tried briefly to shake the large lodestone free from my fingers, and after the stars cleared I decided to scrape the lodestones free instead. One with the flap of my pouch and the other with the side of the chest¡ªin order to avoid any sort of throwing motion. The initial layer of treasures concealed the true treasure of the chest: Someone¡¯s lunch. A large haunch of smoked meat, a pouch of eggs, several large mushrooms, and a chain of sausages all tumbled about freely with the rest of the chests contents. The sausages and the eggs looked like they¡¯d gone off, but the others were in good condition. I wasn¡¯t sure if I was brave enough to try them, but it had been a while since I¡¯d eaten anything but salted fish. No. No I couldn¡¯t risk them. Not yet. It had only been... my sense of time had been completely disregulated by the endless sunrises, near death experiences, and erupting volcano, but it had probably only been a quarter of a day since I¡¯d last eaten. I set the food outside the Despair-King¡¯s layer just in case. He had the means to retrieve it, but if he didn¡¯t, and I ended up not finding other food or my way back, it was there. I could only hope the rotting eggs wouldn¡¯t taint my water. Next I emptied a large brass bell and a small metal whistle. Neither were of use to me as making sound was in general the opposite of what I should be striving to do, even if I had failed in that endeavour. That left two bottles, a heavy coin wrapped in a map, and a grappling hook. Convenient. I could use the hook to attach the chest to the rope. Somehow. My first thought was to embed the hooks into the chest with my magic swords and then tie the rope to the loop at the back of the grapple, but I wasn¡¯t sure if it would hold. Then I realized I was being silly and I could just tie the rope around the handles and ignore the hook altogether. Then I realized that the handles of the chest had been broken at some point. The hinge was still quite strong, so I fed the rope between chest and lid, and then secured it to the grappling hook on the other end. Now all I had to do was carry the heavy chest to the well, throw it in, and winch it out, all with two holes in my chest. Levitate I¡¯d never truly appreciated the exercise of recording my everyday activities until now. My master had (tried) to drill into my head that I wouldn¡¯t always be able to do things I did now. Best to save them while I could so I¡¯d have them when I was older. There must have been hundreds of actives in my spell book, saved for that rainy day in the far off future when I grew too old and my body failed me. All lost now. The sun rose. I nearly teleported in surprise. You¡¯d think I¡¯d be getting used to that by now, but the experience was so alien I didn¡¯t have a frame of reference to adapt to. The rising and setting of the sun was foundational. Even on the darkest days the sun still rose, even during my blackest moods it still shone. That was gone. It was happening frequently enough though that I could take advantage of it. Healing spells were normally a nightmare to make, and the nature of the dungeon destroying my spell progress had made that fact doubly so, but now I had a chance. I glanced at the Despair-King. The stasis was still holding, but I couldn¡¯t be sure for how much longer. I¡¯d get my water first. I might miss a sunrise in the process, but it would be worth it. *** By my best estimate it took less than half an hour to empty my water flasks, rinse them out, and fill them with water from my leaky and levitating bucket. My chest and arms were burning by the end of it. My chest for obvious reasons, and my arms because of the awkward angles I was compelled to hold them at while manipulating the waterskins in order to reduce pain to my chest. I left the chest just outside the door of the room along with the meats, in case I needed to return for more water. The map and two vials I took into my hands along with my spellbook to be studied further. I didn¡¯t go far. The room with the torture pearamid and shattered stone was my destination. The sun could rise again at any moment. It had already been half an hour, and in the previous hour the sun had risen what felt like three times. I needed to write my next spell before then. I placed my map and vials on the floor and withdrew my wax crayon. I sat, keenly aware of the throbbing in my chest. I focused on it, let the pain wash over. Let the pain be. It wasn¡¯t my intention, but my pain actually faded a little as a result, as if it had needed to be experienced, demanded my attention, and, having received it, left me, content in a job well done. It rose again a moment later, and I felt it again, and it receded. Waves crashing on the shore. In and out with the tide. Fight the tide and I¡¯d be destroyed, overwhelmed with pain, ride it, and relief and pain would come in their own time. An hour passed slowly, yet I never once grew restless or bored. Voices called to me from the darkness, whispers screamed in my mind, and I ignored them. In and out. In and out. Lesser Heal: The caster¡¯s body heals an hour¡¯s worth of injuries over the course of an hour. The whispers had returned early on while I was recording. They weren¡¯t harder to ignore (They were by no means easy to ignore) but they were more... solid? It was the best word I had for it. There had been a price for casting that stasis spell. Plasma Torrent It was a suggestion more than a demand. The spell before it had been much the same. I could have chosen not to take on the burden of either spell. The more spells I held in my mind, the more I became aware of a sort of pressure. I wasn¡¯t sure what the nature of the pressure was, but I bet the warlocks did. There had to be a reason they were known for casting their magic about so freely. But Plasma Torrent put me in mind of my Lightning Cascade and that seemed like something I wanted to have stored for winter. Plus I¡¯d been recording at the time. Rather than think about the decision it had been easier to accept the whispers much like I¡¯d accepted the pain and focus my concentration on my Lesser Heal instead. Like my Clothes¡¯ Hanger before it, the spell did little on it¡¯s own. It would be in the coming days, or coming sunrises, that I¡¯d truly start gaining ground with the spell. I turned my attention to the objects I¡¯d brought with me from the chest. The map was the most exciting and the most disappointing. I¡¯d hoped for even the barest hint of an outline of my surroundings, but it quickly became clear the map was of the Delta. The coin was large and had a silver-white sheen to it. While while it did tug on my hand very gently, it didn¡¯t manage to stick to it. I didn¡¯t have enough experience with riches to be sure, but it might have been made of platinum. Worth a fortune, I was sure, but too heavy to bring with me if it didn¡¯t reveal other properties, which it didn¡¯t. The potion of ¡°Pincers¡± I put into the space switching lodestones had provided in my pouch. The other bottle I unstoppered and carefully wafted towards my face. Alcohol. Liquor of some kind. I poured a bit on the floor to no reaction. Perhaps if I tasted it, it would reveal magical properties. Perhaps I¡¯d keel over dead and go blind. I left the bottle on the floor. The chests contents had been disappointing, but the water, the water was strength; I could wet my lips, stretch aching muscles, the water was thought; I could ease the pounding in my head, let myself think, the water was magic; I could stop and record whatever spells I needed to overcome whatever obstacles the dungeon threw at me. The water was a wealth beyond compare. The water was life. XXIX - Llamhigyn Y Dwr I was stuck. I¡¯d been through every door, and seen every room. The only other paths available to me lead through lava. I might be able to deal with the lava in time, either by dint of true magic or dark magic. Piercing Shield already might be enough to return. But that was assuming lava would be my only obstacle. The bath room had had one wall explode, there would be others. Landslides, collapsed ceilings, hallways filled with stone¡ªbetter to find another way through. The warlocks¡ªor whomever they¡¯d stolen the fortress from¡ªclearly like their secret passages. I could afford to spend some time searching this room and the room full of rubbish and bones. The others were either too hot or too full of hostile creatures to dare attempt. If it came to it I might try summoning Tom. I wasn¡¯t sure how much time to give to each section of wall. The room was large and tall enough I couldn¡¯t quite reach the ceiling, even if I dared raise my hands all the way above my head. A secret like the fungal trap door would take me seconds to find, whereas the stone panel into this very room might remain hidden after half an hour of scrutiny of the correct section of wall. I decided to do it in several passes. A quick visual loop of the room, running my hands along the wall (which had the added benefit of feeling if the space beyond contained lava), followed by a scan with my life sight (now that I was paying attention, the stone panel actually contained a thin layer of moss all along its edge), and finally a slower scan into I went mad with boredom. The later stages of my plan were scrapped almost instantly as it turned out the pearamid concealed a small wooden door behind it by shear virtue of its size and nothing else. Magic Swords I hid behind the pyramid in turn as my swords tore into it, ready for the next set of darts to come flying towards me. The lock gave before the door under a single assault of the blades, opening the door rather than tearing it down. I soon found myself in another hexagonal room. This one had been decorated with spiralling arms of black stones radiating from the centre like a whirlpool. At the edge opposite to me and to my left was a large kiln, beside it was a box of coal. I¡¯d had to scrape and beg and bargain for the handful of torches I¡¯d managed to gather, and the three I had had been given begrudgingly. All I¡¯d wanted was to record a fire, and now, before I had my chance, I¡¯d stumbled across this. Funny how things went. I didn¡¯t have room for the coal at them moment, but I¡¯d happily make this room my new base given the opportunity. The room contained two exits. A sturdy looking wooden door to my right, and an open archway straight ahead of me leading from one of the corners of the hexa¡ªhang on. I¡¯d come in through a door set in the centre of a wall. I quickly counted the walls. A heptagon then. Seven was a powerful number in a number of schools of thought. Combined with the stones it was highly likely this was a ritual chamber or amplification chamber. I¡¯d have to be careful not to disturb the stones. I didn¡¯t want another volcanic eruption. I went straight for the archway, eyes on the stones, hands on my spellbook. Unfortunately that meant neither my hands nor my eyes were paying attention to the tripwire until my foot when straight through it. I didn¡¯t try to be fancy and combine spells. I didn¡¯t try to be clever and stay around to find out what was happening. The moment I stumbled on the wire, before the hissing of gas even reached my ears, I¡¯d cast True Teleport. The only path available to me in time to react was directly ahead of me. One moment I was in a heptagon surrounded by black spiralling stones, the next in a large natural looking chamber. The walls were wet and smooth. Grey uncarved limestone or dolomite. Dripping water. Stalactites hanging from the ceiling. Clearly a natural cave the carvers of the dungeon had stumbled upon and decided not to brick up. A fire burned in the corner opposite me; behind me, after my teleport. It was a door, with just a trace of rock rubble edging through it. Deep red lines ran through the rubble. Lava. The fire and colour hadn¡¯t been my first clue. I could feel the heat even over here on the other side of the room. The walls by the fire and lava were sweating. Thick runnels of water ran down them¡ªthe sun rose¡ªalmost melting. I blinked. Another sunrise. I¡¯d have to ignore it. The ceiling looked like it had collapsed in several areas. I wasn¡¯t about to write a spell in a collapsing cavern. I¡¯d heard lava could form caves and tunnels, but this seemed wrong. The geology of the room didn¡¯t make sense. How could a place which couldn¡¯t stand a few hours contact next to a small pile of lava have existed inside a volcano? The implications were disturbing. Had the volcano been introduced after? Could dark magic do that? Could true magic? I supposed it must be possible. Nothing was meant to be off limits. But still, an entire volcano? It might be easier to imagine the cave was transported here. Or two separate realms were brought together in a manner opposite the Bleakfort rift. Why anyone would do that, well, most things were lost to time. Perhaps this cavern had held a nice cave painting someone wanted nearer their office. I didn¡¯t linger. There were two door-less doorways available to me. The second looked like it had been blasted open in an explosion. I took the first. Partially because it felt safer, but mostly because it was closer. I knew too well now how looks could be deceiving. The room beyond was filled with sand. Not a dusting of sand, but great dunes and mounds. Piles of it rose and fell. Shields poked out from the sand here and there, all of them broken. The largest pile of them was in front of the door to my left. Unlike the other rooms I¡¯d been in, it was obvious to see how the shields had been broken. In the centre of the room was a dragon. As dragons went it was disappointing. It was large, sure, gigantic even, but it lacked all a dragon¡¯s majesty. It had toad¡¯s head and a toad¡¯s body, and all of a toad¡¯s squat regard. It had no legs, just a pair of grasping wings coming from its shoulders like a bat¡¯s. It would have been as wide as it were long, if it were not for its tail; a cross between a lizard¡¯s a scorpion¡¯s, complete with stinger. It was nearly twice the length of the body itself, and the body was already two to three times my height from nose to rear. The moment it spotted me its great tail coiled beneath it, and its foreleg-wings lifted its lumpen body around and low to face me. I recognized that stance. The great frogs had entered a similar one just before they leapt to attack. I spun around and cast True Teleport. The sunrise had given me back my spell, and I was going to use it. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. I missed what happened next, seeing as I hadn¡¯t existed for the past eight seconds, but I could put the pieces together. Sand billowed in from the creature¡¯s room and it was croaking like a lion, trying to squeeze through the doorway. Its body was malleable enough that it was making progress. Stalactites littered the floor near the doorway, snapped, scattered, and fallen. The toad-dragon¡¯s eyes locked on to me as I cast my gaze about. I¡¯d only teleported about half way across the room. I¡¯d left a will-o¡¯-wisp behind me, so I could have teleported all the way, but I¡¯d been worried about the poisonous gas. I realized my mistake only after it was too late. Before I could react its tail came shooting out from under it towards me like a quarrel. It hit me in the chest, thankfully in one of the areas I still had armour, and sent me flying back into the room with the kiln and the gas. The pain from the impact filled my vision with so many white dancing stars it was black, and I nearly passed out. Amazingly, I managed to keep my feet while running backwards over the black stones. My luck gave out on me as I approached the centre of the room. I was moving mostly under my own power at this point, but as I continued to back up my heel clipped a stone and I stumbled over onto my back. It was a gentle fall, all things considered. My chest still screamed like it had been stuck with red hot pokers (for a second time), but I wasn¡¯t in any danger. Not from the fall anyway. It was only then I smelled the gas. The force of my passage must have pushed it out of the way up until now. I guess it was too much to hope that it had dispersed. Laughter. The thought came to me like lightning. I couldn¡¯t see much more than straight up, preventing another teleport to get me out of here. But I could hear. I could hear the toad-dragon thrashing around, which was not a place I wanted to teleport. I could hear moans and the rattling of chains in the distance, but they were too far away. The walls laughed. That faint laughter was enough. Teleport I appeared naked and upright in the doorway between the kiln room and the cavern. There had been no time to sort through my spellbook for the correct spells to keep my gear. Opposite me, The toad-dragon was still straining at the doorway to the cavern, but it had failed to make much, if any, progress. I¡¯d learned my lesson. Even from the other side of the room its tail could reach me, so the moment I appeared a threw myself sideways in a roll towards the doorway oozing lava. I was gasping from the pain as I pulled myself back up to my feet. I couldn¡¯t breath. It was too hot. The air felt thick. My deeper breaths only served to tug on the wounds in my chest. The giant toad creature had noticed me by now, or heard my laboured breathing. Its tail lunged towards me and I flinched back, but it fell well short. It shrieked at me, a sound I felt more than heard, though what I heard I¡¯d heard nothing like. My vision began to run. Lights flashed into existence all around me without illumination. Shadows formed looming figures which slunk away into the corners of my vision. The toad-dragon¡¯s features warped and twisted, growing long fangs and burning eyes. My hand, stretched out in front of me to ward off the sound, grew wicked claws, and the fingers became long and twisted. I blinked and the images were gone, replaced with new illusions, new sensations. Dread. Fear. The smell of burnt hair on my tongue. The toad-dragon swelled, drawing in breath for a second shriek. I sent my swords after it, slicing and stabbing. The creature didn¡¯t stand a chance wedged in the doorways as it was. Size and strength availed it nothing against invisible blades wielded by an unseen hand. If anything its size made it easier to target and its strength, so effective at wedging it in the doorway, was now responsible for holding it in place as I stabbed. The toad-dragon seemed to come to the same conclusion I had. It wrenched itself free from the doorway with an explosion of stone and the clattered of another half dozen stalactites, leaving skin and scales behind in its haste. I kept the swords at the door, forming a sort of wall as I circled back round to the entrance of the kiln. My will-o¡¯-wisps were heavily spread out at this point, ready for me to flee in any direction. I¡¯d have to flee on foot given my lack of spells, but even there my lights would help. A solitary will-o¡¯-wisp illuminated the toad-dragon. It was crouched back in the middle of its room, tail coiled under it, wings flexed. It was ready to spring. Its gaze was locked on me. I took a step back, and tensed myself in turn. Such were the layout of the three rooms that I could only see the toad-dragon (and therefore direct my swords) if I remained in range of its tail. If things were aligned just right I might be able to launch my assault from inside the kiln room and outside the toad-dragon¡¯s range, but then I¡¯d be standing in the poisonous gas. I just had to hope my swords kept it on the defensive. I doubted they could stop a full out assault from the creature. It was a delicate dance. My swords went in and began stabbing at its eyes, ears, and throat. It must have sensed some disturbance in the air, because it twisted at the last second from the attack to its eyes and my blade scraped along the ridge along the eyes instead, sending up sparks. The other attacks landed, leaving bloody tracks in its flesh. I couldn¡¯t tell from here how serious the wounds were, deserts abound I couldn¡¯t even tell what colour the blood was in the dim light, but it let out another one of its shrieks, so I¡¯d probably hit something vital. Unfortunately that meant I was blasted with the effects of another shriek. My limbs turned to stone, to bars of iron, and locked in place (Metaphorically. Once again, the limits of possibility were hard to determine in a warlock¡¯s dungeon). I was rooted in place (figuratively), unable to move (literally), and I simultaneously wanted to vomit and scream. Thankfully I shook off the effects almost instantly this time, either from inoculation due to exposure, or my injuries weakening the toad-dragon more than was immediately apparent. It took advantage of my brief time stunned by sending its tail my way once more. There was no time to react. Even if I hadn¡¯t been stunned the creature was just too fast. It made a viper look slow. While its speed was as fast as ever, its aim was not. The tail struck the ground between my legs, --the sun rose¡ªsending up chips of stone. That had been two sunrises in the space of a minute. They were accelerating. If I had my spell book I might have been able to take advantage of it. As it was, I barely noticed it, focused instead on standing my ground in the face of the toad-dragon¡¯s attack. If the dolomite fletchette spray had impacted more than my shin and knees, risen just a little higher, I might not have managed it. I brought my blades down and around, chopping at its tail. Only two managed to pierce its thick hide, the warts and nodules appeared almost like bone or rivets of steel, such was their strength. Of the two, only one went deep enough to severely harm the creature. It shrieked again and whipped its still extended tail at me. Neither attack was effective. I shook off the daze from the shriek long before its tail whiffed harmlessly in front of me, several feet off target. It slammed into the cavern wall instead with a loud boom. The stalactites quivered on the ceiling, but none I could see fell. If the toad-dragon was going to keep its tail extended, I was going to keep trying to sever it. None of my blows landed within the previous cut, but one of them managed to pierce through its armour regardless. It was a shallow wound, but still one which drew blood. At the very least I could bleed the monster to death. My next series of attacks were much the same, most of my blades bouncing harmless off, or skittering along the surface of its skin. I hoped I was giving it bruises. My light wounds were met with a counter attack of its own. It recoiled its tail, in what I thought was an attempt to protect itself. But as I before I could direct my blades to swoop around or go for the eyes instead, the tail lashed out again and this time it struck true. The stinger at the front was barely slowed by my armour, adding a third hole to my collection. I saw stars and then cavern ceiling rushing past. Then I saw a ceiling of cut stone and I was once more lying more or less in the centre of the room with the kiln in a pile of all my gear. The toad-dragon shrieked in triumph, and this time I felt it fully. My blades lashed out blindly as I thrashed on the floor. The toad-dragon let out another shriek, this one altogether different. Pain, perhaps? Both paralyzed me. Blinded me. I vomited, and then began to choke on the vomit. I couldn¡¯t move to save myself, could barely pull together the thought that I was in danger from something other than the ceiling above me opening into leering mouths which breathed fire. Thought was enough. Safe Teleport XXX - Fire and Sword I fell, landed in a pile of my own vomit. The air rushed out of me and my chest added bloody stars to my menagerie of hallucinations in protest. My focus had been too divided. It had been either the toad-dragon or the mouths on the ceiling above me as choices for destination. I¡¯d chosen the ceiling, which was a solid nine or ten feet above the ground where I now lay. But I¡¯d teleported free from the vomit, and that was the important thing. On the plus side, the gas had proven itself to be either slow acting or harmless. I was lying in a puddle of my own vomit, I was going to count what blessings I had. If the gas was harmless that meant I could fight the toad-dragon from the safety of the kiln room. I stood for the hundredth time that day. My will-o¡¯-wisps were still in position to faintly illuminate my surroundings, though the light from the burning door was making it hard to see into the room of the toad-dragon. Hard enough that I couldn¡¯t see the dragon itself. I squinted vainly against the gloom but it refused to give up its secrets. My swords slashed ineffectually at empty air. Had the toad-dragon gone? Had it hidden itself somehow? Was there another way out of its room or into my own? It had to get food somehow. I felt a strange tingle between my shoulder blades, like a tail spike was poised to strike right between them and through my heart. I spun (ow) and saw nothing. Images of the toad-dragon creeping up on my through the cavern flooded my mind and I spun (ow) again and saw nothing. I¡¯d always had good hearing, and I¡¯d thought it had caused me more woe than weal, but now I found myself wishing that among my many enhancements I¡¯d had one to my hearing. If only I could see just a little further. A plan sprang to mind. Slightly risky, because it involved an instant recording of a spell, but with the endless suns I was more willing to take the risk. For that I¡¯d need my spell book and for my spell book... I bent and began to rummage (ew) around in my pile of gear and vomit (ew again) for my book. My dagger stuck to the back of my hand in the process which didn¡¯t help matters, and tugging it off left a perfect opening for the toad-dragon to attack as I blinked sparkles from my eyes. The attack didn¡¯t come. I found my spellbook and thumbed through it for the appropriate page. Then I bundled all my things into my arms and cast my spell. True Teleport I felt that lurch I¡¯d felt once before when casting a spell. Like it was trying to be wrested from my grasp but whatever entity was trying had failed. This time it happened on route, in a state of non-existence, which did all sorts of things to my mind. If I hadn¡¯t already emptied my stomach I might have reappeared covered in vomit, if such a thing was even possible. It shouldn¡¯t have been possible to feel anything at all while I wasn¡¯t there, so who knew? I hadn¡¯t gone far. I appeared next to the coal bucket and kiln, gear still clutched in my hands. The vomit I¡¯d left behind, which had been the point of the exercise to begin with. I dropped the gear, keeping hold only on my spellbook, and then began digging through it for my pouch. I wasn¡¯t about to try getting dressed while the toad-dragon remained a potential threat. Not until I¡¯d seen its corpse, or I¡¯d proven a room proof against its efforts. I found my flint and steel and then was stuck. What was I going to use for tinder? I didn¡¯t have anything which would burn. My frozen flame might be able to start a fire on its own if it was cold enough, but the lava and fire from the cavern was keeping the kiln room fairly warm. That did make me wonder, would the frozen flame freeze lava if placed in it? I wasn¡¯t about to find out, but it was an interesting idea. The kiln might have some tinder. The warlocks would have needed a way to light it. I was betting even they weren¡¯t casting their spells at will. And they wouldn¡¯t always have the correct ones on hand, surely. You could. The whispers had never addressed me before. A chill came over me. Was here then at last the price of dealing with dark magic? I waited for the whispers to continue, but if there were more words they¡¯d faded back into the senseless morass from which they¡¯d came. But they¡¯d left behind a feeling. A knowing, even. A knowing that the spells were always there. That all I had to do was stop and listen to the ceaseless babbling in my mind, and pluck a whispering spell from its depths. That was two steps further than I was willing to go. I was already reticent to use dark magic at all, let alone seek it out for myself. The warlock¡¯s reassurances had wrung hollow since the twisting the stasis spell had wrought on me. It took several minutes but eventually I found the tinder. Then I had to see about carrying the coal skip. The skip itself looked relatively light, with handles on either side probably designed for two men to carry it. I could probably carry it by myself if it weren''t for the awkward shape and my injuries. As it was I had to empty it about three quarters of the way before I felt confident in carrying it, which I tested by gently rocking it from end to end. I made a little nest in the coal and put some of my tinder and larger kindling there. I placed the rest on the floor and began to strike at it with my flint and steel. I¡¯d never been good at fire starting, but the toad-dragon was polite enough to wait the ten or so minutes it took me to get the little bundle of sticks and straw burning. Once I judged it read I picked up the whole bundle and half dropped, half placed, it atop the other kindling in the bucket. The flames spread slowly, and then all at once, flames lapped at the edge of the bucket, died down, then roared up once more as new coal caught fire. I shovelled more coal on top and cast Levitate, bringing the flaming bucket into the air and waving it around. I sent it forward, bringing light to the cavern and the room beyond. The light wasn¡¯t ideal, especially with the lip of the skip in the way, but with my enhanced eyes it was enough to see by. A minute¡¯s cautious verification was enough to confirm my fears. The toad-dragon was gone. I kept the coals and their skip aloft as I crept forward, waved them about as I turned a slow circle in the cavern, and finally pressed myself against the only true corner in the room, on its opposite side out of sight of kiln and dragon¡¯s lair both. I¡¯d hold on for as long as I could. To my relief, a full hour passed without incident of any kind. I hadn¡¯t had to risk a quick spell recording after all. Fireball: A large fireball the size of a man¡¯s torso and hot as flaming coals burns hungrily over the course of an hour. It moves following the whims of its master. It was a good spell to have in a number of situations. If I¡¯d had it earlier my first encounter with the Mushroom-King might have gone more in my favour. The cost, of course, had been my other spells. My swords had faded a while before I¡¯d finished recording, though the jack-o¡¯-lanterns would last a while yet. I felt a strange sense of guilt not having worked on my healing spell. Sure, I¡¯d have liked to get it done, but it was my spell, and both fireball and healing served my needs, so I wasn¡¯t letting down others or even myself. I¡¯d keep an eye on the feeling. The toad-dragon had left, and I would have to enter its lair to determine how and why. I wasn¡¯t about to go in alone. Magic Swords Magic Swords II I now had four blades and twice as many lights at my beck and call. I sent a light to each of the not-on-fire exits in the cavern, another deeper into the kiln room, and yet another into the dragon¡¯s lair. The others I held near me in a loose cloud, some ahead some behind. If I needed to retreat, I¡¯d be able to in any direction. The only delay would be me turning to see each light. If they made sound I wouldn''t even have to turn. I¡¯d add the idea to the list of potential spells. I entered the toad-dragon¡¯s lair, three of my weapons fanned out in front of me, one behind. It was gone. Just to be sure I sent the swords down into the sand, stabbing at random. I had no idea how such a large creature would be able to bury itself so quickly, but I wasn¡¯t taking any chances. It was well I did. The toad-dragon erupted from the ground with a shrieking roar. I spun away from the monster, faster than thought. My eyes locked on my distant light and- Clothes Hanger -in the instant between one spell and the next I felt the swelling return of magic, the sun rising, causing me to stagger even as- Teleport -I was gone, back to the kiln room. The effects of the shriek caught up with me a moment later. As did the toad-dragon. The shadows were still leaping and leering at me when I heard a massive crash from back they way I¡¯d come. The toad-dragon was right behind me, its body filling the entire kiln room door and then some. I turned to see the doorway of the kiln room filled with the toad-dragon¡¯s body. Fireball The spell went off in the toad-dragon¡¯s face, hot enough that I could feel it from here. It shrieked, then shrieked again as it realized the ball of fire wasn¡¯t fading. Fireball II: A large fireball the size of a man¡¯s torso and hot as flaming coals burns hungrily over the course of an hour. It moves following the whims of its master. Fireball II A second flame joined the first, driving the toad-dragon back. I¡¯d instantly recorded the spell, panicking in the overstimulation brought by teleporting, shrieking and sunrise all in conjunction. As a result, I¡¯d had to carve the spell into my mind along with Teleport, adding another rune to the mix once more. I didn¡¯t even have my wax in hand. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. It was a relief in some sense that I could exert that much control over my body again, but it had been incredibly reckless. The spell, and rune, didn¡¯t feel right. It felt jumpy, and kept sliding out of view. There was no time for regrets at the moment. The fireballs seemed to have blinded the creature, but its thrashing alone was a danger to me. It might bring down the entire ceiling. I had to get out of here, and further, find more weapons. At the moment its body was between me and my swords. I headed for the pearamid, backing up hastily. Those drought-cursed stones. My heel caught another at the same moment the toad-dragon launched its tail in my direction. Somehow, despite the fire in its eyes and the darkness of the room I was in its tail hit me square in the chest. We were far enough apart that it was only enough force to make me stagger, and the blade didn¡¯t even pierce my hardened skin, but in conjunction with the stone behind my heel it made me fall. I was getting sick of getting back to my feet, but crawling was out of the question. Even rolling around onto my hands and knees was beyond me with my injuries. I scooted backwards on my rear end ¡®til I judged myself out of range of the toad-dragon and then rocked forward into a stand. All the while I maintained my fireballs on the creature¡¯s face, even when it retreated from them. Now that I was standing I was able to move to my right and see enough of the cavern to control my fireballs and force the toad-dragon to the left. This freed up my ¡°line of sight¡± on my invisible swords, which I sent after the toad-dragon once more once I figured out where they were. It was slow, brutal, and cruel, but I was able to follow it into the cavern and drive the creature into a corner to be stabbed and cut at at my leisure. Its eyes were already gone, one burned, the other destroyed completely by a lucky strike of my sword. It¡¯s tail was scored in a half dozen places. Blood wept from a dozen more wounds, especially along its sides where at it had torn through the doorway. It would take time, but I had won. The toad-dragon thought otherwise. It let loose a final shriek in my direction, one with enough power to fully stun me and send my runes-no, I tore my mind¡¯s eye away just in time, focusing on the shambling men the shriek had summoned into the room instead. The had eyes which burned with anger and faces like a demon¡¯s. They were tall, far taller than me, even when stooped over. They walked with two legs or two legs and their long arms as they chose, often switching rapidly between the two in an awkward gait to lurch suddenly closer. When they opened their mouths their teeth were the length of my fingers. I withdrew my swords into a semi-circle around myself, trying to match my movements. They had a penchant for slipping behind me and out of my line of sight. One wandered to close for comfort so I pulled back one of the fireballs to ward him off and... He vanished. He¡¯d never been real. I blinked rapidly. The shriek had made me hallucinate again, and I¡¯d let up the assault on the toad-dragon meaning-I rushed my fireball back to hold it in place, but it was too late. The toad dragon had already coiled its tail under itself and now it leapt blindly, flying full force into the ceiling. Where the frogs might have died from the impact, the toad-dragon wasn¡¯t even injured thanks to its thick hide and squat body. The entire room shook. What few of the of the stalactites hadn¡¯t already fallen did so now. The roof by the burning door had already been sagging. Now, like an overburdened cornice at the peak of a mountain, it collapsed, leading to an avalanche. There was a sinkhole falling towards me, spreading faster than I could run. My only saving grace was that I was far closer to the kiln room than the hole was to me. I made it with several seconds to spare. The toad-dragon tried to give chase, but the noise of thundering stone and snapping rocks, and its blind and burning eyes sent it leaping to the wrong side of the cavern. The ceiling collapsed across the doorway a moment later, blocking it from view. I patted myself down, partially to check for injuries, partially to see if I was still alive. I¡¯d survived. I¡¯d escaped with little more than a couple bruises and reopened chest wounds. They were leaking clear fluid, which I hoped was a good sign. My gear had been trapped in the kiln room with me which I was greatful for. Even with the holes in my gear and my hardened skin I didn¡¯t fancy wandering the halls naked any longer. For one thing there were far too many other people down here. All but one of my lights was trapped on the other side of the rubble. There were no cracks for them to come through, not even enough space to glimpse their glimmer. I went over to the kiln where my gear was, put my back to the wall, and slowly got dressed. My eyes stayed locked my eyes on the far door the whole while. The toad-dragon had shown it was able to get through doorways, and I didn¡¯t want it looping around and finding another route to catch me unawares. Hopefully the wounds I¡¯d dealt it would eventually bring it down. Magic Swords I only summoned the one pair this time. If I got separated from my swords again I didn¡¯t want to be caught off guard. I sent the swords to go work on the far door while I waited by the kiln. Their first combined blow shattered the lock and swung the door open in a single motion revealing a hallway. I sent one light left and one right while leaving the other behind to guard the kiln room. Likewise I sent a sword off in either direction. I was not going to face the that monstrous toad unarmed. Only once everything was in place, and my fingers were firmly threaded through my spell book¡¯s pages did I venture to peek carefully through the gap between the hinge and the door on one side, and around the bottom of the frame on the other. To the right the hallway ended after thirty or so feet, to the left it went on beyond the range of my light. In both directions the coast was clear. I should have been paying attention to the door. A plate at the bottom of the frame was the trigger, one I only half stepped on darting through the doorway. It was enough. Ceramic shattered. Before I could teleport to safety or simply dive out of the way there was a huff like a wounded bear and then the doorway was filled with fire. The fire dimmed down a moment later- True Teleport -and my brain caught up a moment after that. The nature of the teleport meant I was still blinded by the flare and still blinking dry eyes from the heat after I arrived. The fire had done little else. The outside of my gear was slightly stiff, and my mouth was dry, but I was otherwise unharmed. My hair and eyebrows hadn¡¯t taken the slightest bit of damage. I wondered if they could. The sun rose. It had slowed again. Not that three times in five or so minutes was slow. It was undeniably convenient. I was much more confident exploring with my spells than without. The corridor helped. Even if the toad could squeeze through doorways, a network of narrow tunnels would surely slow it. Jumping was mostly out of the question. I¡¯d teleported past a junction I suspected led to the toad-dragon¡¯s lair when I¡¯d fled the fireball. It hadn¡¯t been a conscious decision, but now I was wary of walking back past it. I¡¯d step easier knowing the location and state of the toad-dragon¡ªlike, for instance, if the ceiling had collapsed on him¡ªbut my odds of survival and its odds of death were higher the longer I avoided it. I couldn¡¯t afford to be surprised. I knew already that it could leave its lair. If I confronted it there with all my spells, all the better rather than later when I had none. I crept to the corner and cautiously peered around, one eye on my will-o-wisp which I¡¯d sent back down the corridor to near the fireball trap. The corridor was clear. A short stretch of twenty or so feet before it turned right again. I hated that. It meant I had to creep around another corridor, and this time my avenue of retreat was short and far more awkward. I repositioned my jack-o¡¯-lanterns, one behind, one before, and once more crept carefully to the corner. The toad dragon was there. Not in the corridor, but in its lair beyond. The ruins of its eyes were focused on me. There was no way they could see me, and yet it tracked me as I crept around the corner, tracked me as I twisted myself to keep half an eye on the path of my retreat. It wasn¡¯t hearing me. Its eardrums had clearly been destroyed at some point in our struggle. Worrying, whatever it was. Fireball II The spell leapt from my brain unbidden, slipping free like urine from an incontinent child. It was a a strange comparison to make, but it was the first which entered my mind, and nothing else felt so appropriate. I felt the same mixture of shame and powerlessness I had when I¡¯d woken to learn I¡¯d wet the bed, amplified now as an adult, even though it had been fire to slip free instead. Something had gone wrong in the recording. There was no helping it now. Magic Swords Magic Swords II Fireball Six swords and two fireballs flew at the toad-dragon. It hadn¡¯t been my choice, but thrust into it I was going to end it. Even with an arsenal at my command the toad dragon didn¡¯t go down easy. Blades dug deep and smoke rose from its skin, but the wounds did little to slow it. It lashed its tail out blindly in my direction, missing me, but not by nearly as much as it should have. More wounds opened, fat hissed and split. I knew what was coming next, yet was caught off guard all the same. The toad-dragon shrieked at me, knocking me back into the wall as a forest of trees rushed out to grab me. The toad-dragon tried to flee then. It took advantage of my lapsed assault to turn and jump into the door behind it. It was too weak. Too off balance. The door held and the toad-dragon collapsed in front of it. We worked ourselves upright at the same time. I didn¡¯t want to kill a fleeing creature, nor one who so doggedly stood back up again and again. I felt a kinship there. But I¡¯d hurt it enough I had a duty at this point. And it was dangerous enough I had to finish it. Its second leapt knocked the door from its hinges, but its body was too wide for the passage. I opened a wound near the base of its spine. The third leap saw it through the doorway, crushing mortar and stone and leaving a bloody passage on all sides of the frame. It disappeared from view, forcing me to enter its lair if I wanted to pursue it with my weapons. I did. I moved forward. The hallway beyond was narrower than its body. It had stopped about ten feet past the doorway, wedged in place. Its tail wound beneath it, preparing for another leap. The walls gave me something to brace against as I stabbed. Rubbery skin which would have fallen away as I attacked was instead held in place and pierced by my blades. Its back and rear was turned into a bloody tablet, scored and marked. The toad-dragon leapt, drawing from that seemingly endless well of strength within it. It flew down the hallway, sparks flying as stone met boney hide, and reached the end. A ¡®T¡¯ junction. Perhaps it hadn¡¯t been this way before, or perhaps it had been smaller last time it had passed through, but now it began to thrash and flail in space, unable to turn in the small area. Its forelegs scraped at the air, unable even to reach the ground beneath it and its tail whipped about wildly, cracking stone and causing the whole dungeon to shake. One of my blades was caught between tail and wall, scoring deep marks in both. Despite the wounds to itself and its surroundings, or perhaps because of them, it was slowly working itself free. Inch by inch it was slipping down the corridor. I gathered my swords and sent them all for the base of its tail. It was a numbers game. Eventually one of my blades slipped past its armoured hide, finding a weak spot or previous wound. The blade sunk deep, only evidenced by the amount of blood, and the toad-dragon¡¯s tail went suddenly still; a mighty storm blown apart by the breeze. It stopped gaining ground. I continued my assault, driving for the top of the head, ear canals, and belly. Minutes passed. One. Two. Five. The toad-dragon¡¯s movements slowed. Ten. Twenty. They stopped. I approached carefully, doing my best to pin its tail in place with my swords. It had fooled me before. And sure enough, once I was within ten feet of the toad-dragon it inflated like a bellows and let out one last deafening shriek. The walls flew away and were replaced by an endless spinning void filled with stars. The ceiling unfolded like the petals of a flower to reveal the sun shining weakly above. Someone had taken a bite out of the sun. A black mark marred its surface. Hands reached from the hole, normal human hands, grasping desperately across the impossibly far divide. Fingertips brushed my face, intertwined themselves in locks of my hair and then¡ª The echoes faded. My ears kept ringing. The warlocks on the other side of the rift might have been able to hear that one. The dungeon replied with shrieks of its own. Gibbering cries and hoots and howls, mad laughter and drawn out moans. Though few matched the toad-dragon in power, they made up for it in numbers. Hopefully I wouldn¡¯t meet the creatures behind the howls. I stuck the toad-dragon a few more times with my swords to be sure. It didn¡¯t move. It was over. I¡¯d won. XXXI - Finding the Path I wasn¡¯t getting down the hallway any time soon, but I was pretty sure I could go around the toad-dragon''s body using the other corridor. What¡¯s more, the entrance to the cavern hadn¡¯t collapsed on this side. The other exit from that room might still be available to me. I left the body to its fate and headed down to check. Sure enough, a small passage remained clear, leading into the other room beyond the cavern. The entrance filled with lava had been hopelessly buried. Hopefully the stone around it wouldn¡¯t also melt. I¡¯d investigate it in a moment, but there was something I¡¯d been putting off since the fireball had first slipped from my mind, and I couldn¡¯t put it off any longer. I drew both fireballs in as close as I could without burning myself, and studied myself under their light. I was green. Not just my hands either, not just my skin. My finger nails were the green of poplar leaves, my skin that of birch. My hair had turned a pale green like juniper berries in early summer. My clothing too had turned green. Darker, in most places. Perhaps the cool green of a spruce tree or the leaves of cranberry in winter. Even the metal of my sword and dagger had been effected, dark and glimmering like a mountain pond. It wasn¡¯t helping my elfen image. The sun rose. And then it fell. And then rose again. My spells were still refreshed. I could still feel the renewed runes blazing in my mind, but something had swallowed the sun. Tendrils of darkness had enveloped the new sun, taking it back to wherever it had come from. Which meant the new suns weren¡¯t forever, and I needed to take advantage of them as I could. The new room would have to wait a little longer. I retreated back to the toad-dragon¡¯s lair. It wasn¡¯t the most comfortable room, nor the most dependable, but it offered me a corner which could see all three entrances and unlike the cavern it was cool enough to think in. Lesser Heal. I focused on myself, my aches, my wounds, everything the toad-dragon had set wrong and my body¡¯s efforts to set them right. On my chest especially, where I¡¯d been most injured, both by its tail and the fire traps before and after it. Lesser Heal II: The caster¡¯s body heals two hours¡¯ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. I took a swig of water as the spell completed. The endless sunrises had ruined my sense of time, but it must have been getting on in the day. I was starting to feel hungry. I¡¯d only noticed it partway though recording my spell, but the toad-dragon¡¯s lair actually contained a sack, three-quarters buried in the sand. Hopefully it would contain some food, and more reliable food than what the Despair-King¡¯s chest had offered. Beside it was the neck of a tiny vial, a match for the potions on my belt. It was marked with a rune like the others, but it was one I didn¡¯t recognize. Possibly something to do with hearing, but I couldn¡¯t be sure. I added it to my pouch anyway. It was just small enough to fit, and I¡¯d wanted better hearing earlier. I¡¯d almost certainly find a use for it, even if only in trade. Magic Swords My luck (at least with spell casting) which had been so good for the last couple hours, failed me now. The swords appeared, and the spell disappeared from my spellbook. I¡¯d begun to wonder if I could lose my spells at all since the rising of the new suns. I¡¯d been wrong. Wrong, or the devourment of one of the suns had made it possible to lose spells once more. Either way, there was nothing I could do. I still had my swords and I was going to use them. I¡¯d summoned them to unbury the sack, which I set them to now. I might have avoided the loss of spell if I¡¯d unburied the sack by hand, but an extra hour of healing was unnoticeable in the grand scheme of things. Adding the potion to my pouch had been painful enough as it was. The sack was rather large. Whatever drawstring the sack had once possessed was gone. Without the sand to hold it in place the neck spilled open, revealing its contents. Its base, and what gave it most of its structure, was a long coiled rope. Everything else had been stacked on top. And on the very top was, next to a fully laid feast, the greatest treasure I could hope to find. A map. A map with the words on top: Bleakfort Dungeon, Floor 11. I didn¡¯t recognize any features or room layouts, even when I rotated the map around a few times, but it was hard to tell from a bird¡¯s eye view. I¡¯d have to compare with the maps Conan was making. My suspicion was still that I had been imprisoned on the first floor, but I couldn¡¯t be sure. With the map, I could be. I folded it carefully and put it into my pouch. I left the dream seed out of my pouch while I worked, in case I found something else worth my time. The owner of the sack appeared to be a bit of a traveller. Beneath the map was a small whittled statue of a bear, and next to it the dagger used to carve it. The sack must have been here for some time, for when I removed the dagger from its sheath it nearly fell apart. It had been hopelessly corroded. The pouch of herbs next to it had also spoiled. A much smaller sack of hardtack seemed to be in good condition, and I ate half of them with a liberal amount of my water before continuing. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. There was a small empty vial which I would have taken if I could spare the space, as well as a cutlass which I swapped with my rusted green sword. The adventurer seemed to have come to the dungeon prepared. The shorter blade¡ªdesigned for fighting below decks on a ship¡ªwould be ideal in some of the more cramped corridors of the dungeon. Strange that it was in the sack rather than with the shields. Probably wouldn¡¯t have helped against the toad-dragon though anyway. Or... instead of prepared, he might have simply been a sailor. The next item was a sailor¡¯s bowl, also called a carriage bowl. They were a local design and a fairly unpopular one at that. They were more or less two bowls nestled atop one another. The bottom bowl was heavy with a thick base to keep it upright. The top bowl contained a series of perforations around the edge, growing wider they higher up they rose. As liquids sloshed and rocked to the top, they¡¯d fall in the holes, and rise back out through a hole in the bottom. From what I¡¯d heard, it almost never worked. Plus they were a pain to clean. Why the man had brought one to explore a dungeon of all places, I had no idea, but it did suggest he lived in the area. I¡¯d never seen one before, and I doubted anyone from farther afield had even heard of them. My sailor theory was thrown off by the next item, a book of mythology wrapped in a wide, ribbon-like girdle, of the sort priest or druid might wear ceremonially. Several dog-eared pages in the book showed not only my fire beetle, a rough sketch of the dungeons and caverns below, but also a drawing of the toad-dragon itself, a creature the book called a ¡°Water Leaper¡±. There were histories of Bleakfort, zoological works which contained all creatures under the sun, and yet the priest (as I now thought about him) had chosen a book of mythology to be his guide. I¡¯d have to take it with me. As it turned out, the rope wasn¡¯t the only object at the bottom of the sack. Wrapped in its coils was an iron breastplate, chiselled to resemble a man¡¯s torso. Though it appeared my size at first glance, the metal had been shaped strangely, with a narrower chest and longer torso than my own. I tried it on anyway, in case there were magical properties to be revealed, but instead only revealed new ways to make my chest wounds scream and tear. I discarded it with some regret. A proper set of armour would be welcome in this dart obsessed dungeon. The sack I could use. I¡¯d keep the rope and toss in the book, hardtack, and¡ªsince I had the space¡ªthe vial I¡¯d previously discarded. I could secure the neck with the girdle, and throw it over my shoulder using the scabbard of my old sword. To my relief, surprise, and elation, not only did my travelling sack work, I didn¡¯t feel the slightest twinge of pain from the extra weight once it was up on my shoulder, despite the extreme weight of all the ropes. Once again I thanked the dwarf goddess with all my heart. *** The room beyond the cavern had been hit heavily by the pyroclastic blasts. Cavern rock and dungeon stone and been scattered across the room. Bits of metal were embedded in the walls and ceiling. Great gouges were missing from the floors and walls. Both doors had been blown open, both revealing mangled mechanisms within. More darts, a bellows, and... several giant scythes? What the architects lacked in creativity and structural design they sure made up for in enthusiasm. I was beginning to wonder if every door in the dungeon was trapped and I¡¯d just been lucky. A low drone emanated from the room, and the floor vibrated slightly from the noise. Occasionally, a low clank would resound from somewhere deep beneath the floor and the sound would echo throughout the room. Like the ¡°bath house¡±, this room was also covered in alternating black and white tiles. If the bath house was indeed a bath house, than perhaps this was the pump room for it. That would go some way to explain the cluster of explosions. The pumps would have been closest to the hot-spring''s reservoir. There was no evidence of tanks or pipes in the room to support my theory. Just big gears slowly trundling along, half rising out of the floor in some areas, and affixed to the wall in others. The only other door in the room, the one which had contained the scythes, led into another room which had been effected by the explosions. Not only had doors been destroyed, but walls had shifted and moved, with gaps wide enough for me to squeeze through. As I sent my lights dancing about the room they revealed half a dozen passageways and doors, though many were still sealed, and I had no doubt some led to the same location. The far side of the room was entirely taken up with a sloped pit of spikes, much like the one in the room of the headless men. I couldn¡¯t actually be sure I wasn¡¯t back in the room of the headless men, but I was fairly certain the number of doorways were wrong, and that the pit in the headless men room had been along the long side of the room¡¯s rectangle rather than the short like this one. Still, that room had had a door on the other side of the spike pit as well, it was possible they led to each other. This room had not one door on the far side of the pit, but two, as well as a suspiciously placed statue of a maiden. The gorgon leading from the altar of evil was still fresh in my memory. Unfortunately the depth of the pit was beyond me at the moment. The slope was flush with the doors on the far side, but on the side closest to me it was about twice my height in depth. I could teleport across, or develop a spell to lower myself into the pit, but I might as well try the other exits first. A cracked passage through a broken wall was closest, so that was where I started. It was an easy fit right up until the end where I had to drop my travelling sack and squeeze through an opening slightly less wide than I was. I pulled the sack through after me. I¡¯d ended up in a very hot hallway, with a passage to my right and a door straight ahead. The door was made of wood and the bottom was broken. It had been eaten away by a slowly spreading pile of lava. The door was on fire. The passage on the right turned right again, and in short order led back around to the room I¡¯d just come from. That left only a single wooden door, and another of the cracks in the wall, though both seemed to lead to the same place. All my other options out of the room lay on the other side of the spike pit. I went for the door. Squeezing through the final gap had not been a comfortable experience, especial when I¡¯d had to lean over to move my sack. I stood well back while I let my swords work. I didn¡¯t want even a relatively harmless trap like the fireball trap had been to push me back into the pit. The door was close enough a stuck door and slippery handle could probably do the job. The door was battered down without incident, revealing a wash of heat which flooded the room. Either the lava had gone everywhere, or, more likely given the path I¡¯d been taking, I was circling a central lava flow. The lava in this room hadn¡¯t covered everything. In fact there was a passage out of the room if I was willing to make a dash down a ten foot wide, lava-free corridor. I doubted that was enough space. I could barely stand hanging out in the doorway. Unusually, the far door was ajar, meaning I could teleport through it if I wanted to. And, under the glow of the lava, the reason for the door being ajar soon became clear: Along the wall immediately to my left was scrawled the words ¡°Death is the only exit.¡± I¡¯d been here before. XXXII - Never Meant to Be Afraid I¡¯d been here before. Not only that, I now had a pathway of open and destroyed doors I could follow back to the others. If they were still alive. I didn¡¯t hesitate. My finger was already on the page. True Teleport The sun rose. That was the second time the sun had risen mid-transit. Thankfully I¡¯d gone the full 150 feet permitted by the spell, so when I tipped over from the disorientation my gear didn¡¯t all go into the lava. Being 150 feet removed had other effects, too. It was surreal how normal everything felt. The dungeon was once again cool and damp, though with a warm breeze coming from back the way I¡¯d come. No fires burned, no walls were marred by explosions or charred with brimstone. Normal was of course relative. Chains still rattled off in the distance, and the heavy foot falls of... something landed intermittently, interrupted when whatever it was stopped to roar. Something on the scale of the toad-dragon, if not larger. But those were sounds I¡¯d heard before, or some variation of sounds I heard before. It was reassuring to discover the whole world hadn¡¯t been engulfed by flames. It had felt like it. The room to the right contained a large throne on a dais and an even larger stone skull across from it. To my left the passage twisted off around a corner. The room was barred to me by a large iron portcullis. I remembered the throne and the skull form earlier in the day (this was still the same day? It had been the longest day of my life) but had I really gone through this gate? Had my teleport spell been made back then? (all those hours ago.) Or had I lifted it? It didn¡¯t seem possible. It could have been my injuries speaking, but I checked the hallway to my left first, just in case. It ended in a dead end, meaning I¡¯d gone through the gate. It came to me then. This was the gate I¡¯d tried lifting on my own for fun. As if raising my elbows past my lower ribs could ever be considered fun. I¡¯d failed, needing my full strength and that of two of my swords. I had two swords right now, but no strength to speak of. I didn¡¯t even have a second sword sp- The sun had risen. Magic Swords II. Two invisible blades and a shimmering of lights swirled into being in front of me. The swords joined their brethren and moved out to lift the gate before me. The gate rose easily, allowing me to walk through at full height before it was gently lowered to the ground. The swords followed me, dancing and weaving at my command. Two of lights joined the dance, while the others formed a perimeter about the room and illuminated possible retreats. Magic Swords III: Four invisible blades dance and strike with the base force of 484 lbs. One for half an hour, two for 45 minutes, and the final for an hour. Two lights, bright as candles, swirl about it, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. Two more lights join in at the end of the first hour, and end an hour after the first lights fade, providing 3 hours of light total. All move independently following the whims of their master. The rune for the spell nearly took up half a page of my spell book. I didn¡¯t even bother tracking most of the extra lights. It was messy enough as it was. It was good to have though, and I felt safer having it. I wasn¡¯t about to be caught off guard without the strength to remake my spell. I¡¯d sequestered myself in the corner of the room during the duration of the spell writing which I was now regretting. Nothing had come by to ambush me, but standing still so long on the hard stone had given me cramps in both my legs. I should have sat in the throne. Smashed doors marked my path back into the room of the headless men. I only recognized the room by the sloped spike-pit in the floor. The headless men themselves were gone. I kept an eye out as I crossed the room, but they¡¯d left no trace of themselves. I didn¡¯t doubt that it had been me to scare them off. Hopefully they¡¯d run away from Conan and his group rather than towards them. I was back in the enormous chamber with the raised pool in the corner. The one which had granted what¡¯s-his-name knowledge of medicine. Tadg? Something Deltic. It had been a long day. I made my way to the far door, and down and over the pit I¡¯d fallen into all those years ago. Hours ago. Days ago. Again, it had been a long day. The goblin corpses were beginning to smell, and it wasn¡¯t like roses. I used my blades to push them all to one corner as I made my way through the room, pausing at the threshold to finish the job. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. It turned out I¡¯d paused at the wrong threshold. The path led down the long hallway to the elevator room and its contingent crowd of people. They were gone. As was the lift platform. Back down the shaft I supposed. I turned back and found my way to the mosaic room, and then the more hidden chamber beyond. The others were there. Their eyes lifted to meet mine, more sombre than I had expected from my arrival. They didn¡¯t even comment on my skin or clothing. Only Conan¡¯s had a twinkle of something else in them. It was Brace who spoke first, ¡°Rian didn¡¯t make it. He went peacefully. In his sleep. Slipped away while we watched. I don¡¯t think he was in any pain,¡± she took a deep breath, forcing herself to continue, ¡°So... So thank you. For doing what you could.¡± Stovepipe spoke up before I could reply, not that I could think of anything to say, ¡°It¡¯s strange. I can¡¯t help but feeling... I almost don¡¯t want to say it. It wasn¡¯t the same with Oscar and Ois¨ªn, but with Rian... I feel sorrow, yes, but not despair. There is no fear in it. Just sadness. Does that, am I making sense?¡± Conan gave me a sad smile, ¡°Do you mind telling them? Better from your mouth than my own. I tried to explain, but,¡± his smile went wry with a flash of humour, ¡°They said they wanted the words of a Mage.¡± Erin offered me her own sad smile of encouragement. I wasn¡¯t sure if Conan had mentioned Elysium yet. I wasn¡¯t sure if he, or I for that matter, ever would. It felt personal. Personal in a way I couldn¡¯t explain except to say not all things needed to be shared. There was other things I could say. ¡°Rian¡¯s death is not lessened by your lack of fear. Nor is something wrong with you or your mind. Instead, for the first time in a very long time, perhaps centuries, or even millennia, a death of a friend has proceeded as it should. With sorrow, but free from dread, free from fear. Righteous men need not fear death. Nor should we fear the death of a righteous man. We were never meant to be afraid. That was the work of the warlocks. Of their mosaic and their dark magics. So let us weep that Rian has left us, but not that he has died, for his journey has not ended.¡± While Conan and I were away, we learned... we learned that we were never meant to be afraid. Righteous men need not fear death. Fear came from the outside. Doubt was instilled in men¡¯s hearts, but it does not belong there. When you destroyed that mosaic, you freed us from doubt.¡± Stovepipe nodded slowly, ¡°Elysium.¡± I turned to Conan and raised an eyebrow, but he looked as shocked as I did. Stovepipe noticed my expression. ¡°The Delta has long had its histories of death. There is a book, the Book of the Dead. It is read only by the desperate and by scholars of mythology. It is dismissed as metaphor or a way to comfort those who fear death. I did the same all my life. Fool that I was to so lightly dismiss the wisdom of our ancestors. It is not a book for those who fear death. It is one for those who love life and wish to know how to live. The afterlife is a given, the book makes no efforts to convince you of that. And yet, at some point doubt was instilled in men¡¯s hearts. It does not belong there. This much is now clear. Perhaps it was only with the smashing of the mosaic that I could be freed from doubt.¡± Tadgh?¡ªthat was his name. I¡¯d been thinking of Rian earlier¡ªspoke, ¡°Can you be freed from doubt? It seems paradoxical. Certainty is incompatible with freedom. With certainty there is only one path.¡± Stovepipe answered him, ¡°If a vase tips off a table, you are certain it will fall, not doubtful. Freedom comes in what you do with that certainty. Will you watch it smash on the floor below, or catch it, and put it back atop its precarious perch? Perhaps you¡¯ll move it somewhere where it cannot be so easily disturbed.¡± ¡°Humility is a virtue,¡± I added, ¡°I¡¯m sure of it. But false doubt instilled by another is not careful questioning, it is lies.¡± ¡°And yet, I have to question everything,¡± Tadgh said, ¡°Even the idea that the vase will certainly fall. Stranger things have happened.¡± ¡°And yet again, some part of you cannot knows what is true.¡± ¡°And yet once more, I must doubt that knowing.¡± ¡°I think... I think it is better to act as if something is true, rather than be paralyzed by humility,¡± Stovepipe said, ¡°Too much doubt will lead to inaction. That does not mean you should defend false truths, nor avoid questioning those truths which you hold dear. Always question, but when the time for action comes, set aside all doubts and act. And now is a time I must believe that my lack of fear is just, and my sorrow and desire are true.¡± Sorrow and desire? Another of those strange Delta phrases. My knowledge of history was broad, but foreign cultures always would always remain foreign. There was too much depth to the world. ¡°We¡¯ve all seen death before,¡± Tadgh replied, ¡°Too much death too recently. I fear I have grown numb to it, even as my heart claims it has been eased.¡± Brace spoke up from the wall where she was slumped, arms folded, head bowed, ¡°Priest told me once mourning was complicated. Never know how you¡¯ll feel. Never feel the way you think you should. Said it was normal. All things happen in their own time.¡± ¡°Was that-¡± Erin started to ask before stopping herself. Brace nodded, ¡°Parents¡¯ death. I went to the priest for punishment. I couldn¡¯t stop feeling happy. I couldn¡¯t stop feeling free. I thought I was a monster. But the tears came with time. They were controlling, didn¡¯t let me live my own life, but the joy was not at their deaths. It was in how their deaths had pulled everyone together. I¡¯ve noticed that about funerals. They seem to always set the world a little more right. Everything comes back a little bit more on path. It almost seems disrespectful to say, but it¡¯s true. We feel what we feel.¡± The man whose name started with a ¡®C¡¯ sound¡ªKilton?¡ªmet my gaze. His eyes were a brilliant blue, like the rarest and most beautiful lakes on a windless day. The dark marks framing his eyes only served to make them stand out all the more. ¡°You promise me?¡± he asked, ¡°You promise all of us that this joy is not evil? That this gentle stirring of our hearts in our time of sorrow comes from desire, not madness?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know about desire, but it comes from peace. This I swear.¡± All of them looked at me strangely then, even Stovepipe and Conan. It was hardly my fault Kilton (Killian?) had phrased his question in such an odd manor. Once again a cultural divide, but despite his apparent initial misgivings he seemed to eventually be put at ease. XXXIII - Dream Seed I woke while I was still sleeping, which seems a redundant thing to say until you realize I was still asleep despite this. I¡¯d heard tales of this. Being awake inside a dream. For most it was a strange experience, nothing more. A small glimpse beyond the vale. For the rare unfortunate few, they became trapped within. Personally I¡¯d always wondered what happened to their bodies. Did they wither away without a soul? Did they disappear, wrapped up in their own dreams like a snake eating its tail? And how did anyone know they had been trapped? Where had the tales come from? I was still in the dungeon in my dream. In the chamber where I¡¯d fallen asleep, the one behind the mosaic room. My wounds still hurt here, even in my dreams. That probably wasn¡¯t a good sign. Conan had said my wounds looked bad. Hopefully my ointment would keep infection at bay. The chamber had four exits. I always forgot about the other three. One of them looked like one of the holes in the wall. It was only when you got up close you could see that a human could pass through it. One of them looked almost indistinguishable from the stone wall, so it made sense I rarely went through there. The last one... it was a door like any other. I just tended to take the other one for some reason. But there was a remarkable space behind it. A little grotto with access to the sky and a small patch of bare earth. Perfect for planting the dream seed. I slipped through the door, careful not to wake the others, and closed it gently behind me. An albatross awaited me, hovering on the breeze above the hole in the roof. It made no move to retreat nor come closer as I approached the patch of earth. ¡°What are you then? Do you breath fire? Bear a curse? Bring misfortune wherever you go? Escort my soul down to hell?¡± The albatross was silent. I knelt and dug a small hole with my hands. The soil was soft¡ªhard¡ªsoft. It only became hard if I paid the digging mind. The seed was already in my hand the moment the digging was done. A shallow pit, so shallow the seed was half exposed above the lip of the hole. I buried the rest with the dirt I¡¯d dug free from the hole, making a small mound. The sun shone down above me, illuminating the entire courtyard except for a small shadow in the centre. The albatross¡¯s shadow, cast over my seed. ¡°Hey! Move away!¡± I jumped and waved my arms at the creature¡ªow. Right. My chest still hurt. The albatross bobbed on the breeze, but its shadow remained steady. I sent my swords after it. They failed to do any visible damage. It was more like passing a pane of glass through a pool of water. There was resistance and ripples, but not much else to see. I felt my swords enter the bird¡¯s body, and tear out the other side, but the bird itself remained unharmed. That did not mean my attack went unnoticed. The albatross tilted its head down to look at me one last time then swooped off, spiralling around the hole in the ceiling in an ever widening spiral. Light fell on my face, and on the buried seed. I smiled and turned my face towards the sun. It had been too long without light. Why didn¡¯t I come here more often? I made a promise to myself to do so in the future. All living things needed the sun. Even badgers and moles, and the worms who tilled their soil. The sun rose. For real this time. Or as real as it could be. I woke, and the seed was gone. Its absence notable by more than the sudden space in my pouch. It had left behind a strange heaviness, as though I''d placed it in my skull rather than my dreams, though with it came a reassurance of a job well done, and no sense from my druidic nature warned me of a physical invasion of my skull. The others around me were waking as well. Brace and Stovepipe had kept vigil over Rian¡¯s body. Mosses and fungi had already descended, invisible to the naked eye. To my life sight he was covered in a glowing green veil. At once beautiful and tragic. We would need to deal with his body, and the bodies of the two others, soon lest they all end up like the poor dryad. Will-o¡¯-Wisp The vigilant nodded at me, but did not otherwise acknowledge my presence. I left them to it and made my way to the room with the ladder beyond the giant room to do my business. When I arrived I immediately noticed the change. The explosions from the volcano had reached even here. The wall to my left had crumbled into rubble from the force of the blow, revealing a hidden room beyond. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Holes like the ones in the mosaic room were cut in the wall to my left giving vision on the gigantic chamber, but they tapered at the far end making them hard to see through or notice from the other side. On the opposite side of the room a row of grotesque faces, twisted, sneering, and melted, were carved into the wall. As with the demonic faces on the floor above, these faces were my own. Prophecy? Or more black magic? Eliminate II I didn¡¯t linger. I¡¯d found the otherwise empty room a purpose, but the carvings made me uncomfortable. Lesser Heal Lesser Heal II I made my way back to the gigantic chamber as my wounds slowly knit both un-aided and under the influence of two spells over the course of an hour. Waiting safely in the corner, I faced no interruptions or complications. Lesser Heal III: The caster¡¯s body heals four hours¡¯ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. Will-o¡¯-WispII As my will-o¡¯-wisps rose into being I once more felt that tug. Like something had tried to devour my spell and had been repelled. Despite the loss of one of the suns, the others were still omnipresent and evergreen. The sun rose. It was as if the thought itself had summoned it. Perhaps it had. With such a confluence of magic in one place the will of individuals might make all the difference. When I¡¯d been focused on Rian¡¯s death, little had happened for the entire night. Breakfast was going to have to wait. Lesser Heal. Lesser Heal II. Lesser Heal III. Three spells cast simultaneously worked in harmony to draw the wounds in my chest ever more closed. I did not neglect the rest of my body. All parts were healing at all times, my chest wounds simply being the most notable. Scratches and scars slowly faded across my back, chest and legs, aches from sleeping on stone floors flowed out of my muscles and back into the ground from which they¡¯d come. Though I still couldn¡¯t feel it, I was renewed. Lesser Heal IIII: The caster¡¯s body heals eight hours¡¯ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. I continued on to my stash of fish rather than reuniting with the others. I¡¯d managed to eat a little last night before bed, but I¡¯d mostly been preoccupied with observing Rian¡¯s last rites. It had seemed like the right thing to do. I got my fish without incident and returned to the hidden chamber. I¡¯d not yet asked about the volcanic explosions or Conan¡¯s map. Once more, Rian had taken priority. ¡°Conan! I¡¯ve found a map claiming to be of the eleventh floor of this dungeon, I¡¯d like to compare it with your own. Perhaps we are deep than we are aware.¡± The two of us spent the next several minutes studying our maps and consulting our memories. As best we could tell, we were not, nor had ever been on the claimed eleventh floor. ¡°I¡¯ve been meaning to ask you,¡± Conan began as we put away our maps, ¡°the explosions yesterday. Do you have any clue what those were?¡± I felt my face grow red, ¡°I disrupted a ritual. Caused the volcano the dungeon is built about to erupt. I was worried I¡¯d killed everyone at first, including myself.¡± ¡°Is that how you got your burns?¡± He pointed at my chest. ¡°That was a trap I set off. Combustible darts. Probably would have kept burning until there was nothing left of me if I¡¯d left them.¡± A twinkle entered his eye and I sighed. He barked out a laugh, ¡°You had to know it was coming. Come on, what happened to your skin? Are you a fairy now? Did your supply of fish go so bad even your clothes turned green? Did you fall into a bucket of paint?¡± I couldn¡¯t help but join in with a laugh of my own. Truth be told, I¡¯d been rather unhappy with my disfigurement, and I¡¯d felt all the more self conscious of the very fact no one was bringing attention to it. ¡°I was attacked by a giant winged-toad. It knocked me into a room full of a mysterious gas which I was unable to escape until it was too late. It turned everything green.¡± I drew my dagger to show him. Conan whistled, ¡°We should get some of this warlock poison of our own. A stronger one if we can. As scars go it¡¯s far from the worst. Not that you¡¯ll be attracting as many ladies as the man with the eyepatch come next autumn¡¯s dance.¡± Fionn leaned over his shoulder to look at the dagger, ¡°I should hope not. I need all the luck I can get with women. Can¡¯t go sharing it around. You got yourself a desired one, Oswic?¡± Something tickled at the back of my mind. An old pain, or perhaps a new awareness of a new one. My chest maybe. ¡°No. I... I kept... myself mostly to my studies as... a Magi.¡± ¡°Are you alright?¡± Conan asked. I nodded, ¡°Just a strange feeling. It¡¯s fading now. Don¡¯t know what it was about. Perhaps something to do with all the dark magic in the air. Or all the salted fish I¡¯ve been eating.¡± ¡°If you ever want to trade for some of our hardtack, please, I¡¯ll be first in line,¡± said Fionn with a face. I smiled at him, ¡°I might take you up on that. I¡¯m starting to dream of sea birds.¡± Conan and Fionn laughed. The Delta people were easy with laughs. I envied them for it, but did not begrudge them one bit. The sound of real laughter tamed the demons of these halls. XXXIV - D?kkè°©lfar I made my goodbyes, retrieved my sack, and headed out to the direction Conan figured was most likely south based on my carvings and the words of the orcneas. His map combined with my recollection had led us to believe we¡¯d explored most of this floor save for the rooms beyond the lift. From what little Conan had gathered beyond that point, he¡¯d said he¡¯d discovered a room full of gigantic grubs and that had been enough to end his exploration in the area. That had been before the group from the Empire had made it impossible. The room was empty now, as it had been the night before. I would have to explore the shaft once my wounds healed. Going hand over hand would be trivial with my goddess-blessed strength. If it led to some of the lower floors proper, I could bypass a large portion of my difficulties. I was presented with the choice of two doors. One of wood which stood open¡ªConan had gone that way presumably, or the expedition from the lift. The other was made of stone and remained closed. Magic Swords II I¡¯d take the path Conan had followed. If the swords couldn¡¯t handle the grubs, I could still use them to batter down the stone door. The wooden door led to a long hall. The long hall led to a short room. There was no sign of giant grubs in sight, but there were still objects of note. The first was a message in the language of the gods written on the wall to my right (the south wall?): ¡°They ate him.¡± There was no further description of who whom had eaten whom nor who whom had been eaten. The second was of even far greater worry than the grubs or the eaters themselves. A mirror up against the north wall. The moment I drew close enough to see my lights reflecting around the corner I grew wary and slowed my advance. As the reflection grew clear enough to confirm my fears, not polished stone but polished metal¡ªand large, not small¡ªI stopped and turned about. Conan had mentioned a mirror during our discussion, but he hadn¡¯t pointed it out on his map, so I¡¯d assumed he¡¯d been talking about the demon mirror on the first floor. His descriptions had been vague and shifting at best, a condition I¡¯d attributed to fear or embarrassment regarding his performance when he¡¯d first laid eyes on the upper mirror. But there was another, and one he¡¯d avoided talking directly about. I wanted nothing to do with it. I¡¯d send my swords to smash it at once if I wasn¡¯t afraid of unleashing an even greater evil upon the world. I returned down the long hallway and sent my swords to smashing the stone door instead. Once more, my luck held out and my actions didn¡¯t attract any attention. I suppose one more smashing and clawing sound didn¡¯t make a difference. The room beyond would have been too small for the toad-dragon to turn around in. Seven by twenty paces, which was about ten by thirty feet. I knew because I circumnavigated the small space looking for exits other than the one directly next to the door I¡¯d come by. The room had the shape of a hallway more than anything, one which ended abruptly. The secret exits were concealed well, or the warlocks had no taste for design, for I found nothing. I hang back at the far end of the room/hall while my swords made quick work of the wooden door. The room beyond was a pentagon. A true pentagon this time, with five walls instead of seven. I¡¯d never been to the next room, but it was horrifyingly familiar. A row of demonic faces covered the wall directly across from me. This time they were not my own. Instead they were the faces of two strangers, repeated over and over again, sometimes twice in a row, sometimes alternating, all twisted into expressions of rages. Chained to the wall directly across from me, and directly two my right were two skeletons. There arms were raised above their heads. Long sharp poles extended from the walls to press into their backs. Their legs were changed back flush against the wall with water running over their bony feet. Both had bags over their heads. I¡¯d have bet Master Tom Oldshoe himself the ante of his choice that the demonic statues bore the skeletons¡¯ faces as they had looked in life. Fireball II The spell slipped free without conscious thought, once more bringing on that strange feeling of shame and this time an additional feeling of fear. Or maybe the fear had brought on the spell. I was trembling, my chest constricted, my vision blurry. When was the last time I¡¯d taken a breath. I breathed deeply. The trembling faded. My vision returned. The pain in my chest lessened somewhat. The fear remained. This would have been my fate. Had I the experience and willpower to risk the warlocks, had the warlocks not taken so long to get to me, had I not risked my mind and soul to carve spells into my brain, this would have been me. Dead in the dark, with cold water running over my feet, bones bound together by dark magic and rotting sinew. I set my swords to cut the bodies down. They collapsed into a heap of bones, sinews finally giving in. Using the flat of the blades I was able to sweep them into the small room behind me, away from the stream which flooded the entire room, and then gather them into a loose pile. I placed my fireball in the centre, and left it there, letting them burn. I was far too late to save them¡ªthey¡¯d probably been dead before I¡¯d been captured¡ªbut at least I could give them this. No longer chained. No longer bound to the walls of the dungeon. Their skeletons would not become another pair of demons to haunt these halls. I sent my swords at the demonic carvings, but once again they proved to be made of a stronger material, impervious to my blows. ¡°May your souls find Elysium,¡± I whispered as the bones began to crack and pop, ¡°or at least peace in freedom.¡± *** I followed the stream through the eastern door, which led directly across a second room and then out behind a grate in the wall. I didn¡¯t give the stream much heed the moment I entered the room, for it astounded me. I¡¯d stumbled into what felt like the heart of some great machine, perhaps the very dungeon itself. The room was round, a squat cylinder perhaps ten feet in height but fifty in diameter. Nearly half the wall¡ªthe half flanking either side of the grate¡ªwas taken up with intricate runes carved into the rock. A further quarter¡ªto the right of the grate and interspersed with the runes¡ªwas covered in levers, gears, pipes, valves, gauges, and pistons. The whole thing moved as if alive, pumping and throbbing and whistling and shaking. The floor thrummed with it. The room stood alone in its power, separate from the normal rules of the dungeon. No laughter could be heard emanating from those lurching and breathing walls, whether children¡¯s or ¨Cthe sun rose¡ªdog¡¯s. I hardly registered its rising. The runes were that of the Magi. What should have been comforting filled me with fear. There was no record of the Magi owning or dwelling in Bleakfort. Our art was secret, our organization small. The talent and knowledge to write these runes would not rise independently even if the ability for magic did. Either a mage had betrayed us, or I was not the first to be successfully captured. Which, given the power of the warlocks, again amounted to betrayal. Echo. Judge. Amount. Monitor. Double. Bedroom. Unit. Place. Fire. Hiccough. Chew. Inch. Haunt. Iron. Zone. Conviction. Individual segments of runes caught my eye, formed a picture. The utility of each rune segment and the formation of each rune was personal. No two magi would write the same spell the same, even if such a thing were possible, but another mage could read the broad strokes. This had been an observation chamber. A place where the mage could observer the rest of the dungeon and inflict whatever judgment they deemed necessary upon them. Some of the runes might even explain my own experiences in the dungeon, though why the mage would harass me rather than outright kill me if that were the case made little sense. They¡¯d clearly have the power to do so. The levers and dials were also labelled with mage runes. These were of a simpler sort, words instead of entire concepts or sentences: Voice, Body, Exit, Fear, Desire, Anger, Joy, Pride, Awe, Annihilation. There were other lever with even simpler words: Left, Right, Up, Down; and ones which made no sense at all: Stranger, Friend, Rogue, Dancer. There were others, hundreds of others, but those first few were the most common, repeated among half a dozen labels each. I had no clue what any of it meant or how it was used. Like the mirror, I considered destroying it. Like the mirror I decided against it. The mage at the helm had restrained from using his powers against me, I didn¡¯t want to give him reason to do so. If there was no one manning it, it was hopefully harmless, and I didn¡¯t want a repeat of the volcanic eruption. I¡¯d been lucky I¡¯d not gotten anyone killed the first time around. The chamber only had a single exit. A sturdy looking wooden door to the right of the entrance and roughly below the grate in the wall. I retreated back into the pentagonal prison while my swords took down the door. If anywhere would have gratuitously over the top traps defending it, it would be this control room. Thankfully there were not traps, or at least none I triggered. I walked back around the corner and through the remains of the door. Blood stained the floor. Bloody rags were scattered across it. A pool of blood stood by my feet. As my lights spread outward they revealed more bloody rags and more blood stains, an entire room filled with them. Half of the far side of the room was missing, destroyed in an explosion. A rectangular room this time, normal save for the missing wall. Dark figures moved in the shadows beyond. I called out to them, ¡°Who goes there? I mean no harm, I merely seek passage.¡± My heart pounded in my chest. I¡¯d been off balance since I found the skeletons, and the mage runes and blood weren¡¯t helping. Plus there was something off about these creatures. They remained shadowed even as they approached my light. My eyes could not penetrate the darkness which surrounded them. ¡°What a pretty voice.¡± ¡°Very pretty. And such a handsome face.¡± ¡°Handsome? Deceptive. She wears a face which is not her own.¡± ¡°It is her face. He is not worn. Dead. She is dead.¡± ¡°So sad. Tragedy.¡± ¡°The forest always returns.¡± ¡°Always.¡± There was three of them, their conversation flowing so fast I couldn¡¯t track who was saying what. They spoke in horrible, rasping whispers, almost muttering as if to themselves, as if they didn¡¯t expect anyone to hear, as if they didn¡¯t care if they did. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. There was something deceptive about they way they moved. They jerked from place to place, fell back suddenly. Skittered across a pool of blood and then danced backwards across another. Despite their strange progress they were fast. Faster than I could run, and yet their movements never seemed more hasty than a stroll. They were tall also. Not unnaturally so, but enough that I was looking up at them by the time they drew near. They¡¯d stopped right next to me, within the reach of my arms, and now huddled about, peering down at me. Even now I couldn¡¯t properly make out their faces and features. It was in part due to their skin I realized. Darker than pitch. And their eyes were like pits, like staring into the abyss which invites you to step from the edge just to see how far it really goes. And then their clothing was white. Suddenly without warning I could make out their forms¡ªhumans for sure. Or creatures wearing human flesh¡ªThe cloth was white and had always been so, yet it was only now the shadows had retreated that I could tell. ¡°Strange.¡± ¡°So young.¡± ¡°Too young.¡± ¡°Agreed. Whose face is it you wear boy?¡± The last was addressed at me. It was like being in the centre of a storm with words swirling all about. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you mean,¡± I replied. My grip tightened on my spellbook and forced myself not to take a step back. They were unnerving me, but I¡¯d no doubt I¡¯d be in more danger if I showed it. ¡°Do not play the fool. Your face is clearly no your own. You have two, one for you, one for her. This is neither.¡± ¡°He doesn¡¯t know!¡± The one who had been addressing me turned to his companion, ¡°Doesn¡¯t know? How can he not know?¡± The third replied, ¡°She sleeps still. He tells the truth. Look at his mind. He¡¯s carved the Magi¡¯s marks there. He cannot lie.¡± Elves. I had to be dealing with elves. No other creature wielded that kind of power without using it for more destructive purposes. There questions raced through my mind, but I didn¡¯t dare ask any of them. They answered them any way. Taking turns one after the other. Round and round and round. ¡°Yes yes. Dark elves.¡± ¡°Elves of the dark.¡± ¡°Evil? No no no. Who has the time?¡± ¡°Yes, of course.¡± ¡°Depends.¡± ¡°On the season.¡± ¡°On my mood.¡± ¡°On the source of my ire.¡± ¡°She is the one who slumbers.¡± ¡°The one who waits.¡± ¡°The dead who shall forever be.¡± ¡°Dead.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°The one in the mirror? No.¡± ¡°An illusion.¡± ¡°The one who slumbers is real.¡± ¡°Dead,¡± one said shaking his head. ¡°Not dead,¡± another replied. Nodding. ¡°Exactly,¡± Concluded the third before his partner launched into his next thought. ¡°There is no returning to who you were.¡± ¡°Never.¡± ¡°Masks worn cannot be unworn.¡± ¡°Careful with the masks you choo-¡± I stepped back and raised up my hands. I needed space to think, ¡°Hold it!¡± The three fell silently instantly, eyes on my hands. I was still holding my sabre and spellbook I realized. I lowered them, hoping I hadn¡¯t incited the elves. Dark elves. Whatever those were. I¡¯d not heard of them before. I¡¯d heard of the black elves and the brown elves, but I¡¯d always been told that was simply a term some used for dwarves. Maybe the dwarves themselves. But these clearly weren¡¯t dwarves. They were far too human in appearance and inhuman in everything else. ¡°I... what happened here? What is with all the blood?¡± The middle elf¡¯s eyes slowly moved from my lowered hand to my own. The abyss of his gaze tore at mine causing me to sway. I blinked and looked away. I was involuntarily leaning forward I realized, pulled into that endless pit. ¡°Our companions.¡± ¡°Companions. Yes.¡± ¡°Seven.¡± ¡°Seven no more.¡± ¡°Three.¡± ¡°Dead and dying.¡± ¡°Dead now.¡± ¡°Dea-¡± I took another step back. They¡¯d shuffled closer while talking. I no longer cared as much about appearances as I did personal space. ¡°Please,¡± I interrupted, ¡°just one of you reply.¡± Three sets of eyes locked on my own. The ferocity almost brought me to my knees. ¡°Speak then,¡± the one on the left rasped, ¡°and I will answer alone.¡± ¡°I... your companions are dead? Injured?¡± Something changed in reply. Either my eyes adjusted¡ªlearned what to look for¡ªor their glamours fell. All three of them were injured. Two them quite badly so. Their white robes were stained red with blood, and open wounds still wept blood along their faces and arms. One of them was missing an ear. ¡°Yes,¡± the left one whispered, ¡°Died in an explosion.¡± All three of their gazes had wondered while I¡¯d talked, but the moment the words left his mouth all three locked on me once more. There was anger there now. ¡°An explosion.¡± ¡°The ritual ended.¡± ¡°The mountain woke.¡± ¡°Spoke.¡± ¡°And they died.¡± ¡°Death from afar.¡± ¡°Blood on your hands.¡± ¡°Clean hands.¡± The other two fell silent as suddenly as they¡¯d started speaking again, and their gazes wandered to their speaker. He was still staring at me as though his regard alone could kill. Perhaps it could. ¡°I... regret the death of your companions. If you wish, I will do my best to treat and tend your wounds. I have an ointment which might ward of infection.¡± I took a deep breath. Then I leapt into the metaphorical abyss before me. I continued, ¡°However, I will not take the blame for what happened to them. I did not intend to harm anyone with my actions. The volcano killed them. A volcano I was not aware existed. Even the warlocks can not be considered to be truly at fault here. as much as I wish to blame them. An accident. A tragedy on all sides with no one to blame.¡± ¡°Disturb not which you do not understand. Thus spoke your elders to you. Thus all creatures have been warned. You broke the peace which you should have let lie.¡± ¡°Even so.¡± The room was spinning. A whirlpool centred on the dark elf, sucking everything down into his depths. The air itself trembled in fear at the elf¡¯s anger. ¡°Even so,¡± the elf replied, ¡°you bear no guilt. And yet, we must seek retribution.¡± I was far from helpless. Even against ones such as elves I stood a chance. Dark elves would presumably be similar. A few fireballs and a- Fireball II The fireball appeared directly between myself and the elves, instantly scorching all four of us. There was no helping it now. I didn¡¯t want to fight these creatures, and their punishment may have been acceptable and just, but my fireball had decided it for me. I couldn¡¯t take the chance they¡¯d forgive my mistake. The elves fell back instantly, flowing sinuously like shadows from the area of immediate danger. I matched them, in speed if not grace. My chest burned and my eyes watered from the pain of doing so. I sent my swords towards the two elves on my flanks before the pain caused me to pass out, trying to buy myself some time. I summoned a second pair to halt the advance of the elf in the middle. Magic Swords II Lesser Heal. Lesser Heal II. Lesser Heal III. Lesser Heal IIII. My vision cleared instantly, the pain from the flames vanished, and the pain in my chest dimmed. Strength began creeping into my limbs. I didn¡¯t have an hour to risk recording my spells, and sunrise could happen at any time. A quick scribble with saliva on parchment would have to do. Lesser Heal V: The caster¡¯s body heals fifteen hours¡¯ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. The sun rose as I finished the final stroke of my rune. I¡¯d not had a single second to spare. The rising sun had brought me to the height of my power and the dark elves were injured. I could win this. Fireball II I cast the spell willingly this time, removing it from my head before it caused me more problems. I¡¯d have erased the rune entire if I could have, even mid combat. Four swords and two balls of fire homed in on the elves while my lights spread out in a wide net around our impromptu battlefield. Around the battlefield. All battlefields were impromptu. Otherwise they were an arena. The dark elf directly in front of me jittered both left and right at the same time, weaving impossibly between my invisible blades. Before my fireball could stop him he raised his hands and tendrils of shadow engulfed it, extinguishing its flame like a candle. The one on my right did much the same, minus the destruction of my remaining fireball. Instead he spun around and under it, ending up between the fireball and myself. It put me in danger, but it put him in more. His companion on the left handily avoided my sword at the same time. That was fine. I had more. Magic Swords II Magic Swords III Magi were not cheap conjurers nor mere users of magic. What separated rude practitioners from one of the wise was our training. Flipping pages with a single hand. Aiming for a specific page. Sorting hundreds of spells and their locations in your head. All were second nature. Fireball True Teleport From swords to fireballs, then I teleported behind the dark elves, rotating as I did so to throw them off track. I ended the spell after a split second, a mere ten or so feet from where I¡¯d started. The elves reacted almost instantly, but almost wasn¡¯t fast enough. All the while I¡¯d been recording. Sword Storm: Six invisible blades dance and strike with the base force of 484 lbs. One for half an hour, Three for 45 minutes, and two more for an hour. A fireball appears in the centre. Two lights, bright as candles, swirl about them, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. Two more lights join in at the end of the first hour, and end an hour after the first lights fade, providing 3 hours of light total. All move independently following the whims of their master. Sword Storm Sixteen blades and three fireballs descended on the elves, swirling about them in an ever shrinking vortex. The elf who had extinguished my first fireball reached out to the second and nearly lost his fingers to a blade for his trouble. He twisted free heroically, weaving past the blurring blades in the only possible path to safety, one which left him sprawled on the ground. My blades took one of the more injured elves while his companion managed to stay ahead of them, dancing through them like they were ribbons at a wedding festival. I wasn¡¯t done. BiteII PushII Unlike my other spells, there was no escaping BiteII. I struck at the throat of the elf on the ground. He died as PushII sent his remaining companion into my magic swords. Except... It didn¡¯t. Even as my spell lifted him off the ground his foot struck backwards behind him, finding the flat of one of my invisible blades and using the momentum of the push to launch himself off and over the advancing wall of death. His body went parallel to the floor for a moment as he squeezed between swords and ceiling, then angled down into a dive, rolling as he landed and surging to his feet. It was impossible. And beautiful. And tragic. My push spell hadn¡¯t ended, and neither had my swords. But the dark elf wasn''t done. A sword appeared in his hand, one wrought from shadows. He blocked my first strike, and deflected the second, each sending him skittering back another dozen feet. The combined force of my spells was too much even for his strength and magic. He knew it too. The decision was instant, again too fast for me to react. He leapt into the air, letting my spell carry him back as he sighted and threw. His sword sprung from his fingers as if shot from a bow. My swords were too slow to stop it, his supernatural aim allowing him to thread the needle between them. It wasn''t enough. Even an elf had limits. The blade sunk into the wall behind me. A moment later a hank of hair from above my right ear drifted gently to the ground. He¡¯d missed. The elf was dead before he landed. XXXV - Ascension The room the dark elves had come from had a religious feel to it. The room was centred around a fountain of crystalline water which sat on the side of the room which had exploded in the volcanic eruption. The ceiling rose up around it, high and vaulted, with its peak directly above the fountain rather than the centre of the room. Gold coins, gems, spices, and rare goods were arranged in ever widening mandalas which rippled out from the fountain in waves. The effect was more than aesthetic. There was a strong sense of esoteric about it as well. A sense of ritual not in the magical sense, but the traditional. Even the explosion had not disturbed the intricate patterns, suggesting the elves had rebuilt it after everything had been scattered. After they¡¯d finished tending to the dead. Four elves lay in front of the fountain. Their hands had been clasped over their chests and veils had been placed over their faces. The veils were now soaked with blood, both from the dead, and¨Cjudging by the bloody handprints¡ªby the wounded who had laid them to rest. The wounded who were now dead by my hand. Treasures abounded in the room. Not just ones of simple avarice. Items which suggested magic powers. Items which would help me on my journey. I wondered what sort of person I¡¯d be if I took them. I¡¯d taken from the dead before. This was different. This was more akin to robbing a grave. Even when I¡¯d eaten the dryad I¡¯d not disturbed her rightful place of rest. Perhaps I was already the worse sort of grave robber, one who¡¯d eaten the dead, but an act of desperation felt different than one of cold deliberation. I had not sought their deaths, but I had caused them through my carelessness. No¡ªmy ignorance. No amount of care could divine the unknowable future. The mercenaries had had their reasons. As had the goblins. By the bark of the blessed birch so had the warlocks. I knew that, both now and then, and I¡¯d killed them anyway. Everyone had their reasons. That did not excuse a thing they¡¯d done. But these elves I¡¯d killed without seeking their deaths. I owed them. I¡¯d not disturb their bodies. I¡¯d not violate their rituals. I could do little for their companions. The wounds to my chest were still too severe to be moving bodies or performing last rites, but they too I¡¯d leave alone. There had been no enmity between us. Merely a series of tragic accidents. *** Three paths were available to me here. One was heading back the way I¡¯d came which I quickly discarded. That could wait. Of the two remaining, one was an archway leading out of the first room I¡¯d fought the elves in, and the other was a wooden portcullis. While I had sixteen blades at my beck and call, I¡¯d take the harder paths. What was more, I¡¯d destroy the obstacles in my way without regard for the noise I may cause. Let the dangers come while my spells remained. Even another toad-dragon would quickly fall to my spells. The portcullis went down in seconds. I swept the wreckage free with the same swords which had caused it and followed them down into the... I wasn¡¯t sure what to call it. And explosion had impacted in what appeared to have been an intersection of parallel rooms and hallways. Three, maybe four walls had collapsed entirely, and large cracks twice the width of my shoulders shot through another. It was a wonder the ceiling hadn¡¯t collapsed. The whole thing totalled (as best as I could figure) to instant access to three different rooms and two hallways. One caught my eye above the others. A series of ropes and pulleys disappearing up into the ceiling, and descending down to a wooden platform in the centre of the room to my left. An elevator leading back up. Or perhaps even further. The rift would have prevented it from exiting the dungeon even that had once been its purpose, but it would at least give me a better idea of what floor I was on. I stepped on board and released (ow) the counter weight. Gears kicked into motion. Something thudded (cliffs fall into the sea!) something spun, and the platform slowly began to ascended. *** The journey was uneventful. Boring even. There was nothing in sight but the pulleys and gears of the shaft itself and the rough hewn walls which housed it. It had been carved straight from the rock of the mountain, with little effort to smooth the stone or conceal that fact. Even dark magic had its limits. The top of the lift was its first and only stop. I reset the brake (frozen forest!) and disembarked. Someone was waiting for me at the top. Several someones in fact. Nine of them. They were surrounding the shaft with weapons drawn and raised high. I interceded my blades between each weapon and my vulnerable flesh. That left me with seven to spare which I distributed evenly among the room. I¡¯d left the fireballs below, for fear of setting the shaft alight. ¡°Back the way you came creature! We¡¯ve no need for elves in the dungeon.¡± The man who had spoken had red hair and copper robes. They went quite well with his bright hazel eyes, but the my predisposition was somewhat offset by the large iron-capped quarterstaff he was waving in my face. It was at that moment the sun rose. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. I relaxed, releasing a tension I didn¡¯t know I¡¯d been carrying. Having my magic swords out and ready was one thing, but the true power and safety of my magic was in its flexibility. Another way to put it, as my master had all those years ago, was that the power of the Magi was in not casting spells. The red head must have noticed my lack of fear, for he started waving his staff even more fiercely. ¡°I said back! Say one word and I¡¯ll end your miserable life.¡± The staff worried me less than the lack of armour. He may have been a monk, but it also suggested he might be a magician or warlock. I shifted two of my free blades to cover him. Then I sent the remaining five to cover the open archway I¡¯d spotted to my left. True Teleport The spell vanished at the same time I did. I returned on the far side of the doorway with a curse. I¡¯d been getting far too blas¨¦ about risking my spells. The fight with the dark elves had nearly convinced me I couldn¡¯t lose them anymore. Shouts of fear and confusion heralded my return. One of the fools had cut themselves on my invisible blades. Judging by the screams it was the red head himself. Good. ¡°I come and go where I please,¡± I retorted. It took every fibre of willpower I had left to resist adding ¡°mortal¡± to the end of the statement. I was getting sick of being mistaken for one of the fair folk, but I didn¡¯t need to add to the confusion as part of some petty revenge, ¡°prevent my passage at your peril.¡± Slide into the sea! That alliteration hadn¡¯t been on purpose. It wasn¡¯t going to help my elfin reputation. A woman with a face nearly as round as the head of her flail spoke up. Shouted really. She didn¡¯t seem the sort to speak diffidently. Bulging eyes and an unfortunate twist to her mouth spoke of a life spent in rage, ¡°Do you know who we serve? The warlocks will have your head!¡± Mercenaries then. Ones still in the happy employ of the warlocks. Eight out of nine faces paled as they saw my change in expression. The remainder was still blinded by her self-righteousness. ¡°That¡¯s right! The warlocks. No more will you lure innocents beneath your hills. No more will you wonder wither you may. The warlocks will flatten your hills. Put you in chains. Wreak upon you every just cruelty you have afforded others. Justice is especially sweet delivered to those who believe themselves untouchable.¡± She paused to draw a shaking breath. Another of her companions attempted to intercede. ¡°Elyn, I think you should¡ª¡± She spoke over him, hushing him with an angry gesture of her hand, ¡°But we are not cruel people. As deserved as it may be, submit to us now, and we may ask that the warlocks grant you mercy.¡± Something snapped. My vision. My hearing. The air and the lights themselves. I couldn¡¯t tell. It was like a pulse filled my being. There were screams. Then there were whimpers. The whimpers lasted a long time. Nine bodies lay about my feet. I barely registered them over the thumping of my heart. The white sparks in my eyes. The pink haze which settled about me. Magicians were dangerous. Closer to sorcerers than warlocks. Unlike sorcerers they bound themselves to others rather than binding others to themselves. Oath makers as opposed to the warlock¡¯s oath breaker. The opposite of warlocks in many ways, but similar in a deadly few. Practitioners of dark magic. Oath makers instead of breakers. Had a given him time to react he might have unleashed his demons upon me. Killing them as I had was not just vengeance, but a cruel necessity. So I told myself. Memories kept forcing themselves into my mind. Memories of sharp metal digging into my spine. Memories of darkness. Laughter. Hunger. Sleepless nights. Boredom induced insanity. Too many memories to deal with right now. I continued down the hallway I¡¯d teleported into. I didn¡¯t bother to search the room or their bodies. I could do that when I returned. If I returned. I needed to get away more than anything. The hallway forked to my left. On the principle that I was presumably on the first floor, and the first floor had continually let me down when I hugged the wall, I took the fork. It ended in an iron door set in the left-hand wall. I ducked around a corner and sent half my blades to work, leaving the others in a field of protection about myself. My precautions were unnecessary. Everything on this floor of the dungeon capable of investigating was either dead or smart enough to avoid investigating the sound of doors being tortured. It took nearly ten minutes of constant attention for the screeching and wailing to come to an end. At some point in the process a trap was engaged and sparks flew around the corner, miniature suns in the low light. A ringing pinging continued on for several minutes later as whatever springs and mechanisms drove the trap broke free. I gave the noises time to settle before popping back around the corner. A mangled heap of metal greeted me. Tangled wires, springs, and gears all in a heap. A large scything blade with two large notches out of its base lay shattered against one wall. There must have been a discount on scythe traps when the builders were making the place. The room beyond had partially collapsed. I was no expert by any means, but the rubble looked old. Worn. There were no raw edges. Everything was of uniform colour. It was unlikely that the volcanic eruption had caused this particular cave in. On the wall to the left were words. The same large scrawling script I¡¯d seen before, but still had no clue as to even the name of the language itself, let alone what any of it meant. It too was worn. The warlocks hadn¡¯t come through here often. A portcullis led out of the room. Beyond the portcullis lay... Glimmering flames. Dancing lights. A demon with red eyes. I slammed my own eyes shut and hastily backed out of the collapsed room. My fear lent me grace and even the tangle of metal and wires failed to slow me or cause me to stumble. I was on the first floor. On the other side of the demon mirror¡¯s room. Handy so long as I didn¡¯t find myself entrapped by the mirror once more. I returned to the fork in the corridor and took the passage to my left. I had been intent on continuing on where I had left off, but my plans were scuppered by the corridor seventy or so feet later when it took a 90? turn and abruptly ended. What was more it ended not in a blank wall, but a macabre display. One I had seen before. Skeletons chained to walls with metal spikes pressing into their desiccated spines. One of the skeletons had been sawn clean in half by the blade¡¯s edge. Fireball II The spell slipped free without my control, but I had been moments from summoning it myself. I set the fireball between them and let them burn. XXXVI - Map to Salvation I¡¯d not had much luck with my new adventures on the first floor thus far. The only place left to explore¡ªunless I wanted to brave the demon-mirror (which I didn¡¯t)¡ªwas the final exit from the room full of slain mercenaries. The wooden door lasted less than a second against my onslaught. It revealed a short parallel corridor with a second door to my right on the opposite side. Though sturdier, this door was also made of wood and soon fell. Unlike the first door it did so with a brilliant flash and the smell of burning sulphur. An instant later there was a deafening clap of thunder which sent me stumbling backward. Thankfully I''d remained hidden behind the far doorway and so other than ringing ears and a throbbing chest, I was unharmed. I was never opening a door by hand again. Not unless my need was extreme. Not unless I developed counter measure for doing so. The warlocks¡¯ traps were far too dangerous. Apparently someone was looking out for me, for it soon became apparent I¡¯d nearly travelled through this door before. On the opposite side was the magical pool from which I¡¯d retrieved Tom¡¯s chest. This meant two very important things: Firstly, I could now continue exploring the first floor as I pleased. I¡¯d never gone through the door south of the pool and now I found myself with the tools to make all such obstacles safe and trivial to overcome, even if they could throw lightning. Secondly, as just stated before, I now knew where south was. My large ¡®X¡¯ still remained carved in the north wall. Which meant I could determine where north was in the lift room. Which meant I could determine where north was on the floor far below. I put an X both in the corridor and the lift room before I found myself turned around. Then I circled the pool widdershins, being sure to keep my back to the mirror room the whole while. I returned to the hall of statues through the secret passage with full intention on recording a new spell before sunrise, but found myself sitting with my back against the wall and head spinning instead. ¡°Ah! Waters fall and lands turn to dust!¡± That had not been a good idea. Crawling would have been bad enough. Crawling while carrying a small travelling troupe¡¯s worth of gear had nearly torn my chest in half. I was still panting from the pain. The heaving of my chest was not helping the situation. I retrieved my wax and flipped through my spellbook to the relevant pages. Lesser Heal. Lesser Heal II. Lesser Heal III. Lesser Heal IIII. Lesser Heal V. The pain began to subside. One by one my muscles began to relax. Lesser Heal VI: The caster¡¯s body heals 31 hours¡¯ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. Not bad. A full night¡¯s recovery in a single rune, more or less. I¡¯d always found I healed faster at night. By the end of the recording session the pain of my exertions had entirely dimmed. Just in time for me to crawl back under the tapestry. Hopefully I¡¯d healed enough to make the trip. *** Lesser Heal VI ¡°Leave me atop the whitest peak to greet the sunrise with my frozen skull!¡± I was sitting against the pool¡¯s retaining wall this time, waiting for my new spell to work its magic. I could have double dipped on the spell if I¡¯d triggered it just before sunrise, but sunrise was such a fluid concept these days I had no way of knowing when that would be. Something had gone wrong with the spell. Something different. My wounds were still healing at the expected rate. No worries on that front. The spell was still in my book. It hadn¡¯t been stolen by the dark magic of the dungeon. No, instead, it was glowing. Glowing strangely. It provided no light, and the rune itself was as transparent as ever when I looked directly at it. Someone not in the know would think they were staring at a blank page. It was when I closed the book it became most apparent. I could still see the rune. I could still feel it there, waiting to be reknewed by the sunrise and called into action by its master. I turned my head so that my spellbook was completely out of sight and I could still see the rune. It was similar to the runes in my mind in that respect, but unlike them I could focus on it safely. I released my spellbook. Not by my much. I left it open to the page of Safe Teleport, just a few inches from my hand. I could still sense the rune. I moved my hand back. The rune didn¡¯t so much as flicker. Strange. And incredibly convenient. It was like nothing I¡¯d ever seen before. There was ways mages could avoid carrying around cumbersome spellbooks everywhere, but they typically convoluted and complicated or very fragile. This... If I could replicate this I wouldn¡¯t need to carve spells in my mind even in the dire-est of circumstance. I¡¯d have to see if recording it also recorded its properties. The pain had subsided enough for me to stand. I did so, and retreated out of the room back through the door which had spat lightning at my swords. Speaking of which- Magic Swords III Four blades came to my service. I¡¯d made a mistake in naming these spells. I should have called it Four Magic Swords for simplicity rather than iterating on the version. Although I supposed technically it was more like Four Magic Swords for a Little Bit then Three and then One for the Rest of My Remaining Time. Also there is Some Lights. And that was far more confusing. I set the swords to hacking down the southmost door while I retreated into the lightning blasted corridor. The door put up very little resistance. I circled the pool sunwise once the path was clear. The hallway beyond headed due east and would have been shaped somewhat like a very long letter ¡®F¡¯. Two corridors to my right to choose from, each branching in turn. I took the further branch on the logic that I had to choose one of them, and second guessing myself would have less benefits than simply committing to the first (and closest) path to cross my mind. (Provided neither suggested imminent death.) I left an X directly north of the corridor to mark my passage, then crossed the thirty or so feet to its next junction. The corridor ended in a dead end after another thirty feet on the passage to my right, and bent at a right angle to the south on the passage to my left. Carved directly in the mid-point of the right angle turn was rune. It was not mage rune. I wasn¡¯t even sure if it was a dark magic rune. Not, at least, of the sort of dark magic I was familiar with. Perhaps a bit of sorcerer or the work of an enchanter. It was evil, whatever the case. Malice radiated from it. It was so thick I could chew it. A dark promise of pain and despair. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. I recognized the rune even if I didn¡¯t know its name nor the magic which empowered it. It was a rune of the sort used by the Orcneas. Perhaps one written by the very ones I¡¯d met. They were not, by and large, regarded as friendly creatures. The could be reasoned with, bargained with, but all stories of the living corpses mentioned their darker nature. My spells were probably enough to overcome their magic, but I didn¡¯t want to become overconfident. They had claimed to be ancient enemies of the warlocks. Those who could survive the trail of centuries against such a foe were not to be underestimated. I¡¯d not deal with that rune unless I ran out of options to explore. As it stood, I had another corridor I could go down on the first floor, and my primary objective was to explore the second. I marked the north face of the corner where the rune stood, and beneath it drew a crude skull. A reminder to myself, and a warning to others. It was possible that not everyone would sense the rune¡¯s malice. The other passage was longer, perhaps a hundred feet in total. The route due south ended in a wall, but thirty or so feet before it a door was set in the western wall. I retreated back up the corridor and let my swords open it. One of the immediate benefits of my map of the eleventh floor was that it had given Conan and I a sense of the size of the various floors of the dungeon. If all floors were similar the dungeon was enormous. Unbelievably so. On the scale of a small city. In other words, I wasn¡¯t wasting my time exploring the first floor. I¡¯d explored two thirds of it at best, maybe a little more if there was variety between floors. But as long as I kept finding new rooms, Eric could be anywhere. The sun rose. It would be a slow search if I stopped every few minutes for an hour to record a new spell. I would do it anyway. Last time I¡¯d been unable to take advantage of the sunrise one of the suns had been devoured by darkness, I wasn¡¯t about to risk losing this opportunity to augment my strength. I¡¯d hardly be of any use to Eric if I was dead. Maybe a sign that there was a trap in the corridor and little more. That said, I wasn¡¯t about to stop for an hour without knowing my surroundings. Sparks flew as my swords pierced the door. The wooden door. With very large sparks, which crackled as they burrowed into the walls and ground, leaving scorchmarks to mark their passage. Another lightning trap, albeit a much tamer one than the last. I gave my swords a few extra minutes to clear the wall and stab at the surrounding doorway. Just in case. *** I¡¯d seen pentagons, hexagons, and heptagons. This room was an octagon. A circle for people who didn¡¯t want to commit. It hadn¡¯t been built that way. Not precisely, for the room was clearly a natural cave, with water running down the walls and stalactites hanging from the ceiling. No, this room had been carved. Then carved again as the running water and dripping ceiling had slowly eroded its shape. Chisel marks could be seen everywhere, both crude and elegant. Generations of hands maintaining a damp hole in the ground. Three ruby beetles grazed the ground for lichens and moss, or gnawed on the rotting logs which were scattered about the room. Despite the violence of my forced entry and the sparks of lightning it had released the beetles appeared unfazed. My will-o¡¯-wisps hadn¡¯t even registered when they¡¯d danced into the room to illuminate it. Perhaps the beetles were blind. Which made it all the more unfair when all three stopped at once and growled at me when I tried to enter the room. ¡°Hey! Woah,¡± I raised my hands, one wielding the sheath to my sword like a club, the other my book of spells, ¡°easy fellas.¡± The growling continued. My single step into the room had been enough to reveal the entire structure. There were no other doors in the room, no other inhabitants or structures. I¡¯d only missed a stone dais to the south against the wall. Suspicious, perhaps, but I didn¡¯t see how a secret door could be concealed within the natural stone of the wall. Perhaps there was a trap door under the dais, or the dais itself was an anchor for a teleportation ritual, but short of killing a few beetles I wasn¡¯t going to find out. ¡°Okay. Easy now. I¡¯m leaving,¡± I kept my hands raised as I slowly left the room. Raising them had probably done little to deescalate the situation, given that I hadn¡¯t disarmed myself, and beetles might not understand the intricacies of neutrality, but it might have made me look bigger. And I felt better. Some things just came naturally. My original intention had only been to investigate my surroundings anyway, and in that I¡¯d succeeded. The beetles could watch my back while I wrote my next spell. Lesser Heal. Lesser Heal II. Lesser Heal III. Lesser Heal IIII. Lesser Heal V. Lesser Heal VI. I remained standing at the end of the corridor, back to the wall, letting myself heal. Scrapes, aches, and bruises faded. My chest itched something fierce the whole time, testing my concentration the whole hour. Lesser Heal VII: The caster¡¯s body heals 62 hours¡¯ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. If I watched closely I could see the change on my skin as I watched. I wasn¡¯t about to recover from wounds mid battle, but watching torn skin slowly flatten out and knit back together leaving behind smooth green flesh was still a unique experience (for a variety of reasons). My swords were gone, of course, but my lights remained. I spread them out about myself and headed back to the lift. The only other readily available unexplored passage was through the room of the demon mirror, meaning it was time to return to exploring the second floor. Better I face a second toad-dragon than lose my mind any further. A little over ten minutes later saw me back on the second floor in that strange intersection of destroyed and collapsing rooms. I¡¯d had to work the winch the whole way down, a feat only made bearable by casting Lesser Heal VII less than a minute into my descent. That had been a mistake. The moment I cast the spell it vanished from my spellbook, lost like all the others. On the plus side, unlike the others, I was still keeping the gains from casting the spell. My health continued to improve even if the strength of my spells didn¡¯t. I risked another spell on touchdown. Magic Swords III Thankfully, this one stayed. I set the blades to carving an ¡®X¡¯ in the northenmost wall. Sword Storm would have been faster, but the lesson of the dungeon had finally sunk home. Only use my second best spells where possible. The other three rooms in the strange, explosion-made intersection were all to my south or west. There was also a doorway to the east, but I didn¡¯t fancy smashing through iron when open passages were available. Especially given the chance that the doorway was trapped. The room to my south was closest, lying just on the other side of half a doorway complete with half a door. It was a wonder the thing hadn¡¯t fallen over. There was a body in the room, up near its north side. He lay close enough to the explosion that my first thought was that he was another victim of my ill-caution, but closer inspection revealed he¡¯d been dead for far too long. The wounds were all wrong too. He had scabs about his wrists and ankles, and scars and slices everywhere else. His weapon lay nearby, a mace which had been half dissolved by some sort of acid. He¡¯d been tortured. He¡¯d avoided at least one trap. And he¡¯d died. Possibly from exposure or lack of water. Another escapee like myself. Poor man. The room was small by Bleakfort standards, thirty by thirty feet at best, and I quickly searched the rest of it without turning up anything new. An archway led out of the room to the east and a second door lay directly below it. Two more passages to explore after I finished my investigation of the other two rooms. I headed directly away from the open archway¡ªwest¡ªto the hallway and rooms on the other side. Room on the side. Singular. It turned out what had appeared to be two rooms from the outside was actually one large room with a hole in the wall along it¡¯s midpoint. The explosion had left behind two sections of wall within the hole, completing the illusion of a divide, but upon entering the room it was clear they were just free standing pillars. I set my swords to carving an ¡®X¡¯ on a blank patch of the north wall while I studied the rest of the room. The room contained two sets of objects of note beyond the scattered rubble from its collapsed wall. To my left was several small patches of brightly coloured mushrooms. The mushrooms themselves were also small, which was to say they were of normal mushroom size, as opposed to the ten foot tall Mushroom-Kings. All glowed green under my life site, a reassurance, if not a guarantee, that they weren¡¯t under his control. The second object was a map, one which took up an entire half of the wall to my right. The detail was intricate. Tiny. It almost looked more like a series of spider webs stacked on top of each rather than a map. Each ¡°web¡± was a network of little boxes and circles, all connected by thin little lines¡ªin other words, a floor of the dungeon. A map. A map of the dungeon. A map of this dungeon. It had to be. It couldn¡¯t be. I didn¡¯t dare hope it was. My knowledge of the dungeon¡¯s layout from a top down perspective was not such that I could tell if it contained the floor I was on. I¡¯d need Conan¡¯s map to figure that out. But if¡ªif¡ªthis was a map of Bleakfort... the possibilities overwhelmed me. A stirring awoke inside me, one akin to the soul of the dryad, one almost as strong as the feeling of Elysium. Salvation. A way out. No more stumbling in the dark. Stop it, Oswic. I dared not hope, and yet... No! I dared not. But if it was... I needed it copied immediately. I spun back the way I¡¯d come, heedless of the pain in my chest from the action. I needed to hurry. I needed to fetch Conan at onc- I was no longer alone. Something had heard my carving. Somethings. XXXVII - Svartè°©lfar It could have been worse. Not much worse, but it could have been. Probably. Not that it was good. A giant rat was still a giant rat. Especially when there were nearly two dozen of them. Did I mention they were gigantic? Two feet in length at least, not including the tail. They came pouring through the holes in the wall as a single liquid mass, then stopped suddenly once they came in view. As one they raised onto their hind legs and began chirping and squeaking at me. It was the synchronization which got me. It was unnatural. Disturbing. It should a level of coordination and intelligence I wasn¡¯t comfortable attributing to rats. I took an involuntary half step back. The rats remained where they stood, staring at me. ¡°Are we going to have a problem?¡± I asked in my best ¡°talking to large predators in the woods¡± voice. The rats didn¡¯t respond. Praise the everlasting rebirth of the sun for that. I took a cautious step forward. My left hand was carefully woven through the pages of my spellbook, ready to call fire and destruction down on the swarm. They didn¡¯t react. Cautious then. Simply investigating the noise. Unfortunately, they were also blocking my path and I didn¡¯t know if they¡¯d continue to act with such passivity if I pushed the issue. I could weave around them through the patches of colourful mushrooms and hope the door to the south wasn¡¯t also blocked by rats, I could try one of the two northern doors with my swords and hope the noise wouldn¡¯t set the rats off, or I could kill the rats now and be done with it. ¡°Blarr!¡± I crouched (Sail my soul to sea!) suddenly and shouted at the rats, trying to scare them. They hissed at me. So much for taking the fourth option. Four swords and sixteen rats. I didn¡¯t fancy my odds of coming out of it unscathed unless I burned through a whole lot more spells. Despite the dark elves¡¯ power, not only had their been far fewer of them, they¡¯d also been much larger targets. I knew where the door to the south came out, more or less, but I didn¡¯t trust those mushrooms, even if my life sight assured me that I could control them. I headed south anyway, maintaining eye contact with the horde. They shuffled on the spot to continue to face me in turn. Creepy. The sun rose. My plan remained unchanged. Even if I wanted to risk remaking my Safe Teleport on the fly, I still planned to come back to this room with Conan. I¡¯d kill the rats if necessary, but I didn¡¯t want to risk losing spells to the dark magic when I had other options. Instead, I crouched down behind a large piece of masonry which had once been part of the wall the rats now occupied. Then I sent my swords for the furthest of the two northern doors. I kept a careful eye on the rats as I sent my swords to work. If it sent them off, I¡¯d need to cast some spells, regardless of the consequences. I was betting on the fact that I now knew where north was, and that I¡¯d initially headed south to get here. Wood crashed and splintered. Hinges screamed and tore. Sparks flew. Stone hissed and chipped. Black smoke billowed up from nowhere. Another acid trap. This one seemed harsher than the last, though that might have simply been because my body wasn¡¯t in the way to protect the floor. Deep furrows were dug into the stone floor and an ever widening gap spread from the doorframe. What remained of the door collapsed into the pit opening above it. The first stones of the wall separating the two northern doors hovered uncertainly above the pit, suspended only by the mortar attaching them to the other stones. The hissing became a fizz. The billow became a sputter. The acid spent itself a moment later. I released a breath I didn¡¯t realize I¡¯d been holding. My body relaxed. The map was safe. That would have been a disaster. I¡¯d leave the closer door alone if at all possible. Throughout it all the giant rats had remained unfazed. I was grateful, but it was almost creepier than if they had attacked me. They didn¡¯t behave the way wild animals should. They were more like guards, directing me along a particular path. That called into question if that was exactly what they were doing. The warlocks had their servants after all. They had their ways of breaking bonds of loyalty, perhaps even loyalty to an animalistic nature. Stranger things had been done. It was also possible they had sorcerers in their employ. Men and women who could bind the rats to their will, much like Erin¡¯s bear had been stolen from her. If these were servants of a sorcerer, that called into further question whether or not I should follow the path laid out for me. Not that it was a difficult question to answer. I¡¯d already committed. I¡¯d proceed with caution and keep an eye on the rats, but second guessing myself could be as dangerous as taking the wrong path. Who knew when the next volcanic eruption or swarm of rats would arrive? I cautiously stepped over the hole in the ground and through what remained of the doorway. As I¡¯d half expected, the two northern doors both led to the same hall running parallel to the room with the hall ending at the door I¡¯d just come through, and turning northward at a right angle directly in front of the other door. I followed the path north and then west for about fifty paces before it forked, presenting me with two options. One continued straight ahead to the west, the other was due south on my left. I set my swords carving on the north most wall before I lost track of the directions. The straight path ended with a doorway on my right: north. That was the way I hoped to go. Before I¡¯d even finished carving my ¡®X¡¯ in the stone a sound interrupted me. The sound of chanting and feet on stone coming down the now open door to my left. *** It was a parade of men, old and bent by their years. Not a one had a beard which was shorter than my hair and all were white or grey. They wore long grey robes which concealed shuffling feet. Only in small flashes would a rag wrapped foot be revealed. They chanted in a language long forgotten by those who danced by moonlight, and one never learned by those who worked under the sun. A language which was older than the stars in the sky. One which had seen the birth of the earth itself from the corpse of the old world. The Language of the Gods. I¡¯d never heard another soul speak it save my master. I¡¯d only seen it written in his books and on ancient cairns. And I¡¯d seen it written in this dungeon. Carved into walls and carved at the base of a statue which had now saved my life countless times. A language which was known only by scholars, and¡ªperhaps¡ªdwarves. They carried a large chest between them, balanced on two long poles. Dread emanated from the chest. A feeling of rot and disease, of twisted purpose and selfish desire. Black magic of the sort wielded by the dark altar I¡¯d taken shelter on, but more immediate, more powerful. Not all men were good or evil, and so too it was for dwarves. The dwarves which worshipped the goddess, the dwarves which carved her statue and imbued it with her power were not the same who now bore an idol of such dark purpose. Those few stories I¡¯d heard of dwarves found them more often evil than not. I¡¯d have to keep my wits about me. ¡°Hail, masters. Wither you go?¡± I called out to them in the Language of the Gods. Both the chanting and procession stopped. The chest was set on the ground and all turned to peer around the corner at me. The lead dwarf to my left spoke. His voice was deep and powerful despite his age, befitting more a king than an old man in rags. ¡°We travel beyond, wise one. Step aside that we may pass.¡± Stolen novel; please report. I strode with measured steps from one hallway to another. Fear had a way of setting any on edge, supernatural or not. The lead dwarf bowed his head at me, ¡°Thank you, wise one. Blessings on your travels.¡± ¡°Wind whistle and rain fall,¡± I returned his blessing. The dwarves re-shouldered their burden and the lead dwarf took up the strange guttural chant. The others joined in. It was almost a dirge so mournful and low were their voices. The only difference was its strength, so strong I felt it reverberating in my chest. The procession shuffled forward once more. They were somewhat spaced out, with the first reaching the unopened door at the end of the hall shortly after the last cleared the corner. I watched with some curiosity as the leader traced his finger along the door itself seemly at random, and then along the frame before withdrawing a large key which he set in the door¡¯s lock. I was stood over twenty feet away and could still hear the click of a heavy bolt releasing. The door swung open and the procession slowly shuffled inside. A mystery for another time. It was time for me to move on. *** The door the dwarves had come through led directly back into the pentagonal prison cell. In turn, that meant Brace and the others were only several minutes walk away. Conan had gone off mapping and had yet to return. In light of his absence I took the time to restore one of my lost spells. Clothes Hanger. Safe TeleportII. I cast the spells simultaneously. Eight Seconds later I found myself on the far side of the hall I was recording in, completely clothed. True Teleport II: The caster and his gear moves 150 ft over the course of eight seconds, but does not exist in the intervening space. I felt a burden lift with the final flourish of my bar of wax. Every teleport available to me made me that much safer. Especially if said teleports allowed me to keep my grip on my spellbook. Will-¡¯o-Wisp A quick stop back in what had become our headquarters revealed Conan had yet to return. We were worried, but not more than usual. Both Conan and myself had been gone for much longer time periods, even if you didn¡¯t count our stay in Elysium. I decided to check out the room the dwarves had gone into while I waited. They hadn¡¯t seemed hostile and the place was close by. If I was lucky the dwarves had also disabled all traps along the path. It was a matter of minutes to return back to the door they¡¯d disappeared behind. They¡¯d close the door behind themselves, which meant I¡¯d probably have to break it down with some swords to be safe, but for the moment I was content to eavesdrop. No light came from around the edges of the door, nor through the grill set near the top. I¡¯d left my own light behind as I¡¯d crept forward. Despite the lack of light, I was sure the dwarves were in there. I could hear them chanting. If the chanting was in the Language of the Gods it used words or phrases I didn¡¯t recognize. Perhaps a chant specific dialect, or an even more ancient variant of the tongue. Legends claimed dwarves had carved the caves and caverns of the new world the moment the old one had died. Some even said they had carved the new world from the corpse of the old. The legends didn¡¯t say where they had been before then, but the fact alone suggested they were older than the gods themselves. My lights crept closer, half to announce my presence, half to let me see into the dark cell beyond. The light was dim, no more than a candle, but the dwarves had demonstrated an ability to navigate in total darkness. Even if the light didn¡¯t illuminate their surroundings they could surely see the light itself creeping around the cracks in their door. And yet, they didn¡¯t react, content to stand in their circle around the altar they¡¯d carried. More disturbing still was their choice of ally. In each corner of the room crouched a giant frog. They had reacted to my light, though with far more restraint than I was used to from the creatures. All eight of their eyes were locked on the door I stood behind, and two of them were puffing their throats nervously. At the far end of the room was a chute descending deeper into the earth. The dwarves (presumably it wasn¡¯t the frogs) had laid garlands of strange flowers about the lip of the chute. Flowers which I¡¯d never seen nor heard of in all my years nor any of my education. There was something sacred about the act, made profane by the presence of the altar. Eric wasn¡¯t here. Not unless the he¡¯d been imprisoned down at the bottom of the chute. It was time to move on. He could be imprisoned at the bottom of the chute. Sky quake and earth splint asunder, he could be at the bottom of the chute. I¡¯d wait until the dwarves were done with their ritual. Then I¡¯d slip past the frogs and see. The fact that the ritual could be harmful gnawed at me as I turned away from the cell, but the odds it weren¡¯t had to be higher than the odds that I could defeat the dwarves and frogs together in their seat of power. Magic Swords II I used the ¡®X¡¯ I¡¯d carved at the intersection to carve another at the far end of the pentagonal room, and then another opposite its exit. Beetles arrived from the south as my swords started carving the second ¡®X¡¯. Thankfully I noticed them before they got too close. There was four of them, large as boar-hounds though thankfully not nearly as tall. Each appeared as though it had been carved from an enormous ruby, beautiful and glittering even in the weak light, and all four were charging toward me. I retreated back to my swords and moved my swords around and in front of me, angled to catch the charging beetles like spears. The swords brought the front two beetles to a skittering stop which in turn forced the two beetles behind them to slow as they skittered around their companions. Neither blade had succeeded in piercing the beetles¡¯ carapaces. They hadn¡¯t even been scratched. Rubies indeed. That was concerning. On the plus side, the strength of my swords was greater than the beetles¡¯ own weight. I could keep them at bay simply by pushing them aside with my blades. In fact... that gave me an idea. I was going to need more swords. Fortunately, I knew a guy. Sword Storm Two blades rushed out to each beetle, aiming low, no longer seeking a kill. I continued to retreat as I manipulated the blades, trying to keep distance between the insects and myself. The magical swords threaded their way between the beetles¡¯ ruby clad legs and pressed up lengthwise against their underbellies. They were too low to the ground to get a good stab in from this angle, and too close to get the windup needed to attempt to break their legs. Instead, I simply lifted the swords into the air, beetles along with them. Two of the beetles slid free from my precarious arrangement. They hit the ground with a series of clacking thugs, legs already churning, ready to push forward against me. The other two I brought up as high as I dared, and then heaved about with a spin and a twist as if I was operating a particularly dangerous and unwieldy diabolla. The beetles spun about and crashed into the ground on their backs where they began to lash and flail about. I¡¯d have loved to finished them off there and then, but the other two were getting awfully close, so I settled for laying a single sword across each of their stomachs to prevent them from flipping back over, and then sent the other two swords to reinforce. It soon turned out that was not significantly easier to flip a beetle over with three swords instead of two, as the hardest part was getting the swords into position in the first place, and extra swords simply meant extra points of failure. The swords didn¡¯t even slow them. Instead their legs flipped up like an archery target and tickered over the blades tickety-tack. Once their rear claws cleared the swords the legs snapped down as fast as they had tucked away and the frantic and inevitable pursuit continued. They also moved incredibly fast for their size, more like dogs than the tortoises they more closely resembled. I was already backed up into the next room with my retreating heels pressed dangerously close to the pit in the centre of the room. I was out of space and they were on me. I was bowled over in an instant. The speed and weight of the beetles was irresistible, even with my greatly enhanced strength. Not that I planned to stay down. True Teleport II My destinations were limited to the extent of my senses meaning I had to twist as I fell to see the opposite side of the pit behind me. Just before I vanished I sent my swords to hacking and stabbing at the creatures legs and abdomens, hoping to break what I could not cut. The beetles were no worse for wear when I reappeared several seconds later. I¡¯d taken my time to give my swords time to act (not that it had done me any good), but also to hopefully throw the beetles off my scent. In that it had worked. The beetles (all four of them somehow) had gathered together into an outward facing ring by the far door and were lashing out at random, trying to contend with their invisible assailants. They hadn¡¯t noticed me yet and so I used said time to retreat back down the hall towards the goblin horde room. I didn¡¯t want to return all the way back to hideout. Given Brace¡¯s party¡¯s showing against the goblins I wouldn¡¯t receive any help there, I¡¯d just get people killed. Ideally, the beetles wouldn¡¯t follow me at all and I¡¯d be able to rest and recuperate while I decided how best to deal with them. When you were a wizard, there was always a way. Not following me was exactly what the beetles did, much to my surprise and relief. I¡¯d have to warn the others off of going near the lift room, but for now it appeared we were safe. I used the suddenly lull to fully appreciate the burning sensation in my chest where the wounds had ripped as the beetles had tackled me. Thankfully they hadn¡¯t managed to climb atop me. With their weight and their durability, I bet their legs were like spears. Conan still hadn¡¯t returned by the time I¡¯d gotten back, though to be fair it had been less than half an hour since I last checked. I warned the others about the beetles while Cillian swore to me it was only mid afternoon. Apparently the man had a talent for keeping track of time. A quick review of my day and the number of spells I¡¯d written roughly matched his estimate. If we were correct Conan might not be back for hours yet, if he returned today at all. My master had had me play a large number of strategy games, both board and physical. I¡¯d failed to see the relevance to the rest of my training until much later when I finally got sick of losing and decided to sit down and see what I was doing wrong. I¡¯d been overextending. Too often I¡¯d force myself to act a turn early, or chase after a ball when I could have waited for it to come to me. Always, I¡¯d been seeking an edge. But there were times for action and times for rest. I¡¯d seen the pattern in my life as well. Sometimes¡ªnot always¡ªbut sometimes taking a moment to gather my strength or fortify my position was more effective than the most bombastic assault. And so I waited. Perhaps if my chest didn¡¯t ache or if my spells weren¡¯t depleted it might be different, but it wasn¡¯t. When Conan returned it would be my job to guide us past the beetles, and that was something I couldn¡¯t do at the moment. The sun rose. Serendipity. Fireball. Fireball II. I wondered if rubies burned. XXXVIII - The Courageous Path As it turned out, rubies did not burn. They didn¡¯t even melt. At least not at any sort of reasonable temperatures. My Fireball III spell was twice the heat of the spells which had brought down the toad-dragon and the beetles treated it like it was only so much hot air. The light from the fire was more distracting to them. Far more distracting. The only saving grace of the entire operation was the fact that the light blinded the beetles, shielding both my approach and my retreat. It was that or my sneaking had been stealthy enough to entirely avoid their notice. I¡¯d had a normal childhood. Hunted like anyone else. I wasn¡¯t completely incompetent at moving quietly. My childhood instruction hadn¡¯t included being stabbed in the chest with hot pokers while doing so, however, so I was still leaning towards the idea that the fireball had blinded them. I returned back to the camp. Conan still hadn¡¯t arrived, which was fine by me. I still didn¡¯t know what to do about the beetles. I could double down on the fireballs until they were hot enough to start my own personal volcano. Even the beetles probably wouldn¡¯t survive that. The problem there was I might not survive it either in these close corridors. An alternative was increasing the power of my push spell, but I didn¡¯t have the strength to get that ball rolling. I think healing was my best bet still. I nearly slapped myself a few minutes later. I wasn¡¯t alone here. I needed to start acting like it. I settled down to rest, my mind in quiet contemplation, staring at nothing, staring at the runes floating in my mind. I had a plan. Now I just needed to wait for sunrise. *** Conan arrived during the night. Nobody sought to wake me. Apparently I looked like I needed the sleep. I¡¯d have wanted to be woken, but I couldn¡¯t blame them. I felt nearly as bad as I looked. My entirely green skin and clothing made the red wounds in my chest stand out all the more. I still hadn¡¯t found new clothes to cover them. I probably looked like a dying tree. I dreamed of trees too. Not dying ones. Forests. Saplings. All sprung from the soil at once, as if after a forest fire. Hungry grasping trees, branches stretching for the sky. Devouring the sunlight. An albatross flew overhead, swooping about me in dizzying circles, diving down at me, mocking me, clawing me, never once flapping its wings. Runes danced through the sky. I slept poorly and woke with the sunrise. I took the time to drink and return upstairs for food. I didn¡¯t want to risk losing out on the sunrise, but the others were still sleeping and I needed them. Erin was awake by the time I returned though the others were still snoring. She was normally the first awake in Brace¡¯s crew. I motioned for her to join me over by the door to the hideout. We spoke softly in low tones, not wanting to disturb the others. ¡°You¡¯ve looked like you had something to say since last night,¡± Erin began without preamble, ¡°I take it isn¡¯t an easy thing to say.¡± I nodded, heart suddenly pounding. It shouldn¡¯t have mattered that she was so beautiful. Beautiful even with the smoky mask about her eyes. It shouldn¡¯t have mattered, but it did. I was afraid to hurt her. Like she was an ephemeral piece of art woven from mist and clouds. One wrong move and she¡¯d blow apart, taking her beauty with her. ¡°I...¡± the word came out more of a whisper, inaudible even to myself. I cleared my throat and tried again, ¡°I was hoping you could help me write a spell.¡± Erin was suddenly very still. A grouse who thought it had been spotted. Her first instinct was to refuse, I could see it in her eyes. I didn¡¯t try to convince her, nor retract my question. As hard as it was, I stood firm as the porcelain doll before me shook and threatened to shatter. ¡°I... yes I can do that,¡± she nodded to herself, ¡°yes, I can do that. Yes.¡± In that moment, a bit of that porcelain might have turned to marble. Not because she said yes. Fulfilling the requests of anyone who asked was just another way of hiding. Strength entered her because she thought about it. Thought about it and decided what she wanted. I smiled at her, ¡°Thank you. I¡¯d appreciate it if you help me convince the others once they¡¯re awake. The more the merrier.¡± ¡°Is time of the essence?¡± I shrugged (By the rifts of the sea!), ¡°Ah! Ow. It might be.¡± I¡¯d have thought I¡¯d remembered to stop doing that by now. Erin nodded once more, then a wicked grin took her, ¡°I¡¯ll wake them then.¡± ¡°We can probably wait another-¡± She was already off, first making a straight line for where Brace slept peacefully on her side. Erin sunk a foot into her side, ¡°Wake up! The Magi needs you.¡± Only a beautiful woman could be persuasive in such a way. Even then, it was a close thing. Fionn was using his single eye to glare to great effect, and Stovepipe was muttering about throwing his lot in with the warlocks. Conan looked bemused, with Tadhg being the only one besides Erin wearing a wide grin. Only Tadhg¡¯s grin was focused on Erin. All other faces, grins and glares alike, were directed at me. The Magi needs you indeed. I raised my hands defensively, ¡°I¡¯d like the record to show... nevermind, time is running out.¡± I directed the group to a section of wall and got them all to push on it as one, making sure they kept it only at a level they could sustain for an hour. I didn¡¯t add my own spell to the mix, as it was too short to make much of a difference in the long run. Instead, I waited and I recorded with wax and- whispers. Whisper filled the air, screaming, shouting, demanding: Regenerating Form I called for a break. I kept the spell, though I had mixed feelings about it interrupting my own spell creation. On the one hand, we¡¯d just lost an hour of work and strength, and sunrise could be rapidly approaching. On the other hand, it sounded exactly like what I needed. ¡°We¡¯ve still got four minutes to go,¡± Cillian said, releasing the wall with a frown, ¡°Something happen?¡± This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. I shook my head, though not in negation, ¡°Bad luck, or bad timing. The warlocks¡¯ dark magic stopped me.¡± I clapped a hand on his shoulder, ¡°You called the spell crafting to the minute. You missed a calling as a navigator. No ship would refuse you.¡± Cillian shrugged at the praise, clearly not sure what to do with it, ¡°I¡¯ve always been good with time, ever since I was a kid. Just started counting one day and never stopped. Not even in my dreams.¡± That would drive me insane. I kept the thought to myself. I turned to the group as a whole, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I¡¯ve lost the spell. Do you have the have the strength to go again?¡± There was more grumbling, but it was of the good natured sort. After a few minutes¡¯ rest my crew was arranged back against the wall ready to push with all their strength. ¡°Go¡± They were undoubtedly weaker this time round, but not by much. Seven bodies moving as one was still stronger than anything I could do on my own. The hour passed without further interruption of the warlocks¡¯ whispers or the rising of the sun. Push IIII: Push an object with 700lbs of force for up to an hour. ¡°We¡¯re done! You can stop pushing now, thank you.¡± Fionn slumped to the floor in relief. He¡¯d been going at it with more enthusiasm than the others, for reasons which weren¡¯t quite clear, ¡°Did it work this time?¡± ¡°Exactly what I needed. Though I might ask for your help again in a few hours to increase the strength of the spell if you¡¯re willing.¡± Fionn groaned, but nodded as he leaned back against the wall, ¡°I look forward to it.¡± Hopefully they¡¯d be recovered by whenever the next sunrise was. I¡¯d cast the spell just before sunrise to double its power if I could predict them, but that was me being greedy. It was already rising half a dozen times more often than it should. Conan walked over to stand beside me. ¡°I hear you¡¯ve been looking for me. Found a map of some sort?¡± I nodded, ¡°I think it is of the dungeon. The entire dungeon, if you can believe it.¡± The sun rose. ¡°After all the effort I¡¯ve taken to map this place out. After all you¡¯ve done scouting ahead and marking what walls you can. Almost seems too easy, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Conan replied, completely unaware of what had just transpired. I was barely paying attention to his words. Health, or strength? I wanted the Regenerating Form. I could record it in my spellbook, and never have to worry about injury again. Or I¡¯d fail to record it, and answer the question once and for all about the nature of dark magic. Only the natural world could be recorded. But to do so meant I¡¯d need to cast dark magic. Man did not fall from grace with a single misstep. It was the repeated and conscious actions he took, day after day after day. I¡¯d already spent some time developing my own healing spell, but the lure of instant success was strong. Too strong. Almost seems too easy, doesn¡¯t it? Conan¡¯s last words pulled me back to my senses. I¡¯d stick to what I knew. Conan had remained silent while I thought, a fact for which I was grateful. Too often I¡¯d been faced with impatience when trying to work through an idea, an impatience which made everything take twice as long and still fail to be properly understood. ¡°I¡¯m going to need to record another set of spells. Not the push spell for now, don¡¯t worry, you can keep resting. I merely ask you don¡¯t interrupt me while I¡¯m sitting in that corner there.¡± I lowered my voice back to conversational levels and turned back to Conan, ¡°Good fortune does happen, but I think you are right to suspicious. Everything here bears the warlocks¡¯ taint.¡± *** Lesser Heal. Lesser Heal II. Lesser Heal III. Lesser Heal IIII. Lesser Heal V. Lesser Heal VI. There was few wounds left to heal. I¡¯d cast the spell enough times that all minor injuries had faded, and even the aches in my muscles and joints had turned to strength. The gulf between a day¡¯s exertions and life threatening burns was wide. Even now the difference before and after the hour¡¯s end was small, but it was there. Heal: The caster¡¯s body heals 62 hours¡¯ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. The whispers let me be as I finished my spell, a balm which soothed the burn of retreading old ground. I¡¯d already created this spell once before and lost it nearly as fast. This version I¡¯d do my utmost to use carefully, and only when needed. I stretched what limbs I could as I stood. The sudden rush of blood and nitroaereus wrapped me in a warm blanket in front of the healing¡¯s gentle fire. It was almost as if the warm light of Elysium was shining on me once again. I was ready to head back out into the dungeon. Not to the beetles, not yet. But sitting around waiting for the next sunrise would drive me mad. I had spells. I had time. I could explore the doors beyond the pit of spikes, or... I could sneak around the beetles by using the lift from the first floor. My fireballs could deal with the rats if they remained in the way. ¡°Conan! Are you ready to capture a map for me?¡± The man had been resting next to Erin underneath the holes in the wall. He leapt to his feet at once at my voice, ¡°It would be my pleasure. I can set out at once!¡± ¡°I too. Come. We head for a lift on the first floor.¡± That was for the others as much as Conan. Both Erin and Tadgh caught it and acknowledged me with nods. ¡°How long will you be?¡± Erin asked. ¡°If all goes well we should be back before nightfall. Though if things go too well we may be back later if we need to camp by the map to give it the full amount of study it deserves.¡± ¡°A week, then,¡± Erin said with a smile, ¡°Time enough for the two of you to disappear mysteriously again. I should quite like to accompany you one of those times.¡± ¡°I would like that as well,¡± I replied, and meant it. She was pleasant to be around if nothing else, but there was more to it. That she¡¯d come such a long way in such a short time in regards to her fear of magic spoke greatly of a character with which I wished to be more acquainted. ¡°A moment, Oswic?¡± Conan grabbed me by my arm and pulled (stone made of sand!) me out the door. ¡°A gentle touch will do,¡± I panted, hand over my chest, ¡°These wounds are far from healed.¡± Conan winced, ¡°Apologies, it won¡¯t happen again.¡± He didn¡¯t let the apology linger, much to my annoyance, but there was no time to be annoyed either, his expression became serious at once, ¡°Erin¡¯s with Brace.¡± I blinked my befuddlement at him, ¡°Is she now? What of it?¡± He grimaced, ¡°It¡¯s not conducive to maintaining the royal bloodline, for one thing.¡± I got it at once, ¡°So rescuing Eric is her way out of-¡± ¡°Don¡¯t get your hopes up for another. She desires Brace and no other.¡± There was that strange Delta turn of phrase again. ¡°I have no intentions on her,¡± I reassured him, ¡°Dreams perhaps, but I can hardly be blamed for that. I have greater things on my mind than base pleasures.¡± ¡°There is nothing base about desire,¡± Conan said, ¡°Even us eunuchs can see that.¡± This conversation was treading ground I wasn¡¯t comfortable walking at this time, ¡°I merely mean to encourage her sudden spell of bravery.¡± Conan¡¯s expression softened, ¡°Yes I¡¯ve noticed as well. More so. It is even more extreme if you have known her your whole life. I suspect much of it is feigned. Putting on a brave face.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t feign bravery. Facing your fears with open is bravery. Perhaps she is not at ease, but if she is willing she doesn¡¯t need to be.¡± ¡°Can she come with us?¡± I smiled at him, ¡°I don¡¯t see why not.¡± XXXIX - Foul Air We made good time up the steps and faced no troubles navigating the trapped hallway under Conan¡¯s direction. Tom hadn¡¯t returned home, not had his home itself returned. Despite this, someone had moved into his former space. Seven beautiful blonde maidens in long and thick woolen skirts now occupied the space. I stepped forward to investigate while the others readied club and sword. The women were all laying down or leaning against the walls. These were not the beauties of the Harem-King. There was nothing artful nor seductive about their pose. Whether it be the damp hair plastered to their face, pale skin, shaking limbs, or soiled skirts, none of them were doing well. Several groaned in pain where they lay. Only one of them had the strength to lift her head at my approach, ¡°Please sir, we are in dire need of your help. Something in this foul place has poisoned us. You must save us or I fear we will all succumb to disease.¡± Erin began to lower her club, but Conan caught her wrist. He knew nearly as well as I how deceptive appearances could be under the Bleakfort. ¡°How did you come to be in this place?¡± I asked, ¡°Did the master of this space give you leave to lie here?¡± I was careful not to mention Tom Oldshoe by name. A promise was a promise. Not that I had any qualms about alluding to the hob. The problem with developing a reputation for deceptiveness was that you encouraged it in those who dealt with you in turn. ¡°Master?¡± she asked with confusion, ¡°What master?¡± Conan was looking askance at me as well. I ignored both of them. ¡°What happened here? What is wrong?¡± Her strength was fading rapidly. Even as she began talking her head lowered back to the ground, ¡°We do not know, Sir. We are guardians of this mountain, not taken to simple disease. But something in this air is poison, sir. It had polluted us. The pain is all around. It robs of us of our strength. It gnaws at our bones. Please sir, you must save us.¡± Conan knelt by one of the women. Conan was short for a man, but the women were tiny, even for women. He towered over her. She was too weak to be intimidated. ¡°Did this come about all at once? Did you awake sickened? Eat or drink something strange or unusual?¡± The woman merely groaned in response. The one I was talking to replied for her, ¡°The air itself works against us. It must be the air. We were travelling through the halls of the dungeon. We all sickened at once as we entered the foul air of the room over yon,¡± she managed to point weakly at the door to the room where I¡¯d before noticed the strange and stomach roiling scent, ¡°this is as far as we managed to escape.¡± ¡°And from where did you come before you were sick?¡± Conan asked. She pointed once more, this time to the west, through a door I hadn¡¯t been through. Now that I thought about it, I¡¯d never explored two of the doors leading from Tom¡¯s room. Conan went over to examine the door. While he studied it he called to me, ¡°Can you investigate the source of the sick air she speaks of? it doesn¡¯t seem to be effect us as much, and I¡¯d hope your magics could protect you besides. Erin and I will carry them from this room back to safety through this door provided I don¡¯t find any traps.¡± I wouldn¡¯t be able to carry the women anyway so I rapidly agreed. The air had been strange before, unpleasant even, but I¡¯d noticed no ill effects. If it had gotten worse I could always teleport back to safety. The spokeswoman was making enough noise to target my spell. ¡°No! No... don¡¯t carry. Must not... our skirts. Drag us if...¡± She was rapidly fading. I hurried through the south door. The room smelled no better nor no worse than I remembered last time I was in it. That same unidentifiable odour hung in the room, that smell half way between human feces and orange blossoms, and yet unlike either in every way. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. If the women had met their end due to the spell, it was because of the their constitution, not because anything had changed. Perhaps the smell only effected women, or perhaps the women weren¡¯t as human as they seemed. ¡°All well, Conan?¡± I called, suddenly concerned. ¡°Just getting the first ones moved now now,¡± he called back, ¡°They don¡¯t seem to like being touched. Took a bit of negotiation.¡± They were fine, and yet, and couldn¡¯t help but feel paranoid. ¡°Keep making noise, just in case.¡± Conan replied by launching into a song. An old Delta shanty by the sound of it. I didn¡¯t recognize the words or the tune. I popped my head back through the door to confirm it was him singing anyway. There were too many tales of creatures who could mimic another¡¯s voice. Conan nodded at me as he dragged a woman away by her shoulders, but didn¡¯t stop his song. Confidence bolstered, I returned to studying the room. There were only two avenues I hadn¡¯t explored. The strange script on the eastern wall¡ªthat had been there last time I¡¯d visited¡ªand the doorway directly across from Tom¡¯s old room. The door had been there before too, but I¡¯d never been through it. Perhaps it would lead me to the source of the smell. Magic Swords III I ducked back into the room with Conan and Erin as my swords went to work on the door. A moment later a spear flew through the doorway I¡¯d just walked through and skidded to a halt midway through the room. I peaked around the corner. The remains of the far doorway lay piled around the body of a large spring. Another door trap, then. This one must have sent the spear flying nearly one hundred feet. And yet the builders of this place couldn¡¯t make a hinge which didn¡¯t seize or a frame which didn¡¯t get stuck. They should have gotten the trap builders to do it. Erin and Conan had moved about half the women out of the room and into the hallway beyond. A quick peek down the hallway with one of my lights revealed it continued for another fifty or so feet to the south before ending in a door. ¡°Could you leave the light?¡± Erin asked, ¡°We¡¯d like to get them further away once we can keep an eye on them again, but our hands are too full for the torches. Your candlelight can at least guide us.¡± ¡°I can do better than that,¡± I replied. Fireball II Light flooded the hallway, as well as heat from the raging ball of fire. While it could have in theory been used better in a fight, the spell was a liability to keep in my head. Here, in a controlled fashion, I could put it to immediate use. I sent the fireball to the far end of the hall. I¡¯d have preferred to leave it at the middle, but the ceiling was too low to comfortably pass under the flaming spell. ¡°If you need it moved out of the way of the door just let me know. I¡¯m going to keep searching for the source of the poison.¡± Erin eyed the fireball leerily, but only nodded and smiled in response, ¡°Thank you. Good luck.¡± The spear trap and door it had been attached to had been guarding a small room barely wider than the reach of my outstretched arms in all directions. It seemed entirely disproportionate. There wasn¡¯t even anything in the room besides the door at the far end. The far (near) door was made of iron, but, strangely for the dungeon, it was slightly ajar so I wouldn¡¯t have to waste time breaking it down. How very suspicious. It was too good to be true. I slipped around the corner into the stinky room and sent my swords to pry open the door. No trap was set off. No creature stirred. No warlocks yelled in surprise. ¡°Anyone in there?¡± I called. No reply. ¡°Last chance before I slice the place to bits!¡± Still no one replied. I¡¯d done my due diligence. I peeked around the corner just enough to send my will-o¡¯-wisps and swords in and started them slicing wildly in all directions. Stone clanked and sparks flew, but no invisible monsters revealed themselves. Whatever had caused the door to be ajar (if it was anything at all) had moved on. I peered fully around the corner to get a better look at the roo- I knew this place. I knew this place though I¡¯d The depression in front of the iron door. The pitted and cracked floor. The towering metal-wrought altar in the shape of a twisted tree. I think I knew the source of the women¡¯s corruption. The sun rose. Sword Storm It was time to find out. XL - Eric The altar was in ruins before I finished recording my spell, an exact copy of the first with the added advantage of not being written in my own saliva. Not only was it more sanitary, it wouldn¡¯t wash off if my spellbook got wet. Something felt right about destroying the altar. My spirit felt at ease. Like I could breath a little bit more freely. Like the gloom wasn¡¯t quite as dark, like the lights were just a little brighter. The feeling may have been metaphysical; a sign the world was better in some minute way once more, or it could have simply been the catharsis of reducing an emblem of the warlocks to scraps of metal. The smell remained in the room which the women claimed had sickened them. If there was a source of the saccharine scent it wasn¡¯t here. Conan was still singing, rains wash his fields, though his voice was growing hoarse. I followed the sound down past Tom¡¯s place, down the hall and into the room beyond. I supposed they¡¯d gone through when my flames had died out. The thought nearly had them slip free again. I turned around and quickly cast it behind me instead. Fireball II The spell was a liability. If only I could remove runes as easily from my mind as from the page of a book. The sudden light of my fire alerted the others to my prescence. ¡°That you, Oswic?¡± Erin called. I stepped into the room in answer. The room was about the size of Tom¡¯s place in all aspects but height. The ceiling was low, only a few inches above my head. A circle of standing stones formed three quarters of a henge around the door I¡¯d just entered through. Conan and the women lay or stood on the other side of the circle. The women were looking much better. Their faces were less pale, some were sitting upright under their own power, and the tension in their faces had eased. They were all smiles now, except occasionally when they¡¯d fix Conan with a frustrated glare, which was strange. They perked up once they noticed my entry however. Conan did too, but in an entirely different manner. He stopped singing and smiled, gesturing to the room as a whole, ¡°Getting away seemed to fix it. We had them lying in the hallway for maybe half an hour when they started to recover.¡± That had been around the time I¡¯d dealt the final blow on the altar. ¡°I think it was more than getting away which did it. The warlock¡¯s dark altar was nearby. I destroyed it about that time.¡± One of the woman stood and tottered over to me, face beaming, ¡°Then you are the one we have to thank for our recovery?¡± She threw her arms around me, ¡°Thank you! Thank you from the bottom of my heart, on all our behalf. We thought we were going to die!¡± The other women were glaring at her, but I didn¡¯t have much time to spare for the thought as a burning was growing in my chest. ¡°If... you would be so... kind to release me,¡± I grunted through clenched teeth, ¡°I am... somewhat inured.¡± She released me at once with a cry and a deluge of apologies. I barely heard them. I was busy trying to hold back a scream. I didn¡¯t want to dispel the manly image they had of me just yet. I took several slow shallow breaths under the pretense of studying the room. The room had two exits other than the one I currently stood in. Both doors were heavily scratched¡ªcovered in claw marks. The wall between them was as well. As were the walls to my left and right and the door standing open behind me. Something large had been trapped here. There were no other signs of its passage. No excrement, fur, nor body. It had been unable to escape, but after a short time moved on, which suggested someone had let it out. Someone had let it out and not been immediately killed, or the creature would have been trapped in an adjacent room. I studied the two doors to my left. Unless it still was trapped beyond one of the doors. I pointed to the clawmarks, ¡°Did you see or hear anything?¡± Conan and Erin shook their heads but one of the blonde women nodded, ¡°I heard sounds coming from that door there, both on our way past, and a few moments ago.¡± She was pointing at the door closest to me. ¡°Snarls? Growls?¡± She shrugged, ¡°I can¡¯t be sure. Just sounds of some sort. Animal sounds. Coming from a throat. Could have been a person singing or a dog howling.¡± She cut off my next question before it left my lips, ¡°Different from the walls.¡± ¡°Could you check the door Conan? I could break it down, but if it is trapped we could be in danger.¡± Conan held his fingers for a moment more against the last woman¡¯s neck, then stood with a satisfied nod. He¡¯d struggled on each and every patient that I¡¯d seen to get permission to touch them. They were all rather particular about not uncovering a scrap more skin than their robes already revealed. He past through the henge and began to study the door for traps, tricks, and whatever else tipped him off not to go through. I backed through the same henge to give him room to work. A strange tingling passed through me as I did so. It was entirely different from the surging jolt the druidstone had caused. This was more repellent, both in nature in literally. It felt as though I¡¯d crossed a threshold of some sort. I shivered and crossed my arms, joining Erin to watch Conan work. She hadn¡¯t seemed to notice. ¡°Door seems safe,¡± Conan said finally, ¡°As safe as anything down here anyway.¡± He placed his ear against the door and listened intently, ¡°Don¡¯t hear anything though. Any of you have better hearing?¡¯ I walked back across the threshold and was met with the same strange sensation. It was as if I¡¯d pierced a sudden bubble of cold air. It didn¡¯t slow me, but it gave me pause all the same. ¡°Did any of you feel that?¡± ¡°Feel what?¡± Conan asked at the same time as three of the women. ¡°There¡¯s my answer,¡± I muttered. Dark magic again, it had to be. That, or something which repelled my dryadic nature, ¡°Let me see to that door.¡± I placed my ear against he door. There was a voice in there. A sound. A man talking faintly. Babbling? Begging? I couldn¡¯t be sure. ¡°There is someone in there,¡± I said, readying my swords, ¡°Move back from the doorway, I¡¯m going to open it.¡± I followed my own advice, retreating into the hallway instead of back through the standing stones. The door didn¡¯t budge from its post, choosing to shatter rather than shift. Hadn¡¯t even been bolted. Simply stuck in its frame. Another crime the architect of the dungeon would pay for. Any meaning which could be taken from the words of the one within were lost to the splintering. Erin and I were both moving before the splinters stopped falling. Conan lunged forward to stop her advance, but couldn''t quite catch her as she dodged and twisted out of reach. ¡°Wait!¡± The cry merged from within. A strange voice of layered tones. Deep, far deeper than my own and as hoarse as a man who¡¯d been left in the desert to die. ¡°Wait,¡± he said again, ¡°Come no further. The orb kills all who gaze upon it.¡± That brought me up short. Even Erin halted, though I could see it pained her. I withdrew my will-o¡¯-wisps from the room. ¡°Don¡¯t even look towards this room. Close your eyes if you can. I¡¯ve seen too many fall to this orb.¡± It sounded like an awfully convenient way to sneak past someone¡¯s defences and stab them in the back. I wouldn¡¯t even tolerate the idea the orb existed in normal circumstance, but here I was willing to humour the suggestion. Conan and Erin by contrast both immediately closed their own eyes. The women in the room also looked away. ¡°Do you... blonde women know something I don¡¯t?¡± I still hadn¡¯t learned their names or even what they called themselves. Northmen of some sort, probably. Northwomen. ¡°Rumours. Rumours and bodies dragged away from this corridor. We often avoid this place. We only came this way because-¡± Erin interrupted her, ¡°Is that you, Eric? You sound strange.¡± ¡°Erin?¡± the multi-layered voice replied, ¡°What are you doing here? How did you come here? It¡¯s far too dangerous. Too dangerous even now that the warlocks have withdrawn.¡± ¡°Aye, we learned that the hard way,¡± Conan spoke up, ¡°But we¡¯ve done some good along the way. Found ourselves a Magus to help.¡± ¡°A Magus? What¡¯s a- no, get me out of here, and then we¡¯ll talk. I¡¯ll need to guide you past the orb. Do not even view it from afar, dear Magus. It may only destroy your spell, but I fear it could end you as well.¡± The Northwomen closed their eyes at that. I followed likewise soon after. Eric continued, ¡°There is a second obstacle beyond the orb, I¡¯m afraid. A swarm of cave bees guard this place. A large swarm. The entire room is their hive. I have some influence over them, but you must move cautiously and calmly, and you must not set them off by stepping anywhere important.¡± ¡°Let me make the journey,¡± Conan said, ¡°My step is lighter and I have the best chance of picking any locks binding him to his cell.¡± Neither Erin nor I complained, though I¡¯m sure the both of us immediately began thinking of alternatives. I knew I was. The sun rose. Stolen novel; please report. It would have to wait. ¡°Can the orb be destroyed?¡± I asked before Conan could enter the room, ¡°I could guide a weapon toward it enshrouded in flame. If you felt the flame I¡¯d know my path wasn¡¯t true.¡± ¡°And the shadow cast by the flame might cast against my eyelids and be the end of me,¡± replied Eric. ¡°I¡¯m heading in now, guide me with your voice,¡± Conan said, not leaving room for further discussion. Sap sucker. ¡°Take your boots off before venturing forth. Feel ahead with your feet. Step around the harder combs. Those are their nurseries. If your foot rests atop a large swarm move around them, if only the backs of a few bees move them aside. But slowly. Their natural proclivity is towards attacking. Even the warlocks weren¡¯t safe from them. They refused to enter the room. Slowly. Slowly. Calm. Calm.¡± Eric guided Conan towards himself. Conan was silent. Quieter than the breeze. I couldn¡¯t mark his progress as he moved away from the rest of us, trusting only in the man to believe he was moving. Couldn¡¯t hear him, that was, until I heard a loud crunch. ¡°My foot¡¯s gone through the floor what-¡± Angry buzzing filled the air. A furious droning so powerful the rest of his sentence was lost. ¡°Flee!¡± Eric shouted, faint above the drone, ¡°Flee at once! They¡¯ll not attack me. You must save yourselves!¡± I was maddeningly useless here. My only spell which could harm the bees was as like to harm Conan or kill Eric. My others couldn¡¯t save the men nor move the Northwomen lying helplessly on the floor. If the swarm gave chase all of them might die. I had no choice but to rely on dark magic once more. Withering Insect It was as if the spell had been crafted for this very moment in time. No sooner had I cast in than the droning stopped, replaced by the sound of thousands of bodies hitting the ground. It reminded me of falling snow. The susurration did not fade over time. Instead, it grew stronger. The falling insects¡¯ bodies gave way to whispers dark and terrible. Mine! Mine. mine... Good. Yes! No... Yes! Listen! Quiet. We are quiet here. Listen! Quiet. Strong. Quiet. Strong... Strong! I shook my head and slapped my face, trying to clear the whispers from my mind. They faded, but it wasn¡¯t enough. They were there. Like walking by a tavern with the window open a crack. A background burble just faint enough I could only make out the occasional word. Did all warlocks experience this? The more they used their magic the stronger and louder the whispering in their mind became? How could they claim anything natural about it? All things might drive the unsheltered mind mad. Some more than others. Death, injury, disease, beauty, fear, desire, power. All are natural. Do not blame the universe for your own weakness. Was that my own thought? My own mind playing tricks on me? Had the warlock somehow returned? Which would I prefer? ¡°River run dry and soil be swept out to sea!¡± Conan¡¯s voice, coming from further back in the room. From the sounds of it he¡¯d fled in the wrong direction. ¡°Conan!¡± Eric called, ¡°Are you alright?¡± ¡°Abandon the last hope of man and set sail down death¡¯s own path! I¡¯ll survive. Feels like I fell into pit full of pens. Or one of those creatures you have around here. Porcupine! That¡¯s it. Like I¡¯ve been wrestling with porcupines.¡± Eric laughed, and even his laugh was that strange two-toned echo, ¡°Of all luck, of course! You were never effected by the stinging of bees when we were children. I¡¯m surprised your immunity extends to this strange creatures.¡± ¡°Perhaps it is a sign I am meant to use their poisons for myself!¡± Conan said it in what sounded like a jest, but Eric¡¯s laughter immediately cut off, and Erin suddenly grew still beside me. From what I knew of Delta culture, poison was highly frowned upon, to the point of being a cultural taboo. Perhaps the bees had effected Conan more than Eric had first thought. Eric broke the silence with clear deliberation, choosing to leave Conan unanswered, ¡°Magus, is the stilling of the bees your work? Are they dead? Asleep?¡± ¡°I stopped them, though I¡¯m not sure how. They¡¯re probably dead, but if we can¡¯t examine them to be sure we¡¯d better hurry.¡± Eric guided a cursing Conan back over in short order. I tried not to let my impatience show as the game of hide and seek played out and Conan fiddled with his locks. I knew more than anyone the horrible depravities of the warlocks¡¯ capture. At the same time, I needed to record a new spell, and soon, before the sun rose again. How quickly your priorities shift. Perhaps you¡¯d be better as a warlock than a mage. It was an argument the warlocks themselves never would have made. It was too on the nose. I wasn¡¯t sure what that meant about the whispers. I did my best to ignore them. Then again... they could take care of themselves. ¡°I¡¯m going to return to the room where the women grew sickened. Can you lot look after yourselves? I¡¯ll be busy for the next hour. I¡¯ve another spell to craft.¡± There was agreement on all fronts, though Erin hesitated before doing so. Hurried as quickly as my blinded eyes allowed, hopefully dragging my will-o¡¯-wisps after me. I felt a chill with my first attempt to find the hallway, a clear sign I¡¯d passed the stones. My second attempt I followed the feeling to the wall, then the wall to the frame and I was through. I opened my eyes several paces past the bend to be sure. My jack-o¡¯-lantern proudly led the way, my swords remained wherever I¡¯d left them. I¡¯d not wanted them flying blindly through the air with so many people about. I made it to the strange smelling room in good time and hurriedly (though carefully) lowered myself into a corner. Lesser Heal. Lesser Heal II. Lesser Heal III. Lesser Heal IIII. Lesser Heal V. Lesser Heal VI. Heal. Time collapsed to a point. I stood outside of it. Stared at that minute sphere. Of course. Of course! Free will was an expression of an infinitude. Nothing was determined, and yet everything could be seen. I knew what I must¡ªI was cast away from that place. Time engulfed me. Reality was far too large. Too large for the living or the dead. Only in that liminal space could I gain a glimpse of what was to come. An hour had passed, and my wounds had healed. Not all the way. Not quite. Not yet. But they were tolerable for the first time in days. Heal II: The caster¡¯s body heals 123 hours¡¯ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. The caster is granted visions of reality unknowable to the living or the dead. It was a good thing I was already sitting or I would have collapsed. As it was my head still banged against the stone wall behind me as my trembling finger released my crayon. I stared at the rune in disbelief. What had I just recorded? ¡°Visions of reality unknowable to the living or dead?¡± What was that supposed to mean? If I didn¡¯t know what it meant, how had I recorded it? I¡¯d lost Lesser Heal IIII in the casting, and Lesser Heal hadn¡¯t fired. Neither had Lesser Heal VI transferred its ability to be seen from anywhere. If there was an answer to this mystery within my grasp it lay with one of them. If it was out of my control it could have been anything. The Mushroom-King reestablishing control of my mind. A warlock casting spells from afar. The dark magic of the broken altar or the dungeon as a whole interacting with my own magic. Come to think of it, Lesser Heal VI hadn¡¯t transferred its ability to two spells I¡¯d recorded before Heal II. It probably wasn¡¯t responsible for what had happened. As for the others... The best I could figure was Lesser Heal had been warped in the same manner as several of my other spells, but to a much greater degree. Looking at the rune now, it appeared unchanged. If it had gone through any changes it had reverted immediately afterward. Perhaps it was merely a catalyst for a greater interaction with the twisted magics of the dungeon. Perhaps any spell could have done it, and Lesser Heal had just been unlucky. I carefully scraped away the rune with my thumbnail. It wasn¡¯t a valuable spell to me at this point. Better to be sure. I¡¯d destroy the Heal II spell as well if I could afford to, but I couldn¡¯t. I¡¯d just have to suffer what visions came until I could replace it. I could hear the voices of the others in Tom¡¯s old room to the North. They must have relocated to avoid the orb. I might have to destroy it at this point, or stumbling across Eric¡¯s prison from any other angle would be a liability. I joined them. Eric was a strange looking man. So strange that I could have guessed the warlocks had done something to him, even without Erin¡¯s fussing about him. He was a handsome man, though not nearly as handsome as Erin was beautiful. He was similar enough to Erin that he could clearly be called her brother, but he¡¯d been fortunate enough to escape the curse of femininity so many men with beautiful sisters laboured under. His only concession to his fairer bloodline was his shortened stature. Otherwise he was rugged and strong. All square angles and flaming red hair. Except... I¡¯d only described the half of him. His other half, split vertically from groin to crown of his head was another man entirely. He had blond hair and brown eyes. His build was slightly less muscular, though not by much, and his skin was of a different pattern even though it was the same pale white of the Delta. It held less freckles and swirled a different way. I hadn¡¯t even noticed skin swirled at all until forced to compare his two halves. ¡°What happened to you?¡± I asked the moment I saw him. He replied in that double voice of his, a voice which now made sense, ¡°It wasn¡¯t done to me but to a mercenary. A punishment of some sort. I happened to be on hand. He gained half of myself and I gained half of him. I heard he died a while later. They didn¡¯t say how. Just wanted me to know there was no going back.¡± He then did a double take as he truly looked at me for the first time, ¡°But what happened to you? Are you a man or an elf? I¡¯ve heard trooping fairies are said to dress like yourself, but they never travel alone. And never your size.¡± ¡°I am a man of Blackbridge. As mortal as any other. Or I was before I came to these dungeons. Now... Now I couldn¡¯t tell you.¡± Shame crossed his features in the way of the Delta people; Fiery hot, all at once, his face turning as red as a fenberry. I cut him off before he could apologize, ¡°There are many in these dungeons who wear the form of man. It would be foolish not to ask. Think nothing of it.¡± I could see the man perform a quick calculation behind his eyes, ¡°If you can¡¯t restore yourself, then your magics cannot restore me either?¡± ¡°I¡¯m afraid not. You¡¯ll have to look elsewhere than the Magi¡¯s magic for that. Though I recommend learning to live with it instead if all possible. Those capable of helping often offer deals worse than the curse in the first place.¡± ¡°You look as if you speak from experience.¡± I merely nodded, unable to recount my experiences with Master Tom Oldshoe and not wanting to relive my time with the Mushroom-King. ¡°What about your stone?¡± Erin spoke up, ¡°Does it not remove enchantment? You restored our sight with it, surely it is powerful enough for something as simple as this.¡± The flash of hope in her eyes pained me more than any grim despair, for now the duty of dispelling it was an unpleasant one. ¡°It might have been able to, but I lost it. It was taken from me in a battle against a dark magic devouring the sun,¡± then, to ease the blow, I added, ¡°A battle it won.¡± Erin¡¯s face fell, but Eric merely nodded, ¡°Hope won easily is easily lost. Never expected to find an easy cure. Maybe no cure at all,¡± he ran a hand through his hair then grinned at me ruefully, revealing two half-sets of teeth which didn¡¯t quite match, ¡°I¡¯ve always thought I¡¯d look good as a blond.¡± The Northwomen who were paying attention (which at this point was any with the strength to sit upright) nodded sagely. One was so bold as head over to him. She didn¡¯t stand or even crawl, but instead moved almost like a toddler might, scooting across the floor. She placed a hand upon his cheek, ¡°It suits you rather well. And I have no concerns about the rest of you. You look strong even still after all your confinement. Why, I bet you can even dance.¡± She clasped his hand in hers, then stood, drawing him up with her. Eric grinned. ¡°Had I known that a gaggle of gorgeous women awaited me at the end of my capture, I¡¯d not have fought against the warlocks half as hard.¡± The woman giggled and moved her leg in the first step of her dance, but was abruptly cut off by Erin. The taller woman placed her right hand atop the dancers¡¯ intertwined fingers and her left at her brother¡¯s back and firmly lowered him to the floor. She stared firmly down at her brother, ignoring the Northwoman¡¯s scowls, ¡°You shouldn¡¯t exert yourself just yet. Who knows what might happen? Your heart might tear itself in half.¡± ¡°Then I might die happy,¡± Eric winked at the Northwoman and it was Erin¡¯s turn to scowl, but the man wasn¡¯t done, ¡°But if it pleases you I¡¯ll hold off on dancing until you are assured of my health. And I will assure you. The jelly made by the bees might not taste like much, but it is as nourishing as any stew or roast.¡± ¡°You ate the jelly coating those floors?¡± Conan asked, his face doing its best to match my own in complexion, ¡°That grey slime I¡¯m still wiping from my toes?¡± ¡°You get used to it. It reminds me of-¡± The Northwoman turned on me as the two friends continued to talk, ¡°What about yourself? You¡¯re looking like you¡¯ve recovered nearly as much as we have, care for a dance?¡± Her eyes twinkled. Stars on a moonless night she was beautiful. Her hand was lifted in gentle invitation, hopeful, confident, with only the slightest tremor betraying her nerves. When was the last time I¡¯d had the privilege of a dance? I rolled my shoulders. My chest still hurt, and the pain grew with the movement, but it was a pain I could ignore in small doses. A pain a bit of levity in the warlocks¡¯ abode might be worth. I took her hand. ¡°I would be honoured.¡± XLI - Dancing Descent My chest burned. It felt as if I¡¯d been struck once more by those flaming darts. My legs burned as well, though differently. My breath came in fits and starts. Even my hair seemed tired. The ever-lashing tendrils hung low and leaden. ¡°Okay that¡¯s enough. We¡¯re all very impressed. Time to stop.¡± Conan was there between us. I shook my head, ¡°I¡¯m just getting warmed up. I¡¯ll be right as rain once I catch my breath. Dances in Blackbridge used to go on twice as long.¡± Conan pushed us (myself and Gunhild the Northwoman) gently apart, ¡°Then catch your breath. Don¡¯t we have a map to find?¡± Gunhild managed her regret better than me, ¡°He¡¯s right, I¡¯m afraid,¡± she lowered her hands and took a further step back, ¡°There will be plenty more time for dancing once we are free from the warlock¡¯s lair. But we cannot afford to spend all day dancing. It is time to start moving. Eric looks sufficiently doted after.¡± Erin gave her a glare. Gunhild stuck out her tongue, so fast you could barely see it, and returned- The sun rose. -the glare with a grin. I started and stepped away myself. ¡°I have another spell to write. If you,¡± (I was speaking to Conan), ¡°think Eric and the women are fit for travel, why don¡¯t you bring them back to the hideout while I write the spell. We¡¯ll meet back here in an hour and head out for the map.¡± One of the Northwomen (I¡¯d only learned Gunhild¡¯s name) spoke from the floor, ¡°We have a different place. Another hideout where we hide and find our sustenance. You go on your way, we¡¯ll go on ours. I apologize if we don¡¯t say where. Even if we trust you now, we cannot know to trust your companions or those who can sway your loyalty.¡± Such were the ways of the warlocks. There mere presence drove a wedge through all budding friendships and alliances. I felt a strange stirring in my stomach and chest as I looked at Gunhild. She smiled back in return, ¡°If I may,¡± she said, ¡°I would go with you Conan, to await dear Oswic¡¯s return.¡± The stirring became a roar of triumph and emotions flooded me. Desire. Joy. Elation. Victory. I forced my face back from the manic grin spreading across it. What was that about? What was I? A teenager? Conan met my eye and I nodded. He winked in return. ¡°Very well. Gunhild, Erin, Eric, and I will return. Then I will come back to copy Oswic¡¯s map.¡± ¡°And I,¡± said Erin. ¡°And I,¡± said Eric at once, ¡°I don¡¯t wish to separated from my sister again.¡± ¡°And I will not be left alone with strangers while poor Oswic risks dangers on his own. I am coming also.¡± Conan laughed, ¡°Then we¡¯d have no cause to return. But look at you two. Eric, you are in rags, and Gunhild, you are wearing naught but a dress and an apron. Neither are fit for adventuring about a dungeon.¡± Eric murmured a few words of concession while Gunhild began to protest anew. I left them to it, returning to my spot in the foul-scented room once more. I¡¯d do no better than Conan at sorting them out, and time was slipping away from me. Lesser Heal II. Lesser Heal III. Lesser Heal V. Lesser Heal VI. Heal. Heal II. Time swept away from me. The universe receded to an insignificant speck in four dimensions. I was left outside. Frozen, but breathing. Powerless, yet greater than all of creation. Alone, save for the albatross which flew high above. I fought the vision. Raged against it for an eternity. It did not fade. I begged with whatever gods might listen, swore myself to every power I had knowledge of, both real and fantasy, good and evil. My prayers went unanswered. The albatross was silent. Even the whispers fled me in the place outside of places, the time outside of time. I summoned my runes to me and they did not answer. My eyes could not look away from the totality arrayed before me. They would not close. An infinitude of eons passed studying that infinitesimal prick of light which held all. I surrendered. There was no other choice. The moment passed in an instant. The visions retreated. My crayon remained pressed in place, with only the record of Heal II¡¯s healing record. I¡¯d succeeded. The visions would end here. My mind was fractured. Exhausted. I¡¯d lived more lives than those of all creatures combined. My body was renewed. As strong as a newborn, and nearly as smooth. Even my scars had begun to fade. Only my chest betrayed me. Twin wounds marred by the puffy pink flesh piled about them. Sensitive to touch, sensitive to move, painful even, but agony had fled. The wounds had become ones I¡¯d survive. Heal III: The caster¡¯s body heals 240 hours¡¯ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. I slid against the wall until the base of my skull reached the floor. I needed sleep. More sleep than could be found in a lifetime. The endless parade of years was a weight no mortal mind could bear. ¡°Oswic! Oswic, are you alright?¡± Something was shaking me. I ignored it. I needed- Earth shake the sea! Blind the One-eyed Man! Bring the End to the Beginning! Couldn¡¯t he see I was still injured? A palm rocked my jar hard enough that my ears began to ring. My cheek smarted, all the healing I¡¯d received serving to make me more sensitive, not less. I pushed myself upright, wincing as the muscles in my chest drew tight. ¡°I¡¯m awake, I¡¯m awake! Just needed to rest my eyes.¡± The human mind was nothing but adaptable. Confronted with a problem I couldn¡¯t possible face, I¡¯d simply opted to forget it. Only a faded memory remained, tattered and stained. A reminder never to tread the road again. And above it flew an albatross. For some reason. ¡°You looked dead, not asleep. You were hardly breathing.¡± Conan hauled me to my feet, which would have been more cruel than kind if he¡¯d been in the presence of mind to consider my injuries. I sought for the words to explain, and came up empty. ¡°I¡¯ve had... difficulties with my spell crafting in this place. The dark magic hangs heavy and all pervasive,¡± was the best I could manage. ¡°Are you fit to continue?¡± ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll be fine we should...¡± I blinked, trailed off, blinked again. There were two women standing behind him. Erin with her club and leathers, and Gunhild wielding a club, a torch, and a new pair of shoes. Conan looked sheepish, ¡°I couldn¡¯t keep them away. The best I could do was convince Gunhild to arm herself. Brace gave her the shoes.¡± ¡°Brace is twice her size!¡± This was not entirely true. Brace was of a normal height for a woman, though far more muscular, but Gunhild was tiny, both in stature and height. I could rest my chin on the top of her head without effort. Conan raised his hands and backed toward the southern side of the room, ¡°You tell her. I already tried. Spent a full hour.¡± I locked eyes with Gunhild, ¡°Are you sure about this? It sounds as though you are no stranger to the dungeons,¡± ¡ªthat was strange wasn¡¯t it? I was surprised I wasn¡¯t surprised- ¡°but the path I take is a dangerous one. There is no avoiding obstacles. I must go through them. Fight through them.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll take that risk if it means I can stay by your side,¡± Gunhild replied, ¡°Lead the way.¡± Erin¡¯s lips shrunk to a point as if her heart would break and she placed a hand over her heart. Far be it from me to stand in the way of two beautiful women. ¡°Very well. Keep alert. Obey Conan at all times. If he says stop, stop. If he tells you to place your foot somewhere, you put it there. If you see danger, run. That goes for you as well Conan. I can take care of myself.¡± Sword Storm I sent the fireball to guard our backs while the mage lights went forward in a net of illumination. My swords rushed past them to open the portcullis. Both Erin and Gunhild gasped first as the fireball came into being, and then again and louder as the gate rose seemingly on its own. Erin¡¯s face became pale. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°Are you alright?¡± I asked. She took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and nodded, not daring to speak. ¡°Then follow me.¡± *** We made it to the shaft in good time, with but a single stop to explain the absolute necessity of not even glancing near the demon mirror. Both women took me seriously and both obeyed, allowing us to transverse the perimeter of the magic pool in safety. Conan and Erin were set to the task of raising up the lift while Gunhild and I stood guard. Despite the counterexample of every other hinge in the dungeon, the lift was silent as it moved. The gears spun easily and the pulleys were well oiled. There was little noise to attract the interest of the creatures groaning in the dark. I still had no answer for the rats. Perhaps if I used all my fireballs at once¡ª the rune rose in my mind. Deadly. Desperate to slip free. No! No not here! No! It receded. I sat, shaken. Gunhild ran to my side. ¡°What is the matter Oswic?¡± The rune rose again at her words, dancing along the edge of thought. I grit my teeth and shook my head, ¡°Not here. Not now. Another time. Please. Anything else. Distract me.¡± Her concern curved upwards into a smile, ¡°I can do that.¡± She took a swaying step forward, then another back. She raised her hands above her head and then down, out to the sides. Step to the left, step to the right. Her swaying became a dance as she grew more confident with her footing on the lift. Her hand reached out, bidding me to rise. I smiled and complied. ¡°Easy,¡± Gunhild said, ¡°moving with the lift, not against it. Step forward. Now back. Wait as the pulley turns over. Forward. Back. You as well Conan. Erin. There is not enough room for a proper dance unless we are all dancing.¡± And so we danced as the lift descended into the depths. *** We were breathing hard by the time we landed, and the others¡¯ faces shone with sweat. My own skin appeared immune. Another wedge separating me from humanity. The dance continued as the lift stilled. Gunhild had done her duty of distraction by choosing the most energetic dance the small space would allow. Even cramped, it was thing of beauty. Given space, it was a triumph of expression, strength, and form. All were raised by their expression, but none more than Erin. While not as talented as Gunhild, her sincerity, exuberance, and natural beauty were a force so pure the heavens would have wept to see her. It was a crime she danced underground rather than for a crowd beneath the stars. Even Gunhild couldn¡¯t take her eyes off her. It was, therefore, all the more jarring when it was Erin who stopped dancing first. I suspected the dance would have continued had any other participant stopped, but we were enthralled by her. Even now as her chest heaved for breath and her eyes shone with exertion none of us three could take our eyes off her. The sun rose and the spell was broken. I tore my eyes away, though it tore part of my heart to do so. ¡°Where to next?¡± Erin didn¡¯t acknowledge the others¡¯ eyes on her, whether because she was used to it or didn¡¯t notice. Even not looking at her, the memory was before me. I shook my head, trying to clear it, and failed. ¡°I... yes. That... yes that way. I should... yes. Follow me.¡± I strode off to face the rats with my storm of swords, not daring to turn around or I might demand the dance start anew. Secretly, I hoped it might. Gunhild rushed to my side and wrapped both her arms about my own. She looked slightly upset, though I couldn¡¯t say why. Was she jealous of a woman already spoken for? Envious? ¡°Is it very far? Do the dark thoughts still plague you? We could dance again until you are calm.¡± Fireball II At once my head was clear. A sudden ball of fire directly in your face will do that to you. As will a woman shrieking in your ear. I stumbled back as Gunhild leapt into me, still shrieking. I tried to wrap an arm about her to shield her from the flame but she ducked away and scampered around behind me instead. Conan and Erin were there all at once, weapons drawn and ready. ¡°What is it? What assails us? Is that fire yours?¡± I moved the fireball to the blasted corridor outside the room. ¡°All is well. The spell is mine. Be ready. A horde of rats bars out passage ahead.¡± And indeed the fireball now illuminated two score eyes, glittering at the edge of its light. Neither of the warriors could suppress their shudder. ¡°I will deal with the rats. You protect me from any which slip by. Do not interrupt me for the next hour. I¡¯ll need all my concentration.¡± Fireball. Fireball III. Sword Storm. Sword Storm II. Six balls of fire and seventeen swords flew forward into the pack. My concentration was divided, recording some, leaving others to fade out naturally after they fought. The incontinent fireball (as I had taken to calling it) was too unpredictable to record, and the earlier sword storm too far gone. The rats proved to be little challenge. The fireballs corralled them. There was more swords than rats. Conan and Erin¡¯s weapons waited ready and useless as the rats died. Not one escaped. Their size simply made them easier to hem and strike. Swordferno: Fourteen invisible blades dance and strike with the base force of 484 lbs. Four for half an hour, six for 45 minutes, and four more for an hour. Four fireballs join them, one twice as hot as the others. Four lights, bright as candles, swirl about them, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. Two more lights join in at the end of the first hour, and end an hour after the first lights fade, providing 3 hours of light total. All move independently following the whims of their master. The name was a bit silly, but I was having a hard enough time concentrating fighting a pack of rats, controlling the horde of weapons, and recording my spell. There was a reason Magi were taught to come up with the names ahead of time. Thinking of a good name during the casting was near the bottom of my priorities. To their credit, Erin and Conan remained silent while I recorded. They didn¡¯t even wander from my side, electing instead to continue guarding me against any new threats which might escape my notice. ¡°I¡¯m ready. It¡¯s just across this hall here.¡± I led the party through one of the cracks in the wall not full of smouldering rat corpses. As it turned out, it came out almost directly in front of the map. Conan hurried forward, his own map in hand. ¡°Aha!¡± It was less than a minute later when Conan thrust his finger at the map on the wall in triumph, ¡°We are here! Second floor.¡± The rest of us crowded around to crane up at the spot. Erin was the first to point out the obvious. ¡°Are you sure? It looks nothing like this room.¡± Conan waved his map in her face, ¡°Completely. It only took me a moment to recognize because our friend Oswic here rearranged the maps with his adventuring,¡± he jabbed a thumb back to the gaping holes in the wall, ¡°throws everything a little off. Fortunately I drew a good amount of both the third and second floor before the explosions.¡± Both Gunhild and Erin looked at me in with fear. I winced. ¡°The explosions were not my doing. I can only lay claim to the undoing of the ritual which bound them.¡± Neither woman seemed put at ease. ¡°Is it the whole dungeon?¡± I asked to change the subject. Conan shrugged, still studying the map, ¡°No idea. I see six floors mentioned, but I don¡¯t know how deep the dungeon is.¡± ¡°Thirteen,¡± I said, ¡°The dungeon is thirteen floors deep. Even if I didn¡¯t know it, it would be true. Such is the way of warlocks.¡± Conan shrugged again, ¡°Who am I to doubt one of the wise? Give me half an hour and I¡¯ll have this copied.¡± *** In the end it took Conan nearly an hour, for he made two copies. One for me and one for his own records to add to or copy again at will. He drew in large shaky lines, clear enough to plan a route, but any notes or details were lost to me. One floor every two pages was larger than the map on the wall, and it let me truly examine my surroundings. ¡°This place is huge!¡± Erin was reading over my shoulder. Gunhild was on the opposite. I laughed, ¡°You¡¯d be surprised. There is much the map doesn¡¯t show. Tunnels beneath rooms, hidden walkways, hidden rooms-¡± ¡°Hidden realms,¡± Conan interjected, ¡°Endless oceans and endless isles, emerald green, where the stars meet the sea.¡± Erin¡¯s mouth quirked upwards at the perceived jest, then faltered as she saw the yearning in Conan¡¯s eyes. She probably saw it in mine as well. ¡°The wind is warm and the grass is soft. Never a storm, only a fair breeze,¡± I said. ¡°And company, the best company. Silent and strong. Laughter ringing forever in those sacred vales,¡± said Conan. ¡°Elysium,¡± Gunhild said with a reverent whisper, ¡°you have seen it?¡± We could only nod. It seemed crude somehow to outright say it. Such was the power of that place that the women demanded no more questions. Even Erin demanded no explanation as to why Conan hadn¡¯t told her of it earlier. Such was Elysium. ¡°Does it truly dwell in this awful place?¡± Conan looked to me for confirmation. ¡°A portal only,¡± I said, ¡°An anchor which moves. (¡°Not a very good anchor,¡± murmured Conan) The path we travelled is no more. Perhaps a new path will open, or perhaps Elysium will never return here again. Only one path remains open always, and that is a path any may take, for Elysium dwells in men¡¯s hearts first of all.¡± Gunhild cast down her eyes, ¡°Would that I could follow that path.¡± ¡°Would that we all,¡± Conan agreed. He finished comparing old map and new, ¡°I think that¡¯s done it, unless you want me to mark your decorative decisions, Oswic.¡± ¡°Better I keep one map of how it should be that I need not update at every little change.¡± Gunhild looked at the tons of stone strewn about the room with a raised brow at ¡°little¡±, but otherwise held her piece. ¡°Let us be off then. It is getting late.¡± We endeavoured to return the way we¡¯d came, only to find the path once more occupied by giant rats. This creatures waited on the opposite side of the hall as the bodies of their fellows, still cutting off access from the lift. It was enough to make me wonder if a great force compelled them, though I had no way of telling. Gunhild reacted as soon as I did, the Delta folk stopped and looked askance, their vision not as keen as mine in the dark. No human¡¯s was. I sent my will-o¡¯-wisps forward in answer, illuminating a glittering sea of eyes. ¡°Ready yourselves,¡± I called. There was less rats than last time, but I was no less cautious. A normal rodent could gnaw through stone. If any of their size slipped past my magics they would kill with a single bite. Swordferno. Rats broke. Rats burned. Rats died. Our party continued on. XLII - Farewell We returned to the base without further difficulties. There Cillian confirmed it was drawing on nightfall. Erin recounted to the others what had happened while Conan and I planned for the morrow. ¡°And so our contract is ended,¡± he said with a wry smile, ¡°finding Eric for a map of the third floor, as promised.¡± I chuckled, ¡°Yours was the first room I entered on that floor. If each room contains a similar party I¡¯ll never leave the dungeon. Hopefully the others won¡¯t be so demanding.¡± His laughter stilled, suddenly serious, ¡°When will you be leaving?¡± ¡°Tomorrow morning. As soon as I can. I only have about half my fish remaining,¡± Conan began to protest, but I cut him off, ¡°Your food is your own, and it needs to last you until I¡¯ve broken the rift on this dungeon. Especially now that you have Eric to feed as well. I¡¯m better suited for living off the land and finding more food. Safer for me to adventure.¡± ¡°Already planning on going on your own then?¡± ¡°I can see in the dark and my spells are a danger to everyone around me. It is for the best. That said, I¡¯d be honoured to have you join me. You have an eye for traps that I do not.¡± Conan shook his head, ¡°You have the right of it. My place is here. Fionn will need someone to look after that eye, and I don¡¯t trust that Eric is as hale as he appears. There is no telling what the warlocks have done to him.¡± ¡°And should I take to long, Brace will need someone to find your party food.¡± Conan nodded. His gaze wandered away from mine and about the room to land on Erin. He stared at her for a long while before he spoke again. ¡°She¡¯ll want to go with you.¡± ¡°Erin?¡± ¡°She¡¯s not one to back down. Her fears are in retreat and she¡¯ll chase them over the horizon if she can.¡± I mulled it over. While not useless by any means, she¡¯d yet to prove her worth to me. I¡¯d be bringing her along for her sake more than my own which wasn¡¯t a trade off I could afford to make. Conan took my silence as a need for elaboration. ¡°She desires her brother, of course,¡± my face paled but Conan didn¡¯t seem to notice in the dark, or didn¡¯t understand my expression, and he continued, ¡°But she¡¯s not the kind to cling to someone to prove her desire. It¡¯s enough that he is safe.¡± I¡¯d heard about some of the ancient practices of the Delta nobility, but I hadn¡¯t believed them until now. While I was still digesting that particular piece of information Conan grunted in negation. ¡°No. That¡¯s not the way to explain it. Safe is an overstatement. Rather: She¡¯d leave Eric to fend off a pack of wolves if he wandered off into the woods at night, but not hesitate to... to... well, rescue him from a warlock¡¯s dungeon. She trusts him to choose his own dangers, but will drop everything to aid him against those things out of his control.¡± Before I could question the current state of Delta marriage ceremonies, Gunhild interrupted by sitting down beside me. She sat bolt upright, with her back pressed firmly against the wall and her legs straight out in front of her. Nervous, perhaps? By her expression she looked ready to fight. ¡°Whatever you are planning, I¡¯d like to come with you.¡± Conan and I exchanged glances. Erin at least was large for a woman, and had armour and weapons and the knowledge to use them. Gunhild was a waif in a dress. ¡°You¡¯d be welcome to stay with us. You will be well cared for,¡± Conan said, ¡°No need to risk yourself in the dungeon.¡± Gunhild glared at him, ¡°I¡¯ve practically spent my whole life wandering these dungeons and place like them. I know which mushrooms are safe and which aren¡¯t. Which streams to drink from and which to avoid. My eyes are as sharp as an owl¡¯s. My hearing is like a bat¡¯s. I¡¯d be caring after you.¡± I placed a hand on her shoulder consolingly. Gunhild flinched and pressed further back into the wall. Strange. When had our relationship soured? I quickly withdrew my hand. Even more strange was the expression she gave as her eyes followed my retreating hand. Wistful, if anything. Full of regret. ¡°All the more reason to stay behind,¡± I said, ¡°I may be gone for quite some time. I¡¯d sleep easy at night knowing you were watching over them.¡± Gunhild began to draw her knees up to her chest, then stopped and stuck them straight out again. It was unkind, but it reminded me nothing so much as an adult trying not to behave like a child. Or a child remembering they were trying to appear like an adult. ¡°Would you still visit me?¡± I blinked, at once relieved and even more confused. We we at odds or were we not¡ªwas I was a Magus or the teenage boy lost in front of the demon mirror? ¡°Is everything alright? You withdrew from my touch but a moment ago, and you are acting uncertain. I had thought you were courting me before. Perhaps I was mistaken?¡± Gunhild¡¯s eyes widened and she shook her head rapidly, ¡°No! No, everything is fine,¡± she lowered her head, ¡°I¡¯ve always sat this way. I simply... I am nervous about another¡¯s touch. My back... I¡¯ve received wounds there before. Strikes from those less kind than yourself. I sit this way to protect myself from my own demons, not your touch!¡± She grasped my hand in both of her own and continued, ¡°I wish to court you, if you are willing,¡± her face turned red, almost lost in the dark, ¡°I fear it too soon to say this, but I¡¯d marry you in an instant if I could. I¡¯ve never seen someone with such courage and skill. You saved myself and my sisters twice over in the course of an hour, and rescued poor Eric there as well! And you¡¯re a fantastic dancer. I¡¯ve never felt so safe or so much desire for someone I¡¯ve just met.¡± Conan grinned, ¡°As a court eunuch, one of my duties and powers is marrying people. As is the right of nobility, of which we have three just over there,¡± he nodded over to wear Erin, Brace, and Eric were talking. I laughed, feeling my own face turn red¡ªgreen¡ªwhatever colour it turned these days, ¡°As if one of the functions of the Magi. We¡¯re spoiled for choice it appears.¡± Gunhild smiled uncertainly, ¡°Would you? Marry me? Now and here? A spark of joy in this dark place. Something to hold to in case... in case,¡± her lip wobbled, ¡°In case you don¡¯t return?¡± The sun rose. Was that a sign? Daybreak signified the start of new things. What it meant to dawn at night, I wasn¡¯t sure. A warning, or a blessing? I rested my free hand on top of both of hers, ¡°You are a wonderful person. Beautiful. I¡¯ve enjoyed every dance. But I¡¯ve known you for less than a day. I¡¯m sorry. I need to learn more about you. Spend more time with you. If you still wish to.¡± Her eyes, which had become downcast, lit up, ¡®Then I can come with you?¡± Conan shook his head. I¡¯d walked right into that one. There was nothing for it now. ¡°I would be honoured to have you by my side,¡± I lifted her hands to my mouth and kissed them, ¡°but please, think on this over the night. We cannot be together if you succumb to the dangers I will face, or if I am distracted by another and fall in turn. If you truly think you will increase our chances of success I¡¯ll believe you, and I¡¯ll be the first to demand you stay by my side. If you do not, I will praise your wisdom, and rest better knowing Conan and Brace and all the others are provided for for as long as I need.¡± Gunhild nodded seriously and leaned over to give me a quick peck on the cheek. Her face flushed at her own daring, ¡°I¡¯ll give it due consideration. I promise.¡± I smiled at her, ¡°Thank you.¡± I stood. ¡°Erin!¡± I called out, ¡°A moment, if you will. Eric and Brace as well.¡± Erin cut off her conversation with Stovepipe and followed myself and the others out of the room. I¡¯d no doubt the rest of the party could still hear us if they wished, but the illusion of privacy mattered. ¡°I¡¯m leaving tomorrow,¡± I said without preamble. ¡°I¡¯m coming with you,¡± Erin said, just as abrupt. Brace put a hand on Erin¡¯s shoulder and shook her head, ¡°It is a man¡¯s right to be alone. To keep the company he wishes.¡± I leaned against the wall. I could just make out the dogs¡¯ laughter, faint above the murmuring coming from the room nearby. Why hadn¡¯t I thought of that? Gunhild had no right to follow me, and now I had promised her- The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. What¡¯s done was done. Regret filled me and that was enough. No need to dwell on it. ¡°In happier times, in safer circumstances, I¡¯d welcome you to join me,¡± I said, ¡°But the traps of the warlock are many, and I cannot divide my attention providing for us both.¡± ¡°You wouldn¡¯t-¡± I cut her off, ¡°At the speeds I plan to be going, at the paths I plan to take, I would. The dungeon is dark and you cannot see. My lights would not be enough. Dividing your party¡¯s limited torches further would be unfair to them.¡± I could have continued. Given her more reasons not come, but already my explanation¡ªwhich I felt I owed her¡ªwas turning into a justification¡ªwhich I did not. Tears formed in Erin¡¯s eyes, glittering red specks in the torchlight, but her voice was firm, ¡°Very well.¡± I wish it were otherwise. I nearly said the words, but caught myself. They¡¯d be of little comfort to anyone but myself. ¡°Thank you,¡± I said instead. Her lips tightened. She nodded. Nothing more. ¡°When do you leave?¡± Brace asked. ¡°I¡¯ll be gone in the morning after recording my spells.¡± ¡°Will we see you again?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll return as able. Hopefully with news of a way out of here.¡± ¡°How long will it take you?¡± I frowned, ¡°It¡¯s taken me weeks to make it to the start of the third floor. Would have been a week or two quicker had I not stopped to look for Eric,¡± I tossed the man a reassuring smile, ¡°not that I regret a moment of it¡ªonly to say things will hopefully move quicker now, especially with my new maps. But it may take several months still. The dungeon is large and the caverns below them may be larger.¡± Brace chewed on her lip, ¡°We have about two months supply remaining. If we start rationing now, maybe we can extend it a few more weeks, provided we can find water.¡± ¡°I know a place,¡± Conan said. Brace nodded, ¡°So two and a half months if we¡¯re lucky. Maybe more if we¡ªor Gunhild¡ªcan scrounge for food.¡± ¡°Gunhild might be finding food for me. She has ¡®til the morning to make her decision. I¡¯ll do my best to find a path before the two months is up.¡± Brace slashed her hand in negation, ¡°Do what you must. We¡¯ll look after ourselves. I¡¯m merely thinking out loud.¡± ¡°Now, please don¡¯t think me me rude, but must prepare a final spell before bed.¡± ¡°Do what you must,¡± Brace repeated. *** Lesser Heal II. Lesser Heal III. Lesser Heal V. Lesser Heal VI. Heal. Heal III. Heal IIII: The caster¡¯s body heals 355 hours¡¯ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. I was fairly certain by this point my wounds wouldn¡¯t have healed without the aid of my magic. Even now, after all the many spells I¡¯d cast, including the latest which provided over two weeks of healing in an hour, the wounds remained. They¡¯d been reduced to two hard ridges just below my collar bone on either side of my chest. The area was no longer puffy, but still looked pale and stretched. The ridges themselves were nearly white and pulled tight whenever I moved my arms. They were still sensitive too, but I was less surprised about that. I¡¯d know a woman who had slept with her arm pressed against the hearth stones on a cold winter night. She¡¯d lived, fully recovered even, but for a year afterward she¡¯d complain about how the sun burned against her arm. Perhaps on the morrow. I returned to the base where the others had already gone to sleep. I found my usual corner to lay down. The moment my eyes closed I was asleep, and visions of albatross flew over the forests of my dreams. *** I woke with the sun. The others had woken before me, eager to see me off. I begged off their ministrations until I had fed and watered, and taken care of business in a far corner of the dungeon. I took my time in returning. Opting to cast Swordferno before I did so. Blades lashed about me and fireballs danced as I made my slow way back. My journey was unimpeded; my foes either blind to the flashing lights and scrapping swords, or in fear of them. Swordferno II: Fourteen invisible blades dance and strike with the base force of 484 lbs. Four for half an hour, six for 45 minutes, and four more for an hour. Four fireballs join them, one twice as hot as the others. Four lights, bright as candles, swirl about them, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. Two more lights join in at the end of the first hour, and end an hour after the first lights fade, providing 3 hours of light total. All move independently following the whims of their master. I could have chosen a different name now that I was no longer under the pressure of fighting off a horde of rats while simultaneously trying to control half a dozen spells at once, but if it wasn¡¯t broke, why fix it? The final flourish of my spell was written in the room of the goblin midden. I took the opportunity to head back up the stairs and refill my waterskin from the stream of my prison, and grab my box of fish with the Levitate spell upon my return. I was among friends half an hour later. They¡¯d finished their own breakfast and were talking quietly, waiting for me. Gunhild was the only who didn¡¯t look at me as I entered. She sat deep in thought in a corner, eyes downcast and lips moving wordlessly. Conan was the first to approach me. ¡°All set?¡± I headed over to my corner and retrieved my bindle. ¡°I am now.¡± Conan put a hand on the shoulder opposite my bindle and spoke in a low voice, ¡°Listen, whatever Gunhild decides, you don¡¯t have to take her. You shouldn¡¯t take her. You¡¯re liable to get one of you killed.¡± I patted the hand with my free hand, ¡°I¡¯m sure it will be fine. She¡¯s looked after herself until now. I¡¯ll find a use for her. Besides, I said she could come. I¡¯m not one to go back on my word.¡± Conan gave a growl of frustration and moved closer so his lips were nearly touching my ear, ¡°Please be careful, Oswic. Don¡¯t let desire blind you. I pray that I am wrong, but I¡¯ve seen too many men fall to a pretty face. I don¡¯t deny your judgment. I just ask you be doubly sure of it.¡± My first instinct was to reject his words. I¡¯d chased after women before, of course. Foolishly. Pathetically. But I¡¯d never abandoned my senses when life and death was on the line. Had I? Perhaps some daring feat of bravery? Or a stunt designed to prove myself? Even if I had, never had the danger been so stark. Beyond that, I was no longer a child, nor even a young man. An adult trusted himself. But he also listened to his friends. That was why they were his friends. I didn¡¯t have to agree, just tolerate the possibility. No woman had ever been as enchanting as Gunhild. And who better than a eunuch to see a man falling for his desires? ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll see that reason doesn¡¯t become justification.¡± Conan let out a breath and a smile, ¡°Thank you.¡± Together we joined the others, his words still ringing in my ears. I¡¯d be watching, both Gunhild and myself. Just in case. The sun rose. It would have to wait. ¡°You¡¯re off then,¡± Stovepipe stated. He didn¡¯t ask. ¡°I am. Hopefully to return with good news in short order.¡± ¡°You take your time. You hear me? Better it take you three months than a day if it means you¡¯re not risking all of us being stuck here. Don¡¯t worry about us. We¡¯ll make do as long as we need to.¡± ¡°And we mean it,¡± Brace added, ¡°one week, three weeks, four months, two years, I don¡¯t care,¡± she threw a wink to Erin who made a face, ¡°We¡¯ll find a way to pass the time.¡± Eric made a face nearly as fast as his sister. Fionn and Tadhg both gave me nodding salutes, ¡°You take care of yourself. We¡¯ve got some sights to show you once we¡¯re out of here,¡± Tadhg said, ¡°I¡¯ve got a friend with a place right at the tip of The Delta. You¡¯ve never seen something so beautiful.¡± Cillian grasped my hand in a shake, then pulled me in for a brief hug in the manner of the Delta people. Thankfully I was prepared for it, and was able to avoid the worst of the pain. Stovepipe did the same and then it was Eric and the two girls. Eric threw his arms around me in a full hug while his sister kissed my cheeks. ¡°I¡¯ll never forget your help, wizard. Should you ever want for a place to stay, come to house ¨® Briain and I swear you will be well looked for. And you must visit us as well. You will always have a place in our home.¡± Erin joined in the hug, resting her head between her brother¡¯s and my own. Their were tears in her eyes, tracking down my cheek and onto my shoulder, ¡°Thank you for saving my brother. To think we would have killed you but for chance when we first met. To think I feared your blessed magic. The Sun watched over us even in the depths of this desolate place. You¡¯ve done me and mine a greater service than you¡¯ll ever know, then we can ever repay.¡± The twins eventually released me and then it was Brace¡¯s turn to embrace me. She was more formal, more reserved, offering me the handshake-hug much like Cillian had. ¡°We¡¯d have been dead twice over if it weren¡¯t for you. First the goblins, and then Erin told me about the bees. House ¨® Riain also stands in your debt.¡± Finally it was Gunhild before me. Beautiful, petite, demur. Her eyes we bright, determined, and fixed on my own. ¡°Have you decided?¡± I asked. She nodded her words coming out in a rush; all at once, ¡°I¡¯m coming with you. I won¡¯t take no for an answer. I¡¯ve seen you talking with Conan. I¡¯m no fool. I¡¯ll follow you if I have to. If they try to restrain me, I¡¯ll refuse to eat until they let me go. I¡¯m stronger than I look. I can find food and water. I¡¯m good in the dark,¡± (Brace snorted), ¡°I grew up in the- I¡¯ve spent my life foraging in caves. I can use a weapon. I know how to set-¡± I wrapped my arms around her, pressing her head and shoulders to my chest, ¡°You¡¯re coming with me.¡± She stiffened and ducked out under my grasp, pulled away, but when she looked up at me she was smiling. Behind her, I could just make out Conan frowning, but he didn¡¯t say anything. I gave him a small nod and he started, forgetting I could see him the dark. His advice was well heeded, but my judgment was my own. Two sets of eyes could spot traps one set might miss. Another person to talk to would help keep me sane in the endless dark. And she could look out for sudden shifts in personality besides. I¡¯d run into enough dark influences and mind control at this point. Erin dashed back to her side of the room and returned with her club. She proffered it to Gunhild, ¡°Take this, you¡¯ll need it more than me.¡± ¡°And what of your feet?¡± Stovepipe asked, ¡°You have no shoes.¡± She smiled at him, ¡°You are very kind, but it is as I said before, my feet are tough and calloused like leather. I only borrowed Brace¡¯s to put your heart at ease and get us moving back to join with Oswic.¡± Stovepipe shook his head with a chuckle, ¡°Very well,¡± he looked up at me, ¡°I know that our gods are not your own, but I ask that The Ibis go with you. He is the god of wisdom and magic. It feels fitting.¡± ¡°And The Sun,¡± said Brace, ¡°I know Magi worship him in their own way.¡± I bowed to both, ¡°My thanks to both of you. May wind and water ever stir at your step.¡± It was time at last to descend once more. XLIII - Voices Wielding Truth like Swords Lesser Heal II. Lesser Heal III. Lesser Heal V. Lesser Heal VI. Heal. Heal III. Heal IIII. I cast the spells as we walked. A pair of will-o¡¯-wisps led the way as our only illumination. Gunhild was silent beside me. I¡¯d explained what I could of spell crafting to her, and she had taken the ¡°no distractions¡± to heart. ¡°Amber Cloud.¡± Whispers grasped at my attention where Gunhild had failed, but they found no purchase. I let them yammer, acknowledging them without abandoning my task. And how could I deny such a miracle? The steps did not tire me. Instead, each step made me grow stronger. My chest, sore from enthusiastic farewells, loosened with every stride, the memory of pain forgotten. The twin injuries still remained, but I could sense the change. Heal V: The caster¡¯s body heals 710 hours¡¯ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. Gunhild had proved her worth almost instantly, scouting ahead to make sure the path was clear while I was otherwise occupied. It would be an inauspicious start to stumble over a loose stone or be taken completely by surprise by a horde of goblins waiting round the corner on our descent. In her hands was our advantage on this floor. Two maps, both the one of the entire dungeon, and the map I¡¯d been promised upon first striking our bargain. The second map, though less complete, showed me the paths they had followed; which routes were free from the locks and traps plaguing the rest of the dungeon. The door directly at the bottom of the stairs was one such path. One we should be able to go through with little difficulty. Beyond it lay only two rooms and a hundred or so feet of hallways between us and the stairs we sought. Said door came into sight long before I¡¯d finished recording my spell. The stairs were not so long as to take the full hour of recording, even moving as cautiously as I was. The room beyond the door was also visible, presumably left so by Brace¡¯s party. Gunhild was not so foolish as to enter without my support, willing instead to skirt the edges while I sat on a higher step next to my fishbox to finish my spell. The end of my recording announced itself with the extinguishing of my will-o¡¯-wisps. I announced it had gone without difficulties and then joined Gunhild by the door. ¡°See anything in there?¡± ¡°No movement. Perhaps a weapons¡¯ rack of some kind. And a chest? It looks to be a treasury or armoury.¡± Will-o¡¯-WispII The renewed will-o¡¯-wisps were brighter than the old. I moved them closer to the doorway to take a look. Sure enough, I could spot the weapon rack next to a brazier of some kind as well as a chest and some dark lumps scattered about the room. There was also movement near the door. ¡°Ware!¡± I leapt back, spellbook flipping and cutlass raised. Gunhild stumbled and looked about wildly, more stunned than alert. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. ¡°The room is mine, Oswic. Find another path to your destination,¡± a woman¡¯s voice. Melodious and high, sweet as a song bird¡¯s. Fireball II I cast the spell on purpose, though not without some trepidation. The sudden light and heat might convince whoever had spoken to attack, but I needed to see her clearly. If only I had the time to improve the strength of my jack-o¡¯-lanterns instead. ¡°Who are you that knows my name while I don¡¯t know yours? I¡¯ve not had pleasant experiences with any who hold that particular advantage over me.¡± It was a man who replied this time. I craned my neck straining to see as far around the corner as I could without entering the room, but both speakers were hidden to me, ¡°That is of no concern to me. Move along, or I shall begin speaking the truth. Both yours and Gunhild¡¯s.¡± I exchanged a glance with Gunhild. She had gone pale. ¡°Perhaps we should do as they say,¡± she whispered, ¡°I have... things I do not wish to talk about it. Not yet. Not here. Not now.¡± I wasn¡¯t feeling too easy myself. I had secrets and secret vows. Embarrassments I¡¯d rather not surface. However, none of them would cause me to flee from our only sure path to freedom. Perhaps there was a secret damning enough to destroy our burgeoning relationship, but even then, better we take the chance and overcome it while moving closer to victory. Right? What was she hiding? Did I want to know? ¡°Do I have to be worried?¡± Gunhild hesitated a moment, then shook her head, ¡°You are safe. I fear instead the secret not coming from my own lips at my chosen time. It could shatter our trust in the mouth of another.¡± What kind of secret was that? Still, I had the choice to trust her or not. And if I couldn¡¯t trust her, I shouldn¡¯t be journeying with her in the first place. I called out to those waiting in the room beyond, ¡°May we bargain for passage? Our destination is paramount. Not just for us but all who dwell this side of the warlocks¡¯ rift.¡± A third person spoke, another man. ¡°Swear you will end the rift. Swear on the power you hold highest.¡± ¡°I so swear that it is in my nature to overcome. To seek the highest point in the depths where it dwells. To wrestle order from chaos and plunge back into chaos when order has failed.¡± A fourth voice, a woman¡¯s replied, ¡°Your vow is insufficient, Oswic. Nature demands constant change. Given necessity, you too will change. Order is to be abandoned when it no longer serves, and yet, in this, order must serve regardless.¡± ¡°Then I swear on my honour. The rift shall fall.¡± A fifth, male, ¡°Even should the consequences become too great? Even should the benefits dim into nothing?¡± Even if I could lie to the entity, I couldn¡¯t lie. Times came where oaths needed to be ended, but making an oath you had no intention to keep corroded your spirit. It made you feckless and mean. Broken vows made for broken men. And a broken man could not overcome this dungeon. ¡°No. Should I learn my path is corrupt, or that it would do nothing to save us, that it would strengthen the power of the warlocks, or an infinitude of other evils, I will abandon it. I cannot promise not to change.¡± ¡°Then your word is worthless,¡± a woman said. ¡°I can promise to follow the path I think best for us all.¡± ¡°Until such moment we are revealed as an ill greater than that of the warlocks,¡± man, ¡°and do not think to weasel away with actions done ¡®for our own good¡¯. You shall not pass.¡± ¡°Is there no other bargain to be struck?¡± ¡°Give us your minds. Every memory. Every thought. Every moment. Every desire. Every fear. Every shame. Give until there is nothing left. Then you may pass,¡± woman. I was beginning to suspect there was not as many people hidden around the doorway as they¡¯d have us believe. That only made whatever dwelled there all the more dangerous. ¡°We will find another passage.¡± ¡°Do not return,¡± said a ninth voice, this one male, ¡°your secrets will be revealed immediately. There will be no time for bargains.¡± XLIV - Secrets Gunhild and I retreated to the staircase. There we studied our maps under the light of my fireball. Gunhild traced a quick finger along the corridor from where we sat, ¡°There is no other path,¡± she whispered, ¡°we¡¯re trapped here.¡± I pointed to the room which was presumably north of the one where I¡¯d met Brace¡¯s party, ¡°Not necessarily. Not all passages may be marked on this map. We¡¯ll have to see for ourselves. I¡¯ve run into secret passages before.¡± We left the fishbox in the room where I¡¯d met Brace and crew. Gunhild was barely strong enough to move such an awkward shape, and I still wasn¡¯t in condition to carry it at all. Both my hands were occupied with other things besides. According to our maps, the far door opened into a series of dead-end hallways, whereas the doorway directly across from our new temporary base was the same room as the portcullis we¡¯d passed on the way over here. I sent a will-o-wisp through the wooden portcullis and danced it about the room. It appeared empty, just a dozen pillars lining each wall and a ladder leaning against the wall next to the portcullis. Perhaps a warlock had been about to do some interior decorating before my escape had interrupted him. The first map indicated Brace¡¯s party had gone through the door, not the portcullis, so that was what I opened. Much to my surprise the door opened without a hitch. Perhaps the warlocks had switched builders by the third floor. To my further surprise, the door was trapped. *Thwip* *Thwip* Two darts stuck out of my armour at the bottom of my ribcage on either side. So much for the marked path being safe. ¡°What is it? Is everything alright?¡± Gunhild called in a low whisper. She was standing back in our base, ready to run away or rush forward and help me if any hidden foes came out of the room before us. I sent my fireball into the room and poked my head in after it. A quick glance around showed the room was empty. I turned back to Gunhild, ¡°The room is fine. The door was trapped though. I don¡¯t think Conan found them all.¡± I gestured to the twin needles sticking out of my armour. Her eyes widened, ¡°Are you alright?¡± I strapped my cutlass to my belt and then pulled both the needles free. They gleamed wetly in the light of the fireball, though I¡¯d felt no pain. I moved my fireball closer to check. The tips were red with blood. ¡°Thunderbolt at dawn!¡± I dropped the needles and shoved my spellbook into the hands of a concerned Gunhild, then proceeded to remove my gambeson (ow). A few moments of struggling later I let the armour slide to the floor and I lifted my tunic to inspect myself. No wounds were visible save for the still unhealed burns on my chest. I brought the fireball as close as I dared. My hair had proven to be fireproof, but I couldn¡¯t say the same for Gunhild¡¯s, ¡°Can you see anything?¡± She crept closer and examined my chest, running a finger across the outline of my ribcage. The sun rose. ¡°Nothing. Are you sure it hit you?¡± I dropped my tunic, ¡°I didn¡¯t feel a thing, but the needle was red with blood.¡± ¡°Is your blood red?¡± That gave me pause, ¡°I¡¯m... not sure. Let¡¯s find out.¡± Before I could stop myself and think about what I was doing I grabbed my dagger from my belt and ran the edge forcefully over my forearm. Thankfully it was sharp enough to cut my toughened skin, but not so sharp it caused a serious wound. I squeezed the small cut I¡¯d made in my arm until a bead of blood formed; it was as red as any other¡¯s. ¡°You¡¯ll get an infection,¡± Gunhild reprimanded me. ¡°I heal fast,¡± I said, wiping the dagger on my arm and re-sheathing it. I began to pull my gambeson back on, ¡°My skin is stronger than hardened leather. Perhaps the poison itself was red and the needle failed to penetrate.¡± Gunhild¡¯s eyes widened, ¡°It isn¡¯t!¡± she declared, she ran a finger under my tunic, then caught herself and pulled away, blushing, ¡°It¡¯s as soft as a maiden¡¯s. And your dagger cut it just fine.¡± ¡°Soft as a maiden I may be, but I am far stronger. You might not be able to cut me with a simple swipe of even my cutlass.¡± She stared up at me, doubt fighting wonder in her eyes, ¡°You are a very strange man. One of the strangest I¡¯ve met.¡± I grinned back down at her, then tugged the gambeson back over my head, ¡°You¡¯ve known stranger?¡± She smiled, ¡°If you only you knew my sisters-¡± she stopped suddenly, smile fading, ¡°but that is a story for another time.¡± Alarm bells were ringing somewhere deep inside me, faintly, as though they¡¯d been long ago clappered. Secrecy made a poor foundation for a relationship. But trust was slow and painfully won. Not all secrets need be revealed, and those revealed not need be all at once. There was pain in reliving some tales besides. I finished pulling on my armour and retrieved both book and cutlass. ¡°Come, I¡¯ve another spell to write. You can search the room for secret exits while I do so. That statue looks promising.¡± We crossed the hall into the room of pillars. Gunhild headed for the far side of the room where both a tattered tapestry and a large statue were displayed. The tapestry was shrouded by shadows, but even from here I could make out the statue. It was a macabre display; a corpse, withered and rotted, nearly a skeleton, propped upright by the long staff in its hand. Its head was slumped forward to reveal its barren skull. Atop the skull was affixed a crown. The whole thing was a mockery of the Magi. A mockery of the Crown. Either conflating the Magi with a desire to rule, or a king with a false sense of wisdom. Their rotted body demonstrated the artists dismissal of such a marriage. ¡°It¡¯s horrible, isn¡¯t it?¡± Gunhild asked, running her hands along the tattered robes about its ankles. (The statue was nearly nine feet tall.) ¡°We can only hope they keep these displays in the dungeon because they are too vile for the castle. The other way around¡ªthat they lack the impact the warlock¡¯s desire¡ªis a disturbing thought.¡± ¡°I wonder who he was? The robes bear and insignia of some sor- ah, but I am distracting you. Please, return to your spell weaving.¡± Marshlight I sent the spell over to join in her search. The lights were dim, but they¡¯d last for two hours, more than enough time to complete my spell. Fireball II The fireball was far brighter, but I summoned it primarily to clear it from my mind while I worked. Lesser Heal II. Lesser Heal III. Lesser Heal V. Lesser Heal VI. Heal. Heal III. Heal IIII. Heal V. I healed as much in an hour as most over several months, though the measure wasn¡¯t exact. Sleep was far more restful than wakefulness, but I couldn¡¯t write while I slept. There were rumours of rare masters, wise even among the Magi who could achieve such feats, but the training was as difficult as the use case was niche. Greater Heal: The caster¡¯s body heals 1420 hours¡¯ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. The final stroke of the spell nearly caused me to drop my book in shock. The rune was glowing. It was the same glow as Lesser Heal VI. Identical, even. I closed my spellbook. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. I could still see the rune. That was handy. I still had no idea which circumstances allowed me to properly transfer the more metaphysical aspects of my spells, but at the very least I knew it was possible. That also meant I was going to be avoiding using my Fireball II in spells for sure. I couldn¡¯t risk the strange... whatever it was. ¡°Did you find anything?¡± I asked. I summoned a pair of Will-o¡¯-Wisps to join the other two. Gunhild was still standing by the statue of the dead mage-king. She might have moved while I was writing, but I¡¯d been too focused to tell. ¡°Bring your wisps closer. I¡¯ve nearly had this figured when the light went out.¡± I did as she asked, ¡°So there is something?¡± Gunhild¡¯s face was pressed firmly against the point where the statue¡¯s back joined with the wall. Her fingers were sliding back and forth in front of her face, nails scrabbling at the stone. ¡°There¡¯s a crack all the wall along the edge of the statue here. Too smooth to be damage, worn enough to make me think it¡¯s frequently been moved.¡± She shoved a finger back behind her, ¡°Oh, and go check out behind that tapestry as well.¡± I did as she suggested, bringing one of my jack-o¡¯-lanterns with me. Even with my vision, I couldn¡¯t make out the details of the tapestry until my light was pressed almost directly against it. It depicted... squiggles. Nonsense lines and imaginary runes, with no set purpose or patt- Unless... I had to be sure. Fireball When only able to see the individual runes they¡¯d meant nothing. I¡¯d never seen their forms and they were too scattered to be part of any language. It was only when taken in aggregate that the meaning became clear. I still didn¡¯t recognize the runes, but then, I wouldn¡¯t would I? Every Magi¡¯s runes were unique to the Magus. But every Magus had a signature. A tell in their writing which touched every rune they wrote. A relationship between the forms. No warlock could have woven this tapestry. The hand had been subtle, so subtle I¡¯d barely noticed it myself, but it was there. First the command chamber, and now this tapestry. The warlocks had closer ties with the Magi than I¡¯d thought. It was still possible these were relics. That a Magus or even the very Magus-King whose statue Gunhild was inspecting had owned Bleakfort at some point in the distant past. But if that were true, why had the warlocks kept them? Was that why they wanted me? Someone to help reveal their secrets? It almost made more sense than my initial assessment, before I¡¯d seen the power of Lightning Cascade. The warlocks didn¡¯t need a Magus to fight for them, but to teach them? It was another theory, one I¡¯d keep in mind, and yet neither explained the near-indestructible demonic faces I¡¯d found carved into the walls. I pushed the tapestry aside. It was the simplest form of concealment. A plain wooden door stood behind it, only slightly smaller in dimensions than the tapestry itself. I tugged the tapestry aside and threw it to the ground. I wanted a clear run-up for my swords. Sword Storm Even though I didn¡¯t expect traps from a secret door I was already backing up as I cast the spell. The habit had been beaten into me at this point. Besides, if a door which Conan had already examined and Brace had already been through could be trapped, anything could be trapped. My first sword knocked the door open, swinging smoothly outward on its hinges. It hadn¡¯t even been latched. I didn¡¯t like that. Last time I¡¯d opened two doors so easily in a row I¡¯d run into the Mushroom-King. I sent my fireballs forward, first through the door than outwards, one left, one right. The left fireball didn¡¯t make it very far. I¡¯d opened a door out into a corridor heading to my right. I was beginning to have an idea about where it went. I cautiously followed my fireballs through the door. Sure enough the corridor ended in a dead end after fifty or so feet. A second corridor branched off it around the middle, which I sent my fireballs down before investigating. The second corridor ran out after only twenty feet with a door to my left. Wooden, as I had remembered. The corridor was simply back passage from the new fish box room to the pillar room. Which... It could mean the other dead end led to another secret passage. I hurried down the corridor to check, conscious of the fact I¡¯d left Gunhild alone and vulnerable to whatever creatures might wander by, or whatever traps her own secret door could conjure. My fireballs revealed no new information as I drew closer. A few cursory swipes with my swords only elected an increased volume of moans from the other denizens of the dungeon. Who was doing all that moaning and rattling those chains? I hadn¡¯t seen anyone. Living, at least. The prisoner¡¯s bodies had been chained. Perhaps they tugged and moaned when no one was looking. Once the thought entered my mind it wouldn¡¯t leave. The horror was twofold. Both the thought of corpses moving in secret, and the endless torches of the perished prisoners. I¡¯d continue burning any bodies I came across. For their own sake. I couldn¡¯t afford to waste more time studying the wall. Most secret passages had been fairly obvious once I¡¯d known where to look, but there wasn¡¯t even a rug to look under here. If the Magus-King didn¡¯t bear fruit we¡¯d return here. I returned to the pillar room at a light jog. I arrived just in time to see Gunhild go flying past me as her run turned into a stumble in the dark. She crashed into the floor less than three feet from one of my invisible blades. Any closer and it might have skewered her. I raised them to the ceiling and sent them forward in the direction she¡¯d run from, followed by one of my fireballs, the other I moved to the ceiling directly above her. The moment she saw me coming she struggled into a sitting position, a look of panic in her eyes. ¡°Gas!¡± she yelled, ¡°We need to get out of here.¡± My fireball illuminated the gas at the same moment. It was dark red in colour, a small billowing orb expanding from the Magus¡¯s staff. There was no immediate effect on its surroundings I could determine, but there was no time to find out. I tugged Gunhild to her feet and sent my other fireball ahead of us to the door. The pain in my chest would just have to be ignored until we were both safely away. Gunhild didn¡¯t need any further direction. She¡¯d already recovered her balance and was hurrying ahead as fast as the light from the fireball would allow her. I followed soon after, increasing the speed of the fireball so we could escape at a run rather than a jog. We didn¡¯t stop until we¡¯d made it back to the stairs, and up a dozen stairs to boot. Only then did I send the fireball behind us to see if the gas had followed. Thankfully, it hadn¡¯t. It was only then I realized the sun had risen once more. Sometime around the moment when Gunhild had first fell. I hadn¡¯t noticed in my panic. The frequency seemed to have increased since we¡¯d set off together. Perhaps her presence was a lucky charm. One I¡¯d have to take advantage of immediately, especially now that we were stranded by the gas. Fireball II Gunhild waited under the light of my fireball while I wrote, keeping an eye out for encroaching gas. I, in turn, focused on my healing once more. Lesser Heal II. Lesser Heal III. Lesser Heal V. Lesser Heal VI. Heal. Heal III. Heal IIII. Heal V. Greater Heal. It was a miracle in of itself that I didn¡¯t lose any spells in the process of recording this new one. My luck with the dungeon had been variable, but since I¡¯d lost the druid stone, it seemed to have turned. As ever, my chest ruin remained stubbornly unhealed while the rest of me trended ever closer to the smooth, unblemished appearance of a newborn child. Greater Heal II: The caster¡¯s body heals 2840 hours¡¯ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. My fireball winked out. Gunhild shifted beside me, but didn¡¯t speak for fear of interrupting. Will-o¡¯-Wisp I smiled at her, ¡°I¡¯m ready. Thank you for waiting.¡± She rose to her feet with a groan, ¡°I couldn¡¯t decide whether I should go out of my mind from fear or boredom. I couldn¡¯t even escape to daydreams for fear of those people coming through the far door, or the gas rising up the stairs. ¡°How do you stand it?¡± ¡°Magic, true magic, is far more engaging than it appears. Dark magic is the opposite I suppose, though neither is boring.¡± ¡°Is that the difference between them? I¡¯ve heard the terms before, but it¡¯s all magic to me.¡± ¡°It... nearly. The wonder of true magic is its creation, and dark magic its effect. Journey versus destination, if you will. True magic is believed to follow natural processes and hold nature in highest regard, dark magic circumvents it. At least, that is what I was taught.¡± ¡°You sound doubtful.¡± Had I? I¡¯d not meant to, ¡°I¡¯ve had such conversations with at least one warlock who disagreed. I don¡¯t know what he believed of the engagement of true magic, but I¡¯m sure he¡¯d have argued the feeling was subjective; that you could derive equal pleasure from either step of both dark and true magic.¡± Her eyes widened, ¡°You¡¯ve spoken with the warlocks? Where is he now?¡± ¡°Dead, along with his poisonous words.¡± Gunhild had clearly dealt with or heard stories of warlocks before, ¡°What oaths did he have you break?¡± ¡°None. I overcame all influences on my mind.¡± Gunhild looked suddenly scared, perhaps doubtful I was speaking the truth, ¡°How?¡± And now it was my turn to ask for her trust, as I¡¯d made my vow to Tom, and a vow to a hobgoblin was not one lightly abandoned, ¡°That¡¯s a Magus secret, I¡¯m afraid. It is not mine to share.¡± Gunhild glanced at the doorway where the many voices, or creature with many voices, had threatened the truth. I could almost see her weighing the odds. Whatever her secret, my own weren¡¯t enough to tip the scales. ¡°Is it safe now?¡± she asked, quick to change the subject. I sent my jack-o¡¯-lanterns down to the bottom of the steps to bob and weave between the landing and the room opposite. There was no gas to be seen, but that didn¡¯t mean it hadn¡¯t changed colour or otherwise dissipated enough to be invisible but not effective. I handed Gunhild my dagger, ¡°Tap the pommel against the wall until I tell you it is safe, as loud as you can manage without breaking the dagger.¡± She took the dagger and looked at me with raised eyebrows, ¡°Whatever for?¡± ¡°The limit of my spells is the limit of my senses. If the gas proves harmful I can teleport to the sound before it also proves deadly.¡± The eyebrows didn¡¯t lower, but she did I as said, and began to rhythmically bang metal against stone. XLV - The Source I descended cautiously. I had my lights close and a teleportation spell at the ready. The moment my skin changed colour or my trousers began to freeze about my ankles I was out of there. The moment never came. I descended further. Then down the corridor and around the corner without effect. I leaned back round with one of my lights and beckoned to Gunhild. ¡°I think it¡¯s safe. Follow me, keep banging that dagger.¡± Together we crept down the corridor. Gunhild remained twenty or so feet behind me, ready to flee the moment I disappeared. The second turn of the hallway was also clear, as was the third. Even the entrance to the pillar room. It was only when I sent my lights to scour the interior of the room itself that I saw the gas. The same small cloud hovering around the mage¡¯s staff. I beckoned Gunhild to stand beside me. ¡°What is it?¡± she asked, staring blankly at my light. Of course, the darkness. Her nightvision was far better than a normal person¡¯s, but a candle didn¡¯t illuminate red gas at fifty feet for anyone but me. ¡°The gas hasn¡¯t moved from where we last saw it. Just a little cloud maybe a foot in diameter,¡± I moved my will-o¡¯-wisp about it in demonstration, ¡°If it weren¡¯t for needing to record my spell I¡¯d be feeling a little foolish.¡± ¡°How do you think I feel?¡± Gunhild murmured, ¡°I fell flat on my face running from a bale of wool.¡± I cracked a grin, ¡°A bale of wool is far larger.¡± Gunhild tilted her head up at me and fixed me with a playful pout, ¡°And more dangerous, I¡¯ve no doubt. Why don¡¯t you go stand in yonder cloud to mock me further?¡± I raised up my hands defensively, ¡°I¡¯d have also run. And I would again in the future. I¡¯ve seen gasses which froze anything that touched them till they were as brittle as salt, and acid which rained from the sky. Worst of all was the gas which turned me gr-¡± The cloud dissipated, right before my eyes. ¡°What is it?¡± Gunhild asked. ¡°The gas is gone.¡± I held out an arm to block Gunhild¡¯s path as she made to move towards the statue, ¡°One moment, I¡¯ll try a more direct means of moving your statue first.¡± Swordferno Shard flew, sparks rained down, and the twisted statue weathered my assault. I threw in the fireballs for the chaos of it, blackening stone and doing little else. The housing was less adamant. Metal twisted and screamed, softened and broke, and the walls shook from the force of it. It was not a quick assault, near ten minutes passed, but the investment was repaid the very instant the statue came crashing down to reveal a passage carved directly through solid stone. My fireballs were the first through the breach, but they were met with no resistance. My swords went through next, fanning about the room beyond, and only then did I enter. The room was unusually large, even for the dungeons, though not as measured by the size of its floor. It was still massive, perhaps fifty by thirty feet in all, but it was the ceiling which stood out. It rose high into the darkness, far beyond the reach of my fireballs¡¯ light. I sent one arching upward and it was nearly fifteen seconds before it reached the top, perhaps 100 feet above the floor. Great stone pillars and latticework snaked their way up from the floor to ceiling, all clearly carved directly from the living rock. The place was old. Ancient. There was nothing to mark it but the feeling of time which weighed heavily in the room, almost oppressively. The walls had been carved like an apple might be peeled, layer after layer, forming a sort of series of rings. The hand which had hauled and chipped away the stone was masterful, but the tools had been undeniably crude. I had no doubt this chamber was one of the oldest, if not the oldest, room in the dungeon. Perhaps even the place which all else had been built about. The very reason for the founding of Bleakfort. I arranged my fireballs somewhat about the room in time for Gunhild to gape openly at the newly illuminated sight as she entered. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen it lit like this before,¡± she breathed. ¡°You¡¯ve been here before?¡± She started, as if she¡¯d forgotten I was there, ¡°I... perhaps. There are several chambers like this scattered throughout the dungeon. At least the areas I¡¯ve explored. My sisters and I theorized much of the dungeon is built atop and within these hand-carved caves. But it has always been dark. We never knew they rose so high, or looked so... old. It¡¯s primal.¡± ¡°So you don¡¯t know who made this?¡± ¡°Long before my time, before my kind came here.¡± I stared up in wonder. To think they had hidden this away behind such a hideous statue. I began to move about the room, peering around the great stone pillars to see more of what was hidden beyond. To my right, sunken into the wall nearly out of sight ¡®till I was upon it was an iron portcullis. Halfway around the room as I continued to circle the walls was a hole, this one uncarved. Stone had cracked and crumbled, as though rocked by an earthquake or mighty explosion, perhaps the volcano I had unleashed, for it looked recent. A corridor waited on the other side. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. The portcullis seemed to suggest the warlocks had known of this place, and had to seal it away. Had it even made their maps? I joined Gunhild to take Conan¡¯s second map from her. Several moments of study revealed they had indeed marked it on their map, though as a dead end, so the ruin to the north was new. I took the first map as well and found Conan¡¯s path. He¡¯d been all the way to the portcullis, perhaps peered through into the room beyond without being able to learn of its true nature, but gone no further. To our purpose, Conan¡¯s path to the lower floor was just beyond the portcullis as well. We were still on track. ¡°Stand back and away, and be ready to run. I¡¯m taking down that gate,¡± I said to Gunhild. I followed my own advice and ducked behind a pillar near the exit to the room we¡¯d come from. Gunhild hung further back, waiting on the far side of the fallen Magus statue. My swords surged forward at my command and tore into the metal barrier. I didn¡¯t bother lifting the gate. Gunhild was with me. If I fell or we were otherwise separated she wouldn¡¯t be able to lift it on her own to retreat back to Brace or her sisters. This way a path was always available. The destruction of warlock property was just a bonus. The gate was resilient and my swords, were they mortal, would not have been up to the task. But metal tired where magic did not. Wedges appeared like axe-wounds in wood, metal warped under supernatural strength and fire weakened the whole structure. The gate fell, hissing and screaming. The dungeon hissed and screamed with it, though none came to brave the source of their disturbance. I broke from cover and approached my handiwork. A twisted metal-scythe lay mixed in with the rest of gate. The blade was taller than I was. A trap. The warlocks had been serious about sealing off causal access, even if they hadn¡¯t blocked it off completely. Why? I searched the room while I waited for the gate to cool, but found to sign of anything extraordinary beyond the room itself. Perhaps it was meant only as a museum; a monument to their origin. I called Gunhild from cover then led the way over the mangled mess of metal. The portcullis led to a room of reasonable size. Ten feet give or take in each dimension. It was completely barren, clearly more of a landing area or antechamber than a true chamber suitable for the warlocks¡¯ propensity for excess. Directly to the right of the room was a wooden door, this one left or wedged open by previous passage. Conan¡¯s presumably. I sent my fireballs forward and peeked around the corner, spells ready for flight. The room was empty. I stepped through. Sent my fireballs high. This room was also tall, though not nearly so much as the previous room. Instead it rose to twice that of a normal room to make way for a catwalk which spanned both the left and right sides and connected in the middle via a bridge. Rising up from the middle of the room was the staircase to access the walk. To my left, leading off from the walk, was our goal; a door fifteen feet off the ground. Directly ahead (south, by my map) was another door, this one leading to the room of the voices who had wielded truth like swords. This room too had not escaped unscathed from some sort of cataclysm though the damage was limited. great cracks spider-webbed across the ceiling, giving the whole place an unstable feeling even if nothing had yet fallen from above. Still, it was enough to want to move on quickly. The catwalk door swung open easily under the assault of my swords, revealing neither lock nor traps. We ascended the catwalk easily and stepped through the broken doorway. A corridor followed thereafter, twisting and turning, and branching twice in short succession. This was known. What was not know was the enormous gap in the wall to my right between the two branching paths. Darkness beckoned beyond, which I let be. Time was fading. I¡¯d already spent half the day casting spells. The frequency of the sun seemed to increase in Gunhild¡¯s presence, though I could not say why. Another hundred feet of twists and turns revealed yet another consequence of my messing with rituals beyond ken. A gigantic boulder sat in the path Conan¡¯s map said he¡¯d gone straight through. The boulder filled the corridor entirely, with no room to squeeze past at top or bottom, sealing it more effectively than the grandest of doors. We must have been no more than thirty feet from our goal. Gunhild walked up to the boulder and struck it with her fist, ¡°Unbelievable,¡± she shook her head, ¡°it is as if the very walls of this place work against us.¡± ¡°May I have the maps?¡± Gunhild had taken to carrying and studying them while I continued with my cutlass and spellbook for defence. She handed them over then pressed against the side of my arm to study the pair with me. The path soon became clear. If we returned back the way we came and took the fork just after the hole in the wall a circuitous route would take to the other side of the boulder. The path didn¡¯t even appear long, passing through only three additional rooms and perhaps a hundred feet of corridors. Best of all, it was a path Brace and Conan had already walked. I returned the maps to their bearer and took up sword and spells. The new corridor was long, though more free from obstruction than the previous path we¡¯d taken. It ended through an archway, leading out into another sort of bathing chamber with the tiled floors I¡¯d seen so much of on the previous floor. Like the previous bathing chambers, this room also contained a number of alcoves cut into the walls, these ones square rather than round, their purpose still unrevealed. More strangely, the room also contained a bookshelf against the far right wall complete with a single book. The room was otherwise empty, so I allowed my curiosity to take me over to the shelf, though I kept some swords nearby and some at each entrance, just in case. The book was in English, The Manual of Farme Economics. I flipped it open and was greeted with page after page of dense text, leaving no room for margins or even spaces between the words. I felt a headache coming on just trying to read the first paragraph. It still might have been worth taking to scrape and turn into a spellbook, but even without the dreamseed stretching my pouch beyond its limits I¡¯d struggle to fit an entire book in pouch or bindle. I returned the book to its shelf. The fact it had remained free from damage had me wonder if the black-and-white tiled rooms were for bathing at all as I¡¯d first guessed. This room didn¡¯t even hold any visible pipes or faucets. My path was through the door on the opposite side of the room. I sent my swords to work as I headed over. The door opened on the second strike of my swords. Gunhild hurried from the other doorway where she¡¯d waited and was about to make for the door when we were both assaulted by a torrent of screams and moans. Chains rattled against bars, snapped as they were pulled tight, and dragged against stone. As we were still reeling from the onslaught, a pale figure lurched through the broken door. Here then, was one source of the dungeon¡¯s ambience. XLVI - The Chained Man The creature was a man, or at least manlike. His clothing was tatters and his skin was as pale as milk. Around his ankle was a long, heavy chain, snapped at one end. It was this which gave him his lurching gait. First a jerking lunge forward with his free leg, then the leg still bound dragged slowly after. Manacles chained his wrists together and there his skin was the pink and yellow of a deep bruise rather than white, as though a bone had broken beneath the surface. His nails were long and jagged, though half of them were missing; broken scrabbling against stone. His hair was long too, and brittle. Every step broke a small cloud of them free and sent then drifting about. It was a wonder he had any at all. His eyes were watery and pink, and the irises themselves were completely clouded over. There was no light in those eyes, no glimmer of recognition, no window to the soul. The man inside had long been snuffed out. He moaned and it was then I truly felt fear. Not fear from the man himself, he was pitiable, wasted, chained. A single sword could end him in an instant. No. It was the pain and sorrow in that moan. The hopelessness and desperation. The unending wail so deep I could hear it tearing at his lungs. The hiccough and coughing sob at the end. I feared him because I feared becoming him. To kill him would be to strike the madman down on the street for accosting me. And yet, he continued to advance. ¡°Sir, please, slow yourself. You are frightening me.¡± Not even a twitch. The man continued his advance. A moment later he let out another throat-tearing moan. Others answered him from within the chamber. I shared a glance with Gunhild. ¡°Let¡¯s keep out of his path, perhaps he only means to pass through,¡± I suggested, though without much hope. Sure enough, as we moved to the side of the room, the chained man slowly changed his path to angle towards us. It almost felt accidental, if not for his unerring accuracy. The man wailed again, and this time it was a scream of whispers, a thousand voices susserating in a thousand different directions. A cacophony of silence which left my mind buzzing and my ears ringing with emptiness. Resurrecting Hammer I blinked free of the echoes. Gunhild was shaking her head, hands held to her ears. She looked at me, fear in her eyes, ¡°Did you hear that? What happened? What is a resurrecting hammer?¡± I frowned, my eyes narrowed. How had she heard that? What did that mean? Was she a warlock? What warlock would admit to feeling the dark magic so freely? ¡°Dark magic. Dark magic of the blackest sort. Abandon the whispers if you can.¡± She smiled weakly, though complexion looked nearly as sickly as when the altar had poisoned her, ¡°It is already gone. Not even the echoes remain.¡± Our conversation was interrupted by the lurching man. We stepped back further, then took a wide arc around him to avoid being cornered. I was starting to be concerned by him. We couldn¡¯t allow him to follow us forever, but I still wasn¡¯t sure if he truly meant any harm. Perhaps it was merely help he needed. Help to free him from his chains. There could be any number of sorcereries woven there. A spell similar to Levitate but with a different intention could free him in an instant, but I didn¡¯t have such a spell available. I needed more time. Time to think free from the screams and moans echoing about me. I sent one of my blades forward and struck down suddenly. My aim was true and my (recorded) arm strong. The blade sunk directly through the centre of one of the loops of his chains and into the floor below. The chained man stumbled to a halt as his chain refused to move. At the same time, a ghostly apparition of his chain rose and began snaking through the air towards Gunhild. I sent a pair of swords to intercept. Both blades struck true, and one of the links was severed. A second ghostly chain rose from the first, this one targeting me. The two pieces of the first ghost-chain did not remain still for long, instead both flowing around my sword and continuing on to Gunhild. Gunhild¡¯s eyes grew wide and she took an involuntary step backward, caught her foot on the end of her robe and fell backward with a scream. A fourth chain, this one shadowed flashed beneath her robes in the instant she fell and she let out another scream of panic and spun about rapidly on the floor. The chains meant to bind us along with the rest of their victims. I still wasn¡¯t overly worried. I had fourteen swords and there were only four chains. Thirteen swords if you didn¡¯t count the one pinning down the prisoner. I sent three swords to pin each chain. Two chains were pinned by the first sword to strike it, the third was pinned by the second. The chain assaulting Gunhild seemed to have either disappeared or been dealt with in some way, for she was no longer screaming, instead huddled against the far door in a crouch. A fifth chain rose from the prisoner¡¯s bounds in that moment, which avoided my remaining sword for a moment, then was quickly brought down by reinforcements from my others. Unfortunately, pinning the fifth chain merely gave rise to a sixth, the sixth to a seventh, seventh to an eighth, and I was rapidly running out of swords. It was only after the eleventh chain was pinned (ten if you counted those cut in half as a single chain) that the prisoner¡¯s chain stop summoning more ghostly apparitions. ¡°Are you alright?¡± I called to Gunhild, ¡°Did that chain hurt you?¡± ¡°Chain? I... what chain?¡± she asked tentatively. ¡°I could have sworn I saw a chain dart beneath your robes as you fell, or perhaps it was the chain which fell you.¡± If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Gunhild let out a shaky laugh, ¡°No, no chain. No chain. Don¡¯t know what you saw.¡± I rubbed my face, I could have sworn... No matter. The point was that she was safe. The chained man continued to moan and thrash at his bond. It was a wonder he hadn¡¯t lost his voice before now. ¡°What do we do with you, I wonder?¡± I murmured, eyeing the oozing flesh where manacle encircled ankle. Gunhild drew cautiously closer, ¡°Kill him,¡± she said simply, ¡°look at his eyes, he¡¯s already dead.¡± I¡¯d already seen that dim light in his eyes, or rather, the lack of one. I¡¯d seen it in others. Broken people. People who had given up. Who need care for the rest of their life, and never truly recovered. Perhaps in the middle of a rich village, with healers and kind-hearted merchants aplenty he could be kept alive. He¡¯d never smile, never rekindle the lost spark, but at least he would be comfortable. To free him to the tender mercies of the dungeon, with no one to care for him... It would be a kindness to kill him. A kindness I could not bring myself to deliver. ¡°If you can¡¯t do it, give me your cutlass, and I¡¯ll finish him. I¡¯m stronger remember. Strong enough for this.¡± Gunhild held out a single delicate hand. Delicate appearing. I knew better than anyone how looks could be deceiving. I didn¡¯t hand her my cutlass. Shirking the responsibility, handing it off onto another. It was the same as doing it myself. If I was willing to allow the man to be executed, I would be the executioner. ¡°He¡¯s done us no harm,¡± I decided, ¡°It¡¯s his cursed chain which attacked us. Perhaps if we free him he¡¯ll be restored.¡± So saying, I sent a sword to strike at the edge of the manacle. The first blow chopped into the edge of the manacle, the second widened the cut. The third slipped, twisting and warping the metal, nearly striking the man¡¯s leg in the process. The fourth missed entirely, at which point I was worried about harming him. I readied my blade for a fifth strike all the same. There was little for it. The blade struck home. For a moment I thought I had done it, then the man collapsed like a scarecrow free of its pole, and a ghostly chain rose from the severed manacle. My first blade missed its mark, but I had ten others. The second one struck home, pinning the new chain to the floor along with the others. Thus sorted, I immediately ran forward and crouched by the man¡¯s side. I put a finger to his neck to check for a pulse, then drew back with a hiss of shock. He was ice cold. ¡°What is it?¡± Gunhild asked. I put a finger back to the man¡¯s neck, then a palm to his forehead and chest. ¡°He¡¯s dead. Cold as stone. His heart hasn¡¯t beat in days.¡± My mind was racing as I spoke, seeking alternate answers. Perhaps he wasn¡¯t human? He certainly didn¡¯t look it. He looked more like... like a corpse drained of blood. A troll might be as cold, and perhaps some of the elves, but neither explained the man suddenly collapsing. I checked his ankle for the wound I¡¯d delivered him and found none. Instead, the manacle was severed all the way through, and his collapse had pulled it free from his leg. He must have dropped the same instant I¡¯d freed him. ¡°The chain seemed to have been animating him. Either keeping him alive or letting him move in death. He¡¯s been dead for days. Weeks even.¡± Gunhild crept forward, ¡°Can you destroy the chain then? The original?¡± I studied it more carefully, now that I was able to. Strange runes were carved into the chain, every other link had one. ¡°Perhaps if I disrupt one or all of these runes. Stand clear.¡± The sun rose as I gathered my swords. It would have to wait. I looped a second link on the far of the chain around another of my swords and moved it until the chain was once more stretched out tautly. Then I sent all but one of my remain swords to scourge the chain from above, aiming in particular for the runes. A minute of lashings sufficed to mar or break all of them. A dreadful chorus of wails rose from the room which had housed the chained man the instant I was finished, followed by a sudden silence and series of soft thumps. Further wails from deeper in the dungeon echoed the cries, but the cry was not taken up again by its originators. I whipped my remaining sword around to the entrance, ready for whatever may come through. Nothing came. I sent a fireball through first, and followed only once the light elected no response. The chamber beyond was massive, one of those strange six sided rooms I¡¯d seen before. It might look almost like a cell in a bee¡¯s honey comb if viewed from above. The walls were lined with ghostly chains, the twins to those still in the room behind me. They had not dissipated with the ruin of the runed chain. Neither had these. Bound in the chains were corpses. Dozens of them. Some crumpled and broken, others sagging as though sleeping. Many were at the very ends of their tether, as if they¡¯d be pulling against it a moment prior. None appeared to be in any state of decay, though none wore clothing which wasn¡¯t worn and tattered. Part of the ceiling had collapsed on the right hand side of the room. Several of the hapless souls had been crushed underneath, severing their chains, but failing to free them. The chained-man we¡¯d encountered must have been one of the lucky few. This then also explained how Conan and the others had managed to navigate the room. They¡¯d not been a threat before I¡¯d disrupted the ritual. All the same, I noticed from how the map was drawn they¡¯d approached from both sides, and the details were sketchy at best. They may have never truly passed through, or only passed through once. Given the option, I¡¯d have done the same. ¡°It¡¯s safe,¡± I called back to Gunhild, ¡°Steel yourself, but it is safe.¡± Gunhild crept in behind me, leaving nothing to chance nor trust, and was still brought up short by the sight within. She swallowed, ¡°Who were they?¡± I bent to study their clothes and features, ¡°No idea. Experiments of the warlocks. Long forgotten captives. Or perhaps the chains take their own prisoners. They may have been here before even the warlocks.¡± ¡°My sisters and I have always heard their cries, but,¡± she hung her head, ¡°we¡¯ve always avoided such places.¡± I lifted her chin with a finger, ¡°Better that than be captured along side them.¡± She shrugged, ¡°Maybe.¡± I let my hand fall to rest on her shoulder. Then I remembered myself and was about to withdraw, but she didn¡¯t shy from my touch. I let it be. Arguments bubbled to the surface of my mind, ready to convince her of her righteous path. I let them be as well. Instead I stood there, hand on shoulder, until we were ready to go on. XLVII - Trollskap Lesser Heal II. Lesser Heal III. Lesser Heal V. Lesser Heal VI. Heal. Heal III. Heal IIII. Heal V. Greater Heal. Greater Heal II. The spells were still cast close enough together to be mostly simultaneous, but it was growing unwieldy. In better circumstances I¡¯d have the pages spread out before me, removed from their book. That was not a luxury I could afford. Instead I relied on speed; skill born of long practice. My fingers flew through the spellbook, casting one spell after another, triggering Lesser Heal VI and Greater Heal with my mind in the same moment. I didn¡¯t have the attention spare to devote to anything but my spells. The record of my own natural healing was sacrificed in the process. Greater Heal III: ~~~~~~ Something was going wrong with the spell, irrespective of the difficulty I was having in maintaining focus on ten separate spells and their locations. The rune slipped and shimmered beneath my crayon, forcing me to adapt on the fly, and make sudden changes to prevent it from escaping. It was like working with an animal more than a spell, and, midway through casting, the animal turned on me. I felt heavy. My breathing grew shallow. The healing continued but with it came a new sensation: Pain. A burning in my lungs, an itch more painful than combustion darts had been, worse than the breaking of my leg. And the weight, the heaviness, it shouldn¡¯t have mattered, but it continued to grow, continued to draw me down. I was already sitting, but now I was pressed against the wall. I wasn¡¯t sure if I could stand. My chest stilled. Only the slightest stream of air past my lips, and only once, once last gut-wrenching shudder from my diaphragm. I desperately flipped through my book for answers, but my healing spells had all been cast, were still being cast, and it wasn¡¯t enough. I couldn¡¯t breathe. There was a weight in my chest¡ªin my lungs¡ªand I couldn¡¯t breathe. Safe Teleport II I was desperate, desperate to get away from the weight on my chest. Had I been poisoned by my spell? A slow acting gas in the room? I reappeared, naked, and without my spellbook. I desperately turned my head to Gunhild, who was looking to where I had been, a look of horror on her face. I tried to call to her, to tell her to run, but chest wouldn¡¯t move. I had to do something Resurrecting Hammer The words surged through me as a shout rather than a whisper. One which echoed from the tiles and ceiling of the room we were in. Gunhild turned at the noise, just in time for a hammer of crackling white light to crash into her and drive her through the far archway and into the hallway beyond. Her body crumpled around the hammer like a doll when it impacted her, and her eyes rolled back in her head as she folded around it. I could only hope I hadn¡¯t killed her. Regenerating Form The second shout was one of triumph from the darkness within me. I could feel it settling in my brain, calling me further down its path, yammering ever louder in my ear. For once I didn¡¯t care. I could breathe. The pain was still there. As was the weight. Each breath was a titanic struggle, one which consumed every last bit of strength my lungs had to offer for the shallowest breath, like lifting a mountain with my chest, like fighting against the crushing weight of a god¡¯s will, and yet I continued to breathe. Minutes passed and my breath grew deeper. The weight never lessened but I grew strong. Far from tiring me, the weight seemed to invigorate me. Several minutes more and my chest was pumping like a billows, strong gusts of wind moving in and out of my lungs with a strength I¡¯d never before experienced. I tried to stand, and found I couldn¡¯t even sit upright from where I lay. The weight in my chest swung downward with gravity, and a horrible pain suffused my whole body, horrible not for the levels, which were still less than the burning itch spreading through my lungs, but for the tearing sensation deep within the cavity of my being. I collapsed and the sensation reverted in seconds, my breathing once more came fast and strong. I tried instead to roll over and was rewarded with the feeling of my lungs swinging downward to press against the inside of my right ribcage. Both of them. Luckily I was already on my side when I vomited, or I might have drowned. My vision had gone blurry and there were black spots forming in the centre. I was pretty sure my heart was being compressed along with everything else. I rolled back onto my back before it stopped. ¡°By the last of the great trees,¡± I groaned. I¡¯d thought my healing spell would mark the end of my physical tortures. Spell... I hadn¡¯t yet cast one. Could I write one from where I lay on the floor to save myself? The thought of writing another spell caused me to shudder where I lay. I was experiencing the results of a spell crafting gone wrong still. My mind shied from the thought. Still, I pressed onward. If I didn¡¯t write again soon I¡¯d never write. The fear would grow too great. A stasis spell could keep me alive, but the cost of such spells was always unpredictable, and the period was limited. I could potentially come up with a rune to hold my lungs in place relative to the rest of my body, but I feared that would stop me from breathing. It was frustrating; I could summon gouts of flame and impart enough force to collapse the whole dungeon in on itself given time, but I was as helpless as a faun against an attack from my own body. There was no helping it. I had to try to move again, at least onto my chest before a second vomiting fit ended me. I rolled to my left this time, to avoid the puddle opposite me. The pain was less this time, and I was prepared to it, managing to flip completely onto my front without the same nauseating attack on my vital organs. My chest pressed heavily into the ground, forcing me to turn my head to the side to avoid breaking my nose or neck. The pain from my still healing wounds was minor compared to the burning inside my chest, but it grew as the pressure mounted. I took a deep breath¡ªironically one of the few things I could do at this point¡ªand brought my knees to my chest. For a second I thought my ribcage would break from the strain, but it was my spine which gave out first. Something clicked out of place, as loud as a handcannon to my ears, and I collapsed onto the side of my face. My healing spell restored me as I lay there. The bruising on my cheeks faded in a matter of minutes, my spine stopped screaming after half a dozen, and felt usable after fifteen. Another five minutes passed before I gathered the courage to try again. This time I started with my arms, and hunched myself forward, straining to keep the curve in my spine. Now that I was prepared for it, the weight was manageable. Without my improved strength, I might not have been able to do it. It felt like I¡¯d nearly doubled in weight from my chest alone. From my knees I made it to my heels, and then I was standing. My lungs pressed strangely against the base of my diaphragm and what I assumed were my intestines, but didn¡¯t tear straight through my body, which was nice. Horrible pressure on my guts aside, standing was in many ways easier than lying down, and I bore the weight more easily. I brought my remaining lights and the Fireball II I¡¯d been sure to cast before starting my spellcraft to illuminate me as I looked down at my chest. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary to explain the strange heaviness within me. I took a few slow, deep breaths to centre myself, and get used to the strange feeling. The breaths seemed to do wonders, as the pressure on my guts slowly alleviated, and the prickling pain faded away. The second could be explained by the end of my healing spell, the first I wasn¡¯t sure. I took a cautious step, and felt my internals swing like a pendulum, but my vision didn¡¯t waver. The second step was easier. By the fourth or fifth it felt almost normal, aside from the extra strain in my legs. I¡¯d figured out the pattern by now. Pain was followed by strength. It was exercise, but for my lungs. Which meant I needed to cover as much ground as possible before an emergency. This was going to hurt. I braced my self mentally and hopped gently on the spot. I completely misjudged the distance with my new weight, and barely left the ground. Even so, it was enough for my lungs to float up towards my throat. It felt simultaneously like I was gagging and vomiting, enough so that a spatter of vomit followed soon after. Once more the smell of half digested fish assaulted me. It was going to be hard to want to eat that again. I stepped back from the mess and tried again, involuntarily hopping even more cautiously this time. A child bit by frost once would wear a scarf until spring, as the saying went. The second hop went better, as I¡¯d hoped, giving me enough courage to try a slightly larger one. My luck didn¡¯t hold long. I spat the taste of my latest torrent of vomit clear and staggered back to lean against a wall. It was more than the pain which felled me. Voluntarily inflicting torture on myself was exhausting. My whole being, mind and body shied from it, and the feeling, any feeling of all, of internal organs moving, was a profound wrong in its own right. The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. But if Gunhild was in danger and I had to jump or jump aside to save her, I couldn¡¯t be stunned by a lack of preparation. I clenched the inside of my cheeks with my teeth, just to feel a cleaner pain I could hold on to, then began a slow jog around the room. Once the pain subsided I switched into a run. Please no! Please! Why? by the rain¡¯s mercy, please! ¡°Please, no. I can¡¯t go on. No.¡± At some point my internal monologue escaped my lips and I started begging with myself outloud. I ignored the whiner. I had a job to do. From the run I switched into a sprint, and once the sprint steadied I finished with a leap, jumping as far as was possible, which was only slightly further than I¡¯d been able to jump before I¡¯d gained the strength of the dark altar. My extra weight almost entirely compensated for my increased strength. Something tore as I landed, my knees buckled, but did not collapse. A moment later I experienced the uncanny feeling of my lungs being reeled back into place, and the pain ended. I put a hand to my chest. I felt queasy. My heart was beating far faster than the light exercise would warrant, and the hand was trembling. That would have to do. For now. ¡°I promise to continue to strengthen myself.¡± Sometimes it helped to swear my vows to myself out loud. Especially when no one else was around. I went over to my pile of belongings and retrieved by spellbook. I needed to check on Gunhild, but first- True Teleport II I could have used the spell tattooed on my arm to remove the vomit, but given the inherent risk of losing spells cast in the dungeon, I¡¯d rather chance one easily rewritten. I gathered my cutlass but didn¡¯t bother with clothes or armour. Gunhild still hadn¡¯t returned through the doorway I¡¯d sent her through, and I was starting to get worried. I quickly checked my potions and grabbed the vial of Breathing, just in case it would help. Had I not been panicking earlier and I¡¯d remembered my potions, perhaps I¡¯d have been able to save myself without increasing dark magic¡¯s hold on me. *** Gunhild¡¯s crumpled form lay just around the corner. I wasn¡¯t entirely sure how¡¯d she¡¯d gotten there. She was oriented away from me, with her head on the far and a single foot peeking free from her robes towards me. Her robes were tangled about her, obscuring the rest of her body as well as any injury. In the dim light of my will-o¡¯-wisps what little skin I could see looked almost grey. Ashen. Fireball I needed to see. In the increased light her skin was indeed pale. Almost the same colour of the stone where she lay. Something peeked out of her robes beside her foot, a large bushy tail, almost like a fox¡¯s. My eyebrows rose. As did my cutlass. Something was wrong here. I cautiously approached the body, no longer sure it was Gunhild. The hair was indeed the same colour and length, but it was stringy, tattered and tangled. I flipped it over with a foot, then leapt back in shock. Praise the morning¡¯s red cloud I¡¯d already practiced the action or my lungs might have torn through my ribcage. The sun rose, somewhere far above at the back of my mind, in synchronicity with the revelation before me. The creature¡¯s face was lumpen and craggy as if hewn from stone with an axe rather than a chisel. Its skin furthered the comparison, grey and mottled, with orange blotches like lichen on the cheeks and nose. It was, in short, a troll, though far smaller than the trolls in any tales I¡¯d heard. Nestled against the troll¡¯s abdomen was the very same hammer I¡¯d sent to drive Gunhild from the room, which only furthered my suspicions. Those very same suspicions were all but confirmed by the maps clenched in the troll¡¯s fists. Conan¡¯s maps. The maps Gunhild had been holding. Trollskap. Was that the source of my desire? The source of my reasoning? The explanation for her inconsistent night vision? Conan had warned me against taking her with me. The dancing. All of it, a lie. All of it, trollskap. A troll with a fox¡¯s tail. A troll with a fox¡¯s tail who enchanted men and preyed on their trust. My jaw clenched. I could feel the skin of my face growing heated. How dare she? The troll wasn¡¯t moving, either dead or insensate, and yet still I wanted to strike it. Strike her. I wasn¡¯t sure if the thought was my own or a new influence against my mind. I didn¡¯t care. My leg lashed out, suddenly, viciously, with far more force than the ironic tap of revenge I¡¯d imagined. The troll wheezed as air was forced from its lungs, but otherwise didn¡¯t react. The haft of the hammer continued to stir gently above its chest as it slept; wavering back and forth. Regret and shame flooded in the instant the kick ended, and suddenly I saw myself with awful clarity. When had I become one who beat the defenceless? I squeezed my eyes shut, forced out a slow, shaking breath. I wanted to deny it, tell myself that wasn¡¯t me, I acted in anger, fear, loathing. But the one who had acted in anger was me. I was the sum of my actions. The river carved through time by my soul only flowed in one direction. All I could do was correct course. Anger alone would not serve here. I opened my eyes and fixed my gaze on the hammer. Perhaps it had bound the creature somehow? I dropped my cutlass and grabbed the haft. That turned out to be a struggle in of itself. The handle was so short I could only grasp half of it at a time. The hammer, by contrast, weighed more than an anvil. Few men could lift it. Even with my strength I ended up resorting to merely dragging it off the troll¡¯s body. The troll didn¡¯t wake from its slumber. It didn¡¯t even seem to notice the missing weight. Fireball II I cast the spell to avoid losing control, but I wouldn¡¯t hesitate to use it against the fiend. Creatures of the night tended to fear fire. I settled opposite the troll in the hallway. I wanted answers, and for answers I wanted it awake. Failing that, I wasn¡¯t about to let it sneak up on me while I was spell crafting. And I needed to craft. Urgently. It wasn¡¯t just about missing the sunrise. My fear was perceptibly growing by the minute. I could feel it, a gnawing dread, slowly hollowing me out from within. Not just of the creation of spells, but also their casting. Both the fireballs had been safe, as had the teleports, but the healing, the healing had caused me pain like I¡¯d rarely experienced. The thought of another healing spell sent me into a spiralling panic, an endless circle of remembrance which simultaneously sucked me and sent my mind racing far away. I¡¯d start cautious, start small, to regain my trust in my magic. Something I¡¯d hardly notice in normal circumstances. Lesser Heal II Nothing happened. No pain, no strange prickling burn inside my chest. No maddening itch that only a spear could scratch. If anything, I felt my body relax, felt aches of the body and spirit fade. Healing affected as well as effected. Before my courage could fail me, I prepared my next spell: Lesser Heal III. Lesser Heal V. Lesser Heal VI. Heal. Heal III. Heal IIII. Heal V. Greater Heal. Greater Heal II. The pain didn¡¯t come. My chest wounds eased once more. The strain in my arm from pulling the hammer disappeared in an instant. Tiredness fled my legs, sore from carrying a weight they were unused to. Lesser Heal V vanished from my spellbook as it was cast, but it was a small price to pay for relief. My spells had not turned on me, my magic was still my own. Whatever had afflicted my lungs had been a rare surge of dark magic, nothing more. But could it happen again? The thought shook my mind, but my hand was steady. I let it sit with me, let my worries burn, but I paid them no mind. I had a spell to write. Greater Heal III: The caster¡¯s body heals 5680 hours¡¯ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. I stood in the same moment I finished. One of the many advantages of casting my healing spell was I ended less stiff after an hour of sitting than I started. Even my chest wounds were barely noticeable, which, after nearly a year¡¯s worth of waking healing, they¡¯d better be. My fireballs had both gone out, but some of my jack-o¡¯-lanterns remained. By their faint light I could still make out the troll¡¯s face. It hadn¡¯t moved during my casting, except faintly at the lips, where its breath continued to pass slowly in and out. Perhaps it would never wake. Perhaps you shouldn¡¯t let it. The whispers returned, stronger than ever. Don¡¯t blame us, it¡¯s all in your head. I shook my head to clear them from my mind. The whispers laughed, There is no dark magic here, Magus. Only your fraying mind. Admittedly, I wasn¡¯t sure what to do with that. Had I only imagined their words this time. Given my own dark thoughts an attribution other than my own? It was a wonder any sort of mental speech could be differentiated from my own thoughts. Perhaps only because the speaker thoughts ran so contrary to my own. But this time, the whispers didn¡¯t, which further strengthened their assertion that they didn¡¯t exi¡ªI was going mad, wasn¡¯t I? I felt a sudden sympathetic kinship with the warlocks. Constantly having voices which were not your own in your head would lead you to doubt even your personal claim to your own thoughts, let alone the truth of them. I returned to my study of the troll. I could continue to wait, abandon it, arrange some means of dragging it along with me, or kill it. Or, as the voices¡ªreal or imaginary¡ªpointed out, I could kill it. Swordferno I¡¯d already decided I wanted answers, but if those answers had to wait, I wanted to continue exploring while I still had the energy to do so. I left a ring of swords around the creature while I returned to the tiled bath room. There I first dressed, recovering my gear before some other denizen of the dungeon decided to abscond with it, then I gathered as many of the ghostly chains as I could carry while not giving up my grip on cutlass or spellbook. Thus burdened, I returned to the troll and draped the chains over it. A sword at the end of each chain secured them in place, hopefully binding the troll to the ground where it lay. I used my longest lasting swords to do so, which gave me slightly over half an hour to continue exploring for the majority of the chains, and a further 15 minutes for the remainder. I pried Conan¡¯s maps from the troll¡¯s grasp, and tucked them into my belt for easy access. Finally, I dragged the strange, half-hafted hammer back onto the creature¡¯s abdomen. The weight hadn¡¯t killed it before, but it was heavy enough it would hopefully slow it down. It couldn¡¯t hurt. I passed through the hexagon of the chained-men without further incident. Conan¡¯s map directed me northward, where a door lay propped open, a series of spikes ringing the threshold. As I drew closer, the light of my fireballs revealed a number of panels in the wall, gears which Conan had locked in place. The floor contained a further large panel, a trap door of sorts, with enough of a gap from one of the spikes to reveal a short pit beneath, perhaps ten feet in depth; another of the warlock¡¯s mancatchers. It was easy to avoid. Even if Conan hadn¡¯t disabled the trap all I had to do was stick to the left side of the doorway and I wouldn¡¯t even pass over the trap door. I didn¡¯t even have to shimmy. The room on the other side was another hexagon which fit against the previous room like a honeycomb. Give the bees of Eric¡¯s prison, perhaps it had at one point indeed been a honey comb for giants. The frogs I¡¯d encountered had certainly suggested their existence. Some had even had wings. Thankfully, this second room didn¡¯t contain chained-men, corpses or otherwise. Instead it was empty, save for a small scattering of glittering items on the floor and the tiny man in red standing in their centre. ¡°There you are Sir! Master Tom has been looking for you!¡± XLVIII - The Maidens Curse ¡°Oh Sir, it is so wonderful to see Sir. Old Tom heard the awful moaning and groaning beyond yonder door,¡± the little hobgoblin fluttered a hand vaguely in my direction, ¡°and worried for the worst of Sir. But Sir overcame, as Sir always does! Master Tom knew Sir wouldn¡¯t let Old Oldshoe down.¡± The dobby had wanted to keep his presence a secret from others, had made it a requirement of one of my vows, and keep himself a secret he had for several days. And now, moments after I was alone again for the first time, he appeared. Which meant Tom had ways of keeping an eye on me. I wasn¡¯t surprised, he was an elf after all, but it was an unpleasant reminder of the power he held over me. ¡°And you are unharmed as well, Master, despite the many dangers of the dungeon.¡± Tom beamed and puffed out his chest, fists at his hips as he struck a heroic pose, ¡°The dungeon holds no danger to Old Tom, Sir. Not since Sir took Master¡¯s dreamseed, Sir.¡± ¡°Not even the warlocks, Master?¡± If that were true I¡¯d do well to keep Tom as an ally. And the hob couldn¡¯t lie. Tom grinned, ¡°Master Tom Oldshoe said the dungeon, Sir. Master Tom said nothing of warlocks. Perhaps Sir is needing his ears cleaned? Tom would be willing to trade a magical brush to Sir.¡± I eyed the treasures scattered at the hob¡¯s feet. A bottle, a brooch, a ring, a necklace; none even remotely resembled a brush. ¡°Is that why you are here Master Tom? Selling your wares?¡± I gestured to his feet. Tom looked down and his eyes widened with surprise, ¡°Master was not aware he was standing in-¡± -the sun rose- ¡°-a pile of dwarf gold, Sir! Old Tom was completely unaware! Tom would sell them to Sir though, if Sir were willing, but that is not why Master Tom is here Sir! Master Tom is needing of a painting, Sir!¡± I¡¯d barely heard Tom, the rising of the sun distracting me. I rubbed the side of my head with the back of my hand holding my cutlass and tried to focus, ¡°A painting, Master?¡± ¡°A painting of Tom Sir.¡± ¡°Forgive me Master, but I don¡¯t have a painting of you.¡± ¡°Master Tom wants Sir to paint one, Sir.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a painter Master Tom.¡± Tom rolled his eyes, ¡°Old Tom is not needing a painter, Sir, Master is needing a paint-ing,¡± The hob was careful to emphasize the word. Shrugging might have been seen as rude, so I could only bow. I knew how to hold a brush, and I had a good eye for detail. I proper painting would take me many hours and dozens of attempts, but if Tom didn¡¯t care about the quality of his painter, neither did I. ¡°Very well Master, I would be honoured to perform this service as a repayment of one my favours.¡± Tom¡¯s face fell for the briefest of seconds before it bounced back into his trademark of a grin¡ªTom had been careful to avoid mention of repaying my favours before that, but I was getting used to dealing with the hob. That said, a chill came over me as the words left my mouth. I¡¯d agreed to Tom¡¯s favour without asking him for the details. A dozen ways in which a painting could go wrong entered my mind at once. He could need it painted from my blood, or to pour my soul into the crafting, or to collect rare paints from far away, or want to be painted riding the back of a toad-dragon. Instead, somewhere between my blinking and my eyes darting about the room in the way eyes at rest tending to do, Master Tom produced a trough of paint jars a square of canvas on a wooden frame which was nearly the size he was. He held them out to me, ¡°Very good Sir, very good. A painting for a favour Sir, a favour for a painting. Would Sir like Tom to pose Sir, or stand beneath one of Sir¡¯s flames for better viewings?¡± I¡¯d have to divest myself of both my cutlass and spellbook to do the painting, but I didn¡¯t suspect treachery on Tom¡¯s part, at least not in this. If that had been his plan all along, he¡¯d certainly been playing the long game. I¡¯d no doubt he was stealthy enough to steal them while I slept. I studied the room for a safe corner to tuck myself in while I painted and found it severely lacking. Four of the six corners were adjacent to a door, and another had a large crack through it large enough for two men to pass abreast. The final corner was ¡°safe¡±, but the nature of a hexagon was such I wouldn¡¯t be able to watch both sides at once for intrusion, especially not while also trying to paint the hob. The tiled room would be safe enough, even if it now contained a liberal amount of half digested fish. But that wasn¡¯t my problem. Tom had asked me to paint him, not shelter him from the wondrous sights and smells of the dungeon. ¡°I¡¯d prefer to paint in a room a little ways from here, if you were willing Master.¡± Tom shook his head, ¡°Oh no Sir, oh no! Master Tom can do no such things. A painting in this very room is exactly what Old Tom Oldshoe needs Sir, exactly what Master Tom needs.¡± There had to be a trick, but I couldn¡¯t see one. I took the paints to the less than ideal corner I¡¯d spotted a moment ago, and settled in. The paints didn¡¯t seem to be cursed or ensorcelled or bewitched, or treated in any manner. Perhaps the canvas was made from the flesh of babies and whitened with their powdered bones, but that didn¡¯t seem Tom¡¯s style, and, sad as it was, didn¡¯t actually put me in any further danger. Tom elected to stay standing in the very centre of the room, above the pile of dwarven jewels. ¡°It is more dramatic this way Sir,¡± he called to me, hands cupped about his mouth, ¡°Make sure to show Master Tom alone in all directions Sir! And don¡¯t forget the glittering golds!¡± So saying, the little hob struck the same pose he had earlier, hands on hips, legs spread, head twisted upward and looking away. Fireball II I¡¯d left one fireball above the hob, keeping this one to light my canvas. The other three I left to either side of me, one to my right, two to my left. They would hopefully ward off or kill any potential threats which wander in. To back them I sent my swords, sometimes more than one, to every door and crevasse, both as a physical wall, and a weapon ready to strike. Then I began to paint. The painting itself was easy. I was no acolyte or even amateur at painting, but I had painted before. All Magi were taught a wide variety of arts, to aid them in rune-craft and better prepare them for the variant obstacles they may face. I had more of an eye for realism than form, but it was enough to produce a crude rendition of the scene. First grey and blue for stone and shadows, then red for the little hobgoblin in the centre, and final gold, for the treasures at his feet. Concentration was harder, but only due to paranoia. The dark whispering in my head grew no closer and the moaning and wailing of the dungeon drew no nearer. It was the shame which was hard. The loathing which clawed at me, which stabbed at my heart and brain like a knife. I¡¯d struck a defenceless creature, and for what purpose? What ill? If the troll was indeed Gunhild, what had she done to me? She¡¯d offered me no harm, presented no danger. She¡¯d risked herself searching the Magus-King statue for a path through, she¡¯d watched my back while I¡¯d crafted spells. Perhaps she¡¯d been biding her time to strike, but I had to proof. She¡¯d left her sister, who could have aided her. She¡¯d slept among us. She¡¯d held weapons to my back while my concentration had been wholly on my spells. But she¡¯d controlled my mind. And there was the anger. And the anger mixed with the shame, opposite and equal, neither letting the other resolve, neither letting the other die. I caught myself more than once staring blankly into space, brush unmoving, as the spiral drew me in. I could deal with anger. I could deal with shame. But here was a riddle I¡¯d yet to crack. I¡¯d persevere, it was just a matter of holding firm, but that didn¡¯t prevent the pain in the moment. It wasn¡¯t meant to. ¡°Is Sir needing some assistance?¡± Tom called, ¡°Sir is guilt-struck, heart-broken. Master Tom can see it plan from here, Sir.¡± I grit my teeth and dabbed two large eyes onto the red blob¡¯s face, ¡°You are kind, Master, but I can manage. Need to manage. It is a private struggle.¡± Tom bobbed his head up and down knowingly, tapped his nose, and then struck a completely different pose instead of returning his hand to where it had been, ¡°Old Tom knows the sort Sir. The sort which made Old Tom old. It makes Master Tom old or it kills him, Sir.¡± *** The painting took about an hour in all. Master Tom grew tired before I did. The little hob sagged dramatically, then hurried over to my side to peer over my shoulder at what I had done. Upon seen the vague smear I¡¯d started trying to work into something passable, his eyes lit with delight. ¡°Oh Sir, it is wonderful! Perfect! Old Tom has never had a painting before Sir. Never! Old Tom is ever so grateful to have met Sir.¡± I dropped the brush I was holding back into one of the jars. If Tom said it was perfect I wasn¡¯t about to argue. ¡°Will that be all Master?¡± Tom nodded happily. His hands snatched out for painting, then closed on air as he stopped himself from touching the wet canvas. He repeated the action twice more, ¡°Oh indeed Sir, indeed! Master Tom considers Sir¡¯s favour fully repaid!¡± My fireballs and swords had all vanished by this point, which meant my prisoner¡¯s bounds were no longer secured. I doubted the weight of chains and hammer alone would long hold a troll or even a child if they were determined. And I still hadn¡¯t recorded a spell since the sun rose. I stood and bowed to the little hob, ¡°I am glad to have been of service Master Tom. Now please, I must bid you farewell. I have urgent business to attend to. Until next time Master.¡± Tom nodded vaguely, still enraptured by my painting, ¡°Fare thee well Sir! Do not be forgettings Master Tom¡¯s mother!¡± ¡°Of course not Master.¡± I retrieved my spellbook and cutlass and hurried out of the room and back the way I¡¯d come. It was a short journey, but by the looks of things, I¡¯d already been too late half an hour ago. The troll was gone, the hammer and chains were scattered, and a beautiful young woman with long blonde hair sat amidst them all wearing the very same robes the troll had been. The woman was not Gunhild, but was close enough in appearance she could have been one of her sisters (Though not any of the sisters I¡¯d met). Her eyes were wide and pinned on me, and had been so since the moment I came around the corner heralded by one of my will-o¡¯-wisps. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Gunhild?¡± I asked. She nodded, trembling. It took me a moment to realize I¡¯d pointed my cutlass at her. No wonder she was terrified. The memory of me kicking the troll¡ªher¡ªbody only an hour before flashed through my head. I lowered my sword and sat, deigning to keep distance between us. On further consideration I dropped my sword entirely. My spellbook was my main weapon anyway, but it was far less intimidating. I took a deep breath, then slowly released it, trying to release the hold my anger and shame held on me with it. The emotions could stay, but they wouldn¡¯t control me for this conversation, ¡°Could you please explain?¡± If anything, my forced calm intimidated her more than my anger. She shrunk back, back pressed against the wall behind her, and her eyes darted from one side of the corridor to the other seeking an escape. She licked her lips, ¡°Did you- Did you see...?¡± The voice was not her own. Not the voice I¡¯d grown used to, anyway. The sudden change in sound seemed to surprise her more than me. She clapped her hands to her mouth and tears began to form at the corners of her eyes. I was starting to feel pretty bad about the whole thing. That sort of terror wasn¡¯t easily feigned. We both spoke at once. ¡°¡±What happened-¡± ¡°Please, I don¡¯t know what¡¯s wrong with me but-¡± I raised a hand and she cut off instantly. I squeezed my eyes shut. I¡¯d gone about this completely the wrong way, hadn¡¯t I? ¡°I¡¯m sorry, continue.¡± I re-opened my eyes. Just because I was feeling bad didn¡¯t mean she hadn¡¯t simply re-bewitched me. Even now I¡¯d need to keep my guard up. ¡°I was cursed. Me and my sisters all were. Cursed to look like hideous creatures. It was only with our mother¡¯s magic that we were able to take on some semblance of our true forms. Imperfect, but at least human. But now...¡± the tears continued to well, ¡°but now I don¡¯t know what happened.¡± She raised her hand to study it, front and back, and stared at it like a stranger, ¡°I¡¯ve only just realized I no longer have the same appearance.¡± She grabbed a strand of hair and moved it by her face, then she twisted it around her fist and pulled on it, pulling it tight, ¡°Did you see... when I was unconscious... when I woke I was...¡± ¡°A troll,¡± I confirmed, ¡°Or at least very trollish in nature.¡± She slumped back against the wall, ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened. You were just writing your spell and then you went mad; writhing about, teleporting across the room. And then,¡± she swallowed, ¡°then I was struck with that hammer there,¡± she stuck her chin out in its direction, ¡°I felt everything break. I thought I¡¯d died,¡± she studied her new hands again, still wrapped a stranger¡¯s hair, ¡°maybe I did.¡± ¡°Resurrecting Hammer,¡± I nodded towards said hammer. Gunhild ran her hand along the shaft, ¡°I remember. When we first faced the dead man. You said the words were dark magic. Were they are warning? Did the warlocks attack me in revenge for their dead man?¡± My guilt compounded my shame with every word from her lips. She still hadn¡¯t realized it had been me who had summoned the hammer. ¡°Something went wrong when I was writing my spell. The runes were twisted by dark magic. It robbed the air from my lungs, crushed me with a terrible weight.¡± Gunhild met my eyes, ¡°And sent the hammer after me?¡± I grimaced. It was an easy out, but the truth would serve me better in the long run, ¡°I summoned the hammer. I thought we were under attack by another form of gas, or perhaps an invisible being. I couldn¡¯t breathe, couldn¡¯t gather the words to tell you to flee, so I panicked. I summon the hammer to try to push you from the room but...¡± I trailed off. Death. A world of indescribable pain and an unforgettable moment of breaking. How could you apologize for that? Gunhild¡¯s trembling grew stronger. She glanced down at the hammer, then up to me, back to the hammer, than down the corridor leading back to the room of giant stone pillars. She looked back at me and recoiled in shock, jumping to her feet, ¡°Behind you!¡± I spun into a low crouch. Swordferno. Fireball II. My fireballs fanned out and my swords rose to the ready. There was nothing there. Not even a growl. Not even a whisper. Just the sound of bare feet pounding down the corridor away from me. ¡°It¡¯s safe!¡± I called half-heartedly. It had been a distraction, nothing more. But on the off chance it wasn¡¯t, I¡¯d leave no more room for misunderstanding. She didn¡¯t slow. I couldn¡¯t blame her. Pain flooded through me; guilt, fear, anger, regret, outrage. I held it all as I turned away from her retreating form and returned to the bath room. I hadn¡¯t been sure if we would continue on together, even if the talk had gone well. She¡¯d betrayed my trust. Clouded my judgment. Ensorcelled my mind. But given her curse, what would I do to belong? I still hadn¡¯t picked apart which parts of her seduction had been enchantment and which had been a natural attraction. I needed to write a new spell. I¡¯d already missed one, but the clouding of my mind had grown worse upon confronting Gunhild, not better. She may have wounded me, but I¡¯d killed her. Crushed her. I had memories of a tooth being pulled which still made me shudder; her collapsing ribs and rupturing organs would haunt her for life. I slumped into the corner of the room. I needed to try. Even if I was distracted, felt like I¡¯d fail, the sunrises were a gift I couldn¡¯t ignore. If I had any opportunity to reconcile with Gunhild, to protect her or repay my guilt, new spells would make it possible. Make it more likely. She¡¯d fled into danger, but she¡¯d spent her life in danger¡ªspent her life in the dungeon. I¡¯d been the one to kill her. I blinked rapidly. Forced myself to study the tiles in the room. Made my flames dance up and down. I was going in circles. I needed to focus on what was, not what had been. The sun rose. A wolf of shadow rose with it. Both as clear in my mind as if I stood atop a mountain and watched the horizon. The sun rose rapidly, fleeing toward its zenith in a matter of seconds. The wolf rose faster. Its jaws stretched open, wide as a snake¡¯s and reached around the sun. For a moment they kept pace with each other, the sun caught between the wolf¡¯s teeth, and then they snapped shut and the sun was extinguished. Again the sun had been extinguished, and again after I¡¯d been too slow in writing a spell. There was a price to be paid for not accepting the gift, which made it no gift at all. Fireball II My spells had returned all the same. Whatever that meant. In theory I could still record a spell. I needed to. The sun had been extinguished twice already, and these things tended to come in threes. *** I was still afraid. It took more than one success to counter fear. But I¡¯d already been through the worst of it. I knew my strength. And so I wrote. And so I cast. Lesser Heal II. Lesser Heal III. Lesser Heal VI. Heal. Heal III. Heal IIII. Heal V. Greater Heal. Greater Heal II. Greater Heal III. And so I was rewarded. My body healed, but so did my mind in spirit. Fear felt and faced again was fear overcome. Not fully, but I was ready for the next time. Greater Heal IIII: The caster¡¯s body heals 11,345 hours¡¯ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. In many ways the most remarkable thing about the spell was that the wounds on my chest still hadn¡¯t fully healed. Though there was apparently some debate among healers, Magi knew the truth. Results spoke for themselves. A day of healing awake was worth less than half that asleep. It was hard to examine my wounds properly, given their position on my chest, but the swelling had gone down. The skin was still tight and slightly tender to the touch and as shiny as a new shoot of grass, but I could move my arms freely without pulling painfully on the muscles beneath. I returned to room beyond that of the chained men. To my surprise, Tom was still there studying his new painting. It must have been approaching two hours since I¡¯d left him. He looked up as I drew near, ¡°Oh Sir! Master Tom was not expecting Sir again so soon Sir. Master Tom was admiring Sir¡¯s painting Sir.¡± A bubbling, sparking sense of pride mixed with fondness in my chest. Deceitful though the little hob might be, he wore his heart for the world to see. ¡°I¡¯m glad you enjoy it, Master,¡± I said truthfully, ¡°It does my heart good.¡± The hob¡¯s eyes returned to his painting, ¡°Of course Sir, of course.¡± I headed deeper into the room, not toward the hob, but to its centre where the jewels lay. Tom had not disturbed them so enamoured was he with the painting. Or perhaps he had no need for jewels easily won. Elves were strange that way. The first of the treasures was a jade brooch, which I fastened over one of the holes in my gambeson. It was easy enough to carry, and fine enough I might be able to trade it with another inhabitant of the dungeon. Perhaps Tom¡¯s mother would like it. Even if I didn¡¯t find anyone to trade with it matched my overall aesthetic and probably provided me some small protection. Next were the object which only held value to me as potential magical items. A cold-forged ring and cold-forged necklace, both made of gold. I tried both on in turn, but neither held the faintest glimmer of potential. I returned them to the ground. Light though they may be, if I wore every set of jewellery I came across I¡¯d be a walking treasury by the end of the month. More seriously, rings and necklaces had a habit of snagging, and taking the body part they were secured around with them. I¡¯d once heard a story from my master of a man jumping down from his horse when his ring had caught on his saddle. He¡¯d have lost the finger if not for my master¡¯s quick intervention. Finally there was the large crystal bottle, surrounded and sealed with a mesh of gold wire. The liquid within shone like the heart of a mountain, a swirling mass of molten crystal. There had been a lake a ways off from my hut which had been similar at the right times of the year. Salt, in heavy concentration, turned the waters sparkling white. The crystal body and gold wire suggested this bottle contained more than salt, but there was no marks of identification anywhere on its smooth surface. The only clue was the resonance it held. The whole bottle thrummed with power, a lesser version of the druid stone. Smoothing crystal was no easy feat, doing so to contain and enhance the frequency of a specific potion could only mean the potion was more valuable than the container. This was a potent elixir, of that I had no doubt. There was room aplenty in my pouch now that the dreamseed had gone... wherever it had gone. I drop the potion on top and resealed the flap. ¡°Pardon my hasty departure Master, but the hour draws late and my destination cannot wait.¡± ¡°Of course Sir, of course,¡± Tom said again, ¡°Master Tom must be leaving soon too Sir, far too soon Sir, but Masters and Sirs must what Masters and Sirs must.¡± Thus, having bid my leave, I headed for the door directly to my left, one of a pair on the west side. It was there, Conan¡¯s map claimed, I would find my alternate route to the stairs leading below. Swordferno The door was already stuck open, depriving me of the pleasure of tearing it down. Instead I sent my swords raking across the perimeter of the frame in a bid to trigger any traps Conan may have unknowingly left disarmed. When nothing happened, I deemed the path as safe as it was going to get and proceeded, spellbook and cutlass in hand. It was just as I was crossing the threshold that I was struck by a terrible thought and a decision to be made. With me there would be no shelter nor safety for Gunhild. Even if I could have convinced her to stick with me there would have been no point other than a selfish one to have chased after her, and there were many ways in which it would make her life worse. However, I¡¯d only just now considered that she might decide to reseek shelter with Brace¡¯s crew, but Brace¡¯s crew would not recognize her. I need to return and alert them of her changed appearance. I¡¯d keep her curse a secret for the moment to avoid misunderstanding, but an attack between friends was a tragedy I couldn¡¯t bear. I was halfway out the other side of the room when I was struck by another pair of thoughts. Thought one was that Gunhild was no fool. She could convince them, or lie and say she was one of their sisters, or seek out her sisters for shelter instead of Brace. Thought two was that I didn¡¯t truly know if Gunhild had been honest with me. Perhaps she wasn¡¯t safe. Perhaps she wasn¡¯t Gunhild. And if I told them to accept any stranger bear her name, it might be Conan or Stovepipe who woke up dead instead of Gunhild. This was quickly followed by thoughts three and four. Three: Even if Gunhild was innocent, there was no saying my intervention would make the situation better, it could exacerbate an already reached resolution, or simply drive a wedge between all three of us. Four: It wasn¡¯t my place or even my right to solve everyone else¡¯s problems. Gunhild had run from me. She¡¯d been right in doing so, reasonable, but she¡¯d made her choice. It was not mine to undo hers. I turned back to the thoroughly scratched door even though every fibre of my being screamed against it. I was not one to back down from a problem, or justify away difficult conversations at my convenience. I spared a glance to Tom and received none in return. The little hob had either not noticed or chosen to ignore my indecisive pacing. Ten feet past the door, then thirty feet to my left and another fifty or so to my right after that led me to the top of the stairs, just as Conan¡¯s maps had shown. Just before the stairs to my right was an enormous mound of rock and rubble blocking off the passage there. Gunhild and I had been less than twenty feet away when we¡¯d been forced back by the collapsed corridor. I could have teleported through it had I been able to peer through a crack. And not averse to abandoning Gunhild. How quickly things changed in a few hours. How quickly lives changed. I bit my lip, letting the pain distract me from spiralling once more. XLIX - OGRE The stairs to the fourth floor were as long as ever. Longer even. My swords and fireball both vanished before I reached bottom, leaving me with only my will-o¡¯-wisps for light, and even they were replaced over the course of the descent. About an hour in length if I had to guess. The map of the fourth floor was less complete than the third. Brace¡¯s party had had a far hard time exploring the floor and had been met with a number of misfortunes including an incident which had left half of Conan¡¯s papers covered in ink which had been why they¡¯d only bargained for the one floor. He¡¯d reconstructed what he could remember to the best of his ability with the help of the stone map, but a marked ¡°safe path¡± had proven to be less useful than I¡¯d hoped, given the traps and foes Gunhild and I had encountered already. It was clear they¡¯d not only been lucky in avoiding traps, but that the denizens of the caverns had moved in since their initial exploration. Still, the stone map was enough. It marked both sets of stairs and gave me a clear path to follow. It was a bit of journey compared to the third floor, enough so that I headed for the dead-end room straight ahead of me (due west) instead. The corridor wasn¡¯t straight, taking numerously long bends which had me nearly switching back and forth across my same path, but eventually the map proved true and the path ending in a door. A door which had been slid aside to reveal a large plumb bob hanging from the ceiling. A narrow incision showed the path it must have one time swung along; straight into the faces of anyone foolish enough to be standing next to the door when they opened it. It was only by carefully studying this incision that I was able to avoid noticing to the two enormous shapes charging out of the darkness towards me. ¡°Get ¡®em!¡± The one in the lead bellowed so loud the walls shook, ¡°¡¯e looks like ¡®e¡¯s got some meat on ¡®im.¡± My light¡ªand theirs it soon turned out (how had I not noticed that?)¡ªrevealed two giants, nine feet tall and brandishing clubs. Both were grotesquely fat, emphasized by the fact neither was wearing more than a loincloth. Their heads were twice the size they should have been, both with cavernous mouths agape with hunger and delight as they bore down on me. The observation took me only a fraction of a second, which was fortunate, because I didn¡¯t have much more than that. But I did, and I had my spellbook in hand. Swordferno II The giants impacted my swords with enough force to drive the invisible blades back towards me. In fact, the swords hardly slowed them. The first giant¡ªogre seemed appropriate here¡ªswung his club at me, completely ignoring the half-dozen mortal wounds across his body. The club stuck true to the spot I¡¯d just been occupying, but my reflexes saved me once again as I leapt backwards from his blow. His companion swung her club a moment too slow, completely missing me. I didn¡¯t slow my retreat. Instead I sent my fireballs forward while I continued to carefully back away from the pair, more concerned with stumbling than haste. I needed to put as much distance- the sun rose- between the three of us as fast as I could, but a single misstep would be lethal. Fireball II I didn¡¯t need that hazard on my mind while trying to fight to monsters. I sent it to join the others. They were doing good work, scorching flesh such that it bubbled and sizzled like pork on a spit and leaving black and yellow flesh behind. It was too much for the female of the pair, who retreated with a cry of pain back into her lair. The male, by comparison, was enraged. The walls shook with it as he let out a wordless roar and tore at the balls of fire swarming his body. He even went so far as to smother one in a meaty fist, killing it. If I hadn¡¯t been terrified and fighting for my own life, I¡¯d have been impressed. Instead, I tore free the swords embedded in the ogress¡¯s flesh and struck them as hard as I could into the ogre¡¯s back and side. The ogre was not the toad-dragon. His hide didn¡¯t repel my swords, he didn¡¯t leap faster than my blades could follow. He struggle forward directly through the swarm and he was impaled. Again and again and again. And he kept struggling forward, undeterred. I started aiming for his neck, face, and eyes, desperate to fell him before he drew nearer. In response he raised his hands to his head and warded off both fire and sword. I continued my retreat, and the ogre continued his advance. Neither gained nor fell behind. Instead, we moved in lockstep, painting the corridor red with his blood. Buckets of blood. It poured from every wound in a tide, as though his plan was to drown us all. Sprays of it flew to decorate the walls and ceiling with every pass of my blades. Part of it was his immense size. Nothing but an exact strike of my magic swords would pierce deep enough to cause a mortal wound. But that wasn¡¯t the end of it. I¡¯d already caused a dozen such wounds and it failed to fell him. The creature was tougher than he should be, supernaturally slow. No one beast could contain so much blood. Not one who could walk these corridors without stooping. I¡¯d win this contest of endurance in the end. As long as he couldn¡¯t close the distance, every second brought me closer to victory. My concern was running out of corridor before that point. The stairs would be long enough, but he would gain where I would stumble if I tried to manuever them backwards. My fingers flipped through my spellbook as we continued our slow retreat away from the ogres¡¯ lair. Sword Storm would be welcome or even... the sun had risen. My spells had all returned. When had¡ªEarlier in the fight. I¡¯d recognized it subconsciously, but hadn¡¯t had a moment to spare the thought heed. Swordferno The runes twisted under my fingers. Wax slide across parchment and rearranged itself, growing large, smaller, grander, more complex, spiralling outward, until the rune took up the entire page, and then spread across the to the second, wrapping up and around the edges of each and who knew how far beyond. Glowing flames appeared in front of me, perhaps a dozen of them. They were not the balls of fire I was used to. These crackled with a silver light, which burnt the air around it like lightning. The light was sharp somehow, it held the wariness of staring down the edge of an approaching blade. Shock took me, both from the flames and writhing wax rune. My bindle slipped from my fingers though I managed to keep my grasp on my spellbook. The silver flames tore at my attention. Deadly. Alien. I forced myself to look away, forced my legs to keep retreating backward, but not before the ogre gained half a step of ground. He paid little heed to the strange flames, for which he was rewarded; just as he would have run into them the flames retreated. They flew past me not a hair¡¯s breath away, shearing away a hank of it as they did so and tossing the rest back in a great fluttering green storm. Had my hair not been fireproof my head might have caught fire as well. I tore my finger from the still writhing spell and flipped through¡ªthe rune was spreading¡ªmy spellbook until I found my second chance. Swordferno II This time the spell cast as normal. Fourteen more blades slammed into the ogre, point first. The force was enough to make him stagger. I didn¡¯t celebrate yet, I¡¯d already seen the creature¡¯s incredible resilience. Instead, I continued my retreat, sending the new will-o¡¯-wisps backwards to cover my tail while the fireballs soared forward and into the ogre¡¯s maw. Angry eyes watched my retreat between protective fingers. The ogre roared in anger as he saw me slipping from his grasp. And then... everything fell apart. The ogre¡¯s left hand snatched out and grabbed a fireball, repeating his trick from earlier. The flame was extinguished, though the flesh of his hand was beginning to smoke. He roared again, this time in triumph, and this time my legs shook as much as the walls. It wasn¡¯t the same stunning blast the toad-dragon had used, that had been more physical. Instead, I was struck with a sudden knee-wavering fear, far beyond what I was already feeling. Had I not already faced greater fears in this dungeon it might have paralyzed me, been enough for me to give up right then and there. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Shadows grew around the ogre¡¯s form, making his features dark and indistinct. They seemed to flow into him, causing him to grow, looming up above me until his head scraped the ceiling. I resisted the urge to turn and flee entirely. I couldn¡¯t have that at my back. The flow of blood had stopped. In fact... It was hard to tell now that his skin was as shadowed as the new moon, but in the flashes afforded by my fireballs impacting on its surface, I could see that the wounds had completely closed over. He was healing faster than I did, after I cast my spell. The ogre thrust out a leg, like a man fording a stream. The ground shook with the impact of his footfall, and my swords were pushed back. Then he took another. And another. He wasn¡¯t gaining on me, he wasn¡¯t even keeping even with me, but the combined weight and strength of all my swords¡ªfive tons of force by my estimate¡ªwasn¡¯t enough to stop him. I was fast approaching the stairs. When I reached them I¡¯d have to turn and flee. If it was only a matter of retreat I¡¯d do it in a heartbeat, but the ogre had shown himself to be persistent. If I didn¡¯t deal with him while I could see him and had him pinned, he would hunt me. Ogres were known for dragging people off in the night. That left the corridor I¡¯d not explored and would soon be past, or doubling down against the onslaught. The ogre roared again, and that same crushing feeling, the feeling of a mouse in the hawk¡¯s sights, swept over me. I nearly bolted down the corridor right then and there, but the suddenness of the feeling was enough to resist it. It wasn¡¯t natural. Nothing about the ogre was. Sword Storm II I thought I¡¯d past the point where I¡¯d need more than Swordferno, but I still had other spell at my command. Six more blades and a singular fireball joined the fray. The ogre didn¡¯t even slow. His footfalls continued to press forward: implacable, inevitable. I knew from my own experience that I too could appear invincible to my foes, but that my patience, stamina, and spellbook were limited. I could only hope I was wearing him down. But now time was running thin and I need to come to a decision: the corridor or the stairs. It wasn¡¯t even a choice. I might stumble on the stairs, I¡¯d be forced to have my back to the ogre, the path was treacherous and long. And yet... The first ¡°explored¡± room I¡¯d entered on this floor had housed two ogres. I¡¯d run into worse in the dungeon, and stumbled into traps along Conan¡¯s path. If I fled down the corridor I might run into another group of ogres, or a pair of toad-dragons, or perhaps simply an actual dragon. Stumbling was a risk, but it was far from the worst one I could take. I turned and fled up the first few dozen steps, then turned back to make sure the ogre was following. At this point I couldn¡¯t afford to let him draw nearer, nor loose sight of his shadowed form. I¡¯d gotten the rhythm of it wrong this first time, and upon turning back I was greeted with the sight of the ogre¡¯s face, level with my own. His greater height had allowed him to close the distance using the vertical distance of the stairs. The only reason he had not completely overcome me was the ten foot ceiling. If he wanted to stand next to me he¡¯d need to hunch forward or crawl, at which point either his face would be unprotected or his free hand would be occupied supporting his weight. I spun about to reclaim the distance between us and¡ªlook, hoopstone champion I may be, but I¡¯m no acrobat. The toe of my left foot failed to clear the next step while the toes of my right foot¡ªalready precariously placed at the very edge of the stair¡ªslipped free and I fell forward onto my face. At least I had the presence of mind to avoid catching myself with the hand holding my sabre, but the end result was that I slid backward down the stone steps on my chest and pelvis like a sled on Mother¡¯s Night. By the curve of my chest or the lift of my legs I continued to pick up speed as a slid and my thoughts turned from stopping myself in time to sliding right past the ogre. If I was lucky I¡¯d slide right between his legs. I was not lucky. The ogre was large and primitive in appearance, but he was not slow. He caught me with the same hand which had been supporting his passage up the stair, causing him to fall forward and lean against the steps, me pinned between them both. A normal man might have broken then and there. Bones cracked and ribs popped. What mortal had the strength to survive the weight of such a creature? But by the blessing of the dwarf goddess and the curse of the warlocks¡¯ altar I was no normal man. My ribs creaked in protest as over a thousand pounds of cannibal slammed me against the stone steps and a sharp eye-watering pain blossomed in my nose¡ªhalfway between a sneeze and knifewound¡ªbut the rest of me held. Held long enough to hear the reverb from the ogre¡¯s impact, even if my vision had gone black with stars. And what I could sense, I could act on. True Teleport II The ogre noticed me the moment I reappeared, his head upside down to peer beneath his armpit and behind him. He let out a roar like the quaking of the earth began to spin around. I was now between the ogre and his wife. Or sister. Or daughter. Mother. Maybe all four. He was an ogre after all. Point being, I was surrounded, though she¡¯d not been looking well last time I¡¯d seen her. Whatever supernatural stamina compelled the ogre in front of me didn¡¯t appear to be available to the ogress. Sword Storm I met his charge with a fresh set of swords, and the previous blades hadn¡¯t stopped either. That was forty in all now, each with the full force of my strength behind it. I took my opportunity where I could get it. With the blades temporarily holding the ogre in place I took the opportunity to reach up to my face (ow ow ow ow ow) with my free hand and pull. I didn¡¯t know much about setting a nose, but the spell could do the rest. Greater Heal IIII The sensation of my nose realigning itself was more distracting than the pain itself had been, but in a matter of seconds the sensation faded. Seconds could count for a lot in combat, but not when you were a twelve foot ogre stuck in a stairwell. He still had managed to fully turn around by the time my noise had healed, and I didn¡¯t let up with my blades or fireballs the whole while, keeping one hand fully occupied as he sought to protect his face. His wounds continued to mount from my ministrations and subsequently heal from his own. Surely the pain alone if nothing else was getting to him. Fireball III I was careful to summon this fireball¡ªtwice as hot as the others¡ªon the ogre rather than anywhere near myself. Even looking at it was uncomfortable, let alone standing near it. Or having it pressed against your eyes. The ogre howled in pain which shook the walls and for a moment I feared the tiles from the ceiling would bury us both like the trap outside the wailing room. His hand snatched out to try his same trick of extinguishing the fire, but this flame was not so gentle. I could hear the flesh crack and fat spit from here. The ogres howls redoubled and he fell back onto his rear, now facing me, with a crash that caused me to stumble. He brought both hands to bear against the flame, but two were little more effective than one. I had his measure now. Something which could frighten him, hurt him¡ªif only for a moment; his wounds continued to vanish almost as fast as they were caused. With both his hands dedicated to warding off my flame¡ªhe could still push it about like a basket on a lake¡ªhis face became free game for the rest of my spells. Swords sought his eyes, fireballs did their best to stuff themselves down his throat, in his ears, and up his nose. Desperation and honour could not share the same place in my heart. On my third wave of attacks he charged me. I had been expecting it. In fact, I¡¯d been expecting the attack much sooner; the moment it became clear he couldn¡¯t extinguish my flame, in fact, but it must have been hard to think under the circumstances. Understandably so. The ogre¡¯s charge impaled him on my blades and gave even my newest fireball free range as he forced himself forward, hands pressed to either side of the wall for leverage. A small stream flowed beneath the ogre¡¯s feet and cascaded down the stairs; blood. A man might have slipped in it, a lesser creature been swept away, but the ogre¡¯s weight kept him as steady as on a level dirt plane. In fact, his weight nearly worked against him. On the last step the ogre¡¯s foot crushed the final stair and slid down through the rubble to crash into the landing, cracking the flagstone. His hands on either side prevent his fall, but I swore I could see the walls bulge outward under the strain. The ogre¡¯s weight had increased, it must have. The steps were in no danger on his way up. The ogre straightened and let out another roar. He hadn¡¯t spoken a single coherent word since I¡¯d impaled him on my swords. It did little to avail him. I had no fear left in me. I¡¯d seen death and felt pain beyond what should have been knowable. I doubted the ogre could provide anything even approaching having my heart crushed by my lungs. Still, pain was pain, and pain was best avoided. And when the ogre suddenly straightened under my blows, and my blades began to slide off his skin without piercing it, I felt a coil of dread work its way up my spine. Only my hottest of fireballs still harmed him, and my lesser still caused his lips and eyelids to flinch away from the heat. Even then the damage was more akin to a coin left out in the sun than a hot skillet grabbed with bare fingers. The ogre grinned at me and a single great hand snatched out at lightning speed and extinguished my greatest weapon against him. L - Blood and Battle Hope dimmed with the light of my fireball, but I still had other weapons, other lights. And other methods of attack. I drew back every last weapon at my disposal, then sent them all forward in one concerted attack. Eyes, nose, the underside of his chin, and behind his ears; anywhere soft, anywhere weak I sent both fire and sword. And despite all of that only a single weapon struck true. A sword blow to his eye, bursting it and embedding the blade in the socket to prevent healing. The ogre didn¡¯t even flinch in response. Instead the same great paw which had extinguished my fireball came up and swatted the blade free from his socket, taking bone and flesh with it. For a moment the wound was far more grievous than any I had inflicted, a moment later it was gone. This was looking less and less like a fight I¡¯d win, and more like one I¡¯d survive. If I was lucky. And only if I managed to flee somewhere the ogre couldn¡¯t follow. My fingers flipped through my spellbook as the ogre pushed forward. At least my blades could still slow him even if they failed to cut his skin. I was nearly out of teleportation spells, completely out of those which would allow me to keep my gear if not cast in conjunction with Clothes Hanger. In fact: Clothes Hanger The spell lasted for an hour, and this way I wouldn¡¯t need to keep one finger on the spell at all times. I could now teleport at will, though all would be needed to be saved for escaping the ogre. Dark magic beckoned as always, but that would be a last¡ª The ogre burst through my protective wall of swords with a sudden burst of strength and heavy legs began to close the distance between us. Stone turned to powder under his feet and the walls shook with the sound. Despite his size, or perhaps because of it, I was able to keep ahead of him, the stone not absorbing my effort and the ceiling not slowing my stride. Magic Swords III I set the swords at his ankles in an effort to trip him, but the swords didn¡¯t get into position in time and he struck them at the wrong angle to slow his stride. But my other swords moved as fast as I did, and I¡¯d already established I could outrun the ogre. My second tripwire held. The ogre crashed into the ground with a force so powerful it let out a shockwave. The ground and walls rippled, stone shifted against stone. I was nearly knocked off my feet, and would have been if I didn¡¯t catch myself against the wall with my free hand. Praise birch and maple for my foresight. If I¡¯d not abandoned my cutlass I might have skewered myself. This whole fight was starting to feel a lot like the fight against the toad-dragon. An unstoppable force with impenetrable hide knocking me off my feet every couple of seconds. Except I didn¡¯t even appear to be able to slowly bleed the ogre out. My weapons did not hesitate to take advantage of the ogre¡¯s compromised position. Forty some blades struck down downwards, seek both to wound and to pin him in place. The majority of my swords skittered across shadowy bone and hide, or left wounds so shallow as to be worthless. Seven blades struck true, four of those struck deep, sinking through flesh and the floor beneath. Of the blades which struck deep, one went straight through tooth and jaw, and out the back of his throat. This time the ogre screamed. It wasn¡¯t a roar. The pain, anger, and frustration were far too raw to call it a roar. He bucked against my blades and tore his head free from where it had been nailed to the floor. A mouthful of blood and a shower of broken teeth poured from his face as he thrashed about on the floor. His torso leapt from the floor as well, tear the three blades which had pinned him there. His arms and legs remained pinned, and even then, all four of the blades he tore free remained sunk deep in his body. His thrashing grew more violent, forcing me to keep my hand against the bucking wall. The shadows he¡¯d drawn to himself prevented me from being able to make out his expression, but he appeared to be panicking. Whether it was fear or anger, the emotion gave him enough strength to throw off the majority of my bonds, especially those along his arms. With his hands both free his fingers scrambled at the blade I¡¯d buried (for a second time) in his eye. Hands found hilt and he pulled it free. A moment later the cunning orb once again reflected the light of my fires and jack-o¡¯-lanterns. I ordered my swords to press the ogre back to the floor, but he was rooted now, and their strength was not enough. Emboldened by success, one hand tugged free the sword free from his abdomen while the other attempted to once more free a blade from his head. Both blades piercing his jaw proved to be harder targets, embedded in sensitive bone as they were, and his forced to bring his second hand up to help. I wasn¡¯t about to let him succeed. All my blades, save the 5 still left flesh retreated, liberating even the leg he¡¯d been able to free. Magic Swords II Push IIII My blades, both new and old, returned with a vengeance. The one I aimed at his skull moved with thrice the speed of the others, propelled by a second spell. Perhaps if I killed him instantly, his wounds would not have time to heal. My enhanced blade skittered along the ridge along his brow, throwing his head back with a snap, but failed to penetrate. A moment later it buried itself in the wall behind him, irretrievable. My other blades fared better. Six piercing flesh, their force combined with those who failed to fell the ogre once more. I¡¯d already crouched in anticipation of the fall this time. If anything, he was continuing to grow heavier. I¡¯d been less fortunate in which limbs remained pinned this time, both an arm and a leg retained some latitude, but a blade had sunken straight through the knee of his other leg, pinning it in place farm more thoroughly than it had been last time. Another joined the two in his jaw, and three more had gone at least part of the way into his pelvis, torso, and chest. My final blade sunk straight through his throat, then skittered across the stone floor and out the side of his neck. The wound was less devastating than if the blade had simply remained in place, but the ogre was slow to react. Perhaps the broken neck or barrage of injuries had stunned him; The multiple blows to his head concussed him. Before the wound began to heal I took finer control of my victorious blade, and swept it back along the ragged tear in his throat and held it in place against the artery. Two more blades joined the first, and I wielded them shears, snipping and chopping at the half column which remained of his neck. Before I managed to fully decapitate the fiend, he reacted. Flesh began to regrow around my blades and his free arm swept through the air in a frantic search for his invisible assailants. His elbow hit the blade in his chest at the same moment his hand found one of the blades in his throat. Neither were a success. The blade in his chest was twisted in place under the force of his blow, which elected a strange bubbling rumble I could only assume was a scream. It was hard to tell when he was missing half his throat. His hand struck more true, but was even less effective than his elbow had been. Rather than twisting the blade even somewhat free from his body, instead he hammered it firmly into the ground, securing it in place. Before he could correct his mistake I sent my improvised sheers to work at his spine. If I could sever the signal from brain to body before he could remove my weapons, it might be enough. Unfortunately his spine proved far stronger than his flesh and though he thrashed horribly from the pain of it, his neck¡ªwhat was left of it¡ªremained intact. I didn¡¯t relent. The magic blades would not dull nor tire. Eventually they¡¯d win through. The ogre was not content to lie there while I worked. He leapt up and side wise suddenly, trying to tear himself free from my blades. I took a step back, cautious, and for a moment I thought he might succeed. His chest arched and both armed lunged toward me, but his jaw, neck, and the blades lodged therein held him in place. He fell back to the ground as though his body was a lashing whip, and his neck the handle. The floor became likewise, a whip which tossed me from my feet. I toppled over backward into the rivulet of blood with a slight splash. It must have been nearly half a finger-width in depth at this point. We would have looked quite a sight from above. Mirrors of one another. His feet pointing at mine, and a stream of blood flowing gently past both of us. I rose before he did. Far before, as his second attempt was weaker than the last, and my swords¡ªwhich I¡¯d returned to his body after his thrashing had thrown them off¡ªheld him in place. When it became clear he couldn¡¯t defeat my growing multitude of swords directly, he changed tactics yet again. This time he rocked sideways, twisting at the shoulders, to put the full force of his weight behind a single arm. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. It punched free from my swords, rose into the air, and slammed into the ground with the quake of thunder. The floor shook as if from the impact of his entire body a moment earlier. Though he didn¡¯t appear any larger it seemed he¡¯d grown even heavier still. I¡¯d learned from last time, and was already supporting myself with my free hand against the wall and my legs bent. My swords moved back into position the moment his arm fell and pinned it in place once more. He tried in vain to raise it again, but the swords held. Undeterred¡ªthe ogre¡¯s dedication was inspirational¡ªhe rocked back the other way, and his left arm broke free. The whole of his chest followed after, swinging his shoulder around and his arm over, crashing his fist into the same spot where his right had impacted. The stone cracked liked a dying glacier. Despite my precautions, the second impact, with the full force of his body behind it and then some, nearly knocked me from my feet once more. It was not a pose he could hold long, for his knee and throat still remained pinned in spite of his best efforts. Though he¡¯d demonstrated he could shake me, my swords held. It had stopped being a battle of strength and wits, and had become one of endurance. The victor was as of yet undetermined, but would be the one whose magic lasted longest. The ogre didn¡¯t agree. His scrabbling right fist worked up a piece of the flagstone he¡¯d shattered. His arm was still pinned, but retained enough mobility to flick the stone at me from the elbow. The shot went wide enough I didn¡¯t even flinch, but the force of it pulverized the stone into a cloud of shards. Several bounced off my armour, but did me no harm. It would be a problem if he hit me, and one I couldn¡¯t easily solve. If I sent more swords to keep his right arm in place, another part of his body might be freed. If¡ª It was also a problem I didn¡¯t have much time to solve. A second stone flew towards me, this one with the full force of his arm behind it. My swords pinned the arm again in short order, using the distraction of several more blades penetrating his torso to overpower him. The stone itself was even further off course than the previous one, though no less deadly for it. I felt the impact of shards through my armour this time. The simplest solution to my problem was to continue attempting to sever his neck. If I got his neck before his stones got me, I won. The problem was¡ª The third stone was caught short at the wrist, and tumbled to the floor a mere foot from his hand. The sun rose. And was not devoured. And just like that, I had my solution. Fireball II Swordferno III Fireball III Fourteen new blades and six fresh fireballs¡ªtwo of the sort the ogre couldn¡¯t ignore¡ªappeared directly above the ogre. The blades went straight for his throwing arm, the fireballs for his face. They¡¯d be my distraction. Even the ogre¡¯s mass and brute strength had its limits. His right arm became a limpet fastened to the floor while his other limbs lacked the strength and leverage to do more than thrash against my swords. Only his core¡ªhis torso and pelvis¡ªcould move, but it availed him little. My scissors continued to slice at his neck in the faint hope of finding some weakness or edge, but I didn¡¯t rest easy. The ogre had already overcome a dozen of my victories with tricks of his own. Sword Storm II Six new blades and a fireball. The fireball I sent to relieve one of my hotter fireballs, and that one in turn I set against the ogre¡¯s exposed spine. Perhaps the fire would make the bone more brittle. It was worth a try. The ogre¡¯s thrashing increased in intensity when I put the flame to his neck, but my six swords pressed even his chest down, completely immobilizing him. Then began the delicate process of resorting my swords so they were evenly distributed along both limbs and torso, leaving more where the ogre was strongest. Once it became clear what I was doing, the ogre¡¯s thrashing stopped suddenly, then changed in intensity. Instead of straining against his bonds, the ogre put all his effort into raising himself from the ground then dropping back. The first impact knocked me from feet, despite the hand still firmly pressed against the wall. The pool of blood was deeper now. Both my hands were buried by the flow, as was the spellbook held in my right. As was the miracle of the first germ, so too the miracle I wrote my spells in wax, not ink. I suspected whatever spell¡¯s I¡¯d written in anything else had just been washed away. The second thud from the ogre didn¡¯t give me time to check. He was going to collapse the corridor, burying us both. And given his track record, I fancied his odds of survival over my own. Which is why, even before I broke free from the stream of blood, I¡¯d moved on of my swords into position directly above the ogre¡¯s spine, and prepared my next spell. Push IIII The blade missed. Not even by a small margin. I was lucky it hit the flesh of his neck at all. Worst of all, it might have failed has it it, for the point only scraped across the stone rather than penetrating, tearing a small rent in the ogre¡¯s throat before falling over and pinning itself against the ground with a splash. The ogre retaliated with another body slam, but this one was feeble compared to the others. The ground still shook, but my feet rode the wave rather than being thrown by it. We went back and forth that way five or six more times, me trying to crush or cut his throat in its entirety with my scissors, him trying to bring the ceiling down on us both, neither gaining the advantage, when the ogre¡¯s luck finally gave out. My swords, which I¡¯d never kept totally still along his spine, always sliding and prying hoping to find the gap between his vertebrae, finally slid home. The only clue to my success was the fact that the blades ran into one another, kicking up a spray of blood where they clashed, for the ogre¡¯s body continued to move. I swallowed my disbelief before the body could rejoin and slid half a dozen blades into the gape, creating an invisible wall between head and shoulders. The ogre thrashed desperately under the weight of my blades, but no amount of desperation could move them. I rode the shock-waves like pro, hand already in position to catch myself. I was getting used to his thrashing. He¡¯d have to try¡ª A fist sized piece of masonry bounced off my shoulder. My arm instantly went numb and my spellbook tumbled from my fingers. It splashed down in to the river of blood, the bobbed up at a canted angle. The stream wasn¡¯t deep enough to carry the book away or bury it entirely, but the fact it floated at all spoke volumes. Literally. I snatched back up my book with the same hand which had dropped it. My healing spell was still in effect and the minor injury was hardly a problem. The ceiling on the other hand- I looked up. The ceiling was spider-webbed with cracks. The stone I¡¯d been hit with was had been a small end piece. The full sized... flag stones? Mast-stones? What were they called on the ceiling? Whatever they were, they would be the real problem. Even a year¡¯s worth of healing wouldn¡¯t cure being flattened. Magic Swords II I used the twin swords to kick the ogre¡¯s head free and roll it towards the stairs. Or at least I tried to. Whatever he¡¯d done to make himself heavy enough to shake the ceiling was still in effect. My blades, both individually as strong as I was, could not move him. The ground shook again as I considered the problem. I kept an eye on the ceiling this time, ready to teleport myself free at a moment¡¯s notice. With enough swords and leverage, I could probably move the head, but I didn¡¯t want to risk freeing his still thrashing body. I¡¯d read too many stories about dark creatures reattaching severed heads or strangling those who¡¯d vanquished them with their disembodied limbs. I¡¯d not truly believed the stories until now, but the evidence both thrashing before me and running over my boots was hard to deny. *Boom* Another small piece of masonry fell from the ceiling. A minute of silence. *Boom* The ceiling held strong. There was little for me to do but watch for falling stone. Watch for the ogre breaking free. Watch for the ogress to sneak up behind me. Watch and wait. The ogre¡¯s struggling slowed. And hope. *Boom* His stamina seemed to come and go in bursts. Strong, then weak, then strong. No pattern rhyme or reason. But he now moved less than he moved more. Half a minute and still no success- *Boom* The flagstone gave without warning. A piece of the ceiling as large as I was slid free silently from its housing. If I hadn¡¯t been watching for it, I¡¯d never have known. Even ready for it, I barely reacted in time. For a man relying on wit and athleticism alone it would have been a close thing. Safe Teleport I reappeared on the far side of the stone. This had a number of benefits and drawbacks. On the plus side, the stone was large enough to seal the entire corridor. I couldn¡¯t even make out my lights on the far side. Even the sounds of the ogre¡¯s thrashing had been completely cut off. On the negative side, the stone was large enough to seal the entire corridor. I couldn¡¯t even see the ogre on the other side. Even the sounds of his thrashing had been completely cut off. I could still control my weapons, but I had no clue if anything they were doing was effective, or if the ogre might have broken free from them. I could only continue to press down with my swords and hope for the best. Marshlight The spell twisted slightly under my finger as it was cast, but the rune settled rapidly, unlike the Swordferno, which as far as I knew was still warping under the influence of... of whatever was warping it. If Swordferno hadn¡¯t been warped beyond recognition I would have payed closer attention to the twisting of my Marshlight. If I had payed attention to Marshlight wouldn¡¯t have looked up an extra half second earlier. If I hadn¡¯t looked up that half second earlier, well, I guess the loss of my Swordferno may have saved my life. The ogress was charging towards me. It was only my newly summoned light which revealed her. Her footfall was silent even in the rivulets of blood. She moved too quietly for something so large. Magic Swords III Unlike the ogre, the ogress still had her wounds from our previous encounter. She charged with club raised and teeth bared, but it was drunkenly. The club wavered, and her teeth formed more of a grimace than a snarl. Four swords was enough to stop her charge cold. She hung there for a moment, suspended; impaled by my swords. Then she slid backward as though my swords were made of icicles. The ogress collapsed to the floor with a cough which added a fresh spray of blood to the stream. She looked up on me, and, on hands and knees and sporting over a dozen fatal wounds, I saw not the faintest flicker of fear in her eyes. Only hunger. There was no reasoning with her. Three of my swords swiped the air around her (you try guiding invisible blades with pinpoint accuracy), but the fourth took her in the neck. The force of my blow knocked her on her chest, face first into the stream, but still she refused to die. I headed off her arms struggling to help her rise, plunging my blades into her back and out her front. Her hide was far less resilient than the ogre¡¯s. The blades pinned her like a butterfly, splayed out on her front in the stream. Bubbles streamed up from her mouth, painting her forehead red as they burst, but she didn¡¯t struggle. Didn¡¯t move. Didn¡¯t rise. Several seconds later the bubbles stopped. The ogress didn¡¯t move. LI - Flames of Revenge The ogress was dead, but I wasn¡¯t done with her. I¡¯d learned my lesson from her husband/brother/father. Three of my swords kept her pinned while the fourth took her head. The fourth blade then rolled her severed head away from the rest of her body then stabbed down through her jaw. I¡¯d be leaving my swords in place for as long as I could. Even now. I turned back to the collapsed flagstone. Not only had it cut me off from the ogre and stairs, but also the corridor which I needed to follow to get down to the next floor. I pulled my maps from my pouch. Though my teleport had cleared away most of the blood soaking into my clothes and gear, the stains remained. Both the map of the first 6 floors and the map of the third floor had been ruined. Only the map of the fourth floor¡ªthis floor¡ªremained. Worse¡ªfor Conan could redraw the other maps¡ªmy map of the eleventh floor was also ruined. There would be no salvaging that. I brought one of my will-o¡¯-wisps closer to study my remaining map. Even they hadn¡¯t emerged unscathed. Will-o¡¯-wisp didn¡¯t properly describe the light anymore. Both of the marshlights from my spell were as steady as an oil lantern on a still summer¡¯s eve. The light didn¡¯t dim, flicker, wax or wane. They were dimmer now too. Perhaps half the strength they¡¯d been. Whatever rules and laws of magic I¡¯d known before fighting the ogre had drifted away in the autumn breeze. But it was the fourth floor I¡¯d opened my pouch to see, and I still had light to see it by. I¡¯d take what victories I could get. As I suspected, I was trapped down a dead end corridor. At least by the map¡¯s, and therefore Conan¡¯s) reckoning. I knew enough the dungeon to search for secret passages before giving up hope. Still, even being trapped could be a positive thing. If the stone remained in place the room I¡¯d met the ogres in would be a safe place to sleep. Provided it hadn¡¯t been flooded with blood. The decision now was to decide if I was willing to abandon the stone and the ogress to seek kinder environs, or if I feared their ambush to be able to take me unawares. I swayed where I stood. It had been a long day. A very, very, very long day. Poisonous gas, chained men, trollskap, and ogres. And that hadn¡¯t been the half of it. If the ogres killed me when my back was turned, at least I might be able to get some sleep. I sloshed around the ogress and around the bend, withdrawing my swords once she was out of sight. They could guard the doorway for me, at least for the next hour or so. I came across my discarded bindle a moment later and bent to retrieve it. My spine popped as I tried to lift it. For a moment my whole back seized in pain, and then my still active healing spell overcame it. I nudged the bundle with my foot. It didn¡¯t move. I suppose over a hundred feet of rope would be heavier wet than dry. Even with my enhanced strength I couldn¡¯t lift it. Levitate The plan was to lessen the burden enough to drag my bindle to drier ground. That wasn¡¯t what happened. Instead, much like Marshlight and Swordferno before it, the runes began to writhe underneath my thumb. I shuddered and tore my thumb away. Casting spells was becoming more akin to shoving my hand in a bucket of worms than flipping through the pages of a book. At the same time, my bindle began to glow. The light was not like my will-o¡¯-wisps, or rather, not like they had been. It was a steady light, even, and this time far brighter than those which danced about freely in the air. Drought and famine, what was going on? The obvious answer was that the ogre was somehow responsible, though I had no idea how that could be. My best guess was some kind of corruption akin to the corruption brought about dark magic. I forced myself to turn back to the page with my Levitate rune and ran my finger along its still writhing form. It was settling now. Becoming firming, more defined. In fact... it was legible. A new rune, written in the same style, with the same flourishes, as if I myself had written it. A moment later and the writhing stilled. I traced a trembling finger along the lines. I could read this. I could cast this. Rapture: An object weighing up to 80lbs begins to glow with the strength of two candles. The object can be moved following the whims of the mage at the speed of a gentle run for up to an hour. A spell had been written in my spellbook by other than my hand, and I could cast it. This was different from the changes brought about by dark magic. Those where I lost the spell entirely, or was able to cast it without properly sensing the rune. Thought it was not entirely without precedent. There had been other spell whose values had changed, hadn¡¯t there? Spells who had doubled in strength without my input? I flipped over to the page bearing my Marshlight spell. The rune was gone. It had been moving on its own a moment before. Would the new Rapture disappear just the same? I flipped back to where Swordferno had been. If I had lost it, at least I would know. I¡¯d lost spells before, though not in such a strange manner. Flames of Revenge: Flames which cut like swords fly off down the fastest route at twice the speed of a run to attack the caster¡¯s greatest enemy in each community. One flame per community. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. The blood within my veins ran as cold as the blood running without. This was not a spell any mage could write. A spell any mage would write. It was far to complicated. Far to vague. Far to precise. Far too cruel. Indiscriminate. Impossible. The flames hadn¡¯t sought out either of the ogres. Nor had they harmed me. They¡¯d... They¡¯d flown around me and up the stairs. Had it been a dozen flames? Half a dozen? Who had I condemned to die? Though... At half the speed of a run, I still had time. The stairs were long, and though the flames would not grow tired nor (presumably) feel the weight of gravity, I should still have time. I ended the spell. Or rather, I gave the same mental command¡ªthe same psychic unhitching¡ªI gave when ending other spells. I could only hope it worked. I didn¡¯t trust any definition of enemy which didn¡¯t include the ogre, and any definition of community which only produced a dozen flames. I grabbed the bindle and pulled. It was still too heavy despite the Rapture. Strange name for a spell, it didn¡¯t appear particularly happy to me. Perhaps it was I who was meant to be enraptured by the floating bindle. If it was floating. Rapture For some reason the spell was uncast, and so I layered it with itself. The bag grew brighter; a giant torch sat in a stream. ... ¡°Stone smother and grass die! Leaves rot and life turn to slime!¡± A giant torch and little else. I still couldn¡¯t drag it. My back healed for the second time a moment later. Push II I oriented the spell such that it sent the bindle toward the ceiling. My plan was to grab the bindle and divest the rope of blood with a teleport, but even now I couldn¡¯t quite lift the bag. Perhaps if I wasn¡¯t already carrying so much, and trying to hold on to a spellbook with one hand. But at last I could drag it, and so drag it I did, sloshing down the corridor toward the room at the end. I could only hope there weren¡¯t more ogres waiting for mom and dad to come home. Or worse, grandpa and grandma. *** The floor must have held a minute depression around the door to the ogre¡¯s room, for the stream ended there in a pool of blood. By the time I arrived the pool was up past my ankles, and the stream showed no signs of slowing. Come the new day the whole corridor was going to reek. Already the smell of copper and iron was getting to me. And worse. I was pretty sure some of the blood had gotten up my nose. I could taste it on the back of my tongue. Ogre didn¡¯t taste good. Past the door my boots squelched up onto dry stone. I was able to tug my bindle just shy of the pool¡¯s edge but no further. By the bindle¡¯s light I studied the ogres¡¯ room. It was, unsurprisingly, filthy. Scattered bits of stained fabric, rotten timbres, mats of straw, empty bottles, discarded ¡°clothes¡± (loin cloths mostly), nail clippings, hair, and more decorated the room. In a pile in the corner were what could only be what affects of their victims they viewed as worth keeping. Gold coins, shiny necklaces, and whatever samples of fabric they hadn¡¯t already destroyed. The only entrance and exit (save perhaps the depths of the well) was the door I¡¯d just entered through. Just like my map had said. Given the circumstances, I¡¯d have appreciated another way out over the near guarantee of safety. I dropped my pack over in the corner with the rest of the valuables then returned to my bindle. Against my better judgment I placed my spellbook on the floor and out of the way. I¡¯d need both hands for this, though I kept it within easy reach. With both hands now grasping both the fabric of the bindle and the scabbard itself, I pulled as hard as I could. Slowly, painfully, the bindle slid up the small slope and out of the pond. Blood ran from it in rivulets as the rope slowly divested itself of liquid. I helped it along by stepping up onto the bindle itself, squishing free a torrent of blood which flowed down to join the rest in the slowly growing pool. After hopping in place a number of times, I judge the bindle light enough to carry. I gathered the whole thing up in both my arms, then waded back into the pool. Then I activated my tattoo. Safe Teleport Bindle and I, both free of blood, reappeared a moment later next to the rest of my gear. I set the bindle down and hurriedly went over to retrieve my spellbook. It didn¡¯t have many spells left which could defend me at this point, but I didn¡¯t feel comfortable having it leave my grasp for an instant all the same. Besides, it was well past time I recorded a new spell. My first thought was a spell to overcome the ogre¡¯s defences, or perhaps one which could tunnel through rock. A quick review of my spellbook put an end to that. I¡¯d used up most my spells, and the ones I hadn¡¯t used had been warped in unrecognizable ways. The only exception were my healing spells which for the most part remained. Unlike many other spells, there was no limit to the useful strength of a healing spell. It would make a good second choice. I dug through my pouch for my wax, and was disgusted to see that a loamy, pinkish, gritty foam had spread evenly throughout my pouch. My chalk. I emptied the pouch and brushed off the rest of its contents. None of the chalk was retrievable. At least it hadn¡¯t somehow ruined my wax or potions. I returned the surviving contents to my pouch, and then took up my freshly cleaned bar of wax. Lesser Heal II. Lesser Heal III. Lesser Heal VI. Heal. Heal III. Heal IIII. Heal V. Greater Heal. Greater Heal II. Greater Heal III. Greater Heal IIII. Finally, after over a dozen efforts spent solely on repairing a single pair of injuries, the wounds in my chest closed, inflammation shrunk, scars faded, and they were no more. Regenerate: The caster¡¯s body heals 23,040 hours¡¯ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. I frowned at the rune I had written. The number was too high, the effect was too strong. I flipped through my spellbook, mentally adding up the value¡ªHeal IIII had changed. Changed mid-cast, for I hadn¡¯t forgotten what I¡¯d read only an hour. Where once the spell had healed 355 hours worth of injuries over the course of an hour, it now healed 710. Exactly doubled in strength. I¡¯d seen this before, hadn¡¯t I? Back when I fought the first swarm of rats? I wasn¡¯t sure. It had only been a month, but it felt like a lifetime. I could barely recall my life before the dungeon at this point. It was a faded thing, a fairy story whose contemplation put my sanity at risk. Only the present mattered. And the future. If the future ever came. Back to the present. Now was a time for celebration. Not only had two of my spells become stronger than anticipated, I hadn¡¯t been eaten by ogres nor interrupted by dark whispering. Luck, at least for the moment, was on my side. I was not one to deny luck when it came. Instead I embraced it. Revelled in it. It was the same principle as dreaming. If you realized you were dreaming, the best way to stay asleep, paradoxically, was to tell yourself you were dreaming. The truth was rewarded and it was obvious why. If you knew where you were, whether atop a mountain, within a dream, or in a state of positive luck, you knew where you wanted to stay. It was when you were lost you drifted away from such things. Or never found them. ¡°Wind and rain, praise you, praise me.¡± It was a short prayer of thankfulness my master had taught me. Though far removed from both wind and rain, the memory such things still existed somewhere high above was a second blessing in of itself. My eyes grew heavy as I rested my arm bearing my spellbook beside me. My fingers were still threaded through the pages. It had been a very, very, long day. I slept. LII - Darkswallower of Bleakfort I had strange dreams of forests and dimming light. Of canopies closing overhead. Beautiful women were in the forest with me, darting from tree to tree, tittering in the shadows where they hid. I spun to face them, leaving my back exposed to the others, who leapt on me to plant a kiss on my cheek. I spun back to face them, but their giggling forms had already retreated back to the shadows. Roots grasped at both their feet and mine, adding into the game. We danced over the snaring roots as we chased each other around the glade. Elysium. For the first time since the dungeon I felt free. Above it all flew that albatross. Despite my exhaustion from the night before, I still woke with the rising of the sun well rested and with clear mind. It must have been the healing spells. They would have eased the burden of physiological rest, allowing my body to focus on the psychological. Will-o¡¯-Wisp Water was easy to come by. My waterskins alone held two weeks worth and that was if I didn¡¯t ration the water and could not survive a day without it. Food was more of an issue. I opened my bindle to retrieve my large bar of hardtack and, sure enough, it had been reduced to a bloody mess. My teleport could only do so much once the blood had become part of the objects nature. I threw the hardtack over on top of the ogre¡¯s trash pile. Next was to somehow complete my morning routine. The room large for a normal room, but still far too small to be leaving my waste in a corner. I could wade down the corridor a ways, but blood and feces? I shuddered. I¡¯d have to walk back down there again at some point, and the day old blood and corpse of the ogress would be bad enough. Though the ogres clearly had not been clean people, they themselves had left no bodily waste in the room. I walked over to the well and sent one of my lights down it. I¡¯d already considered sending my waste down the well, but sending water up had seemed far more important. I had two weeks of water, yes, but there was no telling how long it would take me to get out of here. Both sight and scent confirmed my suspicions. The well went down a long way, all the way to what appeared to be a large chamber, either on the next floor or a former reservoir. Either way, there was no water, only a lumpen and shadowed mound. So high up the smell was faint, but my nose confirmed what my eyes could barely make out in the gloom. A mound of ogre waste. EliminateII The sun rose as I finished casting. I blinked. Had the first sun rising been the true dawn, or this second one. The new suns were going to destroy my sense of time if they could happen mere minutes apart. At least neither had attracted the devouring darkness. The well had solved my most immediate problem. Now it might be the solution to a second one. If the chamber at the bottom of the well was indeed a room on the next floor, the well might be my way out of here. All I needed was a way down, and it just so happened that I had a rope. The fact that I could make out even the faintest details at the bottom of the well with my dim will-o¡¯-wisp told me the chamber was relatively close compared to the other floors, or, it spoke against what I was seeing being the next floor in truth. Either way, it was worth investigating. First order of business was to secure my rope. With nothing heavier than the rope itself in my position, I settled for tying it about the well itself. The stones making up the retaining wall were rough enough I didn¡¯t have to worry about the noose slipping up and back down when I descended, which I tested by trying to pull the loop straight up by hand and failing to budge. At worst, I was in danger of cutting the rope with the raw edges of stone. The next step was to divest myself of as much weight as possible. My new strength might make up for my lack of experience in climbing ropes, but I wasn¡¯t about to make it any harder for myself than I needed to while at the top of a one hundred foot plus plunge. I removed cutlass, hammer, chisel, second pair of gloves, torches (two of which had been ruined by my fall into the bloody stream), and pouch from my belt and set them all by the edge of the well. The only objects coming with me on this climb would be my bar of wax, retrieved from my pouch, and my spellbook, tucked through my belt in a such a way that it lay open, with two blank pages exposed. The plan, such as it was, was to write as I climbed. The well was narrow enough I could wedge myself against both stone walls at once with my legs straight out, and hopefully that would give me a chance to rest and write. I had a plan to make that easier as well. I noticed in the ogre¡¯s pile of junk a second piece of rope. The ogre¡¯s rope was far shorter than mine, and of dubious quality. I wasn''t the sort I¡¯d want to trust my life to. But I wouldn¡¯t have to. Instead, I took the full length of rope and wrapped it about my waist, between my legs and around them; circling my pelvis several times before tying it off. When I was done I had a sort of harness wrapped about me, but not attached to any rope. A few sharp tugs found it both uncomfortable and insecure, leading to me retying the whole thing twice more until finally I was satisfied with the result. One of the limitations of magic (true magic, magus magic, not the half dozen other kinds I¡¯d encountered in the dungeons) was that spells recorded through actions on the self could only be cast on the self, and spells recorded through actions not on the self, could not be cast on the self. My harness was my way around that limitation. The spell might not have been written by my hand, but it cast as easily as if it had been. (Which was to say, it cast at all). Rapture My harness began to glow, sudden the brightest light in the room, and tugged me upward. The force wasn¡¯t enough to lift me off the ground, but I felt lighter on my feet, like I could leap across the room in a single bound. I bounced on the spot experimentally, jumping as high as I could. The ogre¡¯s room was more a shaft when viewed in it¡¯s full. The ceiling disappeared into the shadows above me, far enough away I was in no danger of hitting my head. Still for a moment I doubted, for I must have risen, 10, 20 feet from the ground. Cool breeze and warm sunlight, I felt as giddy as a child. I let out a whoop of joy and leapt from the ground again, and again. Why had I never thought of this before? If it wasn¡¯t for the harness digging painfully into me I¡¯d feel like a child. In fact... Abandoning my original plan I began to record as I frolicked about the room. I had two weeks of water, the well could wait. In such dark times, with no immediate danger at hand, I¡¯d take what joy I could. I had to be careful to keep my bounces aligned with my harness¡ªperpendicular to the floor¡ªfor though I could control which direction the harness pulled, something such as a full flip would require too many sources of focus in too many directions at once. I was just as likely to drive myself head-first into the ground with an extra 80lbs of force behind it. Lightstep: The caster is made lighter, pulled upwards constantly with 80lbs of force for the next hour. I was panting hard by the time I¡¯d finished the spell, and even my toughened skin was beginning to ache where the rope had dug into it, but I couldn¡¯t keep the stupid grin off my face. Sun and shower that had been fun. No time spent in joy was wasted, and this more so than others. Should I need help in my descent this spell would perform admirably. I tucked my spellbook back into my belt, though this time more securely draped across it as though the belt entire was a book mark, and dropped my wax atop my discarded pouch. I paused. I¡¯d discarded the pouch in the first place as to make climbing with wax in one hand that much easier, but I was no longer going to record my descent. The pouch could hold both spellbook and wax, freeing my hands entirely. There was no reason to leave it behind. I strapped the pouch back onto my belt. Time to descend. Will-o¡¯-WispII I followed down after my wisp. I was tentative at first. It took more than a few weeks to get used to how strong I was, and more than a few hours to remember what it felt like to be hale and healthy. There was no twinge from my muscles, no pain in my chest, nor tremble in my limbs. In fact, hanging from the rope by my arms was about as easy as standing had been only a month before. Easier even, because I didn¡¯t feel myself getting tired, even in my armour. The rope creaked as I lowered my full weight onto it. That had been my second concern, and one which, now that I was in the well, I could do something about. Despite having been used as a waste chute by the ogres, the sides of the walls were dry and as rough as the retaining wall. I had little skill in climbing, but it was easy enough to press my back and one boot against one side of the well, and my other boot across the opposite side. If I was forced to, I could probably descend without the rope entirely. Waste and ruin, I could probably ascend given a bit of practice. The stone was that rough. Still, I had the options and I was going to use them. Rather than trust to wall or rope entirely, I descended with the help of both. It took me several minutes longer than it needed to, perhaps ten in total, but the risk of a quick descent wasn¡¯t worth the few extra minutes. I¡¯d have bigger problems than food and water if I was on that tight of a schedule. The only tricky part was the end, where the well ran out and I forced to switch over to the rope entirely. That alone wouldn¡¯t present a problem, as not only did the rope prove able to hold my weight despite the creaking and groaning, it was also slightly longer than the descent in its entirety. No, it was the landing which struck new fear into my heart. Human and ogre waste, mine and theirs respectively, was piled high at the bottom of the shaft, directly below rope. The rope had enough give to attempt to swing away from the mound and land on solid stone, but I feared the swaying action combined with the well¡¯s rough sides might act like a saw or rasp along the rope¡¯s entire length. There was nothing for it. I descended the rope to the ground, carefully avoiding at least my own leavings. I still had to maintain some sense of decency. Manure. It was manure. A day on the farm. Nothing more. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. I sank to my ankles in muck, unsure whether to be horrified or relieved. The pile was much deeper than that. My first step resolved the dilemma. I should have been relieved. Relieved for sure, and now, as I sank up to my armpits in the mound, horrified beyond measure. Worst of all, I was trapped. I¡¯d sunken as though the manure (it was manure, and nobody would tell me otherwise) were quicksand, to quickly to react. Both my hands were stuck by my sides, and even my prodigious strength wasn¡¯t enough to move my arms. I couldn¡¯t even reach my pouch to access my spellbook. For the first time in my life, I thanked the warlocks. If they hadn¡¯t capture me and tortured me, and rent my sanity and freedom away, I never would have burned the teleport rune into my brain. I chuckled, I couldn¡¯t help myself. Thank the warlocks I wouldn¡¯t die here, and like this. Before I risked the spell, I had one other recourse available to me. I gathered my strength in my arms and pushed upward with all my might. This had the unfortunate side effect of driving me further down into the muck, but not much more than my shoulders, and, more importantly, it freed my hands from the pile. ¡°Praise the endless return of spring!¡± I cried aloud. That was a mistake. The smell got to me the moment I opened my mouth. I quickly closed it and wrapped my hands around the rope. Like quicksand, I had to move slowly to free myself or the muck would harden and hold me in place, but my strength prevailed. In the end I combined a small amount of swinging with a bit of a flopping leap to what appeared the shallowest portion of the pile. The rope held and I ended knee deep but free from further danger. My fingers fumbled for my spellbook like an addict seeking opium. I flipped rapidly through the pages. ¡°Come on, come on.¡± I needed it, needed the spell. My eyes darted around, seeking, seeking. I was in a corridor of sorts with a high ceiling, maybe twenty feet tall. Behind me was a door, (no no no no no) and on the far side of the mound I could just make out an open portal of some sort¡ªit would do. True Teleport II I reappeared on the other side of the portal with a sigh of relief. I was clean. I was happy. No more was the ground shifting under me, no longer something running down the back of my¡ªthe room I¡¯d arrived in thankfully tore my thoughts away from that line of thought and rather forcefully too. I¡¯d have been happy to see another toad-dragon if it meant it could distract me. It was not a toad dragon I faced but the abyss. The room consisted mostly of a pit, with a narrow ledge running around two sides of it. My teleport spell had taken me right to the edge of one of said ledges. Despite the imminent danger, it was not the ledges which drew my attention, but their source of illumination, for it was not just my will-o¡¯-wisp lighting the room, there were others. They danced to the left of me, a veritable swarm of them in colours of red, white, orange, and yellow. I supposed they might look like fireflies, though I¡¯d never seen them myself. If they were will-o¡¯-wisp, real ones, the jack-o¡¯-lanterns of the marshes which lured travellers to their deaths, they were doing a poor job. Most of them were floating above the same ledge I was standing on, and none of them seemed to have reacted to my presence. If they had been slightly above eye level and moved in the right eye catching way, maybe I would have noticed them before the pit and stepped forward to get a better look. Not that I was complaining. I stepped back from the ledge. The archway on the far side of the chasm and the door to my right all but confirmed my hopes. The well led to a new floor rather than just a chamber. That must make the fourth and fifth floors the two closest together floors yet, which made Conan¡¯s explanation as to why they hadn¡¯t explored the floor make all the less sense. ¡°The prison wasn¡¯t likely to be that far away from the surface. It didn¡¯t feel like a dungeon anyway,¡± I muttered, repeating his words. I couldn¡¯t find any sense in them. Maybe I¡¯d misremembered. The simplest explanation was that I wasn¡¯t on the fifth floor at all, but some sort of sub floor, and there wasn¡¯t even a stairway in or out of here, or at least not one Conan had found. Actually, the simplest explanation was that Conan¡¯s mind had been broken and controlled. This was a dungeon of warlocks after all. I¡¯d wanted to go through the ogre¡¯s stash before continuing, but I didn¡¯t feel like going through their waste back to the rope at the moment. That left one of the portals along the edge of the chasm or the hall on the other side of the mound, and I sure as spring wasn¡¯t going back to the mound any time soon. Sword Storm II My spells had been behaving strangely lately, so I didn¡¯t risk the Swordferno if I didn¡¯t have to. Although... Flames of Revenge had followed the hallway up the stairs to seek out whoever the spell had deemed my enemies. Provided it wasn¡¯t based on my knowledge, I could use it as a potential guide up to the next floor. If I was willing to put my ¡°enemies¡± at risk. Whoever they were. I ducked back into the hall, a few steps too many closer to the waste pile, but a necessary concession. Some of the warlock traps packed a punch. Holding my breath would have to do. My swords attacked the door with enthusiasm. I attacked through the door with enthusiasm. The swords¡ªto the best of my knowledge¡ªhad no emotions of their own. The dark magic might have changed that. The important thing was, it was always cathartic to exact revenge against the architect of this place. Maybe when they had to replace all the doors they¡¯d get someone who knew how to use a level. The door was made of stone, so it shattered rather than tore, and it had been made to slide much like a portcullis, as evidenced by the way it continually slide down as the bottom broke off. It was fortunate the design made it so fragile. Slightly thicker stone or a sturdier frame, and my basic attack might not have been able to break its way through. It was a shame really, I thought as I moved away from the ogre¡¯s mound, allowing me to breathe once more, It was a shame the well or the chasm hadn¡¯t been built but thirty feet closer to one another. Then neither would be as deadly. And then I¡¯d have needed to descend the pit as well, or swing over to the ledge and I¡¯d have run out of rope. Or died in the attempt. It was a nice thought anyway. Maybe I could transport the waste into the pit somehow if I was going to be going up and down the well often. Light flooded free of the shattered doorway, far stronger than the will-o¡¯-wisps dancing across from it. ¡°So then manling, have you come to worship?¡± a tortured voice called through the destroyed door, dry as the desert wind, ¡°Or have you come to desecrate the throne of the king¡¯s chamber as well as his door?¡± The voice ended with a snort. It was answered by several grunts and a loud squeal. My blood chilled. What had the Warden¡¯s name been again? ¡°Warden? Do I speak to those I¡¯ve met before? You may recall an Oswic, of Blackbridge.¡± The voice muttered something in a strangely singsong tongue¡ªOrcish, perhaps?¡ªthen called back through the door, ¡°Come out where we can see you manling. You offend us and the king¡¯s council.¡± My fingers both my a teleport and Swordferno. Tom had already shown he could see my magics so I didn¡¯t summon the swords just yet. If the orcneas could see my weapons they¡¯d undoubtedly take offence. I was, however, ready. I rounded the corner. The air was thick with smoke. It was a wonder the torches the orcneas bore hadn¡¯t been extinguished. There were seven orcneas total. To the best of my knowledge I¡¯d never met any of them, though they were hard to tell apart. All fourteen beady pig eyes were locked on me. Those shrivelled grey hands which didn¡¯t hold a torch hovered a hair¡¯s breadth from their swords, never touching them, never moving far away. The reason for their offence was obvious, and the best argument against smashing random doors I¡¯d yet encountered. The chamber appeared to be a tomb. To my left stood a tall throne, upon which sat a mummified corpse. The corpse bore once-regal clothes, now in tatters, and an iron crown atop his head. Protruding from the inner thigh of its left leg was the shaft of a short spear or lance. In front of the throne knelt a further series of mummified corpses, heads bowed in respect. The orcneas watched me take in the sight silently. I couldn¡¯t even hear them breathe. Did they need to breathe? I still wasn¡¯t sure if orcs were truly alive. All the sources I¡¯d read had disagreed. I raised my hands¡ªperhaps deceptively¡ªto show my lack of weapons, ¡°I meant to offence by damaging your door. I¡¯ve been faced too often with the warlock¡¯s traps in these chambers to risk opening them myself. I hold no grievance against any here.¡± The lead orcneas¡ªdifferent from the Warden I¡¯d met before¡ªtilted his head with the creak of a rusted gate; a nod towards my book of spells. His voice was the rumble of the hearse cart, of the stone being rolled in front of the tomb, ¡°You are the Magus. Mannelig spoke of you. You brought us the gift of invisibility. You are forgiven,¡± the orc¡¯s pig nose flared and he let out a small, angry squeal, ¡°once.¡± I transferred by spellbook to my left hand. My right I placed in a fist over my heart. I bowed to the orc, ¡°Thank you. Please, is there some way I may avoid causing offence in the future?¡± The pig-man snorted, ¡°Be less stupid.¡± I nodded as if that were wisdom, ¡°Then let me introduce myself, as is proper. I am Oswic, Magi of the Sacred Order, Wise Man of Blackbridge, The Starcaller of Dawn, Master of Twilight, Voice of the Storm, Speaker on the Wind, and Five Time Hoopstone Champion of Ravenhold.¡± The Orcneas¡¯ hand dropped away from his sword, and the tortured muscles of his arms, while not relaxed, at least strained somewhat less visibly, ¡°Then I am Skarde the Redeemed One, He of the Handsome Face, The Twice Exiled, Slayer of Mutnofret, Lord of Nothing, and Goreswallower of Mammharrow. Well met, Starcaller.¡± I swallowed. Those were not kind titles. ¡°And you, Goreswallower.¡± The other orcs let out squeals of laughter at my reaction and the chamber of the dead king echoed like a slaughter house. Skarde raised a hand and the orcneas stopped at once. His snout flared as he sniffed the air, ¡°You are human. But you do not look human.¡± ¡°The warlocks¡¯ dungeon is not a kind place, I¡¯ve befallen many misfortunes and transformations since I escaped their capture.¡± ¡°Escaped?¡± Skarde snorted but his eyes tightened with interest, ¡°Victims of the warlocks do not escape.¡± ¡°Magi are not easily held.¡± ¡°Tell me.¡± It was surprise which freed me from the warlock¡¯s grasp. I wasn¡¯t about to risk giving away all of my secrets. For all I knew, the orcneas wanted to capture me next and didn¡¯t want to repeat the warlock¡¯s mistakes. That said, I wasn¡¯t about to risk lying to those who hadn¡¯t demonstrated an ability to lie. ¡°The warlock came to dominate my mind. I killed him with my magic.¡± Skarde looked to his fellows, then back at me, ¡°And the room was filled with a darkness light could not pierce?¡± My heart lurched in my chest. Had he read my mind? Or had he been watching? The other orcneas, Mannelig?, had implied they had their own means of navigating Bleakfort¡¯s halls. The pig-headed man¡¯s lips slid back from his tusks in an orc¡¯s approximation of a smile. Could the creature see my heart? Or had my transformation unknowingly removed my ability to hide my reactions? ¡°It was you,¡± rumbled Goreswallower, ¡°You slew Neferhi. You tore out the Shadowmaster¡¯s throat with your teeth.¡± The Shadowmaster? So he¡¯d been known for that sphere of darkness he¡¯d cast when he¡¯d died? Did that mean warlocks had some control over which spells they cast? What then were the whispers in my head? All I could do was nod, ¡°I suppose I did.¡± Skarde¡¯s lips peeled back further, one of the other orcs let out a strange, barking cough which got the rest snorting and squealing. ¡°Human or not, the death of a warlock is cause for celebration. Their presence taints these sacred halls. I kin-name you Darkswallower of Bleakfort. May you forever continue to devour the shadows.¡± Darkswallower? It didn¡¯t really mesh with the rest of my titles. Better than Teeth of Revenge or Devourer of Warlock Throats I suppose. I wasn¡¯t about to reject a gift from ¡®Goreswallower¡¯ simply because of aesthetics. I returned my hand to my heart and bowed again. ¡°Thank you, Goreswallower. I am honoured to be your name kin.¡± I wasn¡¯t just being polite. Hollow pleasantries were considered lies by most supernatural creatures anyway. It was a rare thing to receive a title, and even rarer to have a titled person tie their name to your own. It was perhaps a bit impulsive of Skarde, given that we¡¯d just met, but he¡¯d also all but confirmed my suspicion that the orcneas were marking my progress. Withered hands thumped against cracked and flaking armour. The three orcs closest to me, Skarde included, returned my bow. I gestured to the throne bearing the corpse of a king, ¡°Do I pay my respects?¡± The orc to Skarde¡¯s right spoke. His voice was more like the Warden¡¯s, dry and whisping, like a man dying of thirst, ¡°That is up to you. What respect do you have to give?¡± ¡°Respect is earned from those granted it. I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve seen her, but the statue of the dwarf goddess taught me that.¡± Air rattled in the orcneas¡¯s lungs. He swept his hand toward the king, ¡°By all means, Darkswallower.¡± LIII - King Death I brought a pair of lights to follow me to the edge of the throne¡¯s dias. The torches were enough to see by, but it would be treating the orcneas as retainers if I relied on them. I knelt in front of the statue. To either side of me crouched a pair of mummified corpses. I did my best to emulate their pose. I tried not to think to hard about how they had ended up as mummified corpses. The moment I bowed my head there was a crack and a scraping rustle, as though someone was suddenly tromping through a patch of dead leaves. My eyes shot open and I turned toward the sound. Then I turned toward the sound again. It was on either side of me. The corpses were moving. Unlike the chained men they did not move as if alive. They instead flowed from position to position, each pose a rigor of death. It felt rather like being swarmed by a number of statues. I leapt to my feet. My spellbook was ready. It was only the lack of reaction from the orcneas which kept me from casting. They¡¯d been expecting this. ¡°The king bids you welcome, Oswic of Blackbridge.¡± It was not the first voice I¡¯d have attributed to the dead. If I imagined a corpse speaking they would speak like, well, like the orcneas obviously. Dry and scratchy, perhaps a touch sinister. The corpse in front of the king (or King as their intonation seemed to suggest) spoke instead with the voice of a crowd. Not a synchronized chant. Not the choir of a thousand souls bound to a single tongue. That would have made sense in a morbid sort of way. This was the babble of laughter heard at a party, the murmured greetings at the early morning market, the throat clearing, coughing, crying, singing, hum of humanity. And somehow it formed words. ¡°It has been some time since one of the living came to pay their respects,¡± continued the crowd, ¡°What do you offer?¡± I¡¯d only been to the court of a single king, but I¡¯d received instruction there which I hoped could be extended to other monarchs. The offer was not a true price or bribe. It was a token, gift, or blessing. Typically one which could be associated with the gift giver. I could offer the king my wishes of good health, an old spell page, or give him a sprig of a tree from my homeland. That sort of thing. I returned to my bowed position, ¡°I offer peace, Your Majesty¡± The crowd muttered and hemmed and hawed, a number even booed, ¡°The king has peace already,¡± the mouth of the¡ªthe vizier I suppose¡ªthe mouth of the vizier jumped and flowed into a grin at the same time his head tilted, the crowd hooted and hollered, jeered and chuckled, ¡°he is dead, you see.¡± ¡°Then I offer you freedom.¡± Few truly wanted freedom, but few would indicate otherwise. The undead vizier, and by extension, his king, were the exception, it seemed. ¡°Better, better,¡± the crowd murmured in appreciation this time, with a handful of approving grunts thrown in for good measure, ¡°but the king has no need for freedom. Death is the unbreakable law, and it is under this law the king rules.¡± The Slayer of Mutnofret. Darkswallower of Bleakfort. The orcneas may not be true servants of the king, either not being truly dead or not truly undead, but it was clear what those denizens of the dungeon who didn¡¯t serve the warlocks wanted. Skarde had set me up. ¡°I offer you revenge. I am the Darkswallower of Bleakfort, Slayer of Neferhi the Shadowmaster, and those warlocks whom stand in my way are my enemy.¡± The sun rose. I knew not to take such signs lightly. Coincidences, when payed proper heed, were confirmations of a life well lived, of a path well taken. The crowd began to cheer. The vizier¡¯s voice rode the jubilation and laughter, was formed of it. He did not speak over or through the crowd, but with the crowd as his voice. One could not be separated from the other, for they were one and the same, ¡°The king welcomes you twice over to his court, Oswic the Darkswallower. You may rise, that the king may bestow upon you his blessing.¡± I stood at the same time as another of the corpses. It jittered and flowed over to the king¡¯s side. Dry fingers wrapped about the haft of the spear set in the king¡¯s leg. Between one blink¡¯s opening and closing, the spear was free, its bearer in front of me. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. I couldn¡¯t suppress the flinch. This was not a speed which could be matched, no matter how fast I ran. This was something else. The unforgiving suddenness of death. The spear bearer had arranged itself such that the spear was balanced on its palms, parallel to myself. ¡°Take this lancegay as a token of the king¡¯s esteem,¡± said the vizier, the cheering had left his voice but the crowd still held a joyous mood. Words were loud and unfettered; the start of festivities, ¡°May it serve you will, until that day when you come to serve him.¡± My hand stopped halfway to the spear¡¯s haft, ¡°I¡¯ve plans of rejoining my fellows in Elysium.¡± The vizier¡¯s head flowed into inclination, ¡°Death serves my lord in of itself, just as my lord serves Death. This token is given freely with no recompense taken. The king makes no claim upon your death which he did not already have. Consider him the lord not of the doorway, nor those whom pass through, but of the act of passing. He shall not alter your course and your spirit, soul, body, and afterlife are your own.¡± It was a lot of words to say he wouldn¡¯t trick me or stab me in the back, but they were appreciated. Immediate experience had shown how easily it was to be bound by your promises. Otherwise I¡¯d be seeking a path to the sixth floor rather than the fourth. I took the proffered spear. It was old, as old as the king it had impaled. The haft had been bleached white with time. The blade was broken, the tip was missing. Something had snapped it off. What remained was brown with rust. The whole thing reeked of blood. Fresh blood, despite having being impaled in a corpse. It felt far heavier than its weight alone. There was a promise embedded in the haft, worked into the blade. A terrible evil like warlock¡¯s dark whispers. Power and potential. A shining hope like the first rays of dawn. Restoration and recompense. The vizier nodded as if I had spoken. I wished the supernatural creatures would stop doing that, ¡°The lancegay is what you make it. Take care in what you choose.¡± I bowed, once to the vizier, once to the king, ¡°I am honoured. I shall do my best to be worthy of your gift.¡± What else could I do or say? ¡°Before you leave,¡± the babbling of a courtyard chamber, ¡°You may seek a boon of the king.¡± Black mold. The danger of a royal boon was both in asking too much or not enough. The first was offensive because it was presumptive. The second was offensive because either I didn¡¯t believe the king capable of granting basic favours, or because I was clearly not asking for a real boon in an attempt not to offend. Attempting not to offend is offensive? I¡¯d been flabbergast when my mentor had explained it to me. ¡°One of the most offensive things you can do,¡± he¡¯d replied, ¡°This is the first lesson of art. And courtship, both the royal kind and that of desire, is an art.¡± Fortunately the thing I wanted most (escape) could be broken down into several steps. ¡°I seek both the stairs to the floor above this one and the stairs to the floor below. Simple directions would suffice.¡± It wasn¡¯t much, but to be fair, I¡¯d also broken down the king¡¯s door. The vizier juttered into a contemplative cast, then flowed outward with a gesture to another of the corpses. ¡°We know something of the Magi. The king grants you two answers to your boon. First, the direction: Both stairs lie directly south-west of this chamber,¡± said the vizier. The instant he finished speaking the corpse he¡¯d gestured to did that ¡®appear-out-of-nowhere-and-nearly-cause-my-heart-to-stop¡¯ thing. I managed to avoid flinching this time. My heart felt like it was going to explode and my right eye was twitching, but lids remained open. The corpse had ended with its hand outstretched, a small disc proffered toward me. ¡°Second, you may borrow the king¡¯s compass for the next hour and a day. It is a rare privilege to hold this treasure. Few compasses work in the warrens of Bleakfort. Even one of this quality will not function properly save for a few chambers.¡± The gift of the compass meant I¡¯d asked for too little. The king, or more likely, the vizier, had redressed the imbalance with its lending. Praise be to courtly graces as blessed as the spring rains. I¡¯d heard stories of kings who¡¯d take the slightest slight as an excuse to strip someone of their belongings or even execute them. Such kings¡ªand their kingdoms¡ªdidn¡¯t tend to last long, but it was little comfort to those robbed or beheaded. ¡°Head through the door there,¡± the vizier pointed to the exit by which I hadn¡¯t entered, ¡°then through the wall at the halls end, and straight across the chamber there encountered. This will take you to a small antechamber. Pass through the portal to your left in the chamber. It is there the compass will be shielded enough to function.¡± I played the instructions back again through my mind. Down, straight, up¡ªmore or less. The hour and a day was a Mage¡¯s gift. Enough time to copy the workings of his compass. Of course, I could record far more often than that. Not that I was about to reveal my secret advantages. Even trustworthy people had untrusted tongues. I bowed to the king once more, ¡°Your benevolence knows no bounds. I request to take my leave that I may secure the compass among my spells.¡± The vizier¡¯s hand snapped upward in dismissal, ¡°Go in peace, Darkswallower. Go in vengeance.¡± LIV - What is Written, What is Read The door the vizier indicated opened of its own accord. Today comes the melt and shoot. I¡¯d been worried about causing another diplomatic incident by knocking down the king¡¯s only remaining door. No points to the architect for a well balanced hinge, however. The door had flowed open in fits and starts, much like the dead men about the throne. I doubted they need concern themselves with rust or warped wood. The ¡°hall¡± was another of the antechambers I was growing used to. A ten by ten room with doors on either end. As if the architect had left his rule with his senses and had to make up for all the unaccounted for spaces with a smattering of tiny tunnels. Unfortunately, this room was a room, not a tunnel. There was not second exit to be found. ¡°Pass through the wall at hall¡¯s end¡± was all well and good when there was a hall, but the dimensions of the room were identical. The obvious assumption (besides the king¡¯s vizier being terrible at instructions) was that I should continue straight ahead. Surely exit and entrance of a corridor would be directly across from one another. My throbbing palm said otherwise. I hadn¡¯t meant to slap the wall so hard, but I guess I¡¯d been subconsciously counting on my hand simply passing through the stone like it wasn¡¯t there. I returned back to the door (ignoring the watchful gaze of the orcs¡ªwhy were they so silent anyway? Surely they knew the correct way) and began to feel along the wall, making a slow circle of the room, much like I had when I¡¯d first been free from the warlock¡¯s prison and without any light. I found the way through three-quarters of the way around the room. In other words, the vizier could have said ¡°take a left¡±. Perhaps it had been a while since he¡¯d been this way. I doubted the dead got out much. The wall was identical to the others both in appearance and feel. If I¡¯d continued with my slap method, I might never have found it. It was only when I ran my hand along its surface that it slowly began to sink into the wall. The closest analogy I could think of was¡ªthe only analogy I could think of was quicksand. Yep, quicksand. Nothing else. But much slower than quicksand, and harder. Slowrock, if you will. I withdrew my hand, which by now had sunken up to the wrist, and studied it. The wall didn¡¯t so much as ripple on the wall in or out. It was completely clean and dry. I¡¯d heard of some metals which melted on contact and froze immediately after. Perhaps the wall operated on a similar principle. Hopefully it wasn¡¯t too thick. Hopefully if it was I could breathe. I sent my spells ahead first. They seemed to pass without difficulty. Even my will-o¡¯-wisps sunk into the stone without resistance. Then they were gone. I could still sense the spells, but I had no idea if they¡¯d made it all the way through. I pulled one of my will-o-wisps back, and it came as easily as it had left. It wasn¡¯t a one way trip. Thus reassured, I shuffled forward until I was flat against the stone. Then, just in case, I took as deep a breath as I could manage. Then I closed my eyes I pressed myself into the wall. It was very dark. I don¡¯t know what I expected. My eyes were closed, after all, but it was more than that. Ever since the evil altar my eyes had become sensitive to the slightest amount of light, whether or not they were open. Just as I had once been able to feel the light of the sun against my eyelids, even indoors with the blind pulled, I¡¯d been able to sense in some sixth sense manner the light of my jack-o¡¯-lanterns even around a corner. There was dark, so dark you couldn¡¯t see, and then there was this. The total absence of even the concept of light. It was like being in the Shadowmaster¡¯s sphere of darkness all over again. The wall didn¡¯t end after I pressed my face through, nor my chest, nor even when I took my second step and pulled my whole body through. Something else changed. The resistance ended the moment my final toe cleared the threshold. I still felt smothered, but it was on a spiritual level rather than a physical one. I moved as freely as I had in the antechamber before. I still didn¡¯t try to breath. Nor did I open my eyes. There was no telling what pressing through stone face first would do to them. At the very least I imagined coming out the other side through whatever layers of dust had accumulated on the wall would sting like crazy. Two more steps forward, then three. Was I heading the right direction? Had I been turned around in the darkness? I couldn¡¯t even use the sense of my swords to guide myself. It was a kinesthetic sense, like controlling my hands while my eyes focused elsewhere. If I got turned around, so did the swords. I¡¯d even lost track of a magic broom before, back when I was still an apprentice. Two more steps, then three and¡ªI was out. It was still dark, of course, but the nature of the dark changed. My eyes snapped open. There were my will-o¡¯-wisps; light. There were my swords; safety. And there was the door the vizier had spoken of, directly across from me on the far side of the room; I¡¯d made it. The room contained only a forge and a series of pillars following the right hand walls. The forge and its anvil were directly in my path, but they were hardly a danger. The forge was even lit, but that meant only it gave off enough light to avoid it by. I¡¯d been worried the viziers direction might lead me directly into another nest of ogres. I didn¡¯t think the dead king wanted me dead quiet so soon after giving me his gift, but that didn¡¯t mean he¡¯d seen along the path since the incursion from the caverns below had began. I doubted he¡¯d seen anything in a long while, given the state of him. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. I didn¡¯t trust the wooden door on the far side of the forge for a similar reason. Luckily for me, the anvil was a large sort, large than me when crouched next to it, which I promptly did. Then my swords went to tear the door down. The door was less sturdy than it had looked. After fifteen seconds work, only splinters remained. Good. I was in somewhat of a hurry. The strange druid-sun might rise again any time now. The path was as the vizier had said. A door leading to a small ante chamber with an open archway directly to the left. The confusing part was that there was little to distinguish this antechamber from the so-called ¡®hallway¡¯ with the slowstone wall. Either the vizier¡¯s memory was going, or the warlocks had done some serious renovation since the last time he¡¯d corpse-jittered his way around the dungeon. The room beyond the antechamber was uninhabited which was as pleasant a surprise as a cool breeze. That didn¡¯t mean someone hadn¡¯t been decorating. All along the wall to my right and directly in front of me were little niches carved into the stone walls. Set in each of the niches were skulls. The skull ranged in size from from little pebble like things which would fit in the circle of my thumb and index finger, to a great bulbous boulder of a skull set with holes at random along its surface. It was a smaller skull which appeared to the centre piece. It was somewhere in size between a large dog and a horse, and elongated similarly; perhaps a lion¡¯s or crocodile¡¯s, though I couldn¡¯t say for sure, having never seen either animal without their skin, and the crocodile only in drawings. There was a label above the skull. I moved closer, bringing my will-o¡¯-wisp with me: ¡°The dragon is not a dragon.¡± Well that cleared things right up. Very illuminating. Meticulous scholarship as always from the warlocks. I left the not-dragon to its shelf. I had more important things to do. I fetched the king¡¯s compass from my pouch. Supposedly, if I had the right room, it would work, and I had no reason to believe I was in the wrong room. So why was the compass pointing directly at my hand regardless of the direction I was fa¡ª Right. The shocking door. I already knew lodestones could mess with compasses, and I was one big lodestone. That would make this somewhat trickier. It was already going to be difficult to record the magnet. Magic substituted actions which had been under the mage¡¯s control. Typically actions provided by tools. A flint was a tool which created fire, therefore a mage could replace the flint with a spell which created fire. A compass was not a tool for spinning things (unless they were very small), but a tool which pointed north. It would most easily be replaced with a spell which pointed north, except that spells didn¡¯t point. They didn¡¯t do anything until defined. In theory the spell would still cast, and maybe even be pointing north with its non-existent form, but I¡¯d be none the wiser. That was where my training came in. Creativity would suffice, but one was often a substitute for the other. Spells could be cast on each other. Rapture The compass began to glow. I released it and step back. The compass remained hovering in place. I lowered it slightly with my spell so I could still see its face, then took several steps back. Two of them was enough. The needle swung away from me and pointed directly at the wall opposite the door I¡¯d come through. Will-o¡¯-Wisp The spell didn¡¯t summon two wisps as it was supposed to. Instead, it summoned one, more than twice as bright as my other will-o¡¯-wisps already dancing about the room. Again? My magic was becoming more volatile. Less under my control. I still had no idea why. Could it be related to the depths of the dungeon? Perhaps my proximity to the caverns far below? Few had entered there, and even fewer had returned. Who knew what was possible? At least in this case the altered spell was actually more convenient for what I was planning to do. Perhaps if I accepted enough small blessings they¡¯d add up into a bigger one. Who knew? Will-o¡¯-WispII This time my spell produced the two dimmer wisps I was expecting. I sent one of them off to guard the far exit, and the other to hover above my compass. In the time it took to arrive, I had my crayon retrieved and ready. I began to sway the compass back and forth, up and down, toward and away. I was careful to never let the face leave my sight, rotating on the spot where necessary. There was no pattern to my actions. I merely moved it through as many planes as possible, given my limitations. As the compass moved, I command my will-o¡¯-wisp to move as well. The brighter light stayed a fixed distance from the compass¡ªas fixed as I could approximate¡ªalways moving with the needle, always pointing north relative to the compass. My dimmer will-o¡¯-wisp remained at the pivot point of the compass, again, always at a fixed distance. If not for my years of training as a Magus I might have struggled to control all three components of the spell for the full hour, but as it was I didn¡¯t even slip up once. Compass: The caster heals an hour¡¯s worth of injuries over the course of one hour. What? I frowned and ran my hand over the wax again: The caster heals an hour¡¯s worth of injuries over the course of one hour. I didn¡¯t often double check my spells. If the writing was complete, the spell worked. If the spell worked, it was the spell I¡¯d written. But the last day had made me doubtful of my own casting and my own mind. It was apparent I was right to doubt. I flipped back through the spellbook. The runes came into me an instant, as always, never a cause for doubt, but... the names were no longer everything. The healing spell I¡¯d just written was called Compass. Flames of Revenge had a form I¡¯d not recognized until carefully parsing it, and even then the intricacies still escaped me. True magic couldn¡¯t pursue such things as ¡°enemies¡± or ¡°communities¡±. It would be the masterwork of a genius over the course of years to create a spell which could define one of them. It took a further hour simply to go over the spells. The ones tattooed to my flesh and carved into my mind especially concerned me, but they were as I had remembered. It did little to put me at ease. Fireball II slipped and squirmed under my grasp as I looked at it, in a many wholly unlike a natural spell, yet looked as normal as any other. In the end it was indeed only Compass which had been altered, but that alone was cause for concern. I¡¯d be double checking every inscribing from now on. There was little I could do in the meantime. I still had the lease of the dead king¡¯s compass for another day, more than enough time to attempt my compass spell for a second time. But I dared not stray far from the relative safety of the string of rooms I¡¯d found. Nor did I wish to risk whatever wandering inhabitants might pass through said ¡°safe¡± rooms, nor face the privations of thirst and hunger while waiting. The ogres¡¯ room was well defended, with only a single, difficult entry. It contained my packs and water. If I was lucky, I might even find something edible hidden in their hoard. It was time to go through the ogre¡¯s treasure. LV - The Maguss Ring I was forced to cast Magic Swords II for light. I¡¯d lost so many spells to the warping and changing over the last few days I only had two pure light spells left, and I¡¯d already cast both of them. Given that nearly all my other spells also summoned light it wasn¡¯t an immediate concern, but I was going to have to pay attention to it. It had been hard enough creating light from nothing the first time round. The slowstone wall was as unpleasant as it had been the first time, but no more danger than it had been either. The dead vizier hadn¡¯t even commented on my presence and the orcneas had offered only a few nods and a single squealing snort of laughter. In other words, I returned to the ogre¡¯s mound without incident. Unfortunately, that meant I returned to the ogre¡¯s mound. The rope was where I left it. In the few hours I¡¯d been away the rope had managed to sink into the mound. On the plus side that meant it was perfectly centred with the shaft of the well. On the negative side it meant, well, everything else. I had to reach the rope after all. I wasn¡¯t sure if I¡¯d be quick or accurate enough coming out of my teleport to grab onto my rope, and that was an attempt I didn¡¯t want to fail. My best idea was barely a plan at all, but I couldn¡¯t think of anything else other than wading forward and hoping I didn¡¯t sink in too deep. Lightstep My shoulders rolled back and my spine straightened. A smile danced across my face. It was freeing, this. It was like being a child again, except no child had ever been this strong, especially not relative to their weight. The world became softer. Kinder. I could sleep in a pile of gravel or a bed of spikes and not feel sting. If I ever returned back home¡ªwhen I returned back home, this spell was going straight into the records. It was a wonder Magi didn¡¯t already teach this one to their apprentices. Perhaps they feared them flying away. I bounced on the spot a few times, getting the feel of it. It was easy. Easier than natural. I rose so fast and fell so slow I could nearly steer my descent. Getting to the rope would be no problem. So long as I didn¡¯t overshoot. I stored my spellbook back in my pouch. ¡°Wind lift me. Rain sate me. Sun feed us all.¡± I jumped before I could have second thoughts. I easily cleared the mound, even continuing to rise as I approached the lip of the well. My right hand snagged the rope right at its edge. I rocked forward slightly, but only slightly. I¡¯d timed my jump to leap more up than out. My left hand swung around and wrapped around the rope next to my right. It was as easy as standing. Easier. I didn¡¯t even feel the strain of gravity pressing down on me. I clambered up the rope hand over hand, not even needing to brace my feet against rope or wall. I felt like a squirrel. I let my swords rise past me just before I came out of the well. One of them jostled the still swaying rope as it passed, but I¡¯d been ready for that. I¡¯d moved the swords slow, and it seemed to have paid off with no visible damage to the rope. There was no one in the ogres¡¯ room when I popped out of the hole. It was rather hard to get into the room at the moment, but I¡¯d have been wishing for the swords if I¡¯d needed them. It was just a shame they were so difficult to move safely up and down the well. I¡¯d already seen the treasure pile, but I¡¯d not truly looked through it. It wasn¡¯t large, all in all, but the ogres had a strange sense of discernment. Clumps of hair and torn and bloodied clothes were piled evenly with golden necklaces, a bracelet, a necklace, and coins scattered like promises. In the centre of the small heap was a strange... I wasn¡¯t sure what it was. That was why it was strange. It looked like a club or perhaps a statuette depicting a bundle of arrows, but not quite like either. It was wrought from a dark metal, possibly bronze, though their was a hint of gold. A central bulge lined with ridges appeared to be haft, as though it were a poorly balanced javelin. the bulge tapered to a point at either end, then from that taper sprouted five ribs on either side, which curved outward like the tines of a trident, or the petals of a narrow flower. The thing was perhaps the length of my thigh in all. I grasped it by the central bulge to get a further look at it and¡ªthe leapt into my hand as I drew near. It was the same attraction of metal I¡¯d experienced since the trapped door, but far stronger. The moment my fingers closed around the haft¡ªwith hardly a thought for my own will¡ªI felt the power contained within. The object thrummed with power, much like the druid stone had. It crackled. Sparks leapt from the tips of the object to the centre, to my wrists, to my elbow, and danced about all three. This was not a subtle power. The druidstone had been the inevitability of the tide, this was threat of the storm. And storm was more than a fancy metaphor. The sparks turned into arcs of lightning which played up and down both the object and my entire arm. Ozone filled the air. The object began to glow. Subtly at first, only visible in the dark. Then it grew. And grew. And grew until it was brighter than my will-o¡¯-wisps, until it left light-scars when I closed my eyes. The light didn¡¯t illuminate the room, it sent it into chaos. Shadows swirled about, details were revealed in harsh blue-white flashes, then obscured again as quickly. The object no longer appeared to be cast from bronze. It was a bar of lightning, held in my hand. A thunderbolt of the gods. My hand trembled slightly as I placed it on the floor. Gently. As gentle as I could. Where had the ogres found this? Their other ¡°treasures¡± seemed to be from the packs of group of craftsmen; a hack saw, a hand drill, a set of weights, the aforementioned clothes and jewellery. And then there was the thunderbolt. Did the warlocks have access to such things? Did anyone? Could the ogres have killed a god for it? Or, more reasonably, stolen it somehow? It was said great smiths lived under the foam and waves of the sea. Monstrous creatures of terrible strength who forged the weapons of the gods. Perhaps the ogres... but then, where was their smithy? The play of the lightning slowed. Lashing tendrils settled. Became sparks. The thunderbolt dimmed. The room darkened. The gentle glow of my will-o¡¯-wisps became the source of light once more. And there, the thunderbolt, a staff cast in bronze. I could almost believe it was harmless. I knew better. Even though I¡¯d never seen anything like this, nor even believed they existed, I knew something of what it was capable of. What it had to be capable of. It was the manner of such things to be imbued with certain properties. Bound by them. Nature had her laws. Fire illuminated; light, wisdom, revelation. Water quenched; thirst, heat, soil. Lightning destroyed. Annihilated. This was no substitute for Lightning Cascade or one of the warlocks traps. It couldn¡¯t be. Natural law wouldn¡¯t allow it. If I wanted the ogre dead, even Lightning Cascade might not have done it. This would. It was fitting, to find the means of undoing the ogre in his den. It was the nature of such things. Not that I dared wield it. Not unless no other recourse was available to me. I had no idea what it meant to annihilate. Was that the object I threw it at? Pointed it at? Stabbed with it? Was that everything within a days travel from the point of impact? Natural law could only imply so much. I looked back over the scraps of cloth. Torn, damaged, and destroyed though they may be, if they came from the same source as the ogres¡¯ thunderbolt, they might be worth a second look. Clothes could be repaired. Especially if of a magical nature. The only piece which held promise was a single tattered shoe. It was small, but the dark colours and raised heel suggested it was a man¡¯s shoe, perhaps a courtiers or a cavalry officers. I shoved it over my toes as best I could, but nothing revealed itself to me. It was actually a bit of a relief. Who wanted to wear a single, ill-fitting shoe? The clumps of hair I brushed aside. Any powerful properties the hair of a corpse might hold I wanted nothing to do with. Nothing good came from desecrating the dead¡ªThe feel of the warlock¡¯s corpse collapsing beneath my weight send a frisson of ice along my arms¡ªI¡¯d been lucky to be left with haunting memories as my only punishment. The sun rose. I rose from the pile and dusted my hands. What further treasure there might be could wait. I only had the king¡¯s compass for a limited time. If my hands were starting to write the wrong spells half the time I¡¯d have to take every opportunity I could. I started for the rope automatically, then caught myself. The vizier had pointed me to the nearest room he knew about where a compass could function, but that didn¡¯t mean he knew of every room, nor that he knew where I¡¯d come from. Even one wise and knowing couldn¡¯t be expected to account for wizards climbing down an ogres¡¯ outhouse. I pulled out the king¡¯s compass and placed it on the floor, then took a few steps back. On the dim light of my jack-o¡¯-lanterns I could just make out the compass pointing toward the wall on the other side of the well from where I was standing. That was direction I¡¯d come from, which was promising. I retrieved the compass and carried it to the wall it suggested was west of the well, rotated it, deposited it, then retreated. The needle spun away from my hand and once more pointed at the same wall. I moved and placed the compass twice more before I was convinced. Compasses worked in the ogres¡¯ chamber. What were the odds? Even if it wasn¡¯t pointing north, it was pointing the same direction each time, which hopefully meant I could use it to orient myself, and not that the wall I thought was the north wall was highly magnetic. I prepared myself to write. Will-o¡¯-WispII Will-o¡¯-Wisp The second spell vanished from my spellbook as it was cast. Why had¡ªcould it be because it was altered¡ªNo, I¡¯d already cast a number of altered and enhanced spells multiple times without losing them. I¡¯d¡ªTime was wasting, I could worry about it later. Rapture My compass rose and turned to face me. For the second time in as many hours, I swept the compass and my lights through the air. The dimmer will-o¡¯-wisp remained fixed to the pivot while the brighter point danced along the axis. North, always pointing north. North Star: Two large wavering lights appear. One is as bright as a candle, the other twice that. Both dim over the course of an hour. The lights remained fixed along an axis pointing north-south, the dimmer pointing south, the brighter north. The axis moves following the whims of the caster. The spell lasts an hour. Success! It had cost me my new Will-o¡¯-wisp, but the trade was worth it. I could duplicate North Star if I wanted more lights. And I was going to to. I only had a single spell focused solely on light left. My fireballs could substitute if it came down to it, but I needed to be careful. A bright light robbed me of the advantage my dim jack-o¡¯-lanterns gave. I could see in the dark, others couldn¡¯t. Magic Swords II That said, summoning an armoury every time I wanted to see was rather inconvenient. I still had lease on the compass for another day, giving me plenty of time to return to the dead king. Which meant I could return to the ogres¡¯ treasures. The necklaces had caught my eye from the start. Glittering and gold, not a single one of them broken. The ogres had been more careful with them then with the clothing. I placed all three over my neck in quick succession. None revealed to me any powers, though one was wrought into the form of a series of orcneas runes with a masterful hand. Perhaps the orcneas I¡¯d met in the king¡¯s chamber would find a use for it, or some sort of affection. I placed all three necklaces in my pouch. They were valuable enough to bargain with if I met the right sort of creature. Maybe Tom¡¯s mother could use a bit of jewellery. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. A single bracelet and ring joined the necklaces. Visions assaulted me. More than visions. My tongue ran across stone. My fingers trailed through the pool of blood, under my jacket, rifled through the piles of debris. The laughter of the walls rang in my ears, louder now than the warlocks¡¯ whispers. Still wind blew across the bare skin of my back, my eyes scoured the depths of the well, the holes in the wall, between every crack in the brick. Light was irrelevant. Distance was irrelevant. Sand entered my mouth and blood poured down my gullet. I felt it all, heard it all, saw it all, sensed it all. All but the albatross, which flew overhead still unseen. Unheard. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the sensations remained. My teeth bit down on cloth and drank deeply from potion bundled away in the ogre¡¯s stash. Tore pieces from the piece of hardtack wrapped in a map. I hadn¡¯t seen either, but now I could see every scratch, ran my finger along every tear in the paper, sniffed the musk of the parchment and the crushed the hardtack to crumbs between my fingers. It was too much. Too much. I couldn¡¯t think. I couldn¡¯t be. Only feel. Only see. The sound. The laughter. The lapping of blood. The groan of a mountain borne on the back of a stack of crude bricks. Insects skittering. Hearts beating. Blood rushing. The shuttering of my eyes. The twitch of every muscle fibre. It had to go. I couldn¡¯t¡ª The sounds stopped. The sights remained, and the tastes. And the smells. And then, and then, one by one, I shut them off. Only sight remained. ¡°Pools stilled.¡± The visions had began the moment I¡¯d put on the ring. I could ¡°see¡± in a sphere about myself, thirty or so feet in diameter. It was as if I was outside myself, viewing myself from above, and from every angle at once. I could see inside the pouch at my waist as easily as I could count the hairs on my head. Beyond that the vision grew blurred and dimmed, and beyond that there was nothing. Not even darkness, simply an absence. I took a cautious step towards the pool of blood, rocking unsteadily from the strange perspective. I watched myself, as if a stranger, move as I moved¡ªNo, I moved. No other. And yet I couldn¡¯t help shake the sense of alienation. As if I was being stalked by my doppelganger. The sphere of vision moved with me, slid through stone as easily as air. I could see around the corner, see the dead ogress sunk into the still trickling stream of her husband¡¯s blood. I moved to the wall to my left¡ªleft of the me I stared down on, stared up at, stared out of even though my eyes remained closed¡ªnorth, by my compass. I was careful to avoid the well. The few steps to the one wall had not been enough to get my bearing. I was still unsteady on my feet. My vision slid through the wall as easily as around the corner. I saw a long corridor, with another stream of the ogre¡¯s blood and another pool at its end. I believed it to be a corridor anyway. My vision didn¡¯t penetrate far enough to reveal the wall on the opposite side, if indeed there was a wall there. South revealed a massive room, which stretched out in all directions further than my vision could pierce. The small amount of it I could see was empty, but it was deceptive. A toad-dragon could linger exactly at the edge of my vision and it would be as if it never existed. The ring offered none of the normal tapering of normal senses. None of the vague feeling of a presence even when none could be seen. But perhaps I could hear? The laughter came back with a thought. And the dripping. The pooling of blood, the rushing of breath in my lung... the glistening of my lung¡ªmy lungs were made of gold! I watched them expand and contract in consternation. Ripples spread across their surface like a hammer cold forging a leaf, then crumpled like the same leaf being crushed into a ball. No wonder I¡¯d had troubles breathing! How was I still alive? I¡¯d have doubted the visions offered by the ring, but everything else was too real, too perfect. If I couldn¡¯t trust the ring, I couldn¡¯t trust my own sense. Which, in the warlock¡¯s dungeon wasn¡¯t an unreasonable proposition, but the golden lungs lined up with every last bit of my ordeal. The introspection of my internal organs occurred at the same time the sounds were rushing around me. I could hear the crinkling of my lungs as loud as if I¡¯d pressed them against my ear. I could hear the insects in the room beyond the wall scuttle to the edge of my vision, then go instantly silent when they passed beyond. There too, were there limits. I was starting to get a headache. I shut off the sight and the sound. Blessed darkness descended around me. The laughter of the walls was drowned out by the whispers inside my head. I opened my eyes and nearly vomited from the disorientation of the sudden shift in perspective. The world felt like it had flipped over and my feet were above my head. My body reacted quicker than my thoughts, and sought to redress the wrong. A moment later I was lying on my back with my feet in the air while the flagstones swirled around me. I closed my eyes and waited for the spinning to stop. The ring could grant senses and also remove them. Could it grant senses unavailable to the human mind? Could I see heat of a fire, or the bite of the winter wind? With the thought my body began to glow. My sphere of sense expanded once more, this time showing the world in hot and cold. Hot was the waves above the stove, cold the bite of frost on pitchfork left out under frost. I blazed like the sun. The frozen flame in my pouch a warm coal next to me. The pool of blood had cooled, only slightly brighter than the surrounding stone. The stones beneath my back bore the print of my body, and the wall where I¡¯d touched it before I¡¯d fallen. Was this why wolves feared fire? Did it burn with the presence of a thousand passings? It was not sight, whatever it was this heat-sense offered. It was unlike anything I¡¯d experienced. The closest I could managed was ¡°impressions¡±. It was the connotation of blizzard¡¯s bite and the sun¡¯s scorching pain. The refreshing cool grass beneath my cheek and the warm sand on the beach. Despite this alieness, it felt wholly natural. In fact, it confused me less than the sensations of sight or sound had, and was far less invasive than taste and smell. Perhaps it was my lack of experience which protected me. How could I over-analyze what I didn¡¯t understand? Perhaps a snake or a wolf or whatever sort of creature experienced the world painted hot and cold would be as disoriented by this heat-sphere as I was by the sound. I shut off the sensation. I reopened my eyes. The world was still spinning, but not so fast I couldn¡¯t bear it. As sure as spring, this ring was a force on par with the thunderbolt. I¡¯d seen more of my innards in a few unfortunate seconds than a doctor could hope to cobble together from a lifetime of study. It was too valuable not to use. Medicine aside, it could detect traps for me, find creatures hidden from natural sight, peer beyond doorways or discover secret passages. If only it wasn¡¯t so overwhelming. Perhaps touch could be the compromise. I experimentally restored the sensation. Immediately, I felt naked. I felt more than naked. I felt the cold stone and the cold air as if it were directly against my skin. I swam in the pool of blood and slithered through the piles of fabric with every inch of my body. I ended the feeling. No amount of disorienting visions compared to the feel of a dozen blades about your nethers. I shivered. Ghost sensations still travelled up and down my skin. No longer an outline of the room and beyond, but a false memory of the world pressing against me. Perhaps the ring had been part of a set. Another item allowing its continued use. I sat up and restored vision. My eyes were open this time, and I was once again assaulted by the strange double vision this caused. Before me was the corridor leading back to the ogress¡¯s corpse, which stretched out perhaps thirty feet before turning left towards her body. My eyes, with assistant from my will-o¡¯-wisps, could just make out the far end of the corridor, but my ring-vision cut out half way. Before the halfway point I could see the corridor from all directions at once, after my vision turned outward, as if cast like a stone. The distinct helped. The ring-vision was akin to a realm of my imagination. One which I could see from anywhere, but always from the outside looking in, never able to travel beyond its boundary. My real vision was more limited. A cone I cast forward, but one which had no limit in scope. To hold both ¡°visions¡± at once, it was a matter of treating the distinction the same way I might imagine and long for my room back in Blackbridge, while simultaneously navigating the long path to the village in the rain. I stood, wobbling as I did so, but less than before. It wasn¡¯t as easy as imagining, but it was already an improvement. With practice I might not need the paired magical item, if indeed there was one. The focus down the corridor with both my visions had revealed a second truth. Though the ring gave me sight of everything from every angle all at once (but always out-to-in rather than in-to-out) my focus could slide within the bubble like a bead along a string. The rest became periphery, as though seen out the corner of my eye. I could still see my lungs, my blood vessels, the dirt between the cobbles beneath my feet, but I could ignore them. In. Out. Golden golden foil crinklin¡ª I wobbled may way back over to the treasures. This time I already knew what remained, for I could see them all at once; a potion¡ªwhich had tasted like berries, two piercings¡ªone for an ear and the other a sort of elongated horseshoe with a large stud on either end I didn¡¯t know the purpose of, a dried blackthorn covered in sloes¡ªI shook my head and looked ¡°closer¡±¡ªa carving of a blackthorn somewhat crudely wrought from a piece of wood, two pieces of hardtack which had my stomach rumbling, and written directions to a place called the Forsaken Tomb. The earring and the horseshoe piercing were the most likely to be paired with the ring. I wasn¡¯t about to pierce my ear on the off chance the earring might be magical, but I could bend the hoop enough to sit uncomfortably on the lobe for a few seconds, so I promptly did so. Nothing other than pain and being forced to look at myself looking like I had aspirations of foppishness transpired. I placed the earring in my pouch along with the necklaces. That left the horseshoe. One end was threaded¡ªsomeone had paid a fortune for whatever it was¡ªwhich most obviously suggested it was meant to go through a fold of skin and re-secured on the other side, but where that skin was supposed to come from I wasn¡¯t sure. It was too wide for my nose and anywhere else I could think of seemed inconvenient and painful. I¡¯d stored my needles by weaving them in and out of a small piece of fabric I kept in a small chest under my bed. Perhaps the horseshoe was meant to do the same with someone¡¯s ear? It was all I could think of. It might not matter. To reveal a magic item I had to use the item as intended, but there were levels of intention, otherwise I could never test the too-small shoes or the tuttenseck. More than anything, this horseshoe was clearly a piece of jewelry meant to be fixed in place to a piece of skin, and that I could do. Out in. Heart shudders. Intestines puls¡ª I prepared my spellbook with my righthand while I... I could read my spellbook without holding it, couldn¡¯t I? I placed my spellbook in my pouch and then activated my sense of touch once more. Much like with vision, I could slide my attention among the sensations, focusing on one even while feeling all others. Which meant I didn¡¯t have to focus on the feeling of my dagger sliding across my¡ª My spellbook. I was focusing on my spellbook. My left hand pressed the earring against the top of my ear and then¡ª Coathanger I released my hand. The horseshoe remained fixed in place on my ear. It worked! I couldn¡¯t believe it had taken me this long to connect the pieces. A mage¡¯s magic was limited by his senses, but the ring extended my senses. I could teleport through any wall I could see through, effect any object I could feel, cast as long as my spellbook was within fifteen feet of me. A world of possibilities had opened before me, the rush of it completely sweeping away the fact the horseshoe seemed to be nothing more than a pretty piece of metal. This called for celebration. I dug out one of the pieces of hardtack. It looked fine to my eyes, my ring-vision, and my life sight. It was clean enough despite having been found in an ogres¡¯ midden. No fungi grew on its salted surface. No more than everywhere else. It turned out, however, that it was called hardtack for a reason. These biscuits more so than others. Even with my enhanced strength, I couldn''t scratch the surface with my teeth. No problem. They were made to be tough. I could just pour a bit of water onto it to soften it up. A bit of my precious water later, and I had a very shallow saucer to drink it from. The water stood in a gentle pool like I¡¯d poured it onto stone. I lay the biscuit down on a piece of cloth. My ring vision was able to study where hardtack met water as though my eye was pressed against it. Not so much as a bubble rose from its surface. The water level remained steady. So be it. I¡¯d cast Magic Swords II for the light, but there was no sense in letting the blades go to waste. Two blades struck down at once, each with the full strength of my arms behind them. Both skittered across the hardtack like it was the toad-dragon¡¯s hide and scratched a long furrow in the floor. The hardtack went spinning away to land in the far corner of the room. Not a single scratch marred its surface when it landed. ¡°So that¡¯s why the ogres didn¡¯t eat them,¡± I muttered. I was mildly disappointed to have my celebration cut short, but cereals had never sat well with me on the best of days. Some swore they were great for digestion, but I¡¯d found those things harvested from the natural world didn¡¯t require any extra digestive properties in the first place. So long as you could stomach the prices. Much like magic items, agriculture toed the line between dark and true magic. True magic was the process of helping nature reach her natural end state. Dark magic was a trade. Worse, a demand masquerading as a sacrifice. It was an attempt to impose your will on the world, rather than serve the world¡¯s will. ¡°I worked hard, therefore you owe me¡± were the first words of dark magic. As long as the components of the ring did not demand of nature, as long as the activation held no price, as long as the farmer kept no expectations of his yield, as long as he didn¡¯t promise the future away to the present, all worked in harmony with nature. The distinction between hope, expectation, and demand was a difficult one. I myself could only hope the forger of the ring had understood it. The ring was too valuable to give up otherwise. The forger of the hardtack could return to the waters from whence he came. I raised up the carving of the blackthorn, which revealed itself to be nothing more than an unusual choice of carving. Crude, when taken in miniature, but blackthorn were crude. The potion lacked identifying markers and was round rather than the vials of the others I¡¯d seen. It went in my pouch for future study or trade. Tom might want it if nothing else. That left only the directions to the Forsaken Tomb of Secrets. Apparently it was ¡°Te re?ting place of te legendary ?orcer?s Myrr? te Enigmatic, buried wit her trea?ure in te depts of Bleakfort.¡± which was mildly intriguing, but the directions failed to include what those ¡°trea?ures¡± were, or which floor the directions applied to. It was entirely possible the thunderbolt and ring had both already come from her tomb. Still, in my pouch it went. The directions had included an ancient stone well east of ¡°te Fountain of cry?tal waters¡±. I¡¯d keep an eye out for a ¡°Cobbled Pathway wit high pitched peals echoing te darkened walls¡±. Until such point, I had tasks to do. The vizier would be wanting his king¡¯s compass back. It was time to descend. LVI - The Corpse in the Sky SafeTeleportII was my friend at the bottom of the rope. I didn¡¯t even bother trying to swing over again. Not dispelling Coat Hanger had been a stroke of foresight. And thanks to the ring, I could cast with both hands still firmly around the rope, though at the cost of feeling... everything. I shut off my extra senses the moment I reappeared and returned my spellbook to my hands. Though I could reactivate the ring as quick as thinking, if not quicker, the time it would take to then find the correct spell inside my spellbook was too low. I needed to be in constant contact with my most important spells, but the price of using the ring was too high at the moment. I was still feeling nauseous as I re-entered the dead king¡¯s chamber. ¡°Success, Darkswallower? And so soon?¡± I placed the compass into the waiting palms of the corpse which had jittered its way into my personal space. ¡°Fortune smiles on me. As does your king. The stairs were to the south-west, you said?¡± ¡°He is king to us all. One day,¡± the vizier replied, which was not at all an answer to my question. I waited. The corpse cracked a smile. One moment he was leaning on a staff he¡¯d pulled from the beggar¡¯s treasury, the next his hand pointed unwavering to the door I¡¯d come through. ¡°South,¡± mummured the crowd. It gave the impression of an audience this time. Someone was laughing in the back rows, ¡°And west.¡± I bowed once more to the vizier and once more to the king, ¡°Then I take my leave. Peaceful be your rest.¡± The vizier¡¯s head flowed into a bow of his own, ¡°Wide be your vengeance.¡± The orcneas had left sometime during our conversation. While I had no enmity with the orcneas, I found the pig-men disturbing on a physical and moral level. Something about them set me off. Perhaps they felt the same about me and was why they had left. Hopefully the king and his courtiers wouldn¡¯t hold whatever rudeness leaving might entail against me. Knowledge of the staircase back up wasn¡¯t as useful as it had once been. I still needed to find Tom¡¯s mother before continuing on down, which was why I¡¯d bargained for access to those sections of the fourth floor not blocked off by an enormous slab of stone¡ªi.e. all of it¡ªbut my ring had changed things. With its bubble of senses I could teleport straight through the walls of the dungeon, or through the slab itself if I wanted to see if the ogre was still waiting for me. That said, I wasn¡¯t eager to go burning recklessly through my spells. Especially give how unreliable they¡¯d been the last few days. Given that the stairs both up and down were in the same direction, It wouldn¡¯t hurt to attempt to find them first, rather than expending two teleports per expedition. Unfortunately, the pile of ogre waste was still in my way, which would cost me a spell to cross and a second to ascend every time. I needed a spade. Given that my spells were disappearing like the morning mist, I decided to head back through the slowstone wall and travel south from there. The forge room was east of the king¡¯s chamber, but I could head west again at every opportunity, and hope paths rejoined later on. I reactivated my ring¡¯s touch, sight, taste, and sound as I approached the southern door of the forge room. Any excuse to avoid risking losing a spell, or having a spell turn my lungs to gold, was a welcome one, even if the cost was seeing said lungs out of the corner of my ¡°eyes¡±. It was only by fortune¡¯s good graces that I then learned another detail about the dungeon. It wasn¡¯t just the doors which could be trapped. The floor contained a series of decorative striations I¡¯d thought nothing about, a simple alignment of the flagstones into a more aesthetic configuration. Nearly the instant I activated my ring senses I was brought up short by the fact that not all the striations were equal. Some were slightly wider. Some were slightly deeper. Some contained sharp things. My thumb ran along the edge of (what else?) a scythe¡¯s blade, buried on a pivot several span beneath my feet. There was no obvious mechanism for the¡ªwait. Aha! A crystal was embedded directly above the trap on the ceiling. Runes were carved into its base, no doubt to signal the trap below. It would work on frequencies. A disruption in the natural resonance of the room, tuned to a small area. I doubted it was still functional after the earthquake I¡¯d set off, but I wasn¡¯t going to count on reason when caution would do. I gave the whole mechanism a wide berth which, given that it had been placed directly in the path of the door, meant an extra twenty or so feet to door while under the influence of supernatural senses, but I made it without pitching head first into any walls or emptying my already empty stomach. For once the door itself seemed free of traps, though that didn¡¯t mean I could find everything. The resonance crystal was a sign that the trap makers hadn¡¯t been messing around. A moment of inattention and a cleverly hidden enough rune, and I¡¯d be able to cover twice as much ground on account of being in two places at once. It was looking like I¡¯d have to use my spells. Sword Storm II I kept my ring active all the same as I crouched behind a pillar. It was a wonder I¡¯d survived this long without it. Either room traps were rare, or I had been exceptionally lucky. Or the warlocks had more frequently trapped those places they were less likely to visit and were more likely to entertain wanderers from the caverns far below. Namely, the deeper levels of the dungeon. I couldn¡¯t ¡°see¡± see my swords, nor taste them, but my sense of touch traced along their edges as they flew to the edge of my sphere. It was strange being able to focus on more than just a vague impression of where they were. Useful too, in the right circumstance. Here it didn¡¯t truly help, for they slipped out of my range just before they began battering down the door. It was only when the splinters of the door were flying through the air did I realize my mistake. I could have crouched by the door to peek at what might lay beyond. If it was another sacred chamber the orcneas were going to be grumpy. I peered around the ruined doorway (it hadn¡¯t been trapped). An altar waited on the other side. A beam of natural sunlight shone down on the sphere at the top of the altar, at once illuminated by and depicting the sun. Waves of calming energy rolled off the altar. The promise of spring, and warm summer days, and healing, rest after all long day¡¯s work. It felt as though it was calling to me. Inviting the weary traveller (me) to sit at its base and be welcomed there. Above it, high in the clouds, flew an albatross. This was a holy place. Damn it. If it weren¡¯t for my still active sense I might have indeed rushed to the altar. As it was, however, I very clearly felt the sharp point of every iron spike in the pit directly proceeding the shattered doorway. The trap was a little incongruous with the shrine, which was my cue to start distrusting it. Perhaps the warlocks had been unable to destroy the shrine, and had placed the spikes out of spite. Or perhaps they had built both spikes and shrine with the sole purpose of leading people to plunge into the pit. Or maybe the warlocks thought spikes brought a room together. They did seem to love their sloping spiked floors. This pit was only three or so feet on the deepest side (my side) which meant a moment¡¯s tensed lowering later and I was walking up the far side of the slope and standing in front of the shrine unharmed. The sky directly above appeared completely natural, which did not mesh with how it slowly blended into the stone ceiling on either side of it. It was like a painter hadn¡¯t been able to decide where one ended the other began, so they just muddled the paint in the middle and hoped no one noticed. I took the teleportal button from my pouch and chucked it at the ceiling, straight up. The angle was a little awkward, but my altar infused strength more than made up for it. My stone bounced off the sky. That would have been fine, if a little weird, if it had bounced off the sky at the height of the ceiling. Then I¡¯d know I was dealing with an illusion. Instead, it bounced off the sky fifty feet up, and with no sound of impact whatsoever. The altar shone bright and the clouds danced with colour¡ªpink, orange, and red¡ªas the sun rose. I caught my stone as it tumbled straight back down the way it had come. It looked no worse for wear. I stared at the altar with a furrowed brow. Had I...? The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. I chucked the stone at the ceiling again. Once more it bounced off the sky fifty feet up. This time the sun didn¡¯t rise. Coincidence then. Unless... I chucked the stone at the sky. *** Ten attempts later and the sun hadn¡¯t risen again. The sky, however, had revealed some strange properties. While my stone most often bounce off at roughly the same spot, on occasion it bounced of the sky much lower down, though never as low as the natural stone ceiling. I had even seen it bounce off a section of sky it had previously passed through. It was safe to say the blue sky and clouds were a property of the altar and its god, and not a natural phenomena or escape to the world above. I returned the teleportal stone to my pouch and retrieved my crayon. I was going to back up North Star before I lost the irreplaceable spell. I¡¯d been hemorrhaging them since I met the ogres. The room was defensible enough. The altar, the spikes, an iron door below me, and no more signs of life than that which grew in the puddle near the far corner. Two entrances wasn¡¯t ideal, but the spike made it safe enough to start writing my next spell. It was well overdue at this poin¡ª Stop My neck spun about like like an owl watching a horse race. Then I checked over both my shoulders for good measure. ¡°Beg pardon?¡± I called to the empty room. For it was empty. To both my ring and my natural eyes. Swordferno rested at the ready beneath my fingertips. I said stop The voice replied reasonably, in an altogether unreasonably cheery tone for the dungeon. A tortured soul¡¯s wails echoed by me a moment later, demonstrating the proper sort of mindset one should have down here. ¡°Right. Yes, and why would that be?¡± I asked politely. I wasn¡¯t about to offend a hob or dwarf or whatever powerful entity lay claim to that sun-orb. I was still casting about for a source, but other than ¡°jovial¡± and perhaps ¡°grandfatherly¡± I couldn¡¯t pin the voice down, leaving said orb as my best bet. Corruption runs in your veins Spells once lost may never be regained I swallowed. That didn¡¯t sound good. ¡°As in, if I lose a spell I might never be able to record it again?¡± Yes Right,¡± I tried to keep the shaking out of my voice, ¡°And who are you? I am ¡°You am... who?¡± I am that I am I frowned, ¡°Your name is ¡®That I Am?¡¯¡± I suppose I should say I am I am that I am If we¡¯re being precise I sidled closer to the orb, letting my ring give it a once over. It felt like glass, slightly warm. It contained no hollows nor flaws which allowed me to feel it from the inside, but I could look out from it as easily as in. ¡°Do you have a simpler name?¡± Death Life The Sun in the Underworld The Corpse in the Sky The Cycle Beginning End Take your pick Despite the warm sun coming in through the sky, my bones turned to ice. That was a list of names fitting a god. And since I doubted any god would be interested in talking to me, that meant either a creature adjacent to the gods, or one pretending to be one. Neither was desirable. I forced a cheer into my voice, ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll go with Life, if that¡¯s alright.¡± It is ¡°Right. Life. You mentioned corruption? Corruption how?¡± You drank of death and decay You drank the heart of chaos and twisted magics When had I done all that? It seemed like something I would remember. ¡°Do you mean the ogre¡¯s blood? It tasted like moldy fruit. Or that slime on carrots when they go off after a long winter.¡± I don¡¯t know I wasn¡¯t there The voice continued. There is a time for life and a time for death Corruption is the incestuous ingrowth The life too long The death too soon The branch which pierces the tree the gangrenous limb The refusal to die The denial of that which has already died My hand burns the cancerous flesh and lets the rest flourish My hand stops the rotten heart and lets the old bones rest Your spells risk corruption Let me cleanse them I wasn¡¯t entirely sure what he was on about to be honest. ¡®Permanently losing my spells¡¯ had caught my attention, but ¡°cleanse¡±-ing my spells sounded like something a warlock might offer. ¡°I appreciate it, but the risks are my ow-¡± The jovial voice turned hard You do not have a choice The orb flashed, bright as the sun which illuminated it. Light swept past me. Wrapped around me. Bound me. Burned me. My head was on fire. So was my heart. My fingertips burned where they clutched my spellbook. My ring was useless. All senses had left me but the light which burned through my soul. I collapsed to my hands and knees. My eyes were squeezed shut, but they couldn¡¯t block out the light. It was inside me. It ran in my veins. I could feel myself dying. Not all at once. Just pieces of me, here and there. The runes in my mind caught fire and burned away. The mycellium on my brain crumbled like cobwebs in the heat of their flames. The green lines stitching my mind together vanished, yet I did not die. For though the fire scoured and killed, it also healed. I was filled with energy. Everything dead no longer drew from me. My strength went only to those parts of me which withstood the onslaught. My mind felt clear, my body strong. The sense of unfamiliarity, the rune which sought revenge and those runes which twisted away from my pen were sterilized in that light. The sickness burned, the page redeemed. The runes remained in full, but now they were mine, spirit, mind and body. The dark whispers screamed as the fire illuminated them, screamed as they were torn to shreds by its might. And yet, though weakened, they survived. For though they¡¯d come upon me uninvited, I¡¯d let them in regardless. I¡¯d been the one to draw on their dark magics again and again. That which had been unfairly burdened on me was scoured away, but that which I¡¯d taken on for myself remained, and it was the majority. I didn¡¯t question how I knew this. It was obvious. Everything was obvious under the light¡¯s illumination. My skin burned. Green shone like fired clay, like freshly caught fish cooked to perfection, like crackling leaves drying before winter sets in, and turned gold. It was like burning while bathing in a hotspring. I couldn¡¯t tell if I was experiencing pleasure or pain. Whether I should scream or sigh or moan or cry. Easy now All hardness had left Life¡¯s voice. He spoke like a concerned grandfather, at once gentle and proud. Corruption ran deep All is well You are whole The burning faded, as did the light. The orb was once more simply made of glass. A fact I could confirm from all angles with my ring. The strength remained, and the clarity. The whispers had weakened, but so too had I lost the spells from my mind. Fireball II I wouldn¡¯t miss, that thing had been a liability, but my Teleport had been what empowered me to keep exploring. It had been my guarantor against the deprivations of the warlocks and their dungeon. But I could carve it anew. All in all, I welcomed the change. Even the change to my skin. Gold was closer to my natural hue, even if it glowed abnormally warm in the sunlit circle about the altar. But that didn¡¯t mean I welcomed that it had been forced upon me. Anger filled me, drove away my fear. The new energy within me only emboldened me further, despite its source. ¡°You had no right,¡± I spat, glaring at the orb. Magic Swords III The swords appeared next to it, ready to strike. There is no rights granted to me I am the cycle The rain has no right to fall It falls I have no right to remove corruption and purge decay I simply do My nature cannot be denied Nature cannot be denied That took the wind out of my sails. I knew well what he talked about. Even the Magi could not deny gravity and thirst and hunger. We could circumnavigate, take shortcuts, but we still worked within the natural laws. It was only the warlocks and those like them who denied it. But my anger still denied recompense lest my heart feel hollow. To deny my anger would be to deny myself. ¡°Even so. It is in the wolf¡¯s nature to hunt me, but I will still slay the wolf, for that is my nature.¡± Still, my swords did not strike. Death would be disproportionate to the wrong done to me, especially a wrong which had set so many things right. ¡°I demand rectification. Or I will figure my own way to extract it.¡± I do not begrudge you this I can offer only knowledge of three things Knowledge could be more valuable than gold. Especially down here, ¡°Very well. Go on.¡± First Dark magic comes from below Your spells will wander from your sight the further you descend Second The blood of those from the depths is empowered with dark magic Clean yourself of all trace to avoid its taint ¡°Can you clean me? Like you did before?¡± Life responded with a flash of light which caused blue dots to swim in my vision, not unlike my lost runes. I looked down at my spellbook and clothes. A traces of stains and blood had been removed from them. A weight lifted from my shoulders, completely disproportionate to the weight of the stains. Suddenly my breaths felt free and strong. There had been a pressure coming from the ogre¡¯s blood, pressing down on me without me realizing it. ¡°Thank yo¡ª¡± Third My redress is also protection You may protect your spells rather than cast them anew And would be better served for doing so ¡°How do I protect them?¡± Trace again their form Your spirit will know the rest I was in a bit of a bind. I didn¡¯t dare take one step further in the dungeon without a teleport spell burned into my brain¡ªnot even the scar on my arm reassured me. Arms could be lost, scars could be marred¡ªAt the same time, I didn¡¯t trust the orb enough dedicate myself to spell writing in its prese¡ª Okay, that wasn¡¯t entirely true. It wasn¡¯t a lack of trust I was feeling. Not exactly. The orb had revealed to me its nature. I doubted it would assault me again. The feel was the feeling of betrayal. The orb had torn from me my spells, altered my appearance without my permission. That both were potentially beneficial changes made them harder to accept, not easier. In what dead marsh was I supposed to abandon a just betrayal? If Life had harmed me I could have killed him. Or at least tried. I doubted my swords would win against a god impersonator. But it would have been simple, either way. ¡°Do you swear, on your life, to not act on me again?¡± Until such time as you grant me permission you have my vow My swords were still in position to strike. The assault didn¡¯t merit such a violent response, but breaking a vow would. That was how vows were kept. And that was what you called establishing a justifiable cause. Another hint of that light burning me and I¡¯d crush the orb to powder. Or die trying. LVII - Spells of the Spider Clothes Hanger. Safe TeleportII. True Teleport II. I cast all three spells simultaneously. The feeling was strange, akin to sprinting forward on a carriage moving at full speed, or riding a horse across boat heading down stream. The effect of casting a teleport on that cocoon of space which was already teleportation me, was for both spells to move at the same speed while I moved twice as far in the same amount of time. Given that the spell moved me rather following a straight path, I sent it to the forge and back and then in a loop around the top half of the room holding Life¡¯s orb. And then I vomited everywhere. Fast Teleport: The caster and his gear moves 300 ft over the course of eight seconds, but do not exist in the intervening space. Thankfully, I didn¡¯t really have any lunch to lose, so the vomiting only consisted of a tiny mouthful of acid and a number of dry heaves. I spat the taste clear and hunched over with my hands on my knees while I waited for the room to stop spinning. Changing direction midway through had been a mistake. Too disorienting if there was even the slightest disconnect in timing between the two spells. If I ever tried that again I¡¯d shorten the distance rather than try to get clever with it. The room only contained one other door. West, if I remembered correctly, which was the direction I needed to go. I¡¯d travel west until the sun rose, then reorient as best I was able to the south. Sword Storm II I crouched behind the orb¡¯s altar with my fireball while the swords went to deal with the door. They tore through the door like it was made of cloth, not iron. Metal wrapped around my blades and then was flung into the wall beyond as the moment ran out. I winced at the ringing crash. I bet the warlocks could hear it all the way up in the fort proper, even with the rift in the way. I tensed, waiting for a response, but other than a sudden silence as the wailing and moaning cut off, there was none. A moment later the wails returned in force, supplemented by several gibbering howls. None seemed to be getting closer, alike to sun in winter. Walking down to the thoroughly open door already gave me a glimpse of what I might see. A corridor running parallel to the wall or possibly a large chamber. My vision didn¡¯t extend far enough past the stone to reveal more than the first five feet of flagstones. I could have teleported across, but teleportation was a one way trip. I¡¯d need to expend a spell every time I wanted to move back and forth. The swords had been a more permanent solution. A far more permanent solution. What had that been about? I recalled my swords and tried to study the three of them. Three? Sword Storm II should summon six. I would know. I¡¯d just read the rune to cast it. I ran my finger across it again. Sword Storm II: Three invisible blades dance and strike with the base force of 968 lbs. One for half an hour, one for 45 minutes, and one more for an hour. A fireball appears in the centre. One light, twice as bright as a candles, swirl about them, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. Another light joins in at the end of the first hour, and end an hour after the first light fades, providing 3 hours of light total. All move independently following the whims of their master. That wasn¡¯t right. Better, in many ways, but not right My spell changed as I cast it!¡± I called back to the orb, ¡°Weren¡¯t you supposed to stop that?¡± I stop corruption and decay Your spell was not lost Change is constant Embrace change Or join your king in death My king? The Dead King? He is not my master.¡± My apologies You bear his lancegay It was an easy mistake to make So the change is not due to corruption?¡± It is a corruption of a different sort Less dangerous Less permanent I have weakened it It should be rarer this close to my heart I was inattentive I shall not be again I jerked my head in a nod, ¡°Right, good. Good. Best of luck with that. Sun and rain bless you.¡± It felt strange to leave the room so abruptly, but how else was I supposed to end the conversation? I was bad with sentient glowing orbs at the best of times. I ducked my head through the doorway. It was indeed a corridor. Unfortunately one which headed back north, but my ever-questing will-o¡¯-wisps revealed it forked near the end to both the north and the west. I followed the path back north then west, doing my best not to vomit from the rocking sensory sphere I kept deployed around me. Did you know people bobbed as they walked? It wasn¡¯t something I¡¯d ever paid much attention to before I¡¯d had my hearing and sight dipping in and out of a floor, and back and forth into a wall. It was like catching something out of the corner of my eye over and over and over again. Like a flock of sparrows flying by or a dozen spears raining down. After I caught myself flinching back from the mortar suddenly looming in my vision for the dozenth time I ended the vision from my ring. Sound and touch would have to do. If I kept vision I¡¯d be so worried about the mundane I¡¯d completely miss the next spike trap to come my way. As for taste and smell? If I accidentally ring-licked another ogre I¡¯d never get the taste out, and I wouldn¡¯t be able to focus on anything else. The constant laughter from the walls was bad enough. The fork to the north was a dead end, or at least had the appearance of one. I¡¯d learned not to trust such things. Not that I was going to waste time looking for a secret door leading in the wrong direction. The fork to my left¡ªwest, hopefully¡ªwent on for ten to twenty feet before switching back and abruptly heading south once more. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. The wall between the corridor I¡¯d taken north and the one I was taking south was about ten feet thick, no more. Which meant the switchback was caused only by the existence of the wall, and no intervening rooms or amenities in between. Perhaps the wall was loading bearing, or a defensive measure, but I suspected the architects had merely wanted to waste my time. After nearly a minute of walking I was less than twenty feet away from the doorway to Life¡¯s chamber. Madness. I followed the corridor another 20 feet before it ended in a doorway to my left¡ªEast? I was starting to get turned around. The place was a warren. Gravel or stones buried beneath the door? Sharp spines waiting on the other side. Legs. Far too many of them. My sense of touch ran along the legs and fur of something which made my skin crawl. A finger slipped between the join of two legs, looped around to a third, then a fourth, all along the same side of the creature¡¯s body. A spider, or something like it, waited for me on the other side of the wall. A spider the size of a house cat. I barely noticed the sun rise. The sense of the spider¡¯s legs running across my skin, its eyes brushing the back of my hands, its mouth segments rubbing either side of my fingers. It felt like I had spiders running over every part of my body at once, clothed or not. I ended the sense of touch before I screamed. I¡¯d felt other things beyond the door. A carpet with jewellery resting atop it. Those strange stones buried deep beneath the door. At least one of those things was probably a trap. I activated vision and promptly fell over as I found myself ¡°face¡± to face with the creature beyond the door. It was indeed a giant spider. I¡¯d been holding out hope it might be another of the giant ticks I¡¯d met on the first floor. Despite being creatures who had demonstrably sought the blood of humans to consume, I found the relatively ¡°small¡± spider far more threatening. I think it was something about the way they moved. Or maybe the intelligence in their eyes. The carpet had been a rug and the jewels had been jewels and other treasures set before the door, but I wasn¡¯t in a position to pat myself on the back or even care. I was lying on the floor with a spider being projected onto my face from every angle. The spider hadn¡¯t reacted to me falling on the floor, which was surprising. Was it deaf? Or was it patient enough to not even give away the slightest hint it had heard me? I didn¡¯t have to deal with the spider. There were other paths out of here, but... One was on the other side of a 50 foot canyon and the other was... worse. Was it wrong to kill the spider unprovoked? I¡¯d never liked killing the (much smaller) spiders back home. It felt wrong. A lesser form of dark magic almost, though I¡¯d never been sure why. Maybe it was just the fact that you had to get closer to them to kill them. Or the way they twitched when killed. It was cruel. The calculation changed somewhat when they were the size of a cat. I could open the door and see how it reacted to me, but that might result in my death. I had no way of knowing how fast or poisonous it was. There was also webs to consider. My sense of touch hadn¡¯t detected any, but wasn¡¯t that the point of webs? Especially in the warlocks¡¯ dungeon. The spiders might be using magic to conceal their webs for all I knew. It felt wrong to attack it in cold blood, but what else was I supposed to do about an ambush predator? Wait until it had sprung its trap (or until I¡¯d sprung whatever all the cogs and gears in the wall were) and then starting fighting back? I could simply turn around and my try my luck with the other paths, but I didn¡¯t like the idea of having that spider at my back. Fireball III What I could sense I could cast on after all. The spider didn¡¯t shriek as it died, but the sound it produced was possibly worse. It let out a high pitched whine like a kettle, and then curled up on itself as its thick, thorn like fur, shrivelled away into nothing. Its skeleton split a moment later and its eyes ruptured. Then it was just a pile of flaming sticks on the ground. The result hadn¡¯t been unexpected. What was unexpected was the second fireball which appeared a moment later and crashed into my own. It didn¡¯t do anything, obviously, both hovered in place without harming the other, but the implication was disturbing. There was someone else in that room capable of casting spells. Hello?¡± I called beyond the door. Hello?¡± came a woman¡¯s voice. I froze. Hello?¡± she called again. Gunhild? No. It was my first thought, but the person sounded nothing like her. Was that spider yours? I¡¯m sorry, I didn¡¯t mean any harm.¡± I¡¯m sorry.¡± My muscles were already locked in place, but my blood did a fair try at slowing to a halt. I felt my heart lurch in my chest. That had been my voice replying. Who¡¯s there?¡± I called to the voice stealer. Or voice stealers. How would I know? Who¡¯s there?¡± They were speaking with my voice again. My new voice changed by the altars and the druid stone. I didn¡¯t want to come face to face with whatever creature could and wanted to steal my voice, but much like the spider, I wanted them at my back even less. Surprise was my best bet. I crept back around the corner until the door was out of my natural sight. My double strength swords flew forward and struck the trapped iron door. This one held up better than the last, folding rather than crumpling. It didn¡¯t even clear the doorframe. The trap itself remained intact. I¡¯d have to do a second pass with¡ª My swords were wrenched sideways through the air. Sparks flew with the grinding of stone as they impacted the opposite side of the corner I was crouched behind. Whatever had struck them, on the other hand, had done so completely silently. What had... There was no way they could¡ª I restored my sense of touch. Immediately my ghostly fingers grasped the air, feeling stone, metal, and the tip of the charred spider all at once. They also ran along the edge of half a dozen invisible blades. I¡¯d only summoned three. I¡¯m sorry,¡± called my voice from beyond the edges of my sphere. This was starting to get creepy. I traced the magic swords not under my control as they reared back and swept the corner of the room with long, wild strokes. Whatever I was up against could apparently copy my spells, but I had three advantages. I could see around corners, I could see the spells, and I had experience using the spells. I sent my own blades out of my vision-bubble, sweeping low. No cries rewarded my efforts, so I returned the blades at shoulder height, continuing to strike blindly at the air. As long as whoever hid in the room was content to ineffectually attack the corner, I could take my time on long shots. The instant my swords returned I sent a sweep out twenty¡ªmetal scraped on stone¡ªfifteen¡ªit continued to scrape¡ªten, nine, six¡ªfour feet from the ground. The ceiling rapidly dropped like a cliff just outside the reach of my bubble. I returned the swords along the ground once more. Whatever the voice-stealer was, it wasn¡¯t human. The room was simply too short. A child would feel claustrophobic with a ceiling that low. Even Tom¡¯s house had had a proper ceiling. If I entered the room to confront the voice-stealer I wouldn¡¯t be able to go far. And I wasn¡¯t sure I could deal with the blades in any real way. Perhaps if they had been my normal blades my armour and skin combined would be enough to turn away the strokes, but these had crumpled two iron doors like parchment. My best bet was to continue blindly attacking where they might be while their swords attacked where I wasn¡¯t. It had become a race to see who could find the other first. A race I was going to win. LVIII - Clothes of the Princess I sent my fireball and swords on a random pattern, sweeping as far and wide as I could while not being able to see the edges of the room. It was easiest to time it. If they came back in the same amount of time it took to send them away, that meant I hadn¡¯t hit a wall yet. If they came back faster, I¡¯d been wasting time pressing against a wall. It took me about ten minutes to really get a feel for the size of the room. Not too large. Less than fifty feet in every direction, probably square, with an abnormally short ceiling. I¡¯d settled into skimming my swords mostly about half a foot from the ground, but occasionally they¡¯d pause when they turned about and leap up to the ceiling instead. For all I knew the voice-stealer was clinging to the ceiling like one of the spiders. It was fifteen minutes in¡ªfive minutes later¡ªwhen I finally struck something. My first clue was the delay in my sword returning. Not by much, but I¡¯d been getting it down to the second. There wasn¡¯t much else to do while hiding behind the corner. The second clue was far more dramatic, and would probably give me nightmares for the next three months. A tangle of limbs returned with the blade, one I saw from all angles and distances. One which touched every inch of my skin while I touched every inch of its in return. Another spider. Dead. Claws and bristles ran along my back, over my face. My fingers explored past the little legs at the front of its mouth, past fangs, down past rubbery somethings and scraped over its hard teeth or throat or whatever the mess of mouthparts I was looking at and feeling was. Then down¡ª I ended both vision and touch to give myself a moment to think while I set my sword to blindly pushing the corpse out of range of my bubble. It hadn¡¯t made a sound when it had died. Was that because its voice had been stolen, or because it couldn¡¯t scream without stealing another¡¯s voice? I still had my voice, so I was leaning toward the second option. Or maybe spiders simply didn¡¯t scream and they were pets of the voice-stealer. A whole nest of them maybe. ¡°Was the spider one of yours? Call off your copies of my spells and I¡¯ll do the same.¡± I was being a bit hypocritical. I¡¯d initiated the first attack after all, but there was no honour in blindly finishing a series of murders simply because I¡¯d begun them. ¡°Call off your copies,¡± I replied. Not really me, of course, but the voice-stealer copying my voice. Still alive then. Rot and wither. I returned my sense in time to feel their versions of my spells shoot through the open doorway and start blindly lunging after me much as I had against their spider. Swordferno II I reacted without thinking. I saw a trio of swords heading towards me and I wanted a wall of magical metal between me and them. The fourteen blades, though weaker were enough to stop the three cold. The fireball slipped between the gaps like they weren¡¯t there, but I was already up and moving. Turning took time, which meant the fireball (which I could still see thanks to my ring. Handy, that) gained on me until it was touching the edges of my dancing green hair. The back of my head started to feel a bit warm, but my hair was unharmed. So it was fireproof. I hadn¡¯t been sure. The fireballs and swords moved as fast as I had while recording them, which meant they should move slightly slower than I could while I was dedicating all my time to running and not carrying a heavy skip or swinging a sword. By the time I¡¯d reached the first corner I¡¯d pulled about two feet ahead of the fireball. My brain must have worked better cool than hot, because once at the corner, instead of turning away back towards to Life¡¯s orb room I decided to teleport into the room on the other side of the wall I¡¯d been running along. The fireball couldn¡¯t get me there. True Teleport *** The room was dark of course. I¡¯d left my will-o¡¯-wisps and the fireball behind. That had been the point. What I could see in my bubble vision showed the room to be empty of immediate hostiles. A moment later Will-o¡¯-WispII confirmed it. The room had two doors. One of stone, one of iron. It was of medium size, perhaps fifty by thirty feet. The wall to my right was somewhat collapsed. Both it and the wall directly across from me glittered slightly in the faint light of my Will-o¡¯-Wisp. It almost looked like¡ªmy eyes widened. ¡°True silver,¡± I whispered, running my hand along the wall. Veins of the metal crawled through the stacked stone bricks of the wall like gold through bedrock. Whatever had been responsible for the right wall¡¯s collapse may have even attracted the silver¡ªif such a thing was possible¡ªfor the collapse had only served to reveal more of the starry metal glimmering beneath. A king¡¯s ransom, if using true silver for such a base purpose would not irrevocably taint it. It was a miracle the presence of the dungeon alone hadn¡¯t caused it to corrode. Perhaps the warlocks hadn¡¯t dared touch it. Or hadn¡¯t been able to. It might explain why the room was otherwise empty, though not how the metal had appeared in the first place. True silver wasn¡¯t known for simply appearing. If only I had the time to study it, or the tools to extract it. Alas. I took a moment to assess my situation. I hadn¡¯t noticed at the time, but I¡¯d lost Swordferno II. On the plus side, or perhaps because of the loss, the voice-stealer hadn¡¯t stolen the Swordferno II spell for itself as well. Maybe it needed line of sight? I could attack from the other side of a wall, no problem. Happy too even. There had been a small ten by twenty room near the door to the voice-stealer¡¯s room I could teleport into if I was able to get close enough. *scuttle scuttle* Or maybe I didn¡¯t need to. The fireball which had been pursuing me had simply been pressing itself into the corner where I¡¯d vanished which was exactly what I¡¯d wanted. But a pair of spiders had joined it, and they were... I could only guess. Examining the wall? Looking for a way through. Trying to use a teleport spell to get across. I started breathing as shallow as I could manage. They couldn¡¯t teleport where they couldn¡¯t sense. As long as I was very silent I wouldn¡¯t have any spiders teleport onto my face. I¡¯d just feel like they already had. My ring certainly had its drawbacks. Was there a way I could see what they were seeing using my ring? Spiders sensed vibrations in their webs, maybe they could sense more than that. Was it just a finer sense of touch than I was capable of understanding? No that couldn¡¯t be right. I¡¯d seen the warmth of my own hearth beating in my chest just fine. So maybe it was too similar or maybe... ah. My bubble took on a haze much like black stones on a hot summer day. Waves radiated out from every surface, uniform, except where they bounced off and bunched up. The spider¡¯s scuttling legs stirred the waves, made them undulated wildly, and resonate in my bones. It was a feeling halfway between touch and hearing. It extended outward from the source like a sound might, but tapered off far more quickly than sound. And I could see the air currents, the little puffs of the spiders¡¯ passage. My own stirring of the air was stopped by the wall between us, which was as welcome as spring come early. If the spiders didn¡¯t have ears I might not even need to stay quiet. Not that I was going to test it. I wanted to return my blades from Swordferno II and crush the pair, but I wasn¡¯t sure it would work. They would sense the blades moving. It was a wonder I¡¯d managed to get the second spider at all with my swords. My odds were far better eliminating them before they could react. Fireball Fireball III I felt, physically felt, their eyes explode. My hands ran along their organs as they ruptured. My fingers traced the web of cracks which erupted along their armour. They didn¡¯t have any bones, it turned out. Just the armour like an external skeleton. Both died without making a sound. No more fireballs were summoned nor swords brought to bear. The voice-stealer¡¯s fireball in the corner stopped moving. So the spiders had been the voice-stealer. Or the voice-stealer was trying to fool me into believing that. I wasn¡¯t going to be lulled into a sense of security that easy. I crept down the wall back towards the spiders¡¯ low roofed lair. No more spiders, nor conniving voice-stealers presented themselves on the opposite side of the wall. I couldn¡¯t see all the way across the corridor, but unless they knew the nature of my ring they should have little reason to press themselves against the far side. The room was shorter than the corridor itself, and the wall directly in front of me at the far end was thicker than my ring could penetrate. My choice was now to teleport across and hope their were no more spiders, or turn back and try the doors. Turning back to try the doors was also hoping there was no more spiders to hunt me down, and that they could take me when I slept, and I at least had a clear path back to the ogres¡¯ well if I returned to the corridor. When I thought about it that way, it became pretty obvious which path to take. Clothes Hanger Safe Teleport II I reappeared in a crouch with my lancegay at the ready. My cutlass wouldn¡¯t stand a chance against their magic swords, but I had hopes that a gift from the dead king might prevail where mundane weapons wouldn¡¯t. Nothing immediately leapt out to tear my face off, which I took as a good sign. My ring found nothing in my immediate vicinity, so I cautiously called through the broken doorway, ¡°Hello?¡± Nothing replied except the faint sound little girls¡¯ laughing. I shuddered. At least the spiders¡¯ creepiness probably served some purpose. Luring people to their death or some form of rudimentary communication. Who needed laughing walls? I retrieved my magic swords which I¡¯d abandoned in their shield formation (for all the good it had done stopping the spiders from heading down the corridor) and sent them to trigger the trap in the doorway while I absconded back around the corner. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Oswic of Blackbridge, Starcaller of the Dawn, Flee-er of Spiders, Croucher of Corners, Master of Hiding, that was me. It turned out that their was no trap to disarm. Not exactly. Instead, the floor directly beneath the door wasn¡¯t entire solid. My swords slowly sank through its surface, much like the slowstone wall, before breaking free into a large open shaft. Only once the swords had entered the shaft did my ring reveal it in full. Before, neither my vision nor my touch had sensed anything wrong. It was only once my swords stirred the dead air in the shaft that my spider-sense revealed it to me. It was about ten feet deep, and as I¡¯d noticed before, filled with balls of some sort at the bottom. It was easy to dismiss my ring as fallible, but given that my spider-sense worked fine, it seemed far more likely to be the case that the pit had been enchanted somehow to ward off natural senses. Stranger than the trap itself was its location. It extended from wall to wall and was ten feet across in length. How was I supposed to navigate this space? The whole point of this endeavour was to avoid teleporting in the long run. Perhaps it was like quicksand and if I moved slowly enough the structure would hold? I slowly pressed the flat of one of my blades into the stone, but it sank through as it were water. Now that I was thinking about it, wasn¡¯t slow the opposite of what made quicksand solid. You were supposed to slowly extract yourself, because fast movement made it solid on the way out. That was it. I slapped the sword into the stone and this time was rewarded with the blade bouncing off. Perfect. I crawled up to the hole and began slapping the stone with my hand with varying frequency. It took very little force to keep the stone solid, but if I stopped for an instant I began to sink through the stone, and then it was a nightmare to slowly pull back up. In theory, I could slowly stroll across the gap, but if I stopped to say, open a door, I¡¯d fall for the trap. No wonder I¡¯d not run into any warlocks since being trapped down here. If I was a warlock I¡¯d never visit the dungeons even if I had a map of every trap, door, and danger. It would be too much work. I pushed myself to my feet and grabbed a sword in each gloved hand. It wouldn¡¯t work for flying¡ªthe swords needed to dance after all¡ªbut for this short distance they would hopefully stay together long enough to put me more in the weight category of a normal warlock. With my lungs and body alone I wouldn¡¯t doubt I was approaching 300lbs. Throw in my armour and weapons and no warlock who could walk under his own strength would be crossing this path. And that was without my bindle and rope. I ran across the gap. I was pretty confident I didn¡¯t have to, but it was the rational man who died by his own hand. And I wasn¡¯t that confident. I was forced to stop on the rug I¡¯d sensed on the other side of the door because the ceiling almost immediately became a wall hanging from the ceiling. Baubles and jewellery scattered as my feet kicked them aside in my haste to be as far from the pit as possible. My ring sense was one thing, but again, I wasn¡¯t going to have my last words be ¡°That should have worked.¡± When I didn¡¯t immediately plunge through the rug I took a moment to collect myself. If I crouched and looked under the wall I could see the room was relatively small, with two exits on the far side of the room. It was quite a busy room, what with the two spider corpses, plinth and rob in the opposite corner, bits of broken glass, the small stream running through its centre, the large statue of a bird on the other side, and the pile of treasure I was standing in. Where the stream cut through the wall on both sides it even had carved a channel large enough for me to squeeze through, bringing the total exits and entrances in the room up to five. My ring didn¡¯t reach far enough to reveal whether any more spiders or voice-stealers were hiding in the tunnels. ¡°Hello?¡± I called. Why not? It had worked before. No one answered. I began crab walking in a crouch away from my rug of safety and under the ceiling to the right of the pit. My ankle pressed into the tripwire before I noticed it. I stopped just before it broke. My ring could notice this trap, but my focus had been preoccupied with ignoring the mangled spider corpse and the burnt spider corpse both vying for my attention, so naturally they were all I could focus on. You try strapping a spider the size of your head to your face and then pay attention to every little bit of wire in your immediate vicinity. Thankfully my foot hadn¡¯t broken the wire, and I was able to very slowly move it back¡ª The wire snapped. And that was it. It had been a literal wire for tripping, nothing more. I¡¯d simply been more strain than it was meant to take. I spent a good five minutes searching the area with all my available senses including the wolf-vision to be sure. All the while my heart beat a golden iconograph of itself into my lungs. The trap had been a blessing. A warning: Keep an eye out for traps. And sure enough, a few (much slower) steps later, I found the mechanisms for a third inside the body of the bird statue. The spiders must have been collecting traps like flies. The bird statue, now that I was close enough to see the whole thing from top to bottom, wasn¡¯t a bird statue at all. It was closer to a siren. The body of the statue was a cross between a cock and a raven, but the head was that of a woman with wild hair up in a crown about her. I had no idea what it was supposed to be, or if it was entirely fictional. The important thing, was it the body and wings were stuffed with hinges and gears, levers and teeth. It reminded me of that first wall I¡¯d run across on the first floor of the dungeon. Or the dark Magus¡¯s teleportation room. I had no idea what all of the parts were meant to do, or how to set it off. Best to give it a wide berth. The tunnel was empty for both the extent of my light and ring, though it did appear to widen out near the far end into another room whose contents I could only guess at. I¡¯d investigate it after checking the tunnel on the other side. I splashed down the stream towards the far corner of the room, on the logic that it would be harder to place traps underwater. My assumption was correct. The stream had no traps whatsoever. The tunnel entrance near the far end, however, was flanked by one on either side. Probably. I didn¡¯t actually know what the Orcneas rune carved into the wall did, but I was pretty sure the orb which glowed brighter than my fireballs under the wolf vision was bad news. It looked harmless to my normal eyes. Just a sphere of grey metal trapped between two large metal semi-spheres held wide with a metal bar. Almost a child¡¯s idea of a mouse trap with a bit of metal for bait. I wasn¡¯t going to take it. The tunnel on this side of the room narrowed and sunk as it continued forward until the stream nearly met the ceiling. It ended in a grill which rose only an inch above the water before reaching the ceiling, possibly connected to the puddle I¡¯d noticed in the orb room. I¡¯d have gone closer to confirm my guess, but I didn¡¯t want to risk bumping the orb and having my arm melt off. It turned out upstream was a bust as well. The tunnel became too narrow near the middle. Even if I¡¯d stripped down to nothing and turned sideways I wouldn¡¯t have fit by several inches. On the plus side that meant nothing ogre or toad-dragon sized was going to surprise me slipping through the cracks while I studied the rug¡¯s treasures. I¡¯d been wanting to look at them since my toe had kicked a golden gauntlet halfway to the base of the metal orb¡¯s plinth. Before that. Since the time my ring had first spied them from the opposite side of the door. I rubbed my hands together and permitted myself a small cackle of glee. I was turning into a regular magpie (not literally. It was still important to point these things out). Who wouldn¡¯t, when thunderbolts and magic rings could be buried in every monster¡¯s midden? ¡°Wheck-a wheck-a wheck-a,¡± I gave my best magpie cry. It wasn¡¯t very good. I was the caller of the dawn, not magpies. I glanced up at the bird flying high above me. Seemed to do alright with albatross at least. I crouched over my treasures. The goblet first. It was wood or something like, leafed in gold with jewels set around the base of the cup. Somewhat useful if I wanted to drink from the stream, but not enough so it was worth carrying. I poured some water from my waterskin into the goblet and sipped from it just in case, but no hidden powers were revealed to me. The rest of the jewellery¡ªcrowns, brooches, and necklaces¡ªwere a bust, even if they must have been worth a modest fortune all together. Next was a strange set of golden gauntlets. They were clearly made for a woman. They had been wrought into the shape of a young noblewoman¡¯s hands, complete with long golden nails and delicate gold lace filigree trailing at the wrists. They were too small for me, but I did my best, removing my gloves and forcing them over the tips of my fingers. The sun rose, but I was pretty sure the gloves weren¡¯t responsible. I hoped they weren¡¯t. My hands were already starting to cramp and I hadn¡¯t even managed to pull them all the way up. I couldn¡¯t even move them enough to free myself. I ended up having to place the gauntlet between my leg, pinch with my thighs, and then tug my fingers free. I tried the gauntlets on again to be thorough, but when the sun failed to rise for a second time I thankfully discarded them in lieu of a veil of heavy gold chain. It was becoming clear the treasures had belonged to a woman with a singular set off tastes. She must have weighed more than I did when she was fully dressed. The veil did nothing but make my neck sore, so I returned it to the rug as well. I didn¡¯t have a proper way to test the glass eye nor the blowpipe without darts. I dutifully held the eye to my eye and blew on the pipe anyway which only led to me wanting to meet this one-eyed assassin princess. Beneath the blowpipe I found a... thunder in the morning. Now I really wanted to meet her. It might have been possible to call it a breastplate in the most literally sense. A large one, though not one which would fit me easily, speaking politely. It ended roughly beneath said breasts with a net of fine gold chain which would have nicely framed her navel on either side for anyone looking to stab her in the guts. Probably quite fetching outside of combat. The breastplate covered a jeweled¡ªthere was no way I was trying the breastplate on. The tuttensack had been pushing my limits to a breaking point when I had been far more desperate¡ª covered a turban of red silk with a large gem in its centre. It might have fit a man with less hair, but I had to perch it atop my head like a sparrow on top of an ostrich¡¯s egg. The princess might have been well endowed, and wealthy too, but she didn¡¯t seem to have gathered any magical items into her wardrobe. This wasn¡¯t surprising. Magical items were exceedingly rare. It was only the presence of the warlocks which had given me the hope and good fortune of finding any at all. An olive-green wig paired with the hat. It would have been embarrassingly impractical to try on if my own hair wasn¡¯t already both longer and more unnatural in colour. Nothing. A small bottle of perfume smelled wonderfully of oranges and daffodils, but otherwise had no obvious benefit. A wide jewelled belt fitted for hips rather than waist and a sheathed letter opener were next; neither of use. I used the small box of toothpicks to get a piece of fish out of my teeth then opened the next box to find a pack of shot. I found the handcannon beneath a large, multi-hinged makeup kit, which promptly fell apart when I tried to move it. The handcannon was of a far more practical make than the rest of the treasures. I didn¡¯t need to test the handcannon to know I was keeping it, so I looped the loaded and capped gun through my belt and put two boxes of shot into my pouch. There were nearly a score more boxes, but I only had room in my pouch for the two. I could always come back later. Once I secured my gun I dug through the scattered makeup kit for a pencil, and used it to apply two dark lines under my eyes. Nothing happened, but if I was suddenly faced with a sunny battlefield, I¡¯d be ready. That said, should my wax ever run out I could do with the pencil. There was nine of them of various colours which I managed to thread through the empty spaces of my pouch. The princess¡¯s outfit was completed (was there a naked princess streaking through the dungeon somewhere?) by pair of high heeled shoes. They were gold, of course. I¡¯d not seen the style before, too delicate for a horse rider or a butcher, though I¡¯d heard the Delta people wore something similar as a status item. Given that the heel was nearly the width of my hand, she must have been very high status indeed. Probably necessitated eunuchs to support her as she walked. Or perhaps they were only for sitting. I sat to try them on. An ordinary man might been in danger of breaking the delicate things, with my lungs, I¡¯d crush them. Or so I thought. Once I actually had them in my hand they felt surprisingly sturdy. I tried leaning on them, and to my delight I found they didn¡¯t so much as wobble. I put more pressure on them and they still stood rock solid. I suppose they would need to be quite strong to hold the rest of the princess¡¯s outfit. It also turned out that they were far too small for me. I managed to fit three of my toes in the things, but even that was pushing it. A lesser shoe might have expanded to allow a fourth, but I had a feeling my foot would break before they did. I leaned on the dead king¡¯s spear as I rocked into a crouch. The shoes held. Any wobbling I felt was on the part of my legs, not the heels. Strong, perhaps magically strong, but not useful outside of that. I kicked them off and pulled my leather boots back on. Maybe in the river valleys of the Delta high heels made sense, but I doubted it would ever catch on here. I doubled checked the rug. That was everything. Proportionally not much of use, but the handcannon made up for it. The coloured pencils alone would have as well. How all these treasures had ended up decorating the spiders¡¯ lair was another matter all together, and not one I wanted to dwell on. I¡¯d record my next spell and leave. LIX - Trogodytes Unsure of what to do, I used my crayon to retrace the lines of my Sword Storm II rune. I was running low on offensive spells, and didn¡¯t fancy losing another. The result was akin to the rune carved into my mind. Where ever my wax passed, the rune began to glow with a soft blue light. Unlike the runes, my hand or the page of the book could cover it, my ring sight didn¡¯t even see it. It was for my soul and soul alone. Curious, I dropped my wax partway through and began tracing with my finger instead. The glowing lines continued to spread. It took the full hour, but once it was done the lines slowly turned from blue to gold, like the sky at sunset. _?Sword Storm II?_ The spell was safe now. It was one of those things I knew, deep in my soul. Safe as it could be. Nothing was ever truly safe. Nature¡¯s great blessing and curse was that there was always another way. I closed my spellbook. I could still see the rune with my ring, but no longer notice its glow. I wonder... It was as easy as thinking it. My soul sight, mine, that which allowed a soul to see those things bound to it. That which allowed my soul to see what was bound to it. And there the rune was, glowing gold. And there the rune carved into my brain, glowing blu¡ª I shut off the sight. That was unfortunate. I¡¯d found a way to cast a subset of my spells without keeping my ring-sight active, which would allow me to not be distracted by spiders, lungs, and bodily functions, but if I could see the runes in my brain they would be far more distracting. That said, I could see them always without the ring. It was a matter of keeping them at the periphery, ignoring them. Perhaps with the ring it wasn¡¯t so different? I activated the soul sense again, and this time I was ready for it. Barely. My ¡®vision¡¯ snapped to the rune the instant it appeared ¡®again¡¯¡ªit was weird seeing an imaginary object from more than one perspective. From infinite perspectives even. My mind reasserted itself before I could be drawn in, and then it was as easy as ignoring the rune as it always was. So it was just when it appeared I was at risk. I could work with that. But if I could see my mind rune I had to wonder. If the ring allowed insight into a unique set of senses (my own), did that mean I could see another Magus¡¯s? I might not be able to read them, runes were personal, especially those rare few carved on the mind, but knowing they had them could be a boon in of itself. I could see what my old master had been lying to me about never doing for one thing. After seeing the utility of my back up teleport spells I found it hard to believe it was as taboo as he¡¯d suggested. Then again, not all Magi lived as interesting a life in total as my last month had been. ?Sword Storm II? I cast the spell using my ring¡¯s soul sight without a hitch. My book stayed closed the entire time. A thousand flowers blooming at midnight. If I protected all my spells my book would never need to leave my pouch. I sent my newly summoned swords upstream to the point where the tunnel narrowed. The doors beyond the statue and the rune held some promise, but they weren¡¯t heading in the direction I wanted to go... probably. I wasn¡¯t about to cast North Star until I protected it. Besides, they were beyond both the statue and the rune and I didn¡¯t want to risk it. For all I knew they set off a second volcanic eruption. The stone did not yield easily. I shouldn¡¯t have been surprised. Even if I weren¡¯t trying to carve through bedrock beneath an active volcano it would have been hard. The stone had the weight of mountains and countless millennia pressing down on it. Hardening it. For the first time in weeks¡ªor had the rats only been a few days ago? It seemed impossible to believe¡ªfor the first time in days my ministrations did not go unnoticed. As my task was nearing its completion they came screeching and hollering through the unopened door furthest from the tunnel. They were like humans but unlike humans. They had all the same limbs in the same order. Teeth and ears and toes and hair. But their skin was pale. Paler than a corpse¡¯s belly, paler than a mushroom¡¯s roots. And their eyes were missing. They didn¡¯t even have sockets. Just smooth skin to either side of their otherwise normal noses. Trogodytes. A rare breed of people from the south. The few accounts I¡¯d heard of them had been conflicting, some even were said to have brown skin rather than white, but all agreed upon their strange, batlike language, and all agreed upon their eyeless faces. There was five of them. Four women and a single man. All of them were naked. I might have been more shocked if I hadn¡¯t already met the headless giants. Now I was simply surprised they weren¡¯t shivering. The fifth floor was warmer than most of the others, volcano excepted, but it was still nowhere as warm as the lands across the south sea. They were hunched over as I was, given the short ceiling. Less short for me standing in the stream, less short for them because they were women. The hunch managed to make them look even more inhuman then they already did. Further dehumanizing them was the way their hair blew out behind them when they were still and pressed against their heads when they moved. My ring also sensed the dust in the room pulling toward the feet of the lead Trogodyte as she drew within its range. It wasn¡¯t a magic I¡¯d seen before. The spears in their hands didn¡¯t help make them look friendly either. ¡°Halt!¡± I called, raising my own short spear to the ceiling, ¡°Come no closer and I¡¯ll do you no harm.¡± The lead woman let out a peculiar clicking screech, and thumped the butt of her spear into the ground. Her companions followed suite a moment later. My ring couldn¡¯t help but notice dust gathered around the spear as well, and my spider-sense revealed air currents flowing toward the woman rather than away. Like she was gathering the whole world into herself. I lowered my own spear. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. ¡°Do any of you speak English?¡± I received blank stares from the Trogodytes. Not that they could do anything other than blankly stare, but their empty eyed gaze felt even emptier in the moment. ¡°mil¨¢s ti gl¨®ssa ton the¨®n?¡± The Trogodytes flinched at my words. The lead woman went so far as to bare her teeth and briefly raise her spear before catching herself. The Language of the Gods could have that effect on some people. Especially those who dwelled so far from the heavens. The only other language I knew was that of the birds, and that was not for communication. For listening and secrets, yes, but nothing so crude as a conversation. The woman screeched at me in her language joined by a number of her companions. It was nearly unpleasant for me as the Language of the Gods had been for her. It felt like a thousand little fingers plucking at every fibre of my body with every shrill click. My ears were going to start ringing if she kept it up. I pointed at the door they¡¯d come through, ¡°Go back.¡± I pointed at the ground then myself, ¡°This room is mine.¡± It was only when I¡¯d finished gesturing that I remembered they couldn¡¯t see me. Not unless they had sense-rings of their own. At least they also couldn¡¯t see me making a fool of myself. The lead Trogodyte let out another war cry. Or maybe she was asking me about the weather down the hall. I¡¯d have to find a bat to translate for me. I didn¡¯t need to translate what she did next as her and her companions raised their spears once more. As one, they took a creeping step forward. My swords down the hall were only three quarters down carving out the path, and even if I could retreat now, the point had been to secure a path all the way back to the fourth floor. Avoiding conflict was one thing, but I wasn¡¯t about to retreat from those who brought it on themselves. Time for a warning. Fireball My new fireball joined the one which I¡¯d summoned with ?Sword Storm II?, then both of the flaming balls flew until they were only an inch away from the leader¡¯s face and abdomen. I began to slowly inch them forward. She hissed like oil spitting in a pan and took a step back. The fireballs followed¡ª ¡ªand then they didn¡¯t. The fireballs stopped. They began inching back towards me. Then footing. Then yarding¡ªI dived to the side as one fireball went streaking back to the entrance of the tunnel and the other stopped just in front of where I¡¯d been standing. Magic Swords III Four blades appeared in circle around the leader. They struck inward in the same instant. I winced as blood spurted from eight wounds at once. It was the dark elves all over again. She¡¯d been helpless, completely impaled. Killing the soldiers hadn¡¯t been as disturbing. I¡¯d been more desperate and they my torturers. Part of it was her nakedness. It made her appear¡ªno not appear¡ªit made her more vulnerable. And I wasn¡¯t thinking of her lack of armour. The fireball in front of me vanished. That was concerning. Were they like the ogre¡ªmy swords tugged free from the lead Trogodytes body. I hadn¡¯t told them to do that. The wounds on her body began to close. Ogre indeed. Four spears launched toward me. Each of the Trogodytes had two: one long, presumably for melee combat, and one short, for throwing, as demonstrated. They threw in a strange manner, like a child skipping a stone. Probably developed for the caverns and the reason their spears were so short in the first place. I tried to tug my swords around to block the spears, but my swords didn¡¯t obey me. All moved in a different direction than I¡¯d ordered them to go. It was like trying to push a chain by lining up the links. All but three of my swords vanished. Those that remained were too far away to be of any use, still carving the tunnel. I started bringing them back anyway. Three spears struck home. Two were only glancing blows which my armour turned aside, the third landed directly in the hole above my heart, admittedly a slight weak point in the over all design of my armour. It felt like I¡¯d been kicked by a very small horse, but my skin turned aside the spear. The spears clattered to the fl¡ªtwo of the spears rose up from the floor, slid along my chest and then flew back toward those who had thrown them. The third spear, the one which had struck me in the hole in my armour instead flew back about a hands width away, and then launched forward as though freshly thrown. This time the spear pierced both armour and skin. The wound was shallow, but ¡°shallow for a spear wound¡± was of little comfort. I¡¯d just spent a week repairing the last hole in my chest. I stumbled back with a hand clutched to the wound as the spear reared back for a third strike. I was too slow to get out of the way, but I got lucky with the torn fabric of my gambeson. It tangled the spear the same instant it struck home, tearing it off course with little more than a bruise to my upper ribs. Regenerate I didn¡¯t want to risk the spell before I¡¯d used the protection ritual on it, but it was hard to pick in choose in the midst of combat with a bleeding wound above my heart. The wound clotted at once, and rapidly became tight and more painful, which was not what I wanted while a fifth wave of spears was being thrown at me. The others had recovered their spears and their leader had joined them. Only two of the five bypassed my armour, and a single my skin, but the one that made it was a doozy. It pierced my left shoulder nearly clean through, only stopping because of my armour on the other side. I screamed in pain. My own short spear dropped from my right hand¡¯s fingers as I desperately tried to pull the spear free from my flesh. At first my superior strength made quick work of the task, even with the muscles bunched and healing around the spear, but then the spear itself resisted me, started pulling itself deeper. Shatter the heavens, that hurt. It was worse than being stabbed in the first place. The slow tug-of-war ground against bone and knotted muscle in a way that ached to my core. The shaft of the spear was growing slippery with blood which further weakened my grip. All the while the Trogodytes were preparing a yet another wave of spears. I needed to deal with them and their strange powers before I could fix this spear. But if they could heal their wounds and their¡ª Four spears flew towards me. Push II Magic Swords II Two spears were deflected by the push. The swords only managed to catch a third. The fourth pierced my gambeson and bounced off with a hefty bruise. They were going to kill me. I jumped backward towards the princess¡¯s accoutrements. Let them chase me. Let them chase me straight into those traps. I hit the floor on my back and skidded until my head was nearly resting against the far wall. The spear was still in me. Let them all die. And if not¡ª Fast Teleport LX - Brief Temptation I landed in Life¡¯s room. I¡¯d been aiming for the hallway, but I¡¯d take what I could get. If my ring had unlimited range I¡¯d have been three room away by now. The spear in my shoulder was no longer in my shoulder. I almost missed it. The moment I reappeared the wound started itching like there was a colony of ants gnawing at it. A night¡¯s healing every few seconds, or a week¡¯s every minute. Nearly two wakeful years worth of itching condensed into a single hour. The worst of it was that it might not be enough. Once the itching subsided a bit I¡¯d probably need a second spell to fully recover. At least I was alive. The stone on the other side of the wall cried in pain; echoes from one of the women. A storm of clicking followed. Now that I was slightly more safe I was able to think. I scrabbled to my feet and drew my handcannon. My right hand kept straying to my wound. It would be good to have something to occupy it. And defend myself. The Trogodytes had powers similar to my own and the ogre. Healing. Controlling weapons after they¡¯d left their hands¡ª No. No that wasn¡¯t it at all. It was one power. They were reversing time. It all came to me in the same flash of insight. The spears had pulled back because they were travelling back along the path they¡¯d followed. My spells had vanished because they were sent to before when they¡¯d existed. Their leader had healed by either sending herself back in time, or one of her subordinates doing so for her. It seemed they needed to know where they object was they were effecting (somehow, they couldn¡¯t see, could they?) for they hadn¡¯t forced me to teleport back into the midst of them. So I needed to either kill them with something they couldn¡¯t see, was too old and consistent to reverse, or kill them all at once before they could react and save themselves. If they couldn¡¯t save themselves automatically. And assuming I was even right about their power in the first place. It certainly fit. I wouldn¡¯t risk everything on that understanding, but it was my best bet. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Clothes Hanger I wanted to be ready for anything. I cast my ring-gaze over my spells. It was slower than using my fingers, but my left arm still wasn¡¯t up for it. I had a bit of a problem. Swordferno and Swordferno II would have trivialized a multi-pronged attack, but I¡¯d lost both in the last few days. Sword Storm II before I¡¯d lost half the blades had the potential to be able to do it. Even my remaining spells might have been enough if I¡¯d not already cast most of them escaping the Trogodytes. My cutlass, handcannon and natural talents might be enough to take down one or two of the trogodytes, maybe even three given my superior strength and armour, but there was five of them and they could reverse time. That left using dark magic. The voices rose around me as I focused on them. Whispers nibbled my earlobe and ran fingers across my throat. Each bore a name¡ªits own name¡ªtelling me what I could do. Piercing Shield Spawning Cauldron Hindering Claw Glass Aura Intoxicating Blood Plasma Torrent Amber Cloud More. Moooore. Mooore. I knew what the final voice meant. Knew it like I knew my own name. All I had to do was demand. It was my life at risk. I¡¯d used dark magic before to save it. There were few more worthy causes. I could gather a dozen spells to my breast and crush the Trogodytes. Make myself invincible to their spears and their magic. And yet. I was the Darkswallower of Bleakfort for a reason. It wasn¡¯t enough to demand. Not always. The warlock hadn¡¯t even been able to protect himself against a chained and crippled foe. One with true magic. Less true magic then I had now. He¡¯d turned his flesh to wood. Blotted out the light. Invaded my mind. And it hadn¡¯t saved him. There then was the cost of dark magic. One of them. The promise of victory unearned. The knowing of victory unearned. Why wouldn¡¯t dark magic be the answer? It had destroyed the rats and the bees. It had given me water and protected me from traps. It had saved Gunhild¡¯s life and protected me from her treachery in return. Just this once. Just this once. Always. Always just this once. Arrogance and overconfidence were a small price to pay for such easy access to power. They always were. LXI - Memories in Chaos I still had teleports left. I could try to reason with the Trogodytes. Bribes, gifts, a simple vow of truce. If they attacked me I could evacuate. It was an idea worth trying, if only I could communicate with them. But without eyes I doubted we could even do a mummer¡¯s show. That didn¡¯t mean they didn¡¯t have a way of sensing the world. They noticed me. They¡¯d moved together with little to no communication. They¡¯d noticed when their companion was wounded. They hadn¡¯t noticed me moving my spear or pointing at them. So not the spider sense. A heat sense or life sense maybe. Maybe by the time I headed back to that room the traps would have chased them all off, or they would have taken the treasure and left. Maybe the Dead King¡¯s spear would be prize enough for them. Hopefully he wouldn¡¯t mind me losing it so early. If I did have to chase them down after that, I could do so once the sun rose. That way I¡¯d have a¡ª The sun rose. chance of... give me warm fires and sturdy doors, clear windows and soft rugs. It had happened with the ogre as well. And the toad dragon. I seemed to get my spells back faster when I fought. That seemed wrong. Why would the sun be attracted to violence? The sun was the life giver, it was soil which ever demanded death. Then again, the sun was underground. Perhaps it was deity of the earth more than the sky at this point. What had Life said? The Corpse in the Sky, the Sun Underground? Something like that. I glanced behind me. He hadn¡¯t spoken since I¡¯d arrived. Maybe he¡¯d sensed I didn¡¯t want to talk, both for dislike of how he¡¯d changed me, and for fear of alerting the Trogodytes. Maybe he¡¯d just been offended by my threats. Will-o-Wisp II Life¡¯s altar lit up the room, but not the hallway beyond as it rounded the corner. I needed to be ready for the Trogodytes should they arrive. I sent my will-o-wisps forward while I sidled through the broken door to keep an eye down the hall. Even the small movement made my arm ache. Regenerate *whooOOMPF* The sound was like a fire suddenly starting. Red light blazed behind me, casting a long shadow onto the wall beside me. Much like a sudden fire, the light dimmed, but did not disappear. Red, purple, and orange light swirled around my feet, too dim to keep my shadow alit. I spun back to the orb altar room (Rains have mercy my arm! I thought I was done with this). Had the Trogodytes found a way to send my fireballs after me? Had my spell backfired somehow? I wasn¡¯t healing any faster than I had been before I¡¯d cast my second Regenerate. The light was strongest directly above Life¡¯s orb. The sky had gone ablaze. A roiling mass of bruised clouds at sunrise, though far less healthy looking. They pulsed and surged as fast as the sea. The speed was such that a wind was picking up in the chamber, adding its own howl to the dungeon. Heavy purple smoke was pouring off the orb atop the plinth, rolling down onto the altar and cascading down the steps with little splashes. It looked dangerous. I¡ªI was lying on my back with my arm on fire. Figuratively on fire. I must have fallen, but I didn¡¯t remember doing so. I¡¯d just being trying to move my leg... move it. How did I move my legs? I¡¯d done it before. I was sure of it. I tried to think but the pain was distracting me. The liquid welling up from my face wasn¡¯t helping either. It was blue, and bright like a star. Not the twinkling of a star in darkness, the bright shimmer of liquid when viewed through a telescope. I tried to use my uninjured hand to wipe it off, but it gathered faster than I could remove it. I could still breathe through it. Somehow. Bubbles formed on my lips when I exhaled, but nothing entered my mouth on the inhale. If anything, more of the liquid was coming out of my mouth. I rolled over onto my right side, and then onto my knees to support myself with my good arm. Shining liquid dripped off of my nose and onto the floor. It was all gathering there in a puddle. Less than you¡¯d think. Enough to fill a large goblet. The flow stemmed. I spat free some more liquid from my lips. It didn¡¯t taste like anything, but it was sticky. My whole head was plastered with my own hair at this point. The flow stopped. The liquid didn¡¯t. Once gathered on the floor beneath me, it began to slowly trickle its way toward the puddle in the corner of the room. The sky was still blazing. The orb was still smoking. The room was starting to look like a fog had settled in. I was already inside the mist. It wasn¡¯t harming me. Didn¡¯t mean it wouldn¡¯t. It might have already been what had caused me to fall over. Maybe it made that strange shining liquid leak from my face. The pain was getting to be unbearable. Even though it was healing, the sudden motions and changes in elevation hadn¡¯t been good for my arm. Plus I was getting tired of the pain. Greater Heal IIII It would help. It wasn¡¯t ideal, but at least I hadn¡¯t lost Regenerate. Something had gone wrong, but it was hard to say what. I¡¯d cast spells in the orb chamber before. I¡¯d cast Regenerate before. I¡¯d cast while injured before. The orb was supposed to protect me from the ogres¡¯ corruption. The best I could imagine was a random fluctuation of dark magic from the dungeon. Nothing under my control, nothing I could avoid or plan around other than to be sparing with my spells. I stood. Staying in this fog wasn¡¯t doing me any favours. I¡¯d been lucky the Trogodytes hadn¡¯t taken appeared to take advantage of me while I was distracted but... I wanted to move back into the hallway proper, rather than standing in the door, but my legs wouldn¡¯t move. I looked down at them. They looked fine. Same as ever even beneath my trousers. My ring said so. So why couldn¡¯t I walk into the hall? I bent my knee experimentally on the spot. That went fine. Then I bent my other. I could even wiggle my toes. I could even kick my leg forward. It was only the act of walking where my mind drew a blank. I watched the blue the liquid¡ªmy knowledge and memories?¡ªswirl away in the puddle. It looked like the stream slowed, but kept going under the wall opposite the grill. The smoke from the orb was dancing across the puddle¡¯s surface now, looking like morning mist caught in a storm. The bruised-orange helped accentuate the glow. All in all, the colours weren¡¯t pleasant to look at. I still didn¡¯t dare call to Life to ask what was going on. The Trogodytes might hear me. One or more of their other senses must have been extraordinary to make up for their vision. Especially since they¡¯d been able to sense my invisible swords and their companion¡¯s ¡°death¡±. I returned to a kneeling. The hard stone was unpleasant against my knees, especially with the weight of my lungs pressing down on them, but maybe I could shuffled forward that way. No such luck. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. I might have lost a tooth to the floor if I hadn¡¯t been ready with my good arm. Fine. Since I was down here anyway, I¡¯d try crawling. Crawling still worked. It hurt. Especially with my stabbed shoulder, but it would have hurt a little bit anyway. The floor was cold stone and I was far heavier than I had any right to be. I was stronger too, but it didn¡¯t seem to matter as much crawling as it did standing. Trying to watch the path in front of me while I crawled also felt unnatural. My neck wasn¡¯t meant to be craning at that angle. My two healing spells made up for the pain in my knees and neck before they became real problems, but the not-quite-pain constant discomfort feeling was unpleasant in its own right. I rocked back around to a sitting position once I was fully into the hallway and mostly out of the mist coming off the orb. It was a losing battle, the corridor itself was slowly filling, but it was moving almost as fast as I crawled and I didn¡¯t fancy running into the Trogodytes if I could avoid it. They¡¯d almost killed me, the mist potentially hadn¡¯t done anything. I was pretty sure the memory loss had because of my spell somehow, but I wasn¡¯t sure why. I fumbled a while with my pouch before I was able to open it one handed and retrieve my spellbook. I wanted more healing, maybe to protect one of my more valuable spells, but what I needed was more strength of arms. Sword Storm II?. I could have summoned more blades to join the three provided by the spell but I didn¡¯t for two reasons. The first was simplicity. ?Sword Storm II?¡¯s blades hit harder than any of my others. Combining it with other spells would make the already messy timings and strengths of the spell even harder to keep track of, which could be important in a fight. More importantly, I had to cast the spells I wanted to duplicate, and that meant using them up over the course of the next hour. If I was attacked after the recording was complete, I didn¡¯t want to be down my entire spell book except for one spell which may or may not work when I called upon it. Spell casting had been becoming more and more unstable. Sword Storm III: Three invisible blades dance and strike with the base force of 968 lbs. One for half an hour, one for 45 minutes, and one more for an hour. A fireball appears in the centre. One light, twice as bright as a candles, swirl about them, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. Another light joins in at the end of the first hour, and end an hour after the first light fades, providing 3 hours of light total. All move independently following the whims of their master. My lights all went out. The next will-o-wisp in the spell sparked to life in the same moment. The protection on my spell hadn¡¯t carried over to Sword Storm III. I was disappointed, but not surprised. If anything, it would have made sense to lose the protection on ?Sword Storm II? by trying to cast it. That hadn¡¯t happened either, as welcome as the breeze. Four sword spells. Three of them ready to cast. Add in BiteII and that was four offensive spells total. It might be enough to defeat the Trogodytes. If I was lucky. And if they didn¡¯t have any other powers I wasn¡¯t aware of. And I took them by surprise. And I understood how their vague powers work. And, upon understanding, I was also correct about their limitations. Easy. They didn¡¯t stand a chance. I pushed myself back to my feet. At least my arm had stopped hurting. The two sets of healing had been more than enough. Which meant¡ª I caught myself on the wall before I fell. The healing hadn¡¯t fixed my ability to walk. No other liquids had poured off me since the sky turned wrathful even though I¡¯d become completely submerged in the orb¡¯s smoke while writing. Maybe I could force it. Trick myself into remembering. I leapt into a sprint back toward the puddle which had stolen my memory. Safer than the hallway which might be hiding Trogodytes. I didn¡¯t fall. My legs carried me as easily as ever to the water¡¯s edge. Just before the water I slowed into a jog and then a stroll¡ª My feet locked to the ground as if glued there. I was ready for it this time. I wrenched my shoulders back before the whiplash of stopping so suddenly sent me diving head first into the water. Ow. I think I pulled something, but my hunch was becoming a full fledged hypothesis. If I was right I should be able to¡ªyep, jogging over to Life¡¯s smoking pillar was no effort at all. I stopped well before I arrived. There was a pit of spikes over there, I wasn¡¯t going to mess around on that side of the room. I tried and failed to turn around on the spot by shuffling my feet. It was only when I started picking up my knees and jogging in place that I was able to turn. I couldn¡¯t walk, but I could run. How peculiar. I jogged over to the side of the pool. I didn¡¯t fancy sticking my head in every bit of water I came across, but I had healing spells for a reason. My life sense didn¡¯t sense an amount of algae life which was higher or lower than expected, and my ring senses showed the occasional insect and water life skittering through the water, but not in abundance. There was a current here, hidden beneath the deceptively still surface. More of a widening of the stream than a true pond or puddle. I activated my ring taste. On the plus side, the water tasted like water. I wasn¡¯t about to scoop up a pool of acid or molten glass. On the negative side, the water tasted like water. I didn¡¯t taste, smell, or see any memories floating around in the pond, which was the whole point of the exercise. I was still going to try. Not being able to walk would cause me all sorts of problems and this was the best I could think of to fix my problem. I knelt, cupped a small handful of the water, and drank. My ring hadn¡¯t lied. The water was as clean and as pure as could be hoped for in the depths of the dungeon. I didn¡¯t feel any different, so I crawled over closer to where I thought the memories had slipped into the pond and tried again there. I didn¡¯t want to drink too much of the water in one go, in case the illness came later, but my sips were small. I would be willing to risk one more. Nothing. I rocked back on my heels. The memories would have flown down stream, to the north-east edge of the corner. I should be try there instead. All are subject to the river¡¯s whims. Even fish need rest.¡± A merman had told me that. The only merman I¡¯d ever met. I¡¯d been five years old and completely failing at fishing. I¡¯d been having a fun time throwing my lure into the midst of a rocky shallow, but not a single fish had swum by. I could tell, because I could see straight down all 2 inches to the bottom. I¡¯d figured it would be easier if I could see the fish. Not that I had seen any. The merman had emerged from the forest to my left. The fish won¡¯t swim there young man. It¡¯s too shallow for them.¡± But I can¡¯t see them any where else.¡± Trust yourself. And trust them. All you need is a little knowledge. It will be the light in your mind, even when it is too dark to see.¡± What knowledge?¡± If you know the fish, you will know where they sleep. All are subject to the river¡¯s whims. Even fish need rest.¡± I shook my head. Strike me with lightning on a cloudy day,¡± I whispered. I still remembered the merman, of course. It wasn¡¯t every day you met something straight out of the legends. But thinking about him right now, I could remember the conversation word for word. I could close my eyes and count the number of leaves on the trees, the number of pebbles in the stream. I tried my other memories: a conversation with my father when I was of a similar age. My meeting with Brace and her crew; the memories were memories, nothing more. I could remember the gist of them, but not the exact words. I bent and took another sip. Push floated through my mind, as clear as the day I¡¯d written it. The first spell I¡¯d carved into my brain. The first I¡¯d cast in the dungeon. Push It didn¡¯t cast. Merely a memory. A memory as bright as the Fast Teleport still dancing around my brain. The waters restored my memory. All of it? Some of it? One per sip? I stood and tried walking a few steps toward the altar. It worked. I knelt back on my heels and studied the water. How much could I remember? How much did I want to remember? Would remembering everything drive me insane? The rune was kind of annoying already, given that I couldn¡¯t cast it. One more. This time it was a far more recent memory. The carving of the map I¡¯d encountered on the second floor. It was all there in exquisite, tiny detail. Finding my place on the map would take a while, I could barely make out the rooms in my memory, but with enough time I could plot out the whole first six floors of the dungeon without need for Conan¡¯s map. I wondered how long the memories would last. If they didn¡¯t fade the rune was annoying, but the map was a massive boon. Either way I was a winner. It was tempting to take another sip, to keep sipping until I was met with another failure, but if I stopped now I came out ahead of the game. I was sure there were some memories I didn¡¯t want to remember in perfect detail. I moved back out into the hallway. I walked. I could always come back later if there was something important I thought was missing from my mind. Besides, I hadn¡¯t confirmed yet that the water wasn¡¯t rancid. LXII - Beetles Impervious Fireball The Trogodytes hadn¡¯t appeared while I¡¯d been fooling around with the water, which led me to believe they weren¡¯t going to appear at all. Perhaps the traps had scared them off. If I was lucky the traps might even have killed them. The plan was to walk only on one side of the hallway while my fireball went down the other. The long I had it out before meeting with the Trogodytes, the longer it would take them to fully reverse the fireball out of existence. I was still going to go for the instant strikes with my swords in case they could see the invisible blades ahead of time. Plus I found the light comforting. It was scary always moving about in a gloom I paused at the threshold (plus another ten feet for the invisible pitfall) while my fireball lit the spiders¡¯ lair. I gave it a count of thirty. When I reached the end, and my fireball still hadn¡¯t come reversing back at me, I skipped over the trapdoor and onto the rug¡ªcreepy. All five of them were in the far corner. And they were... dancing? Lost? It was hard to tell. I had to crouch to see them, and they in turn were hunched by the ceiling. They were arranged in a circle and following each other around in the ring. Their steps were rhythmic. Each landed in sync with the others. Their spears stabbed out like flower petals unfurling on the near silent beat of their feet. There was no chanting, singing, or speaking involved. Step Step STAB. Step step STAB. Step STAB step step step STAB. And then they¡¯d repeat. They hadn¡¯t noticed me. Whatever sense they possessed was clearly limited. I watched until they finished there ritual and left back the way they¡¯d come. I could have taken them unawares, but that didn¡¯t guarantee I¡¯d win. And they hadn¡¯t been trying to harm me in that moment. It would be like the dark elves all over again. I gave the Trogodytes another five minutes before I ducked under the ceiling and moved further into the room. I retrieved the Dead King¡¯s spear and then crab walked over to the tunnel. My swords had done their work carving out the passage. If I turned sideway and held my breath, it was just wide enough to squeeze through. If the tunnel ceiling had been as low as the room¡¯s own ceiling I wouldn¡¯t have fit. My fireball led my way into the room on the far end of the tunnel. It was mercifully empty. Merciful because my arms were currently pinned to my sides. I could use my spells to fight back thanks to my ring, but defending myself would be far more difficult. The room was about the same size as the last, one of the dungeon¡¯s ¡°small¡± rooms. The floor was tiled in hexagons, which reminded me a bit too much of the cave bees for comfort. The river ran into and through the room in more or less a straight line, disappearing through a grate in the wall at right angles to the one it came out of. Above the grate was a crude sketch of a sword. I shuffled into the room proper and stretched out my arms. Then I stretched them out some more and spun on the spot. Such a simple set of actions would have been impossible only an hour ago both do to injury and brain damage. I was going to enjoy my health when and where I could. The room had two doors, each set in one of the walls the stream didn¡¯t touch. Both were wooden, and both appeared harmless under careful scrutiny from my ring. I decided not to hide in the crevasse and instead went to the far side of the room while I readied my swords. If there was a trap and it set off an earthquake or released a swarm of ants or started flooding the room I wanted to be in a position where I could react. It was too easy to imagine the ragged edges of the tunnel simply... closing while I was in it. Sword Storm III The doors didn¡¯t stand a chance. I was pretty sure I wanted to go through the one on the opposite wall¡ªthat was either south or west¡ªbut the I knocked down both just in case. Both opened into hallways. I peeked the wrong door first, just to make sure nothing obvious stood out to me. It was a dead end. Just 30 feet of corridor moving back to the room I¡¯d come from before ending in a stone wall. It might have been another false end, but it was in the wrong the direction. I could waste time looking for it later if I needed to. The hall from the other door led both straight ahead and to my left. I¡¯d need to cast North Star to be sure which way I needed to go. Until that point I decided to simply take the path which didn¡¯t end in a door after fifty feet; the left hand path. This corridor was far longer. Five right angle bends prevented me from seeing its whole length at once. In fact it was so long that one of my fireballs went out as I was reaching the end. I took a sip from one of my waterskins. My stomach growled. It was starting to get late. My will-o¡¯-wisps from my sword storms still provided me light but the sudden dimming was unnerving. I¡¯d been stopped just before a flimsy-looking wooden door set (for some reason) thirty feet before the corridor arbitrarily ended in another stone wall. It wasn¡¯t just the doors and the inconveniences, the layout of everything made no sense whatsoever. Fine, place your room at the end of a 200 foot hall for no understandable reason, but at least end the hall at the door. Or move the door to the corner of the room which you¡¯ve made flush with the wall. Not whatever this was. I studied the door. And then I studied it some more. Now that I had my fancy ring I wasn¡¯t going to drop dead to yet another easily avoidable dart trap. It was death by volcano or nothing for me. The door was as safe as any I¡¯d ever seen. I ducked back around the corner just in case while my swords tore through it. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. I spun back round the corridor a moment later, handcannon in hand. What I¡¯d seen of the room had been empty except for a rotten piece of fruit, but if that piece of fruit suddenly moved, I was ready for it. My remaining fireball and jack-o¡¯-lanterns flew into the room ahead of me, revealing a collapsed ceiling, the aforementioned rotten fruit, and little else. To my left were two more doors, one on the same wall as the door I¡¯d come through, and one on the wall opposite it. The fact that I hadn¡¯t seen the first door in the corridor on the way here, meant the corridor would have bisected the room if it had continued straight through, rather than following its shape. Madness. I had no idea which way I was trying to head at this point. I¡¯d need to go back and carve more ¡®x¡¯s in the walls to figure out which way south-west was, or wait for the next sunrise to protect my compass. Until that point, I¡¯d just have to open both doors. I wouldn¡¯t bother checking them for traps this time. My swords could do the checking. If they failed to find anything I¡¯d check with my ring after. I lined up my swords and then exited the room. Several minutes of crunching and crashing later I returned. If I stood between the two destroyed doors I could observe the space beyond both at the same time. Fireball for the space to my right, jack-o¡¯-lanterns for the space to my left. To my left was a short corridor which ended in another door. To my right, the broken doorway opened up into a room. In the room were a trio of lights. Reflections. Three large flaming reflections getting closer. Ruby beetles. And they were angry about their door. *** I hadn¡¯t been able to stop the beetles before. That was before the dark energies of the fort had doubled their power. One of my swords winked out, its timer done. That was also before I¡¯d lost most of my swords. I brought my two remaining swords around to bear. I had to look at the positives. Two swords would be enough. These weren¡¯t the same beetle as last time. They might be weaker. I could tell because there was less of them. And because they were uninjur¡ªPositives, Oswic! They were moving in a straight line. They were¡ª Surge and spray, they were fast. I barely got my swords in the way in time. Come on will-o¡¯-wisps move! True Teleport II I cast the spell in the same instant my swords struck. I couldn¡¯t afford to wait a moment longer, the beetles had only been about thirty feet away and they were as fast as dogs. I reappeared a mere twenty feet away. I hadn¡¯t had time to get my will-o¡¯wisps into position to light up anything further away. I should have left one behind as backup. I¡¯d gotten sloppy. Two of the beetles appeared completely uninjured. Not so much as a scratch on the lead one I¡¯d stabbed with my sword. The third¡¯s head had been split in half. My sword was still lodged in its shell. I must have gotten lucky with the strike, because the blade wasn¡¯t coming out. When I tried to lift my sword free the head came with it, like a log wrapped round a splitting axe. They didn¡¯t seem to have any blood. From the right angle you wouldn¡¯t have even been able to tell the beetle was dead. It looked like it was nodding. A few seconds to try and fail in retrieving my sword was all I got. The other two ruby beetles noticed me. My other sword was already in position, directly above the back of the closer beetle. It plunged down. The beetle was flattened. Not in the bug way, but in the ¡°newborn fawn doesn¡¯t know how to use its legs¡± way. All six of its legs went in six different directions as my sword skittered across its carapace. Even now the blades weren¡¯t enough. My fireball struck the face of the collapsed bug, but did little more than make its head glow. The second beetle spun a quarter circle on the spot like an unambitious top to face me. Then it charged. Push IIII I sent the force straight down onto the beetle¡¯s back. It collapsed mid charge and skidded several feet before stopping. My sword tugged free. I flew it through the air to strike at the beetle I¡¯d just downed. It struck, and not a moment too soon. Both beetles were rising to their feet, despite the weight pressing down on them. Aside from the initial shock, they barely seemed to notice it. The blade scraped off the creature¡¯s back once more, but this time it caught one of the still splayed out legs. There was a crack like a pick axe striking home, and the leg shattered at the joint. The beetle hissed like an armload of marbles being thrown down a hill. The missing leg barely slowed it. My sword, which had been ineffectually pinning the beetle, danced up and back, ready for¡ª the sun rose¡ª another blow. It was not in the swords¡¯ nature to pin creatures in place. Not unless they were impaled by them. My best bet was to get close enough to a wall to teleport over. A wall other than the one next to me, for that lead only into the hallway I¡¯d just come from, which the beetles could easily access. I started sprinting for the far corner of the room. Clothes¡¯ Hanger I wasn¡¯t going to make it. Sword Storm II? The light faded from my spell, but the rune remained. I could still feel it with my ring. Had my protection failed? Or had it done its job? Three new swords joined the two previous and struck down, knocking the bugs off their feet once more. The crash when they hit the ground wasn¡¯t as loud as the ogre had been, but it was loud. I was nearly at the wall. The beetles were nearly back on their feet already. I pressed down as best I could with all five swords on the beetle already under the influence of Push III. Once again it didn¡¯t seem to notice my efforts. How did that make sense? Maybe if the beetles could lift far more weight than they themselves weighed it would¡ª I swept my swords around and under the five legged beetle. It didn¡¯t matter how strong you were. If you couldn¡¯t touch the ground, you couldn¡¯t move. Not unless you had¡ª The swords didn¡¯t quite make it into position under the pounding legs of the beetle. Where its legs impacted the swords they ticked up and over, just like the ones on the previous floors. It didn¡¯t matter. My swords lifted the rear end of the ruby beetle into the air, depriving it of its back three legs. The laws of the natural world still held¡ª Wings exploded from the beetle¡¯s back. A typhoon of dust obscured the beetle¡¯s form while simultaneously blowing my swords back and the beetle forward. I was out of time. My shoulder bounced off the wall (I¡¯d been running sideways to keep an eye on the insects) at the far end of the room. My ring revealed a space beyond which wasn¡¯t a pit, vat of acid, or pool of lava. Safe TeleportII I was going to be safe. It was in the name. LXIII - Carbuncles and Chimeras Much to my astonishment, I was in a rectangular room much like the one I¡¯d left. The shape of the room was not the astonishing part. The fact I could see it was. The room was lit in a blue white glow. Three large stones scattered near equidistant about the top half of the room. They looked somewhat like stalagmites, but stalagmites with even sides like a pillar, and a slightly rounded top. They were perhaps four feet in height. The light came from the stones. Not from their surface, that was blackish-grey. It glowed within like a jewelled heart. This was not the dim light of my will-o-wisps, but a full moon¡¯s lustre on a cloudless night. An ordinary man could have seen the lights from one mountain¡¯s peak to another. To mine they blazed like a watchtower¡¯s lantern. Three miniature lighthouses to guide my step. A suit of armour lay among them. Untouched. Neither rust nor time marred it. Treasure surrounded the armour. Real treasure, like the princess¡¯s clothing, not the ogres¡¯ hoard. Geometric patterns crawled (figuratively) along the full surfaces of the two walls to my left and front. The whole place had an air of wonder about it. The whip and the bones didn¡¯t really gel with the rest of it. The beetles had made it to the wall. The giant insects weren¡¯t nearly as horrifying under my ring-sight and ring-touch as the spiders had been. They were even beautiful up close. Like a fine statue. What internal organs they had were also made of red stone, and in no configuration I¡¯d seen before. The mosses they ate gathered in their stomachs, but to what end I couldn¡¯t tell. Ring-life-sight revealed that the mosses hadn¡¯t even died. I couldn¡¯t tell if their eyes worked, but their beryl antennae seemed to. They were whipping around like reeds in a storm. Investigating the last spot I¡¯d been, I assumed. If they were going to stay still in my line of sight, I was going to use it. I summoned my swords back toward the pair. A moment later, five blades struck down in synchrony. Once again I was astounded by the resilience of the beetles. Four of the blows which could tear apart iron doors without effort deflected off their ruby carapaces. The force was enough to knock the beetles down, but once again the uninjured beetle rose without a scratch. The five legged beetle would have also presumable risen, but my fifth blade had other plans. Though the beetles were unbelievably tough, they were also brittle. This became apparent when, pinned against the ground with no legs to absorb the shock, my fifth blade shattered the injured beetle¡¯s abdomen into a shower of rubies. The other beetle reacted at once. It pivoted on the spot like it was on a turntable. It growl-chittered in that peculiar way they had. It took off like an arrow out of my line of sight. The other beetle wasn¡¯t moving. They didn¡¯t have any blood, but apparently from a severe enough wound they could still die. I turned my attention away from my ring¡¯s senses and back to the glowing room. It had two doors, one directly to my right, and one fifty feet away at the other end of the room. The corner opposite the nearer door would do nicely. I¡¯d have a view of all entrances to the room while I was writing. The lights cut off a moment after I took my first step. Will-o¡¯-WispII I found myself blinking light scars out of my eyes as I struggled to adjust to the new gloom. The stones had stopped glowing completely. Had they reacted to motion? To noise? I hadn¡¯t done much of either. I sat in my chosen corner. Each door received a light. I¡¯d have to draw under the senses of my ring. _?North Star?_ My swords were gone. As were the fireballs. The lights summoned with them would remain, but they were in the other room. My will-o¡¯-wisps in this room didn¡¯t last as long, but as it turned out, they didn¡¯t need to. The stones had re-lit. Once more the room was washed in that gentle blue-white glow. What¡¯s that about then?¡± I called to them. The lights winked out. Sound it was then. Though the spider-sense had shown me movement and sound were not so different. It was one thing to feel your teeth buzz with a drawn out ¡°th¡±, it was another to ¡®see¡¯ it carried by the air. North Star? Two lights appeared before me. The brighter pointed toward the darkened stones, the dimmer back toward the wall I¡¯d come through. Which meant I was sitting in the south-west corner, the direction I wanted to be headed in. I was still going the right way, more or less. I sent my lights toward the centre of the room. I could move them closer together and further apart, but it was as if they slid along the inside of a pipe or were chained to the same dowel. Always in a line pointing north-south. I could try my luck with the doors, but I¡¯d rather teleport back into the room where I¡¯d faced the beetles and trace my steps back to the ogres lair from there. It wasn¡¯t quite yet the end of the day, but I was quickly growing tired, even if my spells had been reknewed. Hungry too, though that wasn¡¯t a problem I could solve here. Or could I? The stash of treasures among the tall stones included several pouches as well as a loaf of bread. Much like the armour it rested near, it appeared unblemished. My life sight didn¡¯t even detect any starts of fungal growth or mold. So: two full pouches, a cask, a set of iron keys, a vial of oil, an amphora, the bread, the armour, the whip, and a set of runed bones. All in perfect condition. Was it the bones or the stones which were responsible? Or the room itself? Would I too be frozen in perfect preservation if I got too close? Had I been frozen already? No. I¡¯d seen the beetle run away. I could still call to my swords. The timer had yet to run out. Still, I could afford to be safe. I fished out the teleportal stone from my pouch and tossed it into the centre of the treasures. I wasn¡¯t sure what I was expecting, but it hadn¡¯t happened. Maybe for the stone to be frozen in mid air, or bounce straight off. For the pillars to alight and draw the stone toward them. The button bounced and clattered like any other stone. The rough pillars about the room remained dimmed. I stepped into the imaginary outline I¡¯d labelled as suspect. Nothing. Whatever mechanism had preserved the treasures and the bread didn¡¯t work on me. Or didn¡¯t work by freezing them in time. Perhaps I¡¯d not age as long as I dwelled here. I was already hungry and tired, so it was hard to tell if it prevented the conditions from getting worse. The bread was good, for bread. I¡¯d always found bread a bit too close to dark magic for my liking. But it turned out it wasn¡¯t close enough for the pit in my stomach or the light feeling in my head. It would have been nice to have something with it, but a quick investigation had found the vial and the amphora to be containing scented oils, and the pouches calabash. A quick sniff revealed the calabash to be a heady mix; oleander, hashish, frankincense, poppies, myrrh, cloves. Combined with the oils these were a shaman¡¯s tools. Not true calabash for smoking at all, but for offerings. The cask smelled like mead, but while I had clean water to wash the bread down I wouldn¡¯t risk it. I ended up eating the entire loaf in a single sitting. I guess I¡¯d been hungrier than I¡¯d thought. How long had it been? Two days now? I dusted my hands off and knelt to examine the armour. No wonder it hadn¡¯t rusted. With the light reflecting off of it I¡¯d thought it was made of metal, but it was polished bone affixed together in scales. Lamellar, it was called. It was unusually small. I was a man of average height, and I¡¯d found most armours could fit me, be they a bit too tight or a bit too loose, but this was clearly too small. I shrugged it on anyone, leaving the laces open, wearing it more like an apron than armour. Danger. Death. The points on those rocks. They could kill me. The armour would keep me safe. My eyes darted to the pouches. Poison? Had I touched them? I was still alive. Best not to touch things without the armour. I coughed. A bit of bread stuck at the back of my throat¡ª I coughed again. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. And again. Flecks of water flew from my mouth. Then dribbled from my lips. I was drowning. I pulled the armour closer, peering around. Where was the water coming from? Water poured from my nose. Was I under water? Coughing wasn¡¯t enough now. My abdomen heaved and my ribs ached, but the water wouldn¡¯t clear from my lungs. It poured from them like a god¡¯s amphora. I was filling with water! More dark magic? I clenched my jaw shut. Forced my chest to still. The flow of water abated, but my lungs remained filled with it. I could see it with my ring. Pain and panic seared through me, as bright as the runes in my mind. True Teleport II I gasped as I reappeared a few feet to my left. Two balls of water, in the shape of my lungs splashed down beside me. I could brea¡ª This time I was watching for it. My lungs were steadily filling with water once more. The armour! I tore it off and cast it to the ground. No! Idiot! Fool! Danger! The armour couldn¡¯t protect me on the ground. I needed it wrapped around me! It was the only way to stay saf¡ª The fear left me as quickly as it had come. The waters stopped rising. It still hurt like volcanic sands. A cough wrenched me forward. And then another. I still had about two inches of fluid left in my lungs. Safe Teleport I reappeared naked and free from water. My gear fell down into a wet pile behind me. I¡¯d reappeared almost immediately, having only travelled a couple feet. The armour had been cursed! Had I been smaller I might have tightened it on me before the curse had taken effect, and then been too scared to take it off. It was a death trap for midgets. I eyed the remaining items warily. One the one hand, I only had a single teleport left, and it was a risky one to use. On the other, the armour was the first dangerous item I¡¯d come across in all my time wandering the dungeon. I¡¯d start small. A dab of oil on the back of my wrists. The oils smelled nice enough, but that was it. I re-stoppered the amphora and sealed the vial. I couldn¡¯t be sure when it came to the keys, because I didn¡¯t dare try them on a door. The keys sticking to my fingers was reminder enough of why that was a bad idea. They seemed normal enough though. I wasn¡¯t going to try the cask and the whip didn¡¯t reveal anything other than my inability to produce a proper crack. That left the rune carved bones. There was six of them in all. All bundled together with a simple strip of leather. By there angular make and harsh edges the runes were orc runes. I had no idea what they said but it was the same on each bone. Human bones, probably. They were the right size and shape. Fingers or toes. It was a little macabre, but less than it could have been. From what stories I¡¯d read of the orcneas, their runes were almost carved with the permission of the one they¡¯d carved into. Either the donor gave a lost limb to their shaman, or agreed to part with their bones after death in exchange for some boon. The poor fellow probably wouldn¡¯t mind me holding hands with him. I undid the strap. They weren¡¯t knuckle-bones but the longer bones from the area. Wrist to knuckle, or ankle to toe. They¡¯d been shaved flat and then had the runes put on the flat sides. The runes were the same on each bone, so I doubted they were for fortune telling. My nose bounced off something while I was shuffling the runes from one hand to the other. Strange. I didn¡¯t see anything. My ring sight didn¡¯t either, except... My spider-sense didn¡¯t see something. The air currents between my hands had stopped. I moved my hands apart and the space widened; both horizontally and vertically. I pulled my hands back past my torso. It wasn¡¯t like moving a wall, the air didn¡¯t swirl in behind it. My spider sense only noticed the slightest trace of its movement, where faster air currents from my moving arms didn¡¯t move past them. Rather I felt something slide over my face and chest, and only when my hands stopped moving did the air pool up against the barrier once more. I placed the two bundles of bones¡ªthree in each¡ªon the ground to either side of me, just a little bit in front. Then I slowly moved my hand through the air between them at about the height of my knees. My arm slid off something smoother than ice. It couldn¡¯t penetrate the gap between the bones. I increased the pressure. The invisible, ephemeral wall remained firm. The wall seemed to form a square no matter how large it was. I wondered if there was a size limit. So I grabbed one bundle (making a diamond as the one end raised higher than the other) and walked back to the wall I¡¯d teleported through. It took a moment for the wall to resolve in my spider sense, but it was there; twenty feet long and reaching all the way to the ceiling. I leaned against my invisible barrier. Neat. Now this was almost worth being crushed by beetles and drowning for. Almost. Maybe one or the other, but not both. I looked at the bundle of three bones to the left of me, and the bundle of three to the right. Why three? Did it need to be three? I went over to the left pile and grabbed one of the bones. I walked it a few steps toward the geometric-pattern covered wall. My ring sense revealed the outcome before I could test it. Not my ring-touch, that still didn¡¯t notice the wall at all, strangely, but my spider-sense. Two planes of force stretched out behind me while I walked. At an off canter angle no less. The walls of force had their bottom line described by the shortest line directly between the bones. After placing the bone down I found myself surrounded by a small triangle of force. I pressed on the wall, then punched it. Then punched it with all my might. It didn¡¯t hurt. No matter how much force I used my fist just slid gently aside. And the wall held. Which meant I¡¯d trapped myself. I walked back to the far corner and squatted next to the vertice of the triangle. The bone was at a tangent to the point, barely within the triangle¡¯s bounds. It took a few tried before I was able to fit a finger in the point and rotate the bone enough to grasp it. It appeared the wall was projected from the bone¡¯s outside edge, which was fortunate. Had it been the inside I might have truly trapped myself. One the bone was in hand I could easily move the planes of force past myself. Once more they imparted no force while moving, yet nothing could move against them in turn. And if three bundles of bones meant three walls, how many walls did six mean? *** I managed to trap myself in a hexagon a few minutes later. Not truly trapped¡ªI was pretty sure I could easily rotate the bone in the northmost corner enough to grab it, but the other five would take a bit of work. I¡¯d gotten six walls in the end. Each bone didn¡¯t project to every other bone, but instead to the two closest. That meant if I moved the bones right, the shape would suddenly collapse into a new configuration, which was somewhat hard to predict when just eyeballing the distances. I rotated the off-centre bone and collapsed the hexagon. The bones went in my pouch. I was keeping them. During all of my experimentation the three tall stones had remained dim. I guess they were shy. So, to leave or not to leave? I only had the one teleport spell left, my emergency back up spell. That suit of armour had done a number on my spellbook. I glanced at my glowing compass. It had dimmed while I was playing with the armour and the bones. About half an hour left. I¡¯d teleported through the south wall of the room, which meant the door I was now facing was to the east. Sword Storm III Something spun. Something writhed. Shadows fought with light, and shadows won; Life failed. A single sword appeared. A single light and a single fireball accompanied it. That was all. I retrieved my spellbook. My ring-vision had seen the fainting shifting of wax, my ring-touch had felt it slips beneath my ghostly fingers, but some things I wanted to feel for myself. I pulled off a glove to trace the rune with my finger. The spell¡¯s strength had doubled once again, but to do so I¡¯d lost two swords in the bargain. At least it appeared as if it would last for an hour. I retreated back from the door to crouch behind one of the big rocks. Once there I changed my mind and pulled out the bones. I made a little triangle about myself with two bones in each pile. I was still partially hidden by the rock all the same. I had no idea if the bones could stop lightning or bolts of magic. The sword was too strong. It went straight through the door. The door followed it a moment later, slamming into the wall behind it on its hinges. I guess it hadn¡¯t been locked. Oh well. I drug the sword back into the chamber while I picked up my bones. Sparks and an awful screech rose from the threshold and floor, but no traps went off. I made my way for the door while my sword finished off by putting a triangle on the south wall. If I got lost this would remind me where I¡¯d come from. It was rather loud. Between the smashing, crashing, scrapping, and carving I didn¡¯t doubt I¡¯d woken up the whole floor of creatures. Perhaps the whole dungeon. And they were letting me know. A racket of wailing and moaning rose up so loud that I couldn¡¯t hear my own footsteps. My ring could, if I focused, but even then the ringing stones were muted and confused by the echoes of howls and laughter. I was so busy focusing on my ring I nearly missed the smashed doorway leading off the corner of the hallway where it turned sharply right. I was back at the room of hexagons. The one with the small stream cutting through it and north up to the room the spiders had formerly inhabited. I threw my arms out as if greeting an old friend and permitted myself a moment of silly relief, ¡°My stream of memories! It is so good to see you!¡± That was when they jumped me. The racket completely drowned out their footsteps. Had I been paying full attention I¡¯d still not have detected them. These were creatures made for stealth. Made for ambush. Not spiders, thank the heavens. That would have been too much for a single day. My ring offered me a glimpse of white flesh and long humanoid limbs, similar to the Trogodytes, but these creatures had teeth. Huge teeth set in the mouth of a maned-dog, and claws which tore at my armour as two of them crashed into me. Fast Teleport I reacted before we hit the ground. Half a second later I was behind the northern door of the corridor without lights or magic weapons. I¡¯d acted quickly, not wisely. My ring sense had only offered me one escape were the ghouls could not immediately follow. Had I been able to think it through I would have teleported behind my sword instead, down the corridor where I could see a ways. Next time. I spun about, handcannon raised, back to the door, half a ring¡¯s eye watching it for signs of ghoul intrusion. Magic Swords II I summoned the swords as much for the light as the protection the weapons could provide. I needn¡¯t have bothered. The fire-breathing goat could light up the room just fine on its own. LXIV - The Dress in the Cube The room was rectangular. Thirty by fifty feet in all. The floor was checker-board, like the bath rooms I¡¯d seen before. Unlike the bathrooms, this floor rippled. Concentric rings were slowly spreading outward from my feet like a stone dropped in a pond. Deeper rings intersected with them, forming peaks and troughs which grew in strength as I watched. The whole room was starting to sway and bob. This distracting sight was lit both by my pair of will-o¡¯-wisps, and by a sight far more distracting in its own right. A giant fire breathing goat with the claws of a lion and serpent for a tail stood in the centre of the room. A lion¡¯s head grew from the centre of its chest, or perhaps the goat¡¯s head grew from the lion¡¯s back. Either way the lion was the only one concerned about the situation. Its face was confused, perhaps a bit frightened as it wobbled back and forth on the strange floor. By contrast, the serpent had twisted about and was hissing at me. The goat was roaring. The sun rose, and with it came more flame from the goat¡¯s mouth. Thankfully it was pointed toward the ceiling rather than at me. My hair had shown to be fireproof, but my chest had revealed itself to be quite the opposite. Clothes¡¯ Hanger I¡¯d been putting the poor spell through its paces today. I was glad to not have lost it. I¡¯d have been stark naked halfway before lunch without it. Now if the chimera charged I was ready. If it could charge. It was more concerned with floor¡ªI rocked back onto my heels and fell back onto my rear. Just before it impacted I managed to turn the fall into a crouch. The floor rolled under me. Maybe I should be more concerned about the floor as well. The creature¡¯s (creatures¡¯?) pacing was only causing the situation to get escalate. The chimera had drawn every object in the room to it. Its own weight has its undoing, a whirlpool for bouncing and jangling objects. Chains and manacles, bottles and fabric, antlers, a sword, even a skull. Adding to the chaos was a little brass bell which wouldn¡¯t stop dinging every time it bounced off the floor. It was enough to drive anyone mad. I let my gaze switch to my ring sight of the other side of the door. The ghouls hadn¡¯t given chase which was surprising. Anything with a head like that could smell out their prey. Perhaps they hadn¡¯t had time to get my scent. The serpent tail hissed at me and I was forced to bring my full attention back to the chimera. It seemed to have decided I was to blame for its predicament. The goat¡¯s creepy goat eyes were now fixed on my face, and even the lion spared a glance or two from the floor to glare at me. The goat could breath fire. Fire hot enough to scorch and melt the stone ceiling above it. If I didn¡¯t de-escalate the situation soon there would be trouble. So I shot it. Look, goats were scary. Plus, if the goat was dead, there would be no more escalation. Firing a gun was more complicated than I¡¯d expected. I knocked the cap of with the pommel of my cutlass and pointed the tube at the centre of the chimera. The weapon had a bit of amadou or similar tinder sticking out of it so I thought a quick Fireball summoned roughly above it and then (ow ow ow) moved quickly away would be enough. And it was, more or less, but the shot took far longer to actually go off than I expected. Had the chimera been actively attacking me rather than posturing, it would have been going back for seconds before the fuse took its merry time to reach the powder. When the gun finally went off it felt like a mule had kicked my hand and wrenched my shoulder. Wasn¡¯t the gun supposed to hurt the thing it was pointed at? If I hadn¡¯t been far stronger than a normal man, it would have torn out of my grasp entirely. Naturally, the shot missed completely, but the smoke and loud BANG! managed to deafen and blind both my natural senses and overwhelm those of my ring as I was assaulted by flashing fire, smoke and noise from every direction at once. The goat roared as well, or it might have been the lion. My ears were ringing too much to tell. Somewhere in the distance a door slammed. Hopefully not the one behind me. I needed a way out¡ªno wait it was closed. Had the ghouls broken in? And closed the door behind themselves? How polite of them. When the smoke finally cleared enough to see and my brain stopped reeling from the overload of sensations, the chimera was gone. It had fled straight through the archway behind it. That still didn¡¯t explain the slamming door. My ring confirmed the door behind me was still firmly shut. The ghouls hadn¡¯t even come to investigate the noise. More the fool them. It only took a few more seconds to realize I was lying on my back. I was on top form today. Either the gun or the ripples caused by the fleeing chimera had bowled me over. The floor was kind of nice. It was like lying in salt pool which reached up to massage you from underneath. Shame it was cold. The chimera had inadvertently been guarding quite a haul. Once the rocking settled I made my way over to it. It was somewhat like being aboard a small skiff, though the risk was taking a cutlass to the eye rather than falling overboard. If this were indeed another warlock spa (assuming the others had had anything to do with such things) it was a more demented one than usual. I¡¯d gotten a glimpse of the objects earlier, but now I could see them in their full glory: A giant spiked cutlass, a nightgown so replete with wires it stood on its own, chains, manacles, the brass bell, a bone flute, a cube of demonic faces, and (of course) the skull. These were a necromancer¡¯s tools. Worse, the metal cube bore my face. It was twisted and warped. There was a cruel glint in my eyes and hooked fangs in my mouth. The faces swirled and melted and overlapped one another, but I could still recognize them: my face as it had been before I¡¯d entered the dungeon. And above the myriad of caricatures flew the albatross. Not for the first time I wondered if I was somehow dreaming. It wasn¡¯t a desperate hope or idle fancy; I¡¯d been captured by warlocks. Even now I could still be chained in that first chamber with the Shadowmaster working his magics on my mind. His death, the evil altar, the unimaginable size and structure of the dungeon¡ªthey could all be fabrications. Every wrong turn or innocent death¡ªthe dark elves¡ªevery curse and use of dark magic, they could be another bond broken by the warlocks. Even Brace and Conan and Erin and Gunhild, they all could be part of the dream. This did not make them lesser. Even warlocks didn¡¯t have full control over the realm of dreams. That was the domain of the gods. Even if I dreamed, the dream was real. But Elysium... I had been there. This was something I knew, knew more than anything. I¡¯d never been one with sure beliefs, anything was possible, after all. Anything but Elysium. It filled me with a certainty. If this were a warlock¡¯s dream I¡¯d still broken the mural, still travelled to Elysium. And eating the dryad had been real. I¡¯d felt the warmth suffuse me. That feeling of fulfillment had never left. And the druid stone. Which had grounded me. Energized me. Given me the strength to continue. That had been real too. More real than real. So. So if this dungeon was a dream which was more real than real, why would the warlocks dare send me here? I¡¯d already inadvertently undone their greatest work. The nature of that mural would have changed society for generations. Its destruction might bring about a new age. A golden age. One without fear. One without that empty gnawing doubt. That shying from the void of finality which we all secretly dreaded awaits us. What could people without that fear achieve? What bonds could they forge? So then, the dungeon was real. But if the dungeon was real, why was my face carved on the walls. Why was it carved on the cube? Who was I to the warlocks? Did they even know? Or had the existence of the carvings been the sole reason for my capture? I grabbed the cube. It was heavy, metal, and nothing more. No magic animated it. No answers revealed themselves. It was somewhat lighter than it should have been however. Hollow. In fact... The cube was meant to give, or it had a puzzle joint my strength could ignore. I twisted along one of its faces and the cube split in half. A pearlescent red dress spilled out. A dress so impossibly fine it had fit the confines of the cube and now spilled over my hands like water. My ring-touch agreed with my eyes. It felt finer than the finest sea silk, and smoother than the pearls it resembled. I pinched it in my fingers and pulled. Strong, as strong as silk despite its impossible ethereal nature. I held it up and it cascaded down into its full form. Full length, low cut, narrow for a dress. My fireball lit up the far side, but the dress was not transparent. Somehow the thing material caught the light rather than letting it pass. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. I wasn¡¯t a fool. The dark elves had spoken of a feminine spirit around or within me. The mirror had showed one. There might have been others. This was a warlock¡¯s dungeon. The dungeon was speaking to my desires. That was what the feminine form of a man was, according to certain shamanic sects. Both corruption and purpose. Magi had a different belief, namely that male and female must both be incorporated in the whole, which was similar, but separate in the distinction that neither ¡®existed¡¯. The shamans believed they were real. Spirits, mostly, but some went as far to say corporeally as well. Within every man the spirit of their ideal woman, and within every woman the spirit of their ideal man. This spirit both reflected in how they interacted with the opposite sex and marked the character of the man or woman in question. The shaman believed our ideals said as much about us as our own actions. Shamanistically, the warlocks would be speaking to that spirit in order to bring about their broken bonds. Warp the inner woman to be one who only gave, never asked, a woman unbound by the mundane. A succubus. Perfection incarnate. A child¡¯s notion, or that of a young man. Or that of an older man who had failed. I had the pieces of the puzzle, but I couldn¡¯t see how they fit together. Why the dress? What had the dark elves truly seen? Were the shaman more correct than the Magi had believed? Or could the elves see a sort of spiritual attack on my soul? One the dungeon or the warlocks had initiated? I wasn¡¯t a fool, but I still didn¡¯t understand. Was I the succubus, or the dungeon? Was the dress metaphorical or literal? I was holding it, yes, but it was clearly too small. So why had whoever had made it made it? And why had they hidden it inside a metal cube five floors deep in a dungeon one might never go to? I¡¯d already decided this wasn¡¯t a dream, but it would simpler if it was. I pulled the dress over my head and armour. It pinned my arms to the side and bunched up around my shoulders, but it was enough. I could sense the dress¡¯s magic. It wasn¡¯t quite clear, and wasn¡¯t what I expected. Something to do with text? I fished around in my pocket until I withdrew Eric¡¯s invitation. I needed to touch it with intention. The thought came to me as easily as where to place my fingers on my pipes. The beginning of the thought was the end, there was no in between. I touched the page with a gloved hand and the world transformed. I could have said the words transformed, but that wasn¡¯t enough. Only the page moved, but a sense of understanding arose, as inevitable as the draw of the chimera¡¯s weight in the centre of this very room. The text transformed into a picture of a noble been heralded by a page, who gestured to a castle at the top of a hill. There were a dozen interpretations of the image which were possible. Infinite. And yet the meaning was as clear¡ªas exact¡ªas the text it had replaced. Even the position of the sun in the image spoke to the time the ¡®meeting¡¯ was to take place. I withdrew my finger. The image stayed. My eyes widened. This was the kind of enchantment wars would be fought over. And the warlocks had left it here, far below their keep. Had they even known something was in the cube? Had they known the cube existed at all? Perhaps I was the only one who could open it. I pulled the potion vial from my belt, the one with the rune I didn¡¯t recognized, and placed my thumb on top of it. My ring watched the rune change beneath my thumb. The image was still carved in wax, but it now depicted a man and a woman facing each other with their hands touching. The space was too small for the carving to have much detail, but it was enough to note the similarities in their appearance and the similarities in their pose. It reminded me uncomfortably of the demon mirror once again. A mirror image. And here I¡¯d thought it had been something to do with enhanced hearing. I was tempted to throw away the potion. Why carry the weight of something I¡¯d never use? But it was light and I was strong. I¡¯d have never thought Withering Insect could be so deadly effective either. The vial went back on my belt. What else was there? The warlock rune. The one I¡¯d found next to the druid rune. It had clearly been magical, but their runes were unknown to me. I pulled it from my pouch and rubbed my thumb along it. The stone carved rune became a stone carved image, one which kept the little scratches and slips of the hand, as though made by the same artist with the same tools. The image was now of a blossoming flower with a fire contained within its petals. An explosive rune. I¡¯d been carrying around a bomb this whole time! I was lucky a blow from the ogre or one of the Trogodytes spears hadn¡¯t set it off. Or the dozens upon dozens of times I¡¯d fallen. I winced. How many time had I fallen on the pouch containing the rune? On the other hand, how many times had I fallen on the pouch containing the rune? I had yet to be blown to smithereens, so perhaps the rune was harder to set off than that. I could still feel the power in it, even though it had been transformed. The dress didn¡¯t overwrite any aspect of the thing it translated. It instead substituted another reality; a what could have been with what was. I gingerly packed the rune back into my pouch. It hadn¡¯t gone off yet. And if it did go off... I was going to say I could Regenerate my wounds, but if it went off it might take my spell book with it. I removed the rune to the inside of one of the cloth gloves tied to my belt on the opposite side of my body. Just in case. My hands were still shaking as I extracted the first scarf from the pile. Much like the dress it was strong, warm, and finely made. Warmer, really. Unlike the dress it was practical, unisex, and non-magical. Part of a noble family¡¯s collection of winter gear or something similar. I dropped it next to the ruins of the cube and grabbed the second scarf. This one was finer, though less finely made. A rich woman¡¯s scarf or a fashionable man¡¯s. It also joined the pile. It was followed by a too-small woman¡¯s cloak, an ancient coat full of holes, strange looping white robes which were also too small and which I couldn¡¯t figure out how to wear besides, another dress, a bone club, a bowl, a cup, a wimple, and the little brass bell. If this was a necromancer¡¯s gear he¡¯d brought his wife with him on their day out. Or the necromancer was the wife. Why they¡¯d abandoned all their winter gear in a room underground? No idea. Perhaps they hadn¡¯t had a choice, or one of their warlock friends had been storing it for them. Some of the gear didn¡¯t look like the sort of thing you¡¯d let leave your mansion. Their was a tapestry as old as the coat which cracked and fell apart when I unrolled it; what little of it remained depicted a shadowy woman whispering into a man¡¯s ear. There was a beautiful set of tiny iridescent antlers carved from opals, and of course the human skull. I didn¡¯t know how to use a skull, but I knew a good one when I saw it. The bone was pure white, unblemished by scratches or time. The jaw was somehow attached without wire or sinew and not a single tooth was missing. The proportions were perfect. As though it were the skull all other skulls were based upon and but mere imitations of. There were no wonders I could perform with such a thing and so I set it aside, but true perfection was a magic of its own. Where the magi sought living gold, this necromancer had sought a living skull and found it. It made my skin crawl. The flute was also made of bone. I liked playing music as much as the next guy, though not nearly as much as the delta folk, but there was no level of enchantment which would give me cause to play it. It had probably been used to summon the dead as the bell and gown had been used to ensnare them. And there was a magic nearly as dark as the warlocks¡¯. At least, that¡¯s what I assumed what the nightgown was for. A form for an ethereal passenger. I knew some vain sorts found it easier to wear clothing which shaped them rather than shaping their clothing with a body worth showing, but the gown was a step above even that. It didn¡¯t have any clasps or openings, it would have to be pulled on and over every inch of skin. The dress had worked and was still working as a sort of shawl. Perhaps the gown would work as a helmet. I placed the wire structure on my head so I could feel silly for a few seconds before I placed it with the rest of the rejects. Not all tools could be used by all craftsmen. There had been an apple under the nightgown. It was delicious and surprisingly hale for a fruit that had to be at least a month old. The colder air of the underground must have helped. Next were three potions with three unknown runes. Seeing as I was still ¡°wearing¡± the dress, I merely ran my hand over each in turn to decipher them. The first depicted a man staring up at the north star; a potion which could sense directions. The second showed a crowd of people and animals all staring at a speaker in their centre; a potion of translation. I couldn¡¯t tell from the picture whether it would work for text as well. The third showed a swarm of butterflies arrayed like the ripples in a pond. I had no idea what it was supposed to do. Perhaps the rune itself had been incomprehensible. I kept it anyway. Without the dream seed my pouch had plenty of room. Next were the weapons: a longbow, a cutlass, and a lance. The cutlass and a lance felt like a deliberate mirror of my own weapons, though both were far larger. The cutlass was covered in spikes, some of which curved back round to dig into whatever hand might rest of the pommel, and the blade was far heavier than the rest of it. Even with my strength it was uncomfortable to wield and the balance was so bad I feared putting my elbow out swinging it. The lance was far more practical, but was still a lance. Unless I found a way to mount one of those beetles or the chimera decided it believed in second chances, it was of little use to me. The longbow was a longbow without arrows. Useless without my magic, but potentially a great boon to me in time. Carrying it would be a bit of a problem. Given what a failure the handcannon had been, I threaded its handle back through my belt and decided to carry the longbow in my off hand instead. I could drop it before combat if need be. The drinking horn was nice, but it was far too large, and far less practical than my waterskins. That left a grimoire, the chain, the manacles and a metal file. I reached for the metal file first, and a strange thing happened. My fingers refused to close around it. It wasn¡¯t like there was an invisible barrier, or a force pushing back against my hand¡ªthere was no strain involved¡ªmy hand simply stopped obeying me once it got near. I nudged the file with my boot and it moved as would be expected. I tried to pick it up again and my hand stopped. I was wearing both gloves and boots. It wasn¡¯t like it was avoiding skin contact. I sat in front of the file and brought both my feet around to try to pinch it and lift it upward. They both stopped before making contact. Aha! I returned to my crouch and leaned over to flick the file with my hand. It spun on the spot. For some reason the necromancer had made it impossible to pick up. Fine. I¡¯d leave it for now. My swords were faster than a file anyway. I ran the chain through my fingers instead. It was one chain, not multiple like I¡¯d thought earlier. Just long and twisted enough to create the illusion. Chains had their uses, but none right now, and I didn¡¯t have room to carry it. I picked up the book next. Not a grimoire at all it turned out. The unknown text on the cover transformed into a full-page illustration of a merchant woman curtsying to a noble as the noble sipped tea on her porch. It was a book of etiquette. Why had the necromancer had that? I eyed the nightgown and the manacles again. I¡¯d thought they were a weird choice for binding the undead. Had he been hoping for a wife? A maid? Is that why there was all the women¡¯s clothes lying around? Did ghosts need warm winter gear? I flipped the book open. I couldn¡¯t understand any of the text, but one of the pages already had a picture. It was of a stern looking woman standing before a tea table with her student sitting across from her. The instructor had a wooden spoon in her hand and had an expression half way between fear and astonishment on her face. Creepy. What was causing her to look like that? I followed her gaze down to the student who was¡ª LXV - The Necromancers Etiquette Lessons I found my self sitting in a dainty wooden chair with a teacup in hand directly in front of a very angry woman in a ridiculous broad brimmed hat. ¡°Come to gloat have you? And what do you think you¡¯re wearing? Tattered armour? A poorly done up scarf? Leather gloves? At a tea party? What will your parents think? Do warlocks even have parents? If they do I¡¯ll strangle them both and order their bodies to tear you to pieces. What do you think of that? It would be very poetic. Those who brought you into the world being the one who removed you from it. And maybe I could dress your body in some proper clothes for the funeral. None of... whatever that is. A nice autumn houppelande to go with your skin. Or a simple purple tunic to go with your hair.¡± She whacked the spoon into her palm. ¡°No that wouldn¡¯t work. Purple is too good for you. Besides, it would look terrible. Maybe if I ordered the revenants to tear off your hair we would have something to work with. A green dress to remember you by. That might work. Your appearance is a nightmare. Green hair, red eyes, and golden skin? What were your parents thinking?¡± I was tried to block out the instructors words so I could focus on getting a grip on my sudden change in surroundings. ¡°Listen to me while I¡¯m speaking girl! And stop slouching. Open your eyes this instant or I¡¯ll summon spirits to devour your soul!¡± It wasn¡¯t working. My ring revealed wooden floorboards, silk table cloth, fine oak chairs, silver cutlery, tea in porcelain cups and little biscuits next to the tea. I grabbed one and shoved it into my mouth for an excuse not to talk while I opened my eyes and took a quick look around. I was on a p¡ª ¡°Oi! Who taught you how to eat? A starving rat?¡± The lady¡¯s eyes flashed green with anger. Actually flashed. I could see little transparent wisps trailing after them as her head moved. And she was moving because¡ª ¡°Ow!¡± She¡¯d hit me with her spoon. ¡°You deserve that and more for trapping me here you bastard.¡± She hit me again. ¡°Ow!¡± I raised a hand to ward off the next blow. With my armour and skin the pain was from shock rather than any real injury. She probably wouldn¡¯t even leave a bruise if she stabbed me with the knife. ¡°Hands in your lap girl! Back straight, shoulders back, head raised. Let me see that neck of yours!¡± I hunkered down. She¡¯d probably strangle me if she could. Speaking of which, a quick once over with my ring confirmed what I already knew. My armour was still my armour. My body was still my body, and there were no girls in sight. The woman¡ªwho was almost certainly the necromancer¡ªand I were acting out the scene from the etiquette book I¡¯d been reading a moment ago, but we¡¯d not been forced into the forms of the figures. At least I hadn¡¯t. The necromancer looked identical to what I remembered of the drawing. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. The spoon collided with the back of my head. ¡°Eyes forward! None of that vacant staring. What would your mother think if we were meeting with her friends?¡± The necromancer (whether or not they were actually a necromancer was still a matter of speculation, but the ¡°raised my parents from the dead to devour me¡± was a point in theory¡¯s favour) seemed to have embraced the role more than I had. How long had she been here? ¡°I¡¯m not a warlock,¡± I said as I straightened in my chair, ¡°were you trapped by them as well?¡± My ring showed her eyes widening in shock. She stalked around to the other side of the table and collapsed into the seat. A tea cup was raised with perfect dainty form to her lips. Nearly perfect. Her hand holding the saucer was shaking. ¡°Don¡¯t stare it¡¯s rude,¡± she admonished, but there was no venom in it this time, ¡°are you really another of their prisoners?¡± I spread my arms wide so she could take in my tattered clothes, wild hair, and odd colourations in their full glory, ¡°I can¡¯t prove anything, but I think my appearance speaks for itself.¡± She nodded as she sipped her tea, ¡°I did wonder about that. It¡¯s dreadful. I was sincere about the houppelande. You can find it in the sewing chamber.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know where the¡ª¡± this time it was my own thoughts which interrupted me. I did know where the sewing chamber was. I somehow knew the layout of the whole house. She raised a severe eyebrow, ¡°Out with it girl. Finish your sentences or don¡¯t speak at all.¡± ¡°I just realized I know the layout of this place inside and out. It¡¯s quite the revelation.¡± The necromancer placed her tea cup back on the table, ¡°It gets worse. So, who are you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m Oswic of Blackbridge, Darkswallower of Bleakfort. But listen, I must have some time alone. I¡¯m a Magus and I have a spell I need to write immediately.¡± She sniffed, ¡°How rude. But... very well. I¡¯ll go fetch those clothes I was talking about and see if I can¡¯t tailor them to fit your,¡± she sniffed again, ¡°your uncultured frame. Do what you must.¡± I didn¡¯t waste any time. The moment she stood I pulled about my book and started writing. Push IIII One of the flowers off of the patio flattened into the dirt. Thankfully the necromancer had yet to return. Push V: Push an object with 700lbs of force for up to an hour. The sun rose. That was convenient. The plan was to create a spell which could lift the next ruby beetles I came across into the air. If I couldn¡¯t overwhelm their strength perhaps I could at least prevent them from moving. Push IIII Push V. Another flower was reduced to paste. Push VI: Push an object with 1400lbs of force for up to an hour. The necromancer was impatiently tapping her foot when I finished. She had been for some time if her stare was any indication, but I hadn¡¯t noticed. After the wails and laughter of the dungeon the sudden quiet of the patio made recording without distraction trivial. I smiled at her, ¡°All done.¡± She tutted with a frown, ¡°Hardly an appropriate hobby for a lady of standing. Magi are almost entirely old men. What would the neighbours say if they saw you keeping company with them?¡± She thrust out the promised houppelande, ¡°Put this on. I won¡¯t hear any arguments from you. I can barely stand to look at you in that clown¡¯s get up.¡± ¡°Even if it means breaking free from here?¡± Her eyes wavered and her lips trembled, ¡°Even then,¡± she said softly. I took the houppelande. LXVI - Desperate and Brave It took me nearly 15 minutes to change. Houppelandes and other gowns were popular among the older Magi, but I¡¯d always been one for tunics and trousers. Robes had a way of snagging on bushes and tracking dirt everywhere. Plus they were far heavier than a standard forester¡¯s faire. My belt went over top of the gown along with all its accoutrements. It might have impacted whatever fashion statement I was supposed to make, but it was better than losing access to my weapons. I wasn¡¯t convinced the necromancer was safe to be around. I also kept my tattered tunic on underneath. The hole wasn¡¯t as bad as I¡¯d remembered it being so it was nearly presentable even if it was a little tight. The sun hadn¡¯t moved in the sky the whole time I¡¯d been here. Neither had the tea in both of our cups cooled nor the teapot run out. The necromancer was sipping from hers when I returned. She raised her carefully arched eyebrow, ¡°Better. Terrible, but better all the same. Perhaps you¡¯re not entirely hopeless. Sit.¡± I sat. Not like that! Hands should be in your lap when you¡¯re not holding something.¡± I raised my left hand, ¡°I¡¯m holding my bow.¡± She reached across and rapped my knuckles with her spoon. Now that I was ready for it I barely felt it, ¡°Longbows are not appropriate for tea.¡± I smiled at her. Once I got used to it, the sheer ridiculousness of our situation was kind of fun. So the bells, manacles, chains, nightgown; you¡¯re a necromancer?¡± Far too forward. Ease into the topic next time. But yes, you are correct. I was a necromancer.¡± I shook my head, ¡°Necromancers, Magi, I¡¯m pretty sure I ran into a sorceress at one point. What are the warlocks up to?¡± A fan appeared the necromancer¡¯s hand and she began to fan herself. It was rather warm. I almost wished I had one myself. Almost. A bit of sweating and discomfort was worth it after the dungeon¡¯s chill. I couldn¡¯t tell you. I was captured by the warlocks some four years ago now. They kept me in chains in one of their cells. They thought it would be enough to take away my cornum and ethers. But I can whistle as well as I play,¡± she looked over both shoulders then covered her mouth with her hand so I couldn¡¯t see her lips, ¡°And there was plenty of,¡± her voice now dropped to a whisper, ¡°corpses around.¡± She straightened and dropped her hand, ¡°Escape was trivial once I drew enough... assistance. I¡¯d hidden some needles in the sleeves of my robes which I used to permanently bind them, and once away I summoned the voice of the stones to guide me free from the place.¡± I took a sip of the tea. It seemed like the warlocks had increased security sometime after her escape, perhaps even because of it. I hadn¡¯t been left with any clothes to smuggle anything with, let alone a mouth free enough to make noise. What stopped you?¡± Her eyes tightened and her lips curved briefly downward into the beginning of a frown. She caught herself from delivering whatever the reflexive admonishment would be so I didn¡¯t learn which social norm I¡¯d transgressed this time. I¡¯m still not entirely sure. I was in the process of binding a servant. I¡¯d found a chest of women¡¯s clothes so I constructed a vessel and an offering for her using the wire wrapped around the lining of my cloak.¡± She¡¯d been allowed to keep her cloak? And they¡¯d barely patted her down from the sound of it. The worst part was unlike her I hadn¡¯t been prepared for being kidnapped in the slightest. They could have avoided risking me freezing to death without a concern in the world. The necromancer continued, ¡°The spirit was in my manacles and nearly bound to the vessel when I found myself being pulled into the vessel instead. I soon found myself sitting in that very chair,¡± she extended a pinky towards me, ¡°and being yelled at by a most unpleasant woman. When I finally graduated from her ministrations I resolved in myself to be a far kinder teacher than she ever was.¡± She sniffed, ¡°I like to think I succeeded.¡± It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. She laughed suddenly, and her face transformed. There was a sparkle in her eye and the creases across her forehead eased. She sounded young. She was young. Younger than me. She raised her hand to her mouth to cover her smile, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I haven¡¯t had much to laugh about for the last few years. Endless lessons and endless admonishments mostly. But it is true. I¡¯ve treated you far kinder than my old mistress.¡± I grinned in return. She looked far more pleasant this way, ¡°And what might I call you?¡± Her face snapped back to disapproving wrinkles so fast I jumped, ¡°You may call me Mistress or ma¡¯am, depending on the situation.¡± I crossed my arms. Necromancers specialized in information and the slow binding of followers to their service. Given time to prepare they were a nightmare, but here, I had nothing to fear from her. I¡¯m not doing that. I¡¯m your best chance out of here. We¡¯re equals or I leave without you.¡± Anger flashed in her eyes, but at the same time a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Creepy. Normally it was the other way around. Very well. You may call me Attart. It is not my name, was not my name, but it will do.¡± Pleasure to meet you Attart. Here I thought you¡¯d be called Claennis or Winfred.¡± Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Attart¡¯s lips puckered and she waved her spoon threateningly, ¡°And that is what happens if you assume. You make a fool of yourself.¡± Then her face relaxed into that young smile for a second time, ¡°Although... my given name in my native tongue is much the same. Which is why you¡¯ll not hear it from my lips.¡± I laughed. I couldn¡¯t help myself. It wasn¡¯t even that funny, but everything felt warm and easy under the light of the sun. Even laughter. Anger flashed in the necromancer¡¯s eyes once again, but this time she bit her lip and the moment passed. Holding back another reprimand? Was it her or the cursed book making them in the first place? The best way to acknowledge her struggle was probably to not acknowledge it at all. Tell me what you know of this place.¡± Attart raised her fan to cover her mouth and her eye did the quirk thing again. Governess Attart, could you please tell me about this place?¡± Snap! She closed her fan. Much better. Listen carefully girl: This terrace is located at the centre of our manor. The manor is quite large with nine wings in all. None of them quite line up with the other which is undoubtedly a deliberate choice of the warlocks?¡± Her voice raised at the end of a sentence which was clearly not a question. I recognized the affection. It was common for Magi to be consulted on the more esoteric reaches of nature and reality. It is a sign of chaos and to an extent both lesser and greater, dark magic. I suspect it wasn¡¯t the warlocks themselves who trapped you here nor constructed this prison but rather the dark influence of Bleakfort itself. I myself have found casting spells leads to nonsensical results at times, and it has gotten worse the further I¡¯ve descended.¡± Attart nodded once sharply, ¡°Very well. Nine wings as a reflection of the chaos which binds us here. Darkness even. You did say you were titled Darkswallower? How did you come by that name?¡± I winced. I wasn¡¯t particularly fond of the title, though I¡¯d never say it for fear of the orc hearing. It didn¡¯t roll off the tongue nor match my others, but it did mark me as an enemy of the warlocks as fast as possible, which had been the point. Maybe it would grow on me. The orcneas Goreswallower granted it to me upon hearing of my exploits. I killed Neferiti... Nef¡ªNef-someone the Shadowmaster, one of the warlocks who trapped me.¡± Attart let out a scandalized gasp and raised her hand to her mouth, ¡°That is not a proper topic of conversation for a young man! Not in polite company!¡± Her jaw snapped shut like a crocodile¡¯s, like she was forcing it closed, and her benign smile resumed. I was beginning to see the vaguest of hints that her time spent in this etiquette book hadn¡¯t been kind on her sanity. But she seemed to be fighting back. Young man instead of girl. I wasn¡¯t young, but she was clearly fighting against the script of a governess and her ward. Perhaps the book was recording our conversation anew. I waited, and sure enough, a moment later she resumed her explanation as if nothing had happened, ¡°I¡¯ve explored the entire manor. You can go anywhere. You can even go to the grounds of the household and beyond. You can go as far as you like, talk to who you like, but you¡¯ll always end up back here.¡± There are other people here?¡± The proprietress of the grounds, various servants, my charge before you, passing travellers and merchants.¡± Who am I?¡± A student studying under the proprietress. She is an unusual and wealthy merchant. Doubled her fortune since her husband died.¡± Where are we?¡± Someways south of the Vineyards. Near the coast. I made several trips to the Barbarian Lands and the Delta from the nearby port. Even made it to the Delta once.¡± What happened?¡± I fell asleep. Or my mind drifted off. Or I took a wrong turn. Like I said, I ended up back here,¡± she tapped the table, ¡°put the cup down, you never want to look like you¡¯re too thirsty or hungry.¡± I set the teacup down and picked up one of the scones. I¡¯d already broken the cardinal rule of no food or drink when dealing with strange realms. I hadn¡¯t even thought of it. But now, ready for an acorn; ready for an oak. The scone tasted like not fish, so I forgave it for being made of corn. So are we on the surface or inside the book?¡± I couldn¡¯t tell you. Time doesn¡¯t change here, but it does elsewhere. I watched the sun from sunrise to sunset once to be sure.¡± What about other things? Have you moved the table around? Redecorated your chambers?¡± The necromancer covered her mouth and leaned forward with a whisper, ¡°I burned the manor down on my first day here.¡± She leaned back with a scandalized look on her face. Her cheeks were faintly red on her pale skin. I whistled, impressed, ¡°Day one? You didn¡¯t try anything else first.¡± Speak no more of it. Arson is hardly a topic befitting young ladies,¡± she tutted, but this time I could see the twinkle in her eye. She gestured at the surrounding building with her fan, ¡°Besides, it didn¡¯t do anything.¡± I winked at her and leaned back in my chair. That earned me a bop to the top of my head, but I ignored it. I shielded my eyes as a shadow passed by and squinted up against the sun to study the albatross, ¡°What else did you try?¡± All number of things. Running away. More... housewarming parties. Talking to the citizens with demands. Begging. A noose. None of it worked, though I do have a contingency prepared.¡± Go on.¡± She tapped her bodice just below her collar bone, ¡°You saw the nightgown in the dungeon. I made an exact replica of it here and bound the spirit to my own soul. I never take it off.¡± After four years?¡± Her eyes flashed, ¡°It is improper to question a lady on her hygiene! One must simply hold their nose and exclude them from future gatherings once they have left. And my nightgown is refreshed whenever I return to this place. Everything is.¡± I raised my hands, longbow in one, scone in the other, ¡°I apologize for asking.¡± Her face scrunched up in exasperated anger, a different sort from the cold fury earlier. It was kind of cute. She turned away and lifted her fan so she couldn¡¯t see me and took several steadying breaths. She lowered the fan, ¡°The point being, in the dungeon lies all the tools to summon a specific spirit. When she is summoned, I will be summoned along with her. If death cannot resist necromancy this book won¡¯t be able to either.¡± Wouldn¡¯t you be summoned without your body? And under the control of whomever bound you?¡± She nodded, ¡°Both temporary problems. The larger is the fusion of my soul, but that has already occurred and cannot be undone.¡± So you and the spirit...¡± We¡¯re one and the same. I tried the noose first.¡± It was only on the second mention of her suicide attempts I felt the call of Elysium. Or rather, it¡¯s absence. It could not be felt here, even with the sundering of the mosaic, and she¡¯d attempted it anyway. You¡¯re very brave.¡± She sagged somewhat, as if under a heavy weight, ¡°Desperate.¡± Desperate and brave. We¡¯ll find a way out of here. I already have several in mind.¡± LXVII - Maguss Escape I have several potions which may be of use, as well as a number of powerful items¡ª¡± The necromancer nodded eagerly, ¡°Your little spear. May I see it?¡± I had been about to mention my dark magic spells, but on reflection it was probably best not to mention them unless necessary. Attart had seemed on edge in regard to the warlocks already. She¡¯d been quick to trust me, but quick to trust was also quickly betrayed. I pulled the Dead King¡¯s spear from my belt and handed it over to her. She shuddered when she touched it, ¡°Oh this, this has history. Where ever did you find it?¡± She removed her gloves. I noticed her nails were perfectly manicured. Without waiting for my response she began to mutter, ¡°You are a strange one, aren¡¯t you? Deader than dead. It feels as though a thousand spirits are bound inside, and yet at the same time: empty.¡± She placed it on the tea table between us and started muttering words in an unknown language. Every few syllables her pinky finger would daintily dip into her teacup and then she would trace symbols in tea around it. It was a gift from the Dead King for visiting his court...¡± I trailed off. Her skin was already more than fashionably pale. Her broad hat didn¡¯t let the sun touch an inch of her face and I suspected the arts of necromancy and soul binding also took their toll. Upon hearing the Dead King¡¯s name she¡¯d somehow gotten even paler.¡± She wiped her pinky firmly with an embroidered napkin and re-donned her gloves. Then she pushed the spear back across the table toward me. Mortals risk enough as it is gazing upon the Dead King¡¯s works. I am half spirit already. I hope even that half-hearted summoning hasn¡¯t earned me his ire.¡± I hefted the lancegay in my hand. The smell of blood emanating from it once again washed over me. I guess I¡¯d grown used to the smell. Can we use it? I wasn¡¯t sure why, but she covered her mouth again with her hand, ¡°We can. But there is a risk.¡± So we make it our last resort?¡± Attart waved her hand back and forth, ¡°That is up to you. I wasn¡¯t always,¡± she gestured to herself and her outfit entire, ¡°like this. The longer you stay here, the more it changes you. And it is faster at first.¡± I patted at the top of my own head half expecting to find a replica of her towering hat. She giggled, ¡°Not that fast, but we don¡¯t want to delay.¡± My mind began racing. Right. I always thought slower under pressure. Which potions... I pulled free my potion depicting the North Star and my potion of ascension. The first potion may reveal a path out of here. The second may allow the drinker to escape entirely on its own.¡± Her eyes locked on the second potion, ¡°But there is only one of them.¡± My ring¡¯s focus was already on my spellbook if she tried anything, ¡°There is only one.¡± She rubbed her chin, ¡°So you could drink it, and then summon me once you yourself are free.¡± I relaxed. If I can figure out how to summon you. And the summoning works. And you¡¯d only be a spirit.¡± Her spoon bonked my forehead, ¡°Don¡¯t slouch! Shoulders back, chin up! Come on girl! Like people are watching!¡± I straightened. She settled back in her own chair and continued, ¡°Much better. As I said before, being a spirit would only be temporary. I¡¯ve been practising possessing... the posses-able.¡± Bodies. Living or dead, each worse than the other. Another of your escape plans?¡± And a contingency for when I was summoned.¡± Necromancy wasn¡¯t an inherently evil art, but as evidenced by the manacles I¡¯d found next to the book, seldom was the necromancer who didn¡¯t walk a dark path. In fact, I¡¯d never heard of one. Maybe I¡¯d be best served drinking the ascension potion and abandoning her. But who was I to judge? I¡¯d killed in cold blood. I¡¯d used dark magic numerous times. For all I knew she¡¯d gotten the manacles from the warlocks and only done her possession spells in this simulacrum of reality. I hoped it was a simulacrum. She must have noticed my expression because she nodded approvingly, ¡°If you don¡¯t have anything nice to say, don¡¯t say it all, but if your face is going to make that expression you might as well shout it from the roof tops. Cover you mouth with something girl! Do you have a fan?¡± I smoothed my fingers and shook my head clear. I wasn¡¯t about to abandon her. Not without a more provable cause. Attart tutted and flicked her right hand forward. A second fan skidded across the table and slid to a stop right at the edge. Always carry a fan. Always. They can cover many a social gaffe. I carry two.¡± I dropped my longbow to pick up the fan and cover my face, ¡°What happened to the people you possessed?¡± Attart sighed, ¡°You really are a Magi. Always asking, never taking. The people were fine. Possession does not need to mean control. I merely hitched a ride alongside their bodies. When I found myself back in my body in the garden again they suffered no ill effects. They even had no knowledge of my actions beyond perhaps a few strange dreams.¡± I glanced up at the albatross. She raised a finger before I could interrupt, ¡°Possession and dreams are a far more natural process than many have been led to believe. Gods possess us. Dreams possess us. Possessions become dreams. Passions are dreams are possessions. It is the rare person who is not possessed. We are vessels for crowds of spirits, not a singular consciousness. Consciousness itself rises from the unity.¡± I hid my own sigh behind my fan, which I¡¯m pretty sure meant I was now better mannered than she was, ¡°The warlocks offered me their own justifications for their unnatural arts. Convincing ones. They spoke of the natural order as if it was inescapable. As if anything they were permitted to do under nature was natural.¡± Is it not?¡± It isn¡¯t,¡± she frowned at my contraction, ¡°Sorry, it ain¡¯t.¡± I intercepted the spoon with the edge of my fan and offered her my most winning smile, ¡°For a similar reason to your disapproval just now. Proprietary makes certain demands, even when we are free to do else-wise. I don¡¯t know about your rules of etiquette, but natural actions, harmonious and good actions, are not done for others. Others may judge you based on your true versus dark magic, or true versus dark actions, but their judgment means little. The true costs and benefits are to your self. There is no evil action which harms no one, no victimless crime if the crime is true, for the victim is your own soul.¡± That doesn¡¯t mean my necromancy is unnatural.¡± I put the fan on the table and picked back up my bow, ¡°It doesn¡¯t. It also doesn¡¯t mean dark magic is unnatural. I¡¯ve been having a difficult month.¡± Another series of giggles escaped her lips. Stone in sand she was far too cute for a necromancer, ¡°So you¡¯ll still help me escape?¡± I will. Let¡¯s see about that North Star potion.¡± *** North Star? The lights line up exactly with the star I was staring at through the roof overhanging the boardwalk. I can¡¯t say I¡¯m surprised, but that confirms it. The potion lets you see the North Star wherever you are.¡± Attart fanned at my will-¡¯o-wisps, ¡°Don¡¯t surprise me girl! Give some warning before you cast a spell.¡± I flew the compass at her face which granted me a scowl and two more spoons upside the head, ¡°You can¡¯t convince me that is a real rule. How many ladies know magic?¡± She tutted, ¡°Etiquette isn¡¯t a series of rules. Haven¡¯t I taught you anything? It is a moral framework. Don¡¯t be crass, don¡¯t surprise other or bring up difficult concept at light gatherings; that kind of thing.¡± Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Sounds like a lot of rules to me.¡± She hit me with her spoon again, ¡°Your skull is nearly as thick as you are. I¡¯m going to need to find a heavier spoon.¡± She sounded serious, but between the teeth grinding and physical assault I caught the occasional smile. She was enjoying my antics. It was why I was doing them. Had she shown distress I would have stopped, but my guess was that after four years in this place a break from the rigid norms was welcome. Even if she could only express it through reprimands. There¡¯s not enough spoons in all nine wings of the manor. Nor the whole world.¡± There are other worlds,¡± she said darkly, ¡°Worlds of wailing and gnashing bone. Frozen wastes where even demons fear to tread. There are terrors enough in other realms to teach even you manners.¡± She probably appreciated the break. I pulled out the unlabelled round bottle I¡¯d gotten from somewhere and the crystal bottle wrapped in gold wire Tom and I had found in the dwarves stash. For good measure I put the potion of Mirror Image and Pincers beside them. Before we try the Ascension or the Dead King¡¯s lance, I have two potions of unknown effect and potions of Mirror Image and Pincers. I don¡¯t know how any of them can help, but if you are can come up with something, I¡¯m willing to try.¡± Elbows off the table! What does a potion of Mirror Image or Pincers do?¡± No idea. I also have this swarm of butterflies potion here,¡± I pulled out the translated vial and showed it to her if you have any clue what that means.¡± Much to my surprise, she did. Harmony Swarm. See the way they all ripple outward from a central spot? It is like the¡ª¡± the sun rose¡ª resonance of sound between anvils.¡± Harmony Swarm. It fit the picture perfectly even without the confirmation of the sun¡¯s new light. I¡¯d been trying to decipher meaning rather than vague suggestion and so had failed to see the obvious. It sounded like a dark magic spell. If there were two of the potions perhaps we could bind our spirits together, allowing us both to escape.¡± She pointed at the Mirror Image potion, ¡°That as well. I may be able to follow you if I drank it before you ascended.¡± That will be our last resort. I don¡¯t want to leave you behind if I can avoid it.¡± Even after the lance?¡± I¡¯ll try the lance first. Provided you think it has some chance of success. I¡¯m still not sure how you think it can be used.¡± I actually had a notion, but I was being polite. Maybe the book was rubbing off on me. She confirmed it a moment later, ¡°Stab the realm. The lance is death and undoing, not just a representation. What you pierce with it should die, even curses and enchantment. Especially ones this large.¡± But the question is, what happens to us if the realm collapses?¡± Attart nodded, ¡°That¡¯s why I think it should be a last resort.¡± We¡¯ll stab it and drink the potions at the same time. Best of both worlds,¡± I decided, ¡°So, do you want to drink the unknown potions, or shall we move on to another plan?¡± One each?¡± she asked. She¡¯d already tried suicide. Why not spit in the tempest¡¯s eye? I held them both up to her, ¡°Which one?¡± She took the crystal bottle, leaving me with the large round one. Cheers,¡± I downed my potion. Attart sipped hers with pinky extended. A shudder went through Attart. She closed her eyes slowly, like one falling asleep. Meanwhile I was being assaulted by a tugging sensation in every direction. It was as if I was surrounded by magnets, or little a thousand little hooks were tugging me along a thousand invisible lines. Only the skies above me were clear. Some of the lines even ran down into the earth itself. The very strongest came from the chair I was sitting in. What under ever-changing skies¡ª Is it really that easy?¡± Attart asked dreamily. Clearly she had her own problems to deal with. I focused on the chair. The sensation, now with my full attention, stopped. Instead my mind was filled with knowledge. Another sitting in the chair before me. A young woman in far too many layers of cloth and silk with a hat nearly as mad as the one Attart wore. Her throat was slit. I leapt from my chair like it was on fire. Another vision hit me¡ªa vision which was not a vision. I didn¡¯t see anything, I remembered it¡ªthis of the same woman, throat still slit, sitting back upright. Her eyes were locked straight ahead staring at someone. Necromancy. I spun about to the sensation behind me: Poison in the tea. The student in the layers slumped over on the table, a knife in her back. A knife to her throat while Attart screamed in her ear. And then next to the table: A crowd of servants being overwhelmed by a second crowd of their peers. The second crowd wasn¡¯t moving right. They were reluctant and sure at the same time. Many had visible wounds which should have been fatal. Whenever a member of the first crowd fell, they¡¯d rise a moment later to join the second. I¡¯d barely moved from where I¡¯d landed upon leaping to my feet. I was suddenly, painfully aware of the thousand hooks digging into me. Have mercy,¡± I whispered. Let me see,¡± murmured Attart. Her clothes vanished. I stared. I guess those etiquette lessons hadn¡¯t sunk in after all. Thank the wisdom of the seasons she wasn¡¯t as old as she acted. A blink later and she was clothed, this time in a coat and breeches with a travelling hat on top. All were as black as a moonless night. Attart looked down at her getup with a critical eye and a mue of concentration. A red cloak fell down about her shoulders. She smiled. What do you think?¡± The hooks were still pulling at me. The memory of her body still lingered. The impossibility of her clothes had me reeling. It was a lot to take in at once. How... what ha¡ªhow are you doing that?¡± She smiled, ¡°It is a dream. I do not know why I did not realize sooner. All I need to do is direct it. Control it.¡± Attart raised her right hand to her side and pointed in the direction of a large oak tree. A door appeared. A normal wooden door like the one which had guarded my cellar back in Blackbridge standing in the middle of a garden. The door swung open. A checker-board floor in a dimly lit room revealed itself. I could make out two piles of gear. The necromancer¡¯s¡ªAttart¡¯s¡ªgear I¡¯d discarded earlier, and a pile of my own gear. The very gambeson and trousers I¡¯d been wearing earlier. Is it real?¡± I asked. The dream is real,¡± Attart replied, which wasn¡¯t a real answer. She¡¯d make a good Magus, ¡°Let us hurry. I do not know how long this potion will last.¡± I glanced back to the room where I¡¯d changed and left my armour and clothes, then back to the very same armour and clothes through the portal. If this was my chance out of here, I¡¯d take that risk. I ran through the portal. Attart was at my heels. The tugging sensation changed the instant I crossed the boundary. My boots, belt, and bow vanished at the same time. The jelly floor sunk beneath my bare foot, then caught my face in its soft embrace. Attart skipped past me with merely a stumble. That is new,¡± she said. I didn¡¯t need my ring-sight to see that she was jumping up and down. The ripples rocking my head were enough to clue me in. Mmphble!¡± She laughed. Another ripple whipped across my face, ¡°Beg your pardon?¡± I rolled over onto my side and gasped for air, ¡°Stop!¡± She laughed again, ¡°Stop what? I am free! I cannot stop now!¡± Fireball Orange light flooded the room, but it was not my own. My spell had failed. Both my ring and my spellbook had vanished. My heart began to race. Oh,¡± Attart¡¯s peered down at me. A giggle slipped through her lips. She brought her fan to her mouth, ¡°Oh, I am so sorry. I did not realize,¡± she giggled again. There was a man leaning out of her. The bottom of his torso melded into hers, and his back vanished somewhere around her sternum. In his arm he held the source of the orange light; a lantern. I¡¯d not seen necromancy performed in many years and it looked as strange then as now. There was nothing to distinguish the living from the dead. Not to my eyes at least. My ring might think otherwise. I wobbled and jiggled onto my knees and shuffled over to the pile of my things. My ring was right on top, oak inside an acorn. The ring-sight provided some much needed stability. The ghost¡¯s lantern wavered every time Attart laughed or breathed. I sorted through my gear with my eyes closed until it was all laid out before me. I was only wearing the houppelande and my tunic, and only my tunic was missing from my pile of gear. Even the potions Attart and I had drank were still full to the brim. Ring-taste confirmed mine tasted the same as it had in the cursed book. Speaking of... My ring-sight wandered the pages of the fallen book of etiquette despite my best efforts. I ended the sense, but it was too late. I¡¯d already focused on the image of¡ªthere was no one there. Neither Attart, myself, nor any ladies were displayed. I reignited my ring-sight. Gone. The curse was broken. The curse is broken!¡± I cried. I held up the book triumphantly, ¡°I just read it over with my senses and it is inert.¡± I flipped it open on the page which had trapped me to prove it (which I immediately regretted. Not because anything bad happened, but because it was a pretty stupid thing to do without my spellbook or the dwarf potion firmly in my possession), ¡°See? The picture is blank.¡± Attart averted her gaze, ¡°I will take your word for it. I am not risking going back there.¡± I closed the book with a Snap! Is your man¡¯s flame there hot?¡± Attart removed her right glove and reached her arm around to feel the lantern. From where I was laying it looked almost like a lover¡¯s embrace. It is cold,¡± she stuck out her tongue, ¡°I was afraid of that. I bound all my spirits to the objects of the book¡¯s world, but it seems that has little sway in this realm. The dead cannot interact with the living without special bindings. Not without sacrifices.¡± I¡¯d figured as much, but I was not an expert in the field. I tossed the book to the far side of the room. Fireball This time it worked. The book was quickly consumed by the conflagration. So you can do magic!¡± I got us out of the book, didn¡¯t I?¡± I did. And that was because of potions. Potions which you could have found in the dungeon.¡± I summoned those lights earlier.¡± She waved her fan dismissively above her spirit¡¯s head, ¡°Conjurers tricks.¡± A conjurer would have an easier time creating fire than light on its own.¡± Attart clasped her hands together, and lifted her leg girlishly ¡°But the fire is ever so much more impressive.¡± I smiled at her. It was a little over the top, but she¡¯d earned it. After four years of rigid restraint I¡¯d have been behaving far more exuberantly. Would you please turn around while I change? All my clothes fell off when I went through the portal.¡± This time she laughed so hard she bent double, and her ghost spent most of the time I was changing illuminating the floor. LXVIII - Those Which Slipped Between ¡°The houppelande really does suit you better.¡± I dusted off my gambeson and readjusted the jade brooch so it offered more coverage of the left hole, ¡°It¡¯s not as protective. And it¡¯s far too bulky. It would snag on everything.¡± ¡°And the dress around you neck looks ridiculous.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯s fashionable somewhere.¡± Attart was studying the lance, cutlass, and club as she spoke. She¡¯d already retrieved the woman¡¯s cloak I¡¯d discarded, the skull, the bell, and the manacles. ¡°Best to avoid such places.¡± ¡°It¡¯s magical.¡± Attart snorted and plucked at her new cloak. It was the same shade of red her dream cloak was, ¡°So is this cloak, yet you threw it in a heap with the rest of my things.¡± I pulled back from the door I¡¯d been pressed against. The ghouls were gone. Or very, very, stealthy. ¡°It¡¯s magical? I didn¡¯t notice anything.¡± Attart gestured and a knight in chain armour burst through the wall in front of her, thundered toward her on his horse, bent low, and scooped up the lance before thundering through the opposite wall and disappearing. ¡°Clip all clop clip clop clip clop clip selves clip clop clip clop clip same clip wooOOOosh.¡± The rush of wind from his passage blasted over me, ¡°I beg your pardon?¡± ¡°Not all magical natures reveal themselves in the same fashion,¡± she repeated, ¡°My cloak is more akin to a sentient creature than a powerful enchantment. Observe the edges carefully.¡± There was something strange about it. The wind from knight¡¯s passage had already stilled, and yet her cloak still flapped subtly in the breeze. The breeze of a dungeon, hundreds or thousands of feet underground. The air was dead still. Still except for her cloak. How many ¡°sentient¡± items and otherwise had I abandoned? It didn¡¯t bear thinking about. ¡°Does it do more than flap in the wind?¡± ¡°Oh yes,¡± she spread her arms wide and the cloak flared behind her, ¡°It is a sympathetic cloak. It works in sync with its wearer, even when not being worn.¡± The cloak detached from her shoulders and fluttered around her in a circle before wrapping itself back around her. I jumped. A man had arrived precisely behind the cloak when it had spread out in front of Attart. Another of her ghosts. He wore little save for a loincloth and a lionskin. He was a wielding a large bone club with one hand identical to the one on the floor beside him. As I noticed him he gave a salute and then sunk into the floor without a trace. Attart¡¯s eyes twinkled, ¡°More importantly it is very warm. You are lucky you were not brought here in winter,¡± she gestured to the two scarves and the coat, ¡°Somehow the chill manages to get down here. I am not sure it is entirely natural.¡± Though she looked like a local, her name wasn¡¯t local at all. It reminded me of some of the languages far to the south-east of Bleakfort. I suspected the season had far less to do with her perceived change in temperature than whatever alterations the book had wrought to her body. It wasn¡¯t for me to speculate out loud. No one I¡¯d met had navigated the dungeon unchanged. That didn¡¯t mean I needed to hide the truth. ¡°It should be spring right now, if my reckoning is correct.¡± ¡°Spring?¡± she looked surprised, ¡°What year? My own track of time was somewhat confused by the sudden returns to the estate.¡± ¡°The first millennium. The year 1000. It¡¯s a lucky time to break free, eh?¡± I grinned at her. Attart neatly folded to the floor. Her cloak spread and furled about her like a flower closing for the night. ¡°1000? I thought it might be 997 at latest.¡± Conan and I had lost two weeks to our afternoon in Elysium. How long had my brief stint in the etiquette book cost me? Was it even the year 1000 after all? ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking, how old are you? No¡ªhow old do you think you should be, ignoring what I just told you? And what year were you born? It might help us figure how much time we¡¯ve lost, if any.¡± ¡°Twenty-five. I counted my birthdays as they happened. I am sure of it.¡± Twenty-five checked out. She looked young, but well past her teenage years. ¡°And the year you were born?¡± ¡°971.¡± Twenty-nine. I didn¡¯t even have to do the math. She was the same age as me. She was supposed to be the same age as me. ¡°So in four years, four more years than expected passed.¡± Her lips moved silently as she did the math and then nodded, ¡°So time moved half as fast there. Twice as fast out here.¡± I hoped it was so consistent. That would mean I only lost two or so hours. Attart only stared at the floor for a moment before grimacing, making a sour face, and then sticking out her tongue, ¡°I am going to have to tell everyone I am an old woman now,¡± she smiled, ¡°Do you think the clothes I left out on the line are dry yet?¡± I offered a smile of my own, but it felt weak. I knew the feeling too well, though in my case I lost four years to illness rather than magic. I didn¡¯t know which was worse. I still felt younger than my peers at times, but at least I wasn¡¯t physically. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. ¡°Depends if it rained last week or not.¡± Attart gave a polite laugh. She looked at the door I¡¯d come through, and then the archway the chimera had fled through, ¡°Where do we go next? I yawned. It had been getting late when I¡¯d been trapped by the book, and two hours had passed since then. Four hours by the sun. The real sun. Not the one which gave me my spells. Speaking of which¡ª ¡°I need to write another spell,¡± I raised a hand to forestall the questions I could see forming on her lips, ¡°it¡¯s not usual for Magi, it is something to do with the dungeon. I see the sun getting devoured if I don¡¯t. Nothing has come of it so far, but I don¡¯t want to push my luck.¡± I pointed at the archway, ¡°However, a chimera fled through that doorway shortly before I entered the cursed etiquette book. I don¡¯t think it is safe to hang around here.¡± Attart¡¯s eyes lit up, ¡°A chimera? I¡¯ve never even seen a wolf! Would it be safe to¡ªno probably not.¡± I couldn¡¯t help but laugh, ¡°The warlocks activated the Rift. The path to the surface is closed and the path to the caverns is open. You¡¯ll see more fantastic creatures than you can stomach as long as you are down here.¡± ¡°The path to the surface is closed?¡± her face fell, ¡°How do you plan to get out of here?¡± I beckoned for her to follow me a short ways down the hallway past the archway. ¡°Keep your light pointed down there and let me know if anything approaches, chimera or otherwise. I have a plan to get out of here, but I¡¯ll have to explain later,¡± I crouched down and pulled her down with me as I peered back around the corner, ¡°and don¡¯t mind the noise.¡± ¡°Noise? What noi¡ª¡± Sword Storm II The door was only wood. A sliding door it turned out, didn¡¯t even have hinges. It didn¡¯t stand a chance. Attart jumped beneath my hand. Her eyes were large and round under my ring sight. As were her¡ªI turned off every sense on my ring but the spider sense. This was the first time I¡¯d been close to another person since finding the ring. It was bad enough seeing and feeling myself naked everywhere I went. Combine that with seeing and tasting what she¡¯d had for tea an hour ago and you had a truly unpleasant juxtaposition. I turned my head to look back at the hallway behind Attart. Nothing had yet come to investigate the noise. I stood and started heading for the now broken door. My swords formed a vanguard ahead of me. Two down one hall, one and two fireballs down the other. If the ghouls were still waiting I¡¯d be ready. ¡°We¡¯re clear. This way.¡± Attart rushed to follow, ¡°How did you that?¡± she asked in a hushed tone, ¡°I thought Magi recorded every day actions.¡± I wiggled my fingers at her, ¡°Magic.¡± She slapped my shoulder, ¡°I should have brought my spoon.¡± I led her to the room with the large hex tiles and the river cutting through one corner. No ghouls revealed themselves. ¡°I met with some orcneas when I first escaped from my prison, do you know of them.¡± ¡°Yes indeed! They are enemies of the warlocks. I met with several myself. Fascinating creatures. That is how I got my cloak.¡± ¡°They offered me guidance in return for a favour, another one of my potions. They told me that there is a way through the caverns below. Once freed I can enter the fort and disable the rift.¡± ¡°The fort full of warlocks?¡± ¡°One problem at a time,¡± I took a sharp turn to my left, to the dead-end corridor I¡¯d found off of the hex room. Once at the end I parked all but one of my weapons in the corridor while I myself spun and sat on the crumbling flagstones. My final sword I left hovering above myself, in case one of the walls was less solid than it appeared. ¡°I¡¯ve got a spell to write. Unfortunately for you that means an hour of not distracting me unless there is an emergency. Is that alright?¡± Attart ran a gloved hand along wall, ¡°Quite alright. I am still revelling in my freedom. Would it disturb you if I consorted with the spirits of this place while you worked?¡± I retrieved my wax and spellbook, ¡°As long as you¡¯re not loud. If you can keep your lantern focused on me that would be a bonus. I can see by the light of the will-o¡¯-wisps, but I would appreciate the extra light. My fireballs won¡¯t last the full hour. Don¡¯t be alarmed when they go out.¡± Attart gestured and the man bearing the lantern stepped out of her to stand neatly inside the boundaries of the nearest flagstone. He fixed his light on my spellbook. ¡°Much obliged.¡± It was time to write. *** Push IIII. Push V. Push VI. The nature of the spells changed as I cast them. Push V was lost from my spellbook. Push VI doubled in strength while halving in time. That was fine. I could end the other spells early. It was wasteful, but the dungeon seemed to delight in combining disparate spell components in unexpected ways. I wouldn¡¯t give it the opportunity. The wall I set my spells against groaned. Then shifted. Then gave. A large stone in the centre slid free under the force of my spell. I heard it crash into whatever space lay beyond, a room past the wall directly behind me. I shifted my seat and set a fireball over the entrance. The space was big enough for a man to crawl through. Attart gestured and a second ghost appeared in the entrance with his lantern pointing out into the space. I returned to my spell before my focus wavered entirely. Attart was a necromancer with four years of preparation for this moment. She could handle it. Push VII: Push an object with 4200lbs of force for up to half an hour. The moment my spell was done I rose to get a look down the tunnel Attart¡¯s ghost was guarding. ¡°I¡¯m finished,¡± I said. I recognized the room lit by the ghosts lantern. My spell had accidentally forced a hole into the low ceilinged room full of traps. No spiders or trogodytes were looking back at me and the hole I¡¯d made was actually wider than the tunnel I¡¯d carved. It would have been a blessing if not for the fact I now had serious questions about the stability of the entire dungeon. Two tons of force was a lot of force, but it shouldn¡¯t have been enough to push through a ten foot thick wall. ¡°Does spell writing normally cause so much noise?¡± Attart asked politely, ¡°I did not see any trees explode when you were in the garden, but perhaps you were out of sorts?¡± I yawned, ¡°Depends on the pen. You should see me with a quill.¡± Attart peered down at my book, ¡°The page is blank.¡± I held up my bar of wax, ¡°The wax is clear. It means I can¡¯t read the spell directly from my spellbook, but Magi rarely do that anyway.¡± ¡°Should we be concerned about the hole?¡± I shook my head and dusted off my trousers, ¡°It¡¯s fine. It was the way I was planning to go in the first place. Actually a better path than sloshing through that stream over there. I can dry my shoes easily enough, but I don¡¯t know if you can.¡± The sun rose. I was never going to get any sleep, was I? It hadn¡¯t been this persistent since my battle with the ogre. ¡°The spirit I consulted mentioned a safe space back the way we came. Down the corridor past the jelly-floored room.¡± ¡°Did they now?¡± My base of operations was nigh impregnable, but I was getting to be tired enough I wasn¡¯t sure if I could make it safely back. Plus Life¡¯s room had gone strange with my last spell. I didn¡¯t want a powerful necromancer forgetting all her recent memories of me rescuing her. And I wasn¡¯t sure she could climb the rope back up the well. She didn¡¯t have the build for it. ¡°Is it far from here?¡± I asked. She shook her head, ¡°A hundred feet or so.¡± I grinned at her, ¡°So one room over?¡± She smiled and gestured down the short hallway, ¡°Is it preferable to where you were leading us?¡± I started walking, ¡°For today, yes. It is a bit of journey to get back to my base. I¡¯ve slept in far worse places than ones with a recommendation from a ghost.¡± LXIX - Respite As it turned out, the ghost led us directly back to the room with stones which stopped glowing when spooked. Attart immediately fixated on the armour in the room, even over the strange rocks. She was a very small woman despite her forceful presence, smaller even than Gunhild. The armour would fit her perfectly. I held up an arm to bar her path, ¡°Don¡¯t try it on. Don¡¯t even touch it. It drowns whoever tries to wear it. And yet once you have it on you¡¯ll never want to take it off.¡± Attart took a step back, ¡°Terrifying. I am glad to have one of the wise identifying things for me. If I had not been captured by the book four¡ªeight¡ªyears ago perhaps I would have drowned right here and you would have found nothing but bones.¡± I pulled the runed bones out of my pouch, ¡°Funny you should say that.¡± I began arrange the bones around the room while Attart watched. What do those do?¡± she asked. I pointed to the broken doorway we¡¯d just entered through, ¡°Try leaving that way. Slowly.¡± Attart took hesitant steps toward the door. Her head was tilted slightly forward, like a bird on the lookout. Her caution worked against her as she reached doorway. Her nose and chest squashed against the barrier simultaneously. If she¡¯d been going any faster she might have hurt herself. She bounced back and fell on her rear with a squeal, limbs akimbo. She quickly spun about into a sitting position with her ankles and knees pressed firmly together and folded in front of her. Her fan appeared in hand and covered her mouth. I burst out laughing. I couldn¡¯t help it. Seeing her going from a demure and strict governess to a bewildered damsel and back again in less than five seconds was simply to ridiculous to resist. Attart snapped her fan together and pointed it at me threateningly, ¡°It is impolite to laugh at another¡¯s misfortune. Especially a young lady¡¯s.¡± I turned my back while placing the next bone so she couldn¡¯t see me continue to chuckle. I can see you laughing there! Your whole back is shaking.¡± I rotated the bone into position and turned back to her. She wasn¡¯t even looking at me. She had crawled back to the barrier and was now kneeling in front of it with her hands pressed against it. You found this here?¡± Attart asked in wonder. Her ¡®anger¡¯ was already forgotten. Along with everything else. There was a piece of bread too, perfectly preserved, but I ate that.¡± Attart¡¯s face twisted in disgust. Her ghost¡¯s lantern lit the expression from below, exaggerating it even further. You ate a piece of bread directly off the floor the dungeon?¡± I was hungry,¡± I said defensively, ¡°And nothing bad happened. But that¡¯s beside the point. The glowing stone, the perfect armour, the runed bones, the untouched bread; this is a room of wonders.¡± Attart shook her head in disbelief, ¡°¡®I was hungry.¡¯ Clearly you did not spend enough time in the etiquette lessons. I have my work cut out for me.¡± I ain¡¯t care what you seen in that book. I¡¯d eat the bread again.¡± Attart¡¯s ghost shifted his light so I could clearly see her roll her eyes. Why didn¡¯t you use the barrier in the corridor? It would have been easier there.¡± I placed the final bone and made my way over to sit beside her. I leaned against the invisible wall, ¡°Two reasons mostly. One, it is almost always better to have an escape route than a defensive position, and the wall takes a while to take down. Two,¡± I rubbed my neck, ¡°I forgot I had the bones. I just found them earlier today.¡± Attart laughed like a ringing bell. The sound tugged at some part of my memory, but I couldn¡¯t place it. It reminded me of autumn somehow; crisp air and crunching leaves, a bright and clear sky. What of the other objects in this room of wonders? Are the stones safe? The pouches and keys?¡± The tugging sensation still hadn¡¯t gone away. It pulled most strongly toward the armour, but also faintly toward the stones. We can use the pouches as pillows if you don¡¯t mind the smell of calabash. Everything else is safe, but let me check out the stones.¡± I approached the nearest stone carefully. Once I was out of range of Attart I activated my ring with as many senses as I could think of. Twenty feet. Fifteen. A step further and I could see inside the stones. They were full of gold. Strange, but not strange enough to throw away caution. If anything I was more cautious of them. Those with gold tended to guard it. And sure enough, once I got close enough the visions started. A man, scraggly enough to be another escaped prisoner (the warlocks needed to work on security) touched the stone curiously. All at once his glove was torn from his hand and the stone fled beneath the ground, sinking into the flagstone like they were water. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. A second vision followed. The same man, even more scraggly, returned with a pick-axe. His glove peeked out of the flagstones just enough to reveal the glow-stone¡¯s hiding spot. He struck at the floor with his pick, slowly chipping away the rock. Then a cloud of gas rose from the spot and the man was sent reeling all at once. He collapsed seconds later. I stepped back from the stone. Your ghost friend said this room was safe?¡± Attart had circled wide around the stone to study the whip, ¡°He said it was the safest place of which he knew.¡± Maybe he died before the stones were put here. Or maybe they killed him and he wants company. Did he happen to be missing a glove from his left hand?¡± He wore no gloves whatsoever. If he was untrustworthy he did not reveal it.¡± I¡¯m going to move the bones so the stones are on the outside. Take what you need from the treasures¡ªexcept for the armour¡ªwhile you can. And don¡¯t touch the stones. They release poisonous gas.¡± Attart raised her hand and a woman rose out of the floor after it. The woman grabbed the whip and sunk back down. Do you think it safe to grant a ghost the armour?¡± she asked. As long as they don¡¯t mind their lungs filling with water and the sense that everything is trying to kill them and only the armour will keep them safe.¡± Attart smiled and spun her pinky in a quick circle, ¡°Those are two things I think a ghost wouldn¡¯t mind at all.¡± A second woman, smaller than the first rose to accept the splint. When the woman vanished the armour remained. The ghosts she granted weapons and armour to didn¡¯t take them, yet they clearly donned them and took them up. It was so convincing I¡¯d only just noticed. Perhaps she was binding the ghosts to the essence of the items, or the other way around. That sounded like a long a fascinating conversation. One I¡¯d save for a later time when I wasn¡¯t so tired and still had a spell to write. I finished the new barrier and joined Attart in the centre of the third of the room we had left to us. She¡¯d taken everything but the armour; whip, pouches, keys, and oil. What now?¡± she asked. I pointed at the floor, ¡°Now you find the softest flagstone you can, shutter your lantern, and get some sleep. I¡¯ve got another spell to write, and then I¡¯ll join you.¡± She flushed, ¡°Be cautious with your tongue!¡± Her fan rose to cover her face. I laughed, ¡°That wasn¡¯t what I meant. I¡¯m too tired to speak straight.¡± She giggled and lowered her fan, ¡°Goodnight then.¡± Moon and stars watch over you.¡± Attart settled down onto her back and put her head on one of the calabash pouches, ¡°The floor is a little cool.¡± I blinked the Push rune memory away. I was starting to lose my ability to ignore it. You should try the other levels of the dungeon. This is the warmest I¡¯ve been to yet,¡± I thought about it for a moment, ¡°besides the volcano.¡± I could see her clothes rustle as she prepared to rise, ¡°I really must write now. Goodnight.¡± She settled back, ¡°What was it you said?¡± she asked softly, ¡°Stars and moon watch over you.¡± Her ghost¡¯s lantern winked out, leaving me in the bubble of senses provided by my ring. I smiled. Close enough. *** The question of which spell to write was obvious. I wanted another push spell to guarantee its effectiveness against the beetles. The question of where to write it was more difficult. Losing my ring and my spellbook when I¡¯d fallen through the portal had been a reminder. Everything could be taken from me, and then I¡¯d only be left with what I had. At the moment that amounted to a rune carved in my mind, two tattoos, and a faint scar. Neither tattoos nor scar had been removed by my healing spells. Magic could be convenient like that at times. I didn¡¯t have the proper knowledge to do another tattoo which would be any different from a scar, so a cut of some sort would be the ideal way to do the spell. The problem there was that I didn¡¯t want to cut myself. And even if I did, my skin was unreasonably tough. After thinking about it for a little bit I decided on my upper right thigh. It was a large surface and I could brace it against the ground, which meant I could more easily control the force I applied. I choose the upper portion so that even if I lost my leg I probably wouldn¡¯t lose the scar. I¡¯d also considered my stomach to keep the scar even safer and more hidden, but then I¡¯d run into the controlled force problem. I didn¡¯t want to split my gut open accidentally. Shame I didn¡¯t have a spell for pain. I retrieved my dagger and I turned away from Attart to pull down my trousers. It was dark, but there was a proper order to things. And it wasn¡¯t about to be dark for long. Fireball I held the dagger in the flames until my gloves started becoming to hot to handle, then I ended the spell. I had healing magic of course, and I¡¯d teleported around with the dagger countless times, but I wasn¡¯t going to risk infection when I didn¡¯t have to. My books remained stained in the ogre¡¯s blood after a teleport after all. There was no saying whether all ill humours were removed or not. I extinguished the fireball so Attart could sleep. I gave the dagger a minute to cool, but no more. If I didn¡¯t start now, I¡¯d never start. I began to write. Push VI. Push VII. Push IIII. I chose the floor outside our safe circle for my target this time. I didn¡¯t want to introduce any spy holes for monsters looking for a midnight snack. The flagstone cracked like ice on a spring pond. Attart leapt up from her resting spot and summoned her ghost and his lantern. I was turned away and out of the range of my ring. I could only hope she didn¡¯t see me carving with my trousers around my ankles. That would take too much explaining. Something must have assured her, for the lantern winked out a moment later and I could hear her settling back down to rest. Whispers crawled from the darkness. They promised me beautiful things. Terrible things. My heart¡¯s desire. My deepest fears. Both wrapped inextricably. The power to take what I wanted, to live as I needed. Fog Prison. I let the spell wash over me. Let it worm its way into my being, but I was not distracted from my own creation. Push VIII: Push an object with 7700lbs of force for up to half an hour. Heal IIII The spell wouldn¡¯t quite fully heal the wound, but the slower pace would let me see if it was scarring, and if it wasn¡¯t I could¡ªI didn¡¯t want to do it, but I could reopen he edges or rub some ashes in. I gently tugged and prodded at the healing injury for half an hour until I was confident it would scar. I could sleep. Finally. I was unconscious before I remembered putting down my head. LXX - The Mushroom-King The sun rose far too early. Light shone through my eyelids and crawled through the crack between them. My skin was glowing. My ring gave away the game before my eyes opened. There had been a slight glow under the light of the Corpse in the Sky, but I thought that had been due to its presence. The glow was brighter now, nearly as bright as the sun. My skin looked like a forge¡¯s fire, nearly but not quite painful to look at. Wonders never cease,¡± I whispered. Attart was still sleeping. She was sprawled out in a very unladylike fashion and she snored like she was sawing down a whole forest in her sleep. My light hadn¡¯t woken her. It was as good a time as any to¡ª I yawned and stood to stretch. My trousers were still about my ankles. write yet another spell. It was far better than the days of delirium when I¡¯d first escaped. I¡¯d have a spell which could crush the beetles in no time. I pulled up and fastened my trousers. Let¡¯s see here... _?Push VIII?_ Thankfully I didn¡¯t have to carve my leg again. It was enough trace the¡ª I was lying prostrate. Directly in front of me, was a giant... thing. A mushroom, but more so. It was over 10 feet tall with a wide cap that glowed with golden light. The light was uneven, jagged even, like a crown about its head. Beneath the cap the mushroom possessed large brown eyes. Such was the depth of pain and wisdom contained within them I could barely stand to look at it. Its body, or shaft, was covered in shimmering green scales, completely at odds with its fungal shape. Why have you come? Why do you intrude upon my domain? Silence! I speak not to one who is twisted and broken with dark magics. I speak to one who shines with their opposite. Do you speak true? Warlocks are known to lie. Servant? I am no servant! I am a king! The earth trembles at my command. The stones listen and obey. I am not one with nature. Nature is one with me! If you are truly a servant of nature, then serve! You¡ª Piercing Shield Fireball Magic Swords III Push VIII Magic Swords II Fireball III Push IIII Push II Bite II Flames of Revenge Sword Storm II Sword Storm III Push VI Push VII Plasma Torrent Hindering Claw Fog Prison Intoxicating Blood Twice. Attart? You¡¯re here too? I can¡¯t see you.¡± I am a spirit,¡± she said in that strange double voice. She sounded scared ¡°Did you happen to murder me in my sleep? I just woke up like this.¡± I knew what Oswic would say before he said it. By the storm-ed cliff, what was that? Who are...¡± He trailed off as I knew he would. Because I knew too. We were one and the same with the same mind. Not similar. Not even identical. One soul, two bodies. Both my sets of eyes widened and I ended the Flames of Revenge. We¡¯d been distracted by our revelation. Oswic¡¯s vision returned first, so I used him to look around. His vision was far worse than mine, but the light hadn¡¯t been as bright to him, nor had he been staring directly into the flames. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. There was no one in the room with us but the shiny black spot on the floor where the Mushroom-King¡¯s ashes had been flattened into a mirror-like patina. Attart? Where are you?¡± A spirit is not seen except to guide. Even a necromancer cannot look at them when the time is not right.¡± There was the double voice again, but this time I was ready for it. I heard one with my own set of ears, and one as a memory from Oswic laying on the floor. One soul, but two minds. A dozen questions filtered through my memories like water through gravel and were answered just as quickly. The glowing man was me, I was Oswic, we were one in two bodies. There was no further need for questions. His fear and confusion were my fear and confusion. My past month¡¯s trails and tribulations were his past month¡¯s trials and tribulations. Do you have any idea what happened?¡± I asked. I gestured to Oswic, still unable to stand for his pain, ¡°This is me as I was a month ago. We share the same memories and the same soul, yet our minds are separate. It is as if I am a tree with two shoots, but the roots are the same. Like I am a stones player and my stones at the same time. I have full control of each piece, but each piece has its own rules.¡± I was asleep a few seconds ago,¡± Attart replied, ¡°The first thing I knew was being blinded by the works of creation. The loss of my body came second. I have lost all my ghosts as well,¡± Attart sniffed. A tinge of pain ran through me as I focused on Oswic. I wonder. Regenerate The spots faded from both our eyes. My flame scorched skin cooled. Oswic¡¯s leg began to heal. Earth shake the heavens,¡± muttered Oswic. (I was pretty sure I¡¯d already used that one). I checked my pouch quickly for one of the healing knowledge potions but found none. I¡¯d have to do my best. I crouched by him and studied his leg under the glow of my skin. He pointed at his right knee, ¡°My knee is in more danger than my ankle. Set it here.¡± He gritted his teeth. This was going to hurt. I grabbed Oswic¡¯s knee both above and below the break and began to pull. My arms combined were stronger than his leg. I could feel the bones and tendons shift under my fingers. As long as I gave them space to work the magic would do the rest. The pain settled. It still ached and still hurt, but the sense of wrongness slipped away as I massaged Oswic¡¯s leg. He sighed as his pain released, ¡°Better than I could have hoped for. Even my ankle is aligned.¡± I prodded the side of his ankle. He¡¯d be able to move it in ten or so minutes, half an hour at most. Are you a chirurgeon outside these halls or a warrior?¡± Attart asked, ¡°You could right any¡ª The sun rose. My spells returned. Those which remained. The attack had cost me Push VII and Sword Storm II. Something was also wrong with Push VIII. wrong with your spells.¡± I smiled. Both because she¡¯d inadvertently echoed my thoughts, though with a different intention, but also because of the sentiment. If only the Magic could do what I¡¯d demonstrated here without a thousand lifetimes of study. I can¡¯t heal others. Only myself in most circumstances. Spells can only record that which I have control over, and I don¡¯t have control over another¡¯s actions unless they have total trust in me and obedience to me.¡± Do you have any spells to return us to where we were? I am concerned for my body.¡± No spells, but I¡¯ve been here before. I remember the way, more or less.¡± What about him?¡± I nearly asked ¡°Who?¡±. It should have been strange having two bodies, but it felt so natural I forgot that to the outside it would appear someone else was there. I didn¡¯t even need to think about it. My brain controlled my actions, his brain controlled his. He is coming with us. Think of it as me having two bodies. If one dies the other retains everything. Every memory and every spell.¡± Mostly. There was some things missing. Oswic should have had a number of Push spells stored in his brain, but all we had was the false rune the waters had burned into my mind. I also had a feeling of a memory which had been lost. A memory of the memory, but no clue as to what the memory was. Hopefully it would come back in time. Once Oswic could walk we¡¯d head through the door at the top right of the room. The skeleton had left it open when it had entered. Speaking of which. It was still there, now laying on the floor. It had evidently toppled over after I¡¯d lost sight of it, but the bones had stayed together, bound with sinew and bits of flesh. The skeleton¡¯s wrists were bound with rusted manacles. Its ankles had also been fastened together with mana¡ª Ankle-acles. Talacles? Trammels? Fetters? The fetters had broken or rusted away long ago. Did you see the skeleton walk into the room?¡± No. I was watching you. When did you start glowing?¡± Aren¡¯t you more interested in the walking skeleton?¡± Attart giggled, ¡°Not really. I see those all the time.¡± I suppose she would. My skin started glowing after I met with a being who calls itself The Corpse in the Sky or The Light Underground. Something like that. It wasn¡¯t this bright earlier, however.¡± I moved around the skeleton to see where it had come from. My light flooded out into a large long chamber full of statues. So that was where that door led. I¡¯d had my suspicions, but I¡¯d been rightfully afraid of the Mushroom-King and avoided it. The demon mirror was just across the corridor. The door also had a familiar rune set in the doorway. I had an identical rune in my pouch. The teleportation rune. Perhaps it had something to do with our reason for suddenly appearing here. I backed away from the door. The skeleton hadn¡¯t set off the rune, but that might have been because he was a skeleton. I¡¯d investigate that later. Oswic crawled over to watch the entrance. I¡¯m going to write while we wait for Oswic¡¯s leg to heal,¡± I said out loud for Attart¡¯s benefit, ¡°can you watch the grill and other door for me Attart?¡± I shall.¡± The biggest threats on the first floor were the Mushroom-King and the demon mirror. I¡¯d already dealt with the Mushroom-King and I didn¡¯t have a spell I was willing to try on the mirror. That left the frogs and beetles as the main obstacles to look out for. So I needed more swords. Sword Storm III. ¡°Storm¡± was a misnomer at this point. The spell had been reduced to a single blade. If anything it was a light storm, for it contained both a fireball and a will-o¡¯-wisp which lasted for three times the length of the rest of the spell. It was a straightforward matter to record the spell. The majority of my brainpower during the casting (not that I¡¯d admit it) was dedicated to naming it. Scorch, Sword, Scintillation: An invisible blade dances and strike with the base force of 1936 lbs. The sword lasts for an hour. A fireball appears in the centre. One light, twice as bright as a candle, swirls about it, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. Another light joins in at the end of the first hour, and end an hour after the first light fades, providing 3 hours of light total. All move independently following the whims of their master. I didn¡¯t alert Attart that I was done right away. I had other pressing concerns I¡¯d put aside while I wrote my spell. For one, I had a new spell carved into my leg which I hadn¡¯t written. Or maybe carved wasn¡¯t the right word. Right beside?Push VIII?was a glowing rune set in my leg. It glowed a slightly different colour than the rest of my leg; warm yellow, like a gentle candle flame. My ring sight picked up the meaning of it at once. Return: Return to the physical point of your previous death. Push VIII? itself had changed (Push an object with 7700lbs of force for up to half an hour. The nearest (non-living) skeleton arrives just in time to immediately casts the spell again at the same time and same target.)¡ªwhich explained the skeleton¡ªbut I didn¡¯t care. 1. I¡¯d somehow recorded myself returning to the point of my ¡°previous¡± death. 2. I had a previous death to record. 3. ¡°Return to the physical point of your previous death¡± rather than ¡°Return to the physical point of your death¡± suggested could die multiple times. And perhaps suggested that I already had. Death is a luxury I will not grant. I¡¯d died. When my bite spell had failed and a hole had been torn into my brain I¡¯d died and the Mushroom-King had saved me. That is what he¡¯d meant. I shared a glance with Oswic. The spell had vanished from his mind when I¡¯d appeared. For whatever reason the spells had been bound to my mind and body, not his. If I hadn¡¯t acted when I had, and our bond hadn¡¯t established when it had, the distraction I caused the Mushroom-King might have killed Oswic. Since the destruction of the mural that wasn¡¯t as terrible a fate as it appeared, and even then we shared a soul¡ª I could feel the weight of the mural. Oswic had only just escaped. There were no gaps in his memory separate from my own experience of capture. We¡¯d gone back in time. LXXI -Paths both Familiar and Strange We¡¯d gone back in time. Eric was still imprisoned and I had no way to free him from the cave bees. Conan had never visited Elysium with me, that friendship never was. Oscar, Ois¨ªn, Rian; they were still alive. Gunhild and her sisters would be trapped by the poison of the altar in a few week¡¯s time. The responsibility and opportunity were overwhelming. There were other possibilities. Perhaps only Oswic and I had travelled through time and everything was as it had been. Or perhaps the mural had been rebuilt. The light on my leg flitted and spun, like a shadow at sunset. The colours shifted from egg yolk yellow to a rich lavender. A single portion of the rune changed. Return: Return to the time of your previous death. The other possibilities were seeming less likely. I¡¯d never seen a rune change like that. Like the promise of the sun. Life after death. The rune would return, much as the name itself said. The magic was far beyond my ken, yet the spell was simple, nothing like the Flames of Revenge. I¡¯d recorded an act of nature, one I¡¯d supposedly had dominion over. Perhaps I¡¯d somehow recorded the twisting of true magic when my spell protection had gone awry. It was not a spell I¡¯d be casting lightly. The erasure of my achievements and friendships was a high cost to pay for receiving a second chance, even if I could avoid more pitfalls and failures. That said... Oswic stood and tested his leg. It had healed straight and true, better than it had been in years. I felt a lump in my throat. The person I wanted to be had returned. There I was, not a monster, nor an elf, but a man. It was, in some ways, the best of both world. The past had still happened, the impressions still remained on my heart and soul, but the price of experience no longer needed to be paid. I was suspicious of lessons learned without scars. I looked Oswic up and down. He was taller than me. Not by much. If I removed my boots he¡¯d only be an inch or so taller, but there should have been no discrepancy whatsoever. I studied the mirrorish scorch mark on the ground. The Mushroom-King. The dark altar. The druid stone. Even the corpse of the dryad. Each had changed me in their own way. Was it any wonder my height had changed along with my nails, skin, hair, and eyes? My right leg was still a different colour from the rest of my body where the Mushroom-King had merged my splint with my body. I cannot raise the skeleton nor bind my spirit to it,¡± Attart said. Her words came out all at once in a rush. She must have been waiting for a sign that I was finished writing. I¡¯d have said impatiently waiting, but that wouldn¡¯t have been becoming of an etiquette instructor. Have you tried any other targets? The skeleton may have been conjured by dark magic. It might not be a real corpse.¡± It is worse than that. I cannot sense the dead whatsoever. The stones of Bleak Fort overflow with memories of pain and sorrow, and of death. This room is not the exception. I went beyond the grill to examine what lay there. I found nothing.¡± What about the room Oswic came from?¡± I indicated the solid earth wall the Mushroom-King had sealed. If I recalled correctly, that had been the room I¡¯d first encountered a ruby beetle. If you would wait one moment,¡± Attart said primly. I waited one and a half moments before I called out into the room, ¡°Success Attart?¡± Her voice came from beside and above me, ¡°I could not travel beyond the wall no matter how I tried.¡± I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was like being in the room of whispers all over again. A second shiver ran through me at the thought that the whispers had been more than strange noises. Images of a horde of ghosts stalking me flashed in my mind. Ghosts. Spirits. Did that mean? I focused on my ring. What did necromancers see? They could sense the dead, and not just ghosts. Anyone could see a ghost, that is what made them a ghost. Necromancers could see spirits and impressions, death and life itself. Similar than to my life sight. Attart appeared in a shimmering green light. She was sitting on my shoulder with her upper body twisted and draped over my head. One of her arms dangled down either side of my head. She was completely naked except for her cape. Not that clothes would have helped, given the nature of the ring. I leapt sideways, more in shock than out of any sense of propriety. There was something corpselike about having a body draped over you like a hat and scarf. Attart¡¯s spirit drifted along with me. What is it?¡± Attart asked, ¡°You keep jumping around, but the other Oswic has not reacted to whatever it is in the slightest. Are we in danger?¡± I wasn¡¯t expecting to see a ghost sitting on my head.¡± Attart blushed and leapt down to the floor. She wrapped her cape about herself, ¡°You can see me?¡± I can see whatever I choose.¡± Her blush deepened and she backed away, ¡°I was not aware. Even I cannot see myself. Please grant me some decency.¡± I turned off my necromancer-sight, ¡°If I cannot see you entire I cannot see you at all,¡± (her speech patterns were getting to me), ¡°You might become lost or in danger without me realizing if I don¡¯t keep an eye on you.¡± I am not wearing any clothes, am I? I can only feel my cape. It is the way with spirits to only take with them their most precious of items.¡± Just your cape,¡± I confirmed. Then I added with a raised eyebrow, ¡°Nearly every spirit you¡¯ve ever seen has been naked and yet you want me to make an except for you?¡± I could hear the blush even if I couldn¡¯t see it. It was easy enough to imagine Attart with her hand over her mouth. Her words were even somewhat muffled, ¡°Even so. I will take the danger along with my dignity.¡± Consider it done. More importantly, the wall. You can¡¯t go through it, but you can go through the grill?¡± I can go partway through the wall but I can walk freely through the grill and into the room beyond.¡± I pointed to the room¡¯s fourth exit. The one I¡¯d fled through when the Mushroom-King had first let me go. What about that door there?¡± Let me see.¡± A moment later her voice called from beyond the door, so faint I could barely hear her, ¡°I can pass through the door but not explore much beyond.¡± Is the room safe?¡± I asked. Oswic was already crouched in the far corner of our room, ready for me to tear down the door. The room is empty save for a dim chandelier and a terrible smell.¡± Light. The warlocks¡¯ own sources of light hadn¡¯t yet gone out. I suspected the only reason I couldn¡¯t see the light under the doorway was my own light coming off my skin. It had dimmed somewhat over the last hour, and yet I could still only barely make out my will-o¡¯-wisps. It would be useful if I could control it. Hang on. It was like rotating my elbow or wiggling my ears. Easier than wiggling my ears, I never could get the hang of that. But it was simple an unusual and unused muscle, or at least that was what it felt like. The light around me dimmed. Sure enough, the light from under the door and also the candles beyond the grill¡ªI was pretty sure it was candles. I remembered the room, more or less¡ªbegan to seep into the Mushroom-King¡¯s chamber. Oswic would have troubles seeing, but I could guide him. Whoever used less light in the halls had the advantage of surprise, after all. I joined Oswic in the corner and crouched over him to shield him. My enchanted bones had been my only possession which had been left behind. I¡¯d have traded nearly all the others for them. Ships on the horizon!¡± Attart¡¯s voice came from on top of me once more, ¡°Pardon my language. I have been startled. I was standing in the adjoining room a second ago. It was like my spirit had been ripped away from my body all over again.¡± And now she was here. Whatever the mechanism for her return, it appeared the necromancer had been bound to me. Ready yourself for more ships,¡± I said. Magic Swords II The door was plain wood. They¡¯d be more than enough. The door exploded. Whoops. More than more than enough then. I led the way into the large chamber. Oswic (and presumably Attart) followed. The room was as she said, empty except for a pile of refuse in the left-hand corner which rivalled the ogres¡¯ in smell, and for the chandelier providing light to the room. It was dim, but enough that even Oswic could see. Across the room and to my left was a familiar statue. A dead Magus bearing a staff. It was identical to the one Gunhild and I had encountered several floors below. If it also concealed an exit, that would mean the room contained five others beyond the one we¡¯d just entered through. I¡¯d not test my luck where possible. I didn¡¯t want to set off another gas trap. Besides, the stairs would be north of the room of statues, and the room of statues was to our right. I sent my swords to the right most door. Oswic! Behind you!¡± Oswic (the other Oswic) had already been turning to cover our flank before Attart had sent out her warning. I glimpsed the swarm of glittering eyes through his eyes a split second before I saw them with my own. The rats had returned. I no longer had access to the roiling cascade of lightning, but for a dozen or so rats I didn¡¯t need it. Even if the rats in question were larger than most cats. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Fireball. Fireball III. The Fireball was only as hot as burning coals. It had been enough for the strange biology of the spiders, but it wasn¡¯t enough to kill the rat it engulfed instantly. Fireball III wasn¡¯t hot enough either, but at least it quickly incapacitated its own rat rather than just scorching its fur. But it wasn¡¯t the damage I was truly after. Fear would suffice. And fear was what I got. The rats skittered to a stop before the flames, then turned naked tails and fled. The rat I caught with my first fireball squealed with pain as it ran, the rat within my second fireball collapsed, whimpered, and was still. Hooting howls echoed in mockery of the rats¡¯ pain and fear as they fled, marking their passage until they were long gone from sight and hearing. The denizens of the dungeon didn¡¯t like the rats either. If anything, the smell of burnt fur and scorched flesh was an improvement to the atmosphere of the place. I didn¡¯t delay sending my swords against the right-hand door. Let¡¯s get out of here,¡± I muttered. It was easy to feel alone when one of your companions was yourself, and the other was invisible and nearly entirely silent except for her voice. *Crash* The shattered doorway led down a long narrow hallway heading... North Star? North. Was this the hall which had nearly crushed me from above? I kept my ring senses on the ceiling as my swords scraped forward ahead of me. The hundred foot corridor took me nearly half an hour to cross, but I wasn¡¯t crushed by a stone slab, so I called that a win. I also didn¡¯t find the stone slab trap, but I didn¡¯t care much on account of not being crushed. The corridor ended in a plain wooden wall. The back of a carving, if I recalled correctly. Which meant I was near the screaming corner. Don¡¯t be alarmed if I start screaming,¡± I said to the empty air where Attart might be lurking, ¡°Something about the next room controls forces people to wail like one of the chained.¡± I... how dreadful. I never made it far from my cell, but perhaps that was for the best.¡± I rocked my head indecisively, ¡°There are worse things by far than the cursed book down here, but better to have a chance to face them then be captured forever.¡± My swords shattered the door in front of us. I didn¡¯t want to see if the demonic face I remembered on the other side was actually my own. I was good at recognizing the warped visage now. Sure enough I started to scream as I entered the room. Oswic joined in a few seconds later as he walked in behind me. The band of mercenaries I¡¯d met last time I¡¯d been here were no where in sight. They¡¯d been dying last time I¡¯d seen them, the few remnants less from the creek outside my cell. I wonder if they¡¯d fare better or worse without my intervention. Maybe getting to keep their clothes would help them recover. I¡¯d never gotten a proper look at the room as it had been too dark or I¡¯d been otherwise preoccupied by all the screaming. There was, unbelievably, a stack of candles against the south wall. How many times had I been through here desperate for light? I¡¯d not have been able to light them, but if I¡¯d still had one of the dying torches I¡¯d be set. What was more, the candles were for show. Don¡¯t get me wrong, they were real candles, but they were concealing a small iron chest they¡¯d be wrapped around. The chest in turn held a compass, a couple gemstones, and several mouths worth of teeth, both animal and otherwise. Amazing. If I ever needed another compass I knew where to look. Right in the pile of candles. I couldn¡¯t help but feel the fort was mocking me. I¡¯d already just had my fill of screaming, so I smashed the northern exit for catharsis instead. How about that? There was a mosaic on the far wall of the next room. I¡¯d never had light in here before. The barrels full of rotting fruit to my right I¡¯d only ever felt and smelled before, but I¡¯d not been sure what they¡¯d contained. My ring told me in excessive detail. This was why the warlocks had rats. Did you see that?¡± Attart said. Her voice came from over by the mosaic, ¡°The whole thing shimmered.¡± The mural wasn¡¯t shimmering from what I could see, and I could see quite a lot of it. The thing was huge. It took up nearly half of the northern wall which meant it was at least thirty feet wide and over ten feet tall. It depicted... That was strange. It didn¡¯t depict anything. The whole thing was a random assortment of tiles and coloured stones. Maybe if I I squinted, and tilted my head, and stood on one leg, I could nearly make out something. Yeah, if the stones in that column there were swapped with the column to their left and every tile was rotated ninety degrees then¡ª The whole thing shifted and moved. Not like I¡¯d imagined, but like the rippling of a snake¡¯s scales. The colours changed subtly as well, as though the source of light had moved. It wasn¡¯t that the mosaic had changed exactly, instead it was like I¡¯d solved an optical illusion and could now see the picture hidden within. The mosaic depicted a grave in garish colours. A simple mound of dirt with a mandala of sticks resting atop it. Surrounding the grave were the familiar stone walls of the dungeon, here depicted in blues and greens and whites. Multi-coloured manacles decorated the walls. The colours had no pattern rhyme or reason. It was almost as if I was peering through a stained glass window at the scene. Attart gasped, ¡°Hucel!¡± I wasn¡¯t familiar with the curses and spells of the Bronze Coast, but ¡®Hucel¡¯ was also a name from the Painted Lands. You didn¡¯t hear about many women with the name these days, even in place as large as Ravenhold I¡¯d never met one. Is that a name?¡± I shared my cell with her for a while. She... she died. The warlocks left her body in my cell. I pried up the stones to bury her. I am surprised the warlocks did not dig up the grave the moment I disappeared. I put a number of ghosts on watch, but even if they stopped the warlocks why would they make a mural of such a thing?¡± I caught the hesitation at ¡°She died¡±. I¡¯d deal with it shortly, but before I had an angry and frightened spirit on my hand I wanted to solve the mosaic. The wall had shimmered at least twice. Once when Attart had seen it, and once when I¡¯d noticed it shift. I suspected there was more than an illusion at play here. The room of levers and teleportation runes came to mind. The sun rose. Perfect timing. I might need all my spells in a moment. Maybe they didn¡¯t. Step back from the mosaic a moment. Try to stand close behind me if you can, I have an idea.¡± I reactivated my necromancer sense. I did want her behind me, but I also wanted to be able to keep an eye on her expressions for my upcoming confrontation. She still covered herself occasionally with her hands and cloak even though I¡¯d said I couldn¡¯t see her. It might simply be that she was shy enough she felt embarrassed to be naked even when no one was around, or it could be she didn¡¯t fully trust me. Fair enough. I let Oswic step forward and focus on the mural for me so I could keep my full attention on Attart. Oswic focused on the mural. Could he make out the room of levers and gears behind the image of the grave? No, maybe not a room but a grave? Where had Oscar been buried? The stones and tiles themselves still shifted so subtly it would be impossible to say if they moved for sure, but the image itself came to life as though it were a window rather than a painting. Oscar was alive, next to him was Conan. They were walking a hallway lit by rows of torches on the wall, talking freely. Oscar was alive! Was Brace as well? Erin? As soon as Oswic had the thought the image shifted once more. The two women were wrapped around one another kissing. It hardly seemed the time or place. Something was wrong with their faces, an expression I didn¡¯t recognize. It looked sad and happy at the same time. Maybe a Delta thing. The embrace ended shortly after. Oswic and I watched them regather their packs and head through a nearby door. They hadn¡¯t dropped their weapons or gear for the kiss. That was rather inappropriate,¡± Attart tutted, ¡°Who are they? Friends of yours?¡± I approached the mosaic as a pretext to widen the gap between myself and Attart until she was at the edge of my vision. Friends who will no longer remember me, if my theory is correct.¡± What do you mean?¡± I didn¡¯t want to continue explaining myself with the mystery of Hucel hanging over us, but it felt wrong to leave the question hanging. I¡¯d probably feel rude turning down a known murderer for tea. I suppose that was sort of what I was doing. I think we¡¯ve travelled back in time, to the point where I first met the Mushroom-King,¡± I gestured at Oswic, ¡°The other Oswic makes it fairly obvious, but he doesn¡¯t eliminate other possibilities.¡± The mosaic shifted back to displaying Oscar, and then Rian and Ois¨ªn. Both were well. Rian still had both his legs. All three of these men were dead when I met you. The mosaic might show the past, but that doesn¡¯t explain the grave of your friend,¡± here it was. I braced myself, ¡°What happened to Hucel?¡± Attart¡¯s face twisted and her ghostly hands began to tremble, ¡°I¡¯d rather not talk about it.¡± I need you to. How did she die?¡± Her face fell, ¡°I killed her.¡± Well. That was simple. Why?¡± Attart shuddered as she took in a slow shaky breath, ¡°Hucel was never my friend. I learned her name from the ledger after I escaped. When I met her in the prison cell she had already been unmade. They had taken her limbs and her sight. All they left her with was her tongue to tell her stories. She had a beautiful voice. I suppose even the warlocks could not rob her of that.¡± I felt bile rise in my throat. The warlocks were cruel and twisted, but even for one as dangerous as me they¡¯d left me with all my faculties. Why? The warlocks I met were not senselessly cruel.¡± It was one of their endless experiments. They thought a necromancer could fix her. The pain and fear was meant to be temporary, merely a means of subdual. They thought I could fix her once they bent her to their will.¡± A chill ran up my spine. This had been at least eight years ago. It was hard to believe they¡¯d been doing the experiment for any reason other than planning for my capture, or those like me. Could you fix her?¡± I was unable to heal her, of course, but there were a number of ways I might have been able to bind her spirit in a way which could interact with the world. However, her mind was long gone by the time I was there. She hardly acknowledge my presence. All she would talk about were gentle glens and cool green meadows. When I tried to talk to her she would simply say ¡°Yes, you can come to, and we can dance in the meadow together and we-¡¯¡± Attart cleared her throat, ¡°¡®and we will be married under the great big ribbon tree.¡¯ ¡®The great big ribbon tree.¡¯ I remember it exactly. She would say it over and over again. I asked her if she wanted to die. We had a lot of time to ourselves to talk. The warlocks left us alone together, I was never sure why. She would never answer, except to say we would dance in the meadow together and will be married under the great big ribbon tree.¡± How did you kill her?¡± It was when I first escaped. I wished her no further harm. I could not bear to strangle her and I had no tools save my needles to slit her throat. The corpses they left around the cell bore no weapons. I tore her soul from her body. The working is simple, yet rarely used by necromancers, for the slightest resistance ends the spell. She slipped away easier than one falling asleep.¡± I turned off my ring sight. I¡¯m sorry. And sorry I asked you for your story.¡± Truth be told, it is somewhat of a relief to share. I slipped in and out of despair for many of my first months in the book. It is probably part of why its lessons had such a strong hold on me. But the truth does remain that I am a murderer and a necromancer. I understand if you now wish to part ways.¡± I had to laugh. Oswic laughed as well at nearly the exact same time. It must have appeared creepy to Attart. That was not murder. That was mercy. I doubt there are any others in this entire dungeon with motives as pure as yours, with paths as untwisted and morals as uncompromised. I¡¯ve killed far more for far worse reasons. If anyone is fleeing anyone, it should be you from me.¡± Have you murdered in cold blood? Truly murdered?¡± Her tone was cautious, but unafraid. I had to think about it. The Trogodytes and the dark elves had both been cold blooded or close to it. I¡¯d killed the mercenaries who¡¯d trapped me even after they¡¯d started to flee. I¡¯d struck against the giant spiders and the rats first. But murder? There was a difference between a soldier and a murderer. A difference even from an executioner. A murderer was a coward. Were they? What of a serial killer? What was the difference between a serial killer and a blood thirsty warrior? The warrior loved combat. The serial killer loved killing. But then what of the robber who killed not out of love of death, but convenience? Malice wasn¡¯t sufficient. Not all criminals were deliberate. Some simply didn¡¯t care. Perhaps that was difference between a malicious mind and a malicious heart, for who could say the man who drowned children without shedding a tear was anything other than depraved? So, had I murdered, either with depraved mind or depraved heart? I¡¯d come close with the mercenaries, but never followed through. The mushroom-king, dark altar, and warlocks had all depraved my heart in some way. Even Tom Oldshoe might have done so with whatever memory it was that he took. I don¡¯t know.¡± Attart was silent. I continued, ¡°I can¡¯t tell the difference between caution and insanity some times down here. I killed a group of dark elves who might have caused me harm had I given them a chance, but they might have been friendly had I said the right words. I killed sentient spiders who might have been waiting in ambush, or they might have merely been resting. If I didn¡¯t strike first against some of my foes, I¡¯d probably be dead by now. But when everyone thinks that way, good men end up killing each other. And only bad men survive.¡± I spread my arms wide, ¡°So I don¡¯t know.¡± I can help.¡± My head jerked involuntarily to stare at the empty space where Attart¡¯s voice came from. I can be your conscience. As long as I am trapped in spirit form I can guide you.¡± I smiled in what I hoped was her direction, ¡°Thank you.¡± You can look at me.¡± I activated my ring sight. She smiled back. LXXII - Never Meant to be Afraid The mural revealed my friends were alive. Eric had already been fused and was still chained and imprisoned. The ogre I¡¯d fought was doing well, as was the Dead King and his courtiers. It refused to reveal the toad-dragon or the orcneas for whatever reason, and the various animals I¡¯d encountered were also excluded with one strange exception. I could see the giant spiders waiting in almost the exact same positions I¡¯d first encountered them. It couldn¡¯t only be intelligence as a factor. I¡¯d seen the spark behind the eyes of the giant frogs, and the mural refused to show the Trogodytes. It wasn¡¯t magical ability. The ogre, Dead King, and the Corpse in the Sky were all visible. I¡¯d have guessed something to do with sentience or souls, but again, why the Ogre and not the orcneas or Trogodytes? I wanted to see if I could use the mural to spy on Tom, but I¡¯d sworn not to reveal his presence to others and Attart was always watching. None of us in the room could be seen, though I could follow Oswic once he walked out the door back the way we¡¯d come. It refused to reveal anything outside the dungeon. We¡¯d exhausted the pool of people we knew, but not the people we didn¡¯t know. I focused on Tom¡¯s mother. My efforts were soon rewarded with an image of a homely old woman. She was dressed in extravagant clothes which looked out of place on her matronly frame. She was clearly much taller than Tom, being the size and shape of a normal woman, at least judging by her surroundings. They weren¡¯t filthy, not in the traditional sense, but certainly in an arcane manner. Books and potions and cauldrons of all sorts lay scattered about everywhere. Some were broken, both books and potions, and scattered pages and dripping liquids abounded. I could see why Tom didn¡¯t want to do it himself. Who is she?¡± asked Attart. A woman who I am sworn to help. I have to clean her house before leaving this place.¡± What about your friends?¡± They¡¯re closer. Eric I¡¯m not sure how to save. It might be that the cave bees cannot harm me, but I¡¯m not sure. Eric is protected from them because he ate enough of the honey, or maybe the jelly they produce. I could fill the room with smoke if we find the right materials and were careful.¡± Perhaps the Spawning Cauldron or Amber Cloud? If you restore me to, my body I can fill the room with smoke through necromancy.¡± I don¡¯t want to leave Eric any longer than necessary in there. But if you can guarantee it, we¡¯ll still free him faster than the first time round without risking his life.¡± I didn¡¯t like dictating fate like this. Sometimes the right thing to do was nothing when you weren¡¯t ready, but it was also one of the hardest. I can¡¯t guarantee the smoke will work on those bees, but I can guarantee smoke.¡± It will have to be enough.¡± *** Lightstep. The spell vanished as soon as I cast it, but I still cast it. Back to square one. Lightstep Again: The caster is made lighter, pulled upwards constantly with 80lbs of force for the next hour. I stood. Craters and corrosion! I lost the spell. The dungeon is working against me. If we¡¯re not lucky we might have to find a rope instead.¡± Then again, I didn¡¯t fancy another bout with the ogre. Maybe we would be better served finding the stairs instead of going down the well. We¡¯d still have to be careful to sneak past, but it should be possible. I¡¯d get a few Scorch, Sword, Scintillation style spells ready in case it wasn¡¯t. The ogre had struggled against a spell less than half as powerful. Which way do we go?¡± I pointed to the door to my right. There, then north. The halls all look similar enough I can¡¯t guide us with any confidence, but the first floor is pretty interconnected. So long as we move in the rough general direction of the stairs we¡¯ll be fine.¡± I will try the door.¡± Attart ran ahead without waiting for a reply. She sunk partway into the door, but her head refused to follow her legs and torso. She slunk back to join me in crouching behind the barrels of rotten fruit. Oswic was already in position. It would make sense if I could not go out of your sight, but you cannot see me without your ring. And I am able to go around corners entirely without resistance as long as I am close enough.¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. I shrugged. Magic Swords III Maybe it¡ª¡± The door groaned and cracked under the weight of my swords, but the wood held. One second, two, and then it screamed and scraped open. My shoulders twitched toward my ears and all the hair on my arms stood up. The door was stronger than I¡¯d expected. What an awful sound. From the howls, the other denizens of the dungeon agreed. Even Attart had raised her ghostly hands over her ghostly ears. Sorry.¡± I said. Why do you not open them yourself?¡± Attart asked, ¡°Or make a spell for opening doors?¡± To answer both your questions, too many are stuck, locked, trapped, or all three.¡± I headed for the door, ¡°Besides, I already have a spell for opening doors, as you just saw.¡± Do you not risk drawing attention?¡± Better an ogre than a lightning bolt out of the blue. At least I can run away from the ogre.¡± The corridor switched back on itself, which was vaguely familiar, but the switch back opened into an archway faster than I remembered. Maybe I¡¯d been remembering some other corridor. North Star? The celestial compass spun about and pointed directly back out of the archway. I¡¯d been pretty sure that was north already, but it was good to be sure. Dimming torches lit the room brighter than my compass. If I willed it, my skin would be far brighter still, but I could see just fine. Broken and headless statues were scattered through the room, nine in all. A broken sword lay at one of their feet. I hadn¡¯t seen this room before, but hadn¡¯t I stepped on a broken sword? It had been my first weapon in these blackened halls. When had that been? I proceeded slowly with my ring senses outstretched. Even with Attart and my ring, and Oswic¡¯s extra pair of eyes, the going was as slow as ever. I¡¯d missed traps before without the ring, I wasn¡¯t risking them now. Oswic had timed it while we were walking, as his eyes saw most poorly in the dark. We were moving about twenty feet per second, less than a step every five seconds. Oswic and I were well used to patience, and Attart proved that no discipline was mastered without the same, true magic or necromancy. The room¡¯s second exit was also to the north. I stopped just shy of the wooden door, my ring had detected a vent and a series of arcane mechanisms. A gas trap. Can you stick your head in the floor and look there?¡± I pointed. Attart bent down and pressed her face against the floor as one going to sleep, ¡°It does not appear so. Perhaps the space is too small for my head?¡± It was a good guess. I was getting the sense that spirits were still bound by most natural laws. Nature did not resent a shortcut, but it abhorred a loophole. Passing through an object was one thing, fitting in a space smaller than yourself was another. I crept toward the spot where Attart was still kneeling. The trigger would be near the doorway if the warlocks wanted to improve their odds of catching the most intruders. It would be avoidable so they themselves could pass. I studied the flagstones. If I was designing the trap I would put it right... Nailed it in one. My ring showed me a coiled spring and series of levers resting under my chosen flagstone. I didn¡¯t understand the mechanism, save that it would set off the trap with enough weight. I certainly didn¡¯t know how to disable it. But I could step over it easily enough. Provided the door was open. The slow creep down the hallway across the room and to the door had taken long enough that one of my swords had already faded. If this door was as tough as the last one, they might not be enough, but I¡¯d give it a go. Oswic and I crouched behind a statue. Attart stood at forty-five degrees from us to the door in order to watch. BANG! The door flew off its hinges in a single piece. It hadn¡¯t been latched and swung easily enough Oswic could have pushed it open with a single finger. Oh well. GONG! The door was brought to an abrupt halt with the low ringing of metal and toppled back into the room I was crouched it. WHAP. The door landed perfectly flat on the flagstone with the trap beneath it. All three of us winced, even Attart, but nothing happened. I crept toward the door and it soon became clear. The flagstones in front of the door were all level. The door rested equally on all of them, unable to depress the stone it was larger than. Like a glade in the forest,¡± I whispered, ¡°That was lucky.¡± Standing next to the door I was now able to make out what it had hit. LXXIII - Should a Badger Cross the Path Sword Storm III Sin on or not, the dark altar needed to be destroyed. I still remembered the feeling of relief from destroying it the first time around, and the dread poison which had afflicted Gunhild and her sisters. Sword Storm had been enough to reduce the altar to a twisted heap last time. This time my single blade tore it to rubble. Each impact, though it sounded like the gonging of Blackbridge¡¯s bell, barely slowed as it clove through the metal branches. My clangour was interrupted in a whirring of claws and bristled fur. My ring caught the culprit before Oswic or Attart as the attack was from behind. My sword was halfway to skewering the creature when I realized it had already scrambled about on the floor and was proceeding to flee. It was a badger, and had been as startled as we were. I tensed as it leapt onto the door, but before I could cast my rapture spell it was off and away, the trap beneath unsprung. ¡°Should a badger cross the path Which thou hast taken, then Good luck is thine, so it be said Beyond the luck of men. ¡°But if it cross in front of thee, Beyond where thou shalt tread, And if by chance doth turn the mould, Thou art numbered with the dead.¡± I clapped my hands together and rubbed them once I finished reciting the rhyme, ¡°I¡¯ve no idea how the poor creature found its way here into the dungeon, but fortune shines on us Attart! I¡¯ll take the council of a badger before the opinion of an unknown potion any day.¡± Attart smiled demurely, ¡°Is that what they say of badgers in The Painted Lands? On the Bronze Coast they are known as shapeshifters and thieves.¡± ¡°Here too, but they are thieves with honour. Once given kindness a badger is like to seek an honest wage.¡± I gave my sword a few more swipes of the altar. The gentle feeling of relief I¡¯d felt last time I¡¯d destroyed it rose again, this time buoyed by the good fortune of the badger. I felt giddy, like I was nearly floating. I had to resist the urge to dance on the balls of my feet. I pointed at the Gorgon statue on the far end of the room, ¡°We must not turn back lest we follow the badger where he has turned the earth. Our path is behind there.¡± ¡°Do you remove her blindfold to open the door?¡± Attart asked. I barked out a laugh, ¡°Exactly. The only thing,¡± I pulled the blindfold free. The statue popped forward and I grabbed her elbow for the second time in my life, ¡°The only thing,¡± I grunted, ¡°stopping anyone,¡± took a breath, ¡°from opening it,¡± whew, ¡°Is how heavy the whole things is.¡± I stood back and gestured to the newly created entrance with a flourish. My sword dashed down the ¡°short¡± corridor beyond (20 feet or so) and let the iron door have it. The warlocks couldn¡¯t set hinges to save their lives, but by the pools of the stars could they make them. The metal gave before the hinges. I winced and rubbed the insides of my ears. You¡¯d think I¡¯d have gotten used to the sound by now. A spear belatedly twanged into the door frame a moment later. ¡°That¡¯s why you break all the doors?¡± Attart asked. ¡°That and similar. Worse. I doubt a single spear could kill me unless I was exceptionally unlucky, and the badger is with us tonight!¡± Attart winced and pinched her nose, ¡°What is that?¡± A smell filled the air. Sharp like oranges, bitter like ashes, gentle like rain. I smiled. ¡°That smell means we are on the right track!¡± Last time I¡¯d smelled it I¡¯d been directly outside old Tom¡¯s house. I wasn¡¯t allowed to speak to anyone of the hob, but we¡¯d made no promise of me showing him to them. If this Tom was even the same Oldshoe I¡¯d made my promise to. My sword flew across the room and rapped on the door. Silence. I put my hands to my mouth and hollered, ¡°Tom! If you remember me, now is your chance to show yourself, I¡¯m about to knock the door down!¡± The door swung open and a little hairy man dressed all in red peered out. ¡°Who has come threatening to knock poor old Tom Oldshoe¡¯s door down? What has old Tom ever done to Sirs?¡± He doffed his jester¡¯s cap in the direction of Attart, ¡°And yon lady as well? Master Tom was not expecting visitors for supper.¡± Attart startled and pulled her cloak about herself, ¡°You can see me?¡± ¡°Old Master Tom is not so old as to turn a blind eye to such a fair maiden, mistress. Begging mistress¡¯s pardon.¡± ¡°The mistress is unaware Master Tom is one with the knowing, Master,¡± I emphasized the word for Attart¡¯s sake. Hopefully she¡¯d know enough to avoid telling a hobgoblin her name. I would have forewarned her if I could, but even now I couldn¡¯t speak directly to her of Tom¡¯s nature. ¡°Although...¡± I continued, ¡°Your knowing is missing. Do you truly not remember me Master?¡± If I was lucky I could trade the memory for a favour, though that might count as trickery. It was possible to trick a hob, but I didn¡¯t want to earn his enmity. Tom shook his head, ¡°Old Tom has never seen Sir in his life. Would Sir do the favour of granting Master Tom the memory?¡± I had to bite the inside of my cheek to prevent myself from celebrating prematurely. It was possible to grant an elf a gift, so the request could be a subtle play on Tom¡¯s end to gain something for free, not aware that I owed him a favour already. Though even then I¡¯d expect a hob who lived in the warlock¡¯s halls to be more cautious. The badger¡¯s luck was carving my path forward. The question was, if Tom believed the exchange to be a gift, would it be a gift, or a repayment of favours owed? And more importantly, would I keep the memory I granted? ¡°I would happily grant you the favour of sharing the memory, Master, if you so wish it.¡± Tom squashed his hat back onto his head and rubbed his face to cover a frown. One which I could see clearly through Oswic¡¯s eyes, ¡°Master Tom would not want to take advantage of Sir, even though Sir has the advantage of knowing old Tom Oldshoe when old Tom Oldshoe does not have knowings of Sir! Master Tom would offer Sir¡¯s maiden a new body in exchange for the memory Sir.¡± The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. I shook my head and raised my hands to brush away his worries, ¡°Telling my tale to a receptive ear and granting you a favour are payment enough Master.¡± Attart¡¯s eyes widened, ¡°Oswic, are you sure¡ª¡± Tom¡¯s head perked but I nodded, ¡°Entirely,¡± I returned my full focus to Tom¡ªhopefully such a thing as focus existed in the eyes of our agreement¡ªand smiled, ¡°I cannot ask for so much from one as esteemed as yourself, Master. It would be unkind.¡± ¡°Grant Master Tom the favour of Sir¡¯s shared memory then, and he will be most grateful.¡± ¡°Consider it done Master.¡± My mind went blank. All senses left my body and I collapsed in a heap. Suddenly I was observing myself from outside my body. I was Oswic only; the man who had not been changed. The Darkswallower of Bleakfort was gone. *** ¡°Oswic! Are you okay?¡± Attart rushed to the Darkswallower¡¯s side. From his mind came only a buzzing white light. Drool pooled at the corner of his mouth. He wasn¡¯t even breathing. Tom had gone still as well, but his face was enraptured with delight. Tom had not gained the memories which we shared, but instead taking his turn at ¡°sharing¡± my memories. He¡¯d taken everything, and who could say what he¡¯d gained from seeing my side of every encounter, and the dungeon itself? I myself was not unaffected. Memories this body had only ever experienced second hand were flooding through me. The strange sad-happy look in Erin¡¯s eyes as she kissed Brace. The glances Gunhild had thrown my way. The kindness the Delta folk had offered me. A sudden tenderness for Attart in all of her strange unknowns. Love. The moment I thought the word it burst through the Darkswallower. Before he could even breathe he remembered her face; white and rosy cheeked, her hair; golden-brown and bouncing in curls, and her name; Melinda. Melinda walking along side him in the autumn leaves. Melinda dumping a pail of cold water over his head when they were children. Melinda preparing a bed beside the hearth for him to wait out the storm though he¡ªI¡ªhad never needed it. Dancing with Melinda at the Interdiem fest. He¡¯d loved her. I¡¯d loved her. She¡¯d loved me. That had been years ago. I forced my thoughts into the Darkswallower¡¯s mind, forced him to breathe, gave him my memories. He gasped¡ªI gasped¡ªand then began to cry. Where was she now? We¡¯d not been in touch for half a decade. True love indeed. I cried some more, this time for what had been restored to me. Though not as extreme as the promise of Elysium it was a cruel world without love. One of material relationships only, and those relations which rose from the materialism. They were quiet tears. Silent tracks down both my cheeks on both my bodies. Attart stared between me in concern. The hobgoblin broke the silence. ¡°Sir has not cleaned poor old Tom¡¯s mother¡¯s house yet Sir!¡± he admonished me, ¡°What is he supposed to tell Tom¡¯s poor old mother?¡± I (in my strange and twisted Darkswallower body) laughed. My heart was light despite the sorrow, ¡°Tell her that you arranged a cleaning of her house a week before you made the bargain Master. You can¡¯t claim I am late just yet.¡± Tom clutched his head in his hands, ¡°Poor Old Tom¡¯s mother won¡¯t listen to reason, Sir! Best Sir is finding his mother as fast as Sir can.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve other commitments, Master,¡± I shrugged helplessly. The motion was stiff and uncoordinated. I was working off of Oswic¡¯s muscle memory, not my own, ¡°The bargain didn¡¯t outline a time limit.¡± I waved off Tom¡¯s doe-eyed stared, ¡°But your mother¡¯s house must be cleaned! I have made a bargain with you Master Tom, and I intend to keep it. Perhaps we could introduce a time limit?¡± Tom clutched his hat to his chest, ¡°Sir is ever so kind. What does Sir have in mind?¡± Tom was a crafty one. It was better to let the other party set the opening offer so they didn¡¯t know how far you were willing to go. I could be clever too. ¡°Let me talk to others about you and I¡¯ll happily set a time limit Master.¡± Attart¡¯s emotions were as naked as the rest of her. A jolt of understanding danced across her face. Tom couldn¡¯t have missed it, though he revealed nothing in his own expression. ¡°The time Sir! The time! What limit does Sir offer in exchange for this bargain?¡± No amount of luck was going to get Tom to slip up and offer a limit first. The secret now would be to offer as long a time as possible without offending him. ¡°Before I leave the¡ª,¡± Elysium and the etiquette book might count as leaving the dungeon, ¡°Before I end the warlock¡¯s rift I¡¯ll have your mother¡¯s house cleaned one time Master.¡± Tom shook his head, ¡°Sir must clean Master Tom¡¯s mother¡¯s house sooner than that! Old Tom tears ups thinking of his poor mother in a filthy house Sir!¡± Indeed tears began to well up in the little man¡¯s eyes. ¡°Do you think it will take me so long to escape this dungeon Master?¡± I asked as innocently as I could manage. Tom wrung his hat, ¡°Sir is wise and clever in the ways of nature and magic Sir¡ªMaster Tom Oldshoe would never dispute one of the wise¡ªbut poor Master Tom has seen dreadful things, Sir, dreadful things. He trusts sirs and mistress, but he does not trust the dungeon! His mother¡¯s house must be cleaned in a fortnight!¡± ¡°Master Tom, it is still near a fortnight before I met you for the first time. I need far more time than that. A year and a day, if you fear the dungeon is so untrustworthy.¡± ¡°Until the next full moon.¡± ¡°A fortnight of fortnights.¡± Tom counted it out on one hand, then the other. Then he kicked off his shoes with a frown, ¡°Kind sir, Master Tom begs of you, be more kind. He cannot wait so long. Three full moons.¡± My eyes narrowed. I had no idea of the exact time, but Oswic had been keeping rough count, even when drifting in and out of consciousness. The next full moon was in fourteen days, give or take. ¡°Three new moons from now, Master Tom, not including the one this month.¡± That would cover me if Oswic had miscounted and it was the day before the new moon rather than the day of or after. ¡°Less a day.¡± I sighed and stuck out my hand, ¡°For the freedom to no longer be bound to my promise of not speaking of you to others, I promise to fulfill my bargain to clean your mother¡¯s house within the next three new moons, less day, not including the new moon this month.¡± ¡°Sir has a bargain, Sir,¡± Master Tom reached out and shook my hand. I felt my tongue loosen at once. It hadn¡¯t been fully bound. I suspected Tom had left enough wiggle room that I might accidentally slip up and allow him to pursue Melinda. I suppose this iteration of the dobby was less vengeful given how easily he¡¯d made the bargain. Perhaps he¡¯d given up after I¡¯d warned Attart, or perhaps it was another blessing of the badger. Tom smiled up at myself, Oswic, and Attart in turn, ¡°Was there anything else gentlesirs and gentlelady?¡± Attart quickly shook her head, which was wise of her. So why did I, the Magus, find my own mouth opening? ¡°My friend Eric is trapped not far from here in one of the warlock¡¯s cells. He is surrounded by deadly cave bees. Can you rescue him Master Tom?¡± Tom rubbed his chin, ¡°Old Tom has kept bees before Sir. He knows all the back ways and secret passages. If Sir would be so kind as to show where Sir¡¯s friend is kept, Master Tom can be the one to free him. So long as Sir does the carrying, Sir.¡± Right on cue Attart asked, ¡°What of my ghosts? Did I not tell you I could free him?¡± Perfect. ¡°I hoped Master Tom could be more reliable, if I can afford his price.¡± ¡°Of course, Sir, of course! Fear not. Old Tom knows all the ways and hereabouts whither,¡± Tom reached behind the door and retrieved a small polished wood box into his hands. He slid the top opening revealing a stack of paper cards. ¡°Master Tom found these cards in a holy man¡¯s cabinet, Sir. The holy man has not asked Master Tom for them back so there has been no theft Sir,¡± Tom winked at me, ¡°But Master Tom does not know what the cards do, Sir! He is completely befuddled. Would Sir help old Tom know what old Tom has found?¡± Funnily enough, the cards he had stolen from the holy man were called holy cards. I knew that, which meant Tom knew it in my memories, but he didn¡¯t know that he knew it. Which meant it wasn¡¯t enough for him to have the memories, he also had to access them. ¡°I will happily explain the cards to you in exchange for the retrieval of my friend, Master. I could do it myself, but it would be nice to have an expert such as yourself on hand to ease the rescue.¡± Tom¡¯s hand shot out, ¡°Master Tom Oldshoe accepts happily as well. He has been ever so puzzled by these cards.¡± I reached out my own hand, then stopped just shy of his fingers, ¡°I will explain the nature of the cards to you in exchange for the rescue of Eric from the warlock¡¯s cell where he is currently held.¡± Tom frowned, but clasped my hand, ¡°It is very rude to change the deal last moment Sir. Sir and Master Tom were near in the midst of shaking already.¡± ¡°I regret the necessity Master,¡± I said as diplomatically as I could. Tom smiled. There was a twinkle in his eye, ¡°Sir is wise. Come sit by Master Tom¡¯s fire while Sir explains to him Sir¡¯s cards.¡± LXXIV - Cards of a Holy Man Oswic, Tom, and I were soon sitting around the fire in short order. Tom had even drawn a chair for Attart which she atop like a feather on edge atop a goose¡¯s head. The cards are holy cards, Master, meant to bring one back from the path of sin,¡± I spread them out on the table, ¡°Only the one who made them can know their true nature, but each card provides a different atonement or blessing. Some may even be cursed. Indemnification and restitution are also possible but often subtle in nature. To repent all you need to do is lay the card across your bared chest, over your heart.¡± Tom peered over the cards. His fingers were twitching, ready to grab any at a moment¡¯s notice, ¡°But Sir does not know which card does what?¡± I shook my head, ¡°There is a pattern in the creation of holy cards, but it is unique to each set and each creator.¡± Tom grinned up at me, ¡°Would Sir agree the pattern of the cards is part of their nature?¡± I stifled a groan. Tom had me dead to rights. It wasn¡¯t hard, exactly, to determine the nature of the cards, but it meant I needed to use enough of them to get a general picture. Hopefully the holy man wasn¡¯t a sadist. May I use a number of your cards Master Tom? It will assist me in determining their nature. It is the only way I know how short of questioning the holy man himself.¡± Tom grumbled and made a show of it, but he relinquished five cards of the deck to my study. I eyed Oswic. It would be easier to perform the tests on him for a number of reasons, and if he was lost, I¡¯d still have my strengthened and rune inscribed body. On the other hand, his body was mine without the affliction of the dungeon¡¯s corruption about it. If I ever escaped Bleak Fort I¡¯d want his body over my own. I couldn¡¯t see the future, nor in this case even predict it. Perhaps the cards would cure my cursed body but allow me to keep my strengths. Or maybe they¡¯d destroy the minds of everyone next to me leaving me unharmed. When there was no right answer the simplest course was the simplest course. I grabbed a card and slapped it against the hole in my armour. When that failed to do anything I started fiddling with my gambeson while Oswic pressed the first card to his bare chest. The image was of a drum bringing about the wave to wash away the fourth world. The card stuck in place. The cards were beautifully painted. The paints were as richly hued as lead with the inner strength of lacquer. I only noticed it fully when the card stuck to Oswic¡¯s chest grew dull. It still held colour, but it was the colour of pigments mixed by a shopkeep painting a sign. By no means ugly, and possibly even desirable, but no longer containing the depth of mastery. The dimmed card fell free from Oswic¡¯s chest with a slight cracking sound and fluttered to the floor. Tom eyed the card expectantly. I eyed Oswic. A moment later I was proved correct. I¡¯d lost my mind a moment prior and now it was Oswic¡¯s turn. It felt as though his conscience was being pulled like taffy. Folded and turned, split on itself and re-merged, and stretched far beyond its furthest reaches until it was so thin I couldn¡¯t see it. Oswic himself was going through something similar. His body flipped through itself. His top half rotated forward the full 360 degrees of a circle forward through his bottom half as though both were made of water. Water was a good analogy. It was as if his entire body had become a droplet impacting a pond and we were now seeing it ripple. The sun rose and the light could be seen refracting through his body. His shoulders touched and unfolded facing the opposite direction, then collapsed down into his toes casting rainbows the whole way. The ripples multiplied and layered until Oswic¡¯s own reflection refracted upon itself a dozen times over. He folded and unfolded like a paper flower, each undulation revealing himself again, further layered. Now several dozen layers. Now hundreds. The rainbow settled. And he was gone. In his place sat Attart, wearing all he had been, which was to say, nothing. My sense of Oswic¡¯s mind had vanished, yet my soul still had more than one body. I could feel it there, bound to Attart somehow, almost like a cloak about her own soul. Attart sank heavily into the chair, ¡°Where? How? What have you done?¡± She patted about her, searching for what I could not say. Perhaps where ever her spirit had vanished to, for it was gone. Tom¡¯s mouth was hanging open. The hob scrubbed at his eyes. Master Tom has never seen such a sight in all his years, and many years there are! Master Tom was bound by duty to give Sir such a one sided traded, but he is now glad he did Sir! Master Tom does not need cards which turn him into a necromancer Sir!¡± The egg cracked before the chick could fly. My body had been given to me, then stolen, both so quickly. I could feel a thousand futures slipping away. I took a deep, steadying breath and slowly pulled the dress up from over my head. Here, it might fit you,¡± I said holding it out. Attart recoiled from the dress, ¡°No!¡± She put a hand over her mouth, ¡°No. Sorry. I forgot myself. Something feels wrong about that dress. It does not wish to be worn. Not by me.¡± Tom bounced between us, ¡°Perhaps old Master Tom could be of assistance? Tom is a skilful tailor, he would be happy to help clothe Mistress in the finest he can find.¡± Attart shook her head, ¡°You are very kind Tom, but I am sure I can find something.¡± I had already pulled my tunic over my head. Here, take this instead. It¡¯s a start.¡± The shirt had shrunk somewhat in the etiquette realm, but I was nearly a foot taller than Attart, so it still managed to just about cover her down past her hips. It also had two holes in the front in a rather inconvenient place. A second try worn back to front managed to salavage something of a very red and flustered Attart¡¯s modesty. Tom had offered advice all the while, ¡°Tom can stitch the tunic Mistress.¡± ¡°Old Tom knows of a dozen dresses to fit Mistress.¡± ¡°Mistress cannot be seen without a skirt! Old Tom¡¯s mother would have a fit if she knew he had invited in one dressed such as Mistress!¡± ¡°Master Tom would part with a pair of trousers for nearly free, Mistress, they are far too large for him.¡± Attart hadn¡¯t responded to a one. She was even more wary of elves than I was apparently, which made her trust in me when I¡¯d saved her all the more desperate in nature. Not that I was an elf, but I¡¯d have a hard time convincing anyone of that. Especially now that I¡¯d lost my unmarred form. Playing dress up¡ªand even Tom¡¯s nattering for that matter¡ªhad been a pleasant distraction, but the wound was still there. It was a boon I¡¯d never thought to have, and one I¡¯d never asked for, but it still felt as if my return to humanity had been torn from me. I shook my head and grabbed a second card. It depicted molten gold being drawn from a pool of slag. I¡¯d made a bargain. If I kept the bargain and the cards didn¡¯t end me, or turn me into a second copy of Attart, I could make another bargain at some point and find another way. I looked at the rune on my leg. Return to the time of your previous death. I could re-enter the Mushroom-King¡¯s lair and retrieve Oswic once more, this time with the knowledge of the holy cards and the wisdom to give Tom less than all my memories. I could, if I risked whatever might happen to Attart. Last time had stolen her body from her. She¡¯d taken mine in turn, but at least I still had spare, she¡¯d been rendered powerless. I slapped the card against my chest. One thing at a time. Wait! Oswic, I can question the¡ª¡± Attart reacted far too slow. The card was already fading. It fluttered to the ground. Tom¡¯s eyes widened and Attart gasped. For my part, I noticed nothing out of place. What is it?¡± Sir is asking of Master Tom and Mistress. Master Tom cannot help but notice,¡± Tom screwed up his face and pressed his eyelids together, ¡°Even when he cannot see Sir Master Tom is being asked.¡± That sounded like nonsense to me, but Attart was nodding, ¡°You are giving off a presence Oswic. Like a precipice asking me to jump straight in.¡± She gestured at me as if that explained everything. I frowned, puzzled, ¡°So... what happens if you jump?¡± Attart stood and walked around the table. Then, without hesitation, permission, or the slightest blush she pressed her hand against my chest. I was about to comment on her forwardness when two things happened. The first was that Attart collapsed. I rose to catch her as she fell, succeeding, but exacerbating the second. It was if I¡¯d been smothered by her. Her presence (not her person) clung to me like mud. There was no visible change to my body or clothes, but I could swear I felt something foreign running over my down my stomach and around my legs. Something climbing my chest and arms. Dripping through my hair and off my lashes. Tom brought around a large low cushion for me to lower Attart into which I did. He peered over her with his large eyes. Is Mistress alright Sir? Master Tom had not thought Sir a vampire Sir.¡± I put my fingers to her neck. Her pulse was faint but growing stronger, ¡°She¡¯ll be fine Master. I¡¯m not a vampire. It¡¯s something else. I¡¯ll feel like I¡¯ve fallen in a pool of mud.¡± Tom peered closer at Attart, ¡°Mistress appears clean, but Master Tom can prepare a bath if Mistress is needing.¡± I shook my head. It was hard to concentrate with the feeling of being enveloped in lukewarm slag. I grabbed my left arm in my right hand and tried to wipe it off. Much to my surprise, the feeling slid off easily and my arm was clean. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Better than clean. It felt... stronger? More comfortable? Balanced? I flexed my fingers and bent my elbow. Something had changed. It wasn¡¯t how my arm looked, but how it felt. I tried wiping of my other arm. The same thing happened. Both hands ran down over my shoulders, chest, and back. I drew in a deep breath. I could definitely breath easier. A little deeper. I finished clearing myself while Tom watched. By the end I felt as though I¡¯d not only been through a cleansing shower, but also a series of deep stretches. My whole body felt limber. Well Sir? Master Tom wonders what the card has done to Sir.¡± I feel stronger Master. More flexible, maybe? It¡¯s faint, so it¡¯s hard to describe.¡± Attart¡¯s eyes fluttered open, ¡°I myself feel ever so weak. Do you think perhaps you have stolen my strength?¡± She struggled to a sitting position. I hope not. It¡¯s possible, but holy cards rarely harm others. As I said earlier they are about redemption, not power. Even if they were cursed they should hurt the one who used them, me, not those around me.¡± Attart raised her right arm and flexed it a few times. I am feeling a bit better now. Whatever befell me appears to be fast lifting. Perhaps it is a temporary sort of borrowing?¡± I wasn¡¯t feeling any weaker as Attart gained in strength and said so, ¡°We shall see in time. Unfortunately, I am going to need to try another of your cards, Master. I still haven¡¯t cracked the nature of our holy man here.¡± Attart reached for one of the cards Tom had given me, ¡°May I try one? I wish to help and I feel terribly guilty about whatever happened to your second form. I can imagine precisely how much it meant to you.¡± Precisely seemed a little strong. Then again, there had been some hints that the form she now wore had been forced on her by the etiquette book rather than being her own, even if she had refused to fix it with the dream potion. Her soul merging with that of another wouldn¡¯t have helped issues. Speaking of which, perhaps that could be my saving grace. All I need do was return to the etiquette book and drink the vial as Attart had before me. Damages could be undone, or at the very least, remade. It was so simple I held the idea with some caution. Dark magic was alluring after all. But it was also so simple it filled me with a giddy hope. It didn¡¯t matter if it worked. The important thing was that there was ways yet unexplored out of here. Not just the dungeon, the but the isolation and wounds it had wrought. Which brought me back to Attart¡¯s question. I had planned to try all cards, but all burdens need not be my own. If she wanted to help, she could. I¡¯d welcome the assistance. Though please, feel no guilt on my account. It hurts to have my form taken from me, but I tore you from both body and time. If anything, the card which gave you your body was one of atonement.¡± Attart hesitated a moment, hand hovering, and then delicately took up one of the cards. It depicted a man prostrated before a shrine atop a hill. The shrine shone with the dawning sun. Without slowing to study the card Attart threaded it down the neck of her(my) tunic and pressed it against her chest. A moment later I heard the card unstick itself, but her tunic prevented it from falling. A gentle smile spread on Attart¡¯s face as she tugged at the tunic to free the card, which eventually drifted free. She turned the smile on me and¡ªby the sacred seat¡ªI was still reeling from the return of love into my life, but she was looking at me with the adoration of an angel. I¡¯d not felt so loved more than a handful of times in my life, and that was including my mother¡¯s affection at my birth. Are you alright?¡± I asked. Her eyes crinkled in amusement, ¡°I feel fine. A little warm, especially when you look my way, but that is all-¡± She clutched her hand to her breasts. They were moving slightly, visible even beneath the tunic. All of her was moving. Her nose lengthened, her fingers shifted. Her tunic began to rise back into indecency as her hips rose beneath it. Her hair danced and twisted itself into a number of shimmering braids and her eyes lustered as they began to sparkle. Even her lips, brows, and lashes shifted subtly. Attart had been beautiful before, but now she was reminiscent of one of the Harem-King¡¯s beauties. All the while the smile remained on her lips. What... what was that?¡± she gasped. Even her voice had changed ever so slightly, though not enough for me to pin down in what way. The most damning thing was the concern in her voice. It hadn¡¯t reached her eyes. It was like we were back in the etiquette room. Admittedly, with considerably less trousers. She looked up at me with that gentle smile and desperation in her voice, ¡°I cannot stop smiling. I must look as though I am in love, but truly, meaning no disrespect to yourself, I am terrified.¡± I knew precisely how she felt, but that same understanding muted me as I sought for the correct words to say. Tom took that opportunity to insert his own form of care. Would Mistress like to reconsider Master Tom¡¯s offer of a tailor? Master Tom will do his best to make Mistress¡¯s tunic fit, though Master Tom wonders if such a task is beyond even him.¡± I...,¡± Attart tugged the hem helplessly downward. It didn¡¯t move very far, ¡°Perhaps Tom. What are you offering? Do you still think those trousers would fit? Or a skirt of some kind?¡± Master Tom has all kinds of clothing, Mistress, all kinds. People are always leaving gifts for Master Tom to find, and he is not so haughty to turn down gifts, Mistress. Master Tom will offer a skirt and some underclothes for poor Mistress in exchange for Mistress¡¯s child.¡± Attart¡¯s smile never left her face even as she stumbled back from the dobby, ¡°A child? But I have no child.¡± She sounded more frightened than confused. I drew my cutlass and levelled it at Tom, ¡°You go too far Tom.¡± Tom danced away from my sword and swept down his hat with a bow, ¡°Master Tom apologizes, kind Mistress, kind Sir, but Master Tom detected something amiss with Mistress¡¯s smile. Master Tom has now confirmed the holy man¡¯s curse is upon poor Mistress and would happily offer Mistress skirt and underclothes as long as she promises never to give them away. Master Tom is very proud of his sewing, Mistress.¡± Is that all?¡± Attart¡¯s voice was skeptical, but the smile never left her face, ¡°What if they are damaged or stolen?¡± Tom squashed his hat down back on his head, ¡°As long as Mistress does not give them away, Master Tom can take no offence Mistress. Master Tom is a generous sort Mistress.¡± Attart stuck out her hand, ¡°Grant me a skirt and underclothes which fit and I vow never to give them away Master Tom.¡± I reached out as fast as I could without being hasty (I tried anyway. Her fingers might have ended up a little bruised) and pushed her hand away. ¡°Ask for a skirt and underclothes which he alters to fit you.¡± Tom stomped his foot indignantly, ¡°Sir is not part of this deal! This is between the kind Mistress and Master Tom, Sir, kindly do not intercede. Sir has no right to Master Tom¡¯s other dealings.¡± I pursed my lips. Attart stuck out her hand once more, ¡°Grant me a skirt and underclothes which you alter to fit me, and are safe for me to wear, and I vow to never give them away Master Tom.¡± I bit my tongue to stop from interceding again. Asking for more stipulations might feel clever, and I¡¯d done it myself, but it also encouraged elves of all sorts to find additional ways around the bargain. Dobbies were said to be worse than most. Tom grabbed Attart¡¯s hand, ¡°As mistress desires. The clothes of finest moonsilk shall be yours.¡± Tom scampered off to a chest in the opposite corner of the room and began rummaging for fabrics. I sighed. What is it?¡± Attart asked, ¡°Is there something wrong with moonsilk? Itchy, perhaps?¡± I shook my head, ¡°It is said to be very strong and comfortable. Fireproof even. Like a superior sort of silk.¡± But...¡± she prompted. It¡¯s translucent. Transparent depending on the thickness of the weave.¡± Attart raised her hand to her face, but there was no blush to cover other than the glow which had been permanently affixed there by the card, ¡°Was the point of the clothing not to make myself decent?¡± He viewed that you pushed him too far. Hobs are mercurial in nature. It is best to keep your bargains as simple as possible, lest they believe you don¡¯t trust them and therefore try to earn your mistrust.¡± That is-¡± Crazy. I know. But the clothing will at least keep you warm,¡± I lowered my voice, ¡°and once we¡¯re out of sight we can smudge them with dirt or charcoal for your modesty.¡± It was hard to tell if she had heard me. Her head dipped in what might have been the slightest nod, but with her face it looked like a demure side-eye. She really did remind me of the Harem-King¡¯s lot. Melinda! He¡¯d been convinced I¡¯d fall for one of his girls, but I hadn¡¯t known why. She¡¯d been Melinda. But she couldn¡¯t have been, because the rift had been active before I¡¯d met the Mushroom-King. I pinched the bridge of my nose and let the thoughts race through me. Always a dozen things at once down here. Tom was starting to turn and investigate our whispering. I raised my voice again, ¡°¡®Never outwit an elf¡¯ is the saying in the Painted Lands. That, and to avoid them wherever possible.¡± Tom wouldn¡¯t mind hearing that. Elves liked the air of mystery. And it gave reason to explain why our tones had been hushed. It goes double for hobgoblins. Speaking of which,¡± I picked up a card, ¡°You want another turn?¡± To my surprise she nodded, ¡°After Tom has my clothes ready I too will feel ready.¡± And, it went unspoken, perhaps the cards would turn them into robes of vestment or paint them bright orange. I took the penultimate card Tom had offered us. It depicted elves repairing a broken window with gold between the cracks. Slap! Went the card against my chest. Crack! And it lost colour. The paper fluttered to the floor. A voice whispered in my ear. Truly whispered, unlike the dark mutterings in my mind. Be not afraid. Sorrow not. Your journey is long and far from done. All debts will be repaid in time.¡± It was a man¡¯s voice, as powerful as any siren¡¯s, but offering truth instead of death. A knot in my shoulders eased. Vanished. I no longer feared death, not when I thought of Elysium, but there were many tortures of the spirit. My twisted form was one of them. But the voice promised, and I knew it was a promise and a knew it was a promise about my alienating appearance, the voice promised restitution. Tom returned with a tape measure in hand. I¡¯d lost my form, gained it again, and lost it all in a month. There were years yet ahead. There were those who cared for me even as a demon, even as an elf. Things I all knew. But now I believed them. Now they were true. My heart felt like soaring. Well?¡± Attart said in a tone which sounded like an invitation rather than a question. I found my eyes roving over her for a comment before I caught myself. She noticed and raised her eyebrows in suggestion¡ªquestioning probably, but it looked like further incitement. I focused on Tom as he measured her changed form. He was quick, with the hands of a professional. Courteous and unobtrusive. I felt only joy where guilt might once have remained. Or shame. It was so easy when I wasn¡¯t in pain. Well and well and well,¡± I couldn¡¯t stop myself from looking back to her to share in my joy, ¡°Better than I have ever been. It... I¡¯d feared returning to the surface after my transformation-¡± Attart nodded her head gently. Understanding, I suppose. -but the card offered me a promise of healing and restitution. Not a cure exactly. But a reminder of patience. One that is sticking so far. My problems are all still here, but they feel so far away I could sing.¡± Tom returned to his workbench and began sewing in a flurry of scissors and thread. Attart laughed and covered her mouth, ¡°Go on then, what songs do you know?¡± What songs did I know? Not any, really? I could sing well enough, but I never remembered any of the words. After a minute of hesitance while I pulled all manner of faces in concentration Attart burst out laughing again. This time she didn¡¯t even both to cover her mouth. Come one Oswic. Whatever you like!¡± It wasn¡¯t a matter of liking, it was one of remembering. And I couldn¡¯t even remember a simple nursery rhyme. Nothing except for that squirrel secured badger song. So what else could I do? I belted out the lyrics again, this time exaggerating each and every line with vibrato. Tom had already finished his tailoring by the time I was halfway through the song. The little hob joined in on the last verse and then finished with a verse of his own. Should one hear a badger call, And then an ullot cry, Make thy peace with God, good soul, For thou shall shortly die.¡± Tom sung as he danced over to Attart with clothes in hand. I hadn¡¯t heard that one before. It was a little bit less positive than my own. I shared a look wit¡ªI looked at Attart and she met my gaze with an earnest yearning which filled my stomach with butterflies, but I was pretty sure we were on the same page¡ªTom could have been singing innocently along, or he might have put two and two together. He¡¯d been clement, but that didn¡¯t mean we could push him too far. Tom, or whomever operated the loom was a master. The moonsilk was of the finest quality I¡¯d ever heard of. I could barely make it out as he held it out to Attart, so sheer was its make, but she took it without complaint. Thank you Master,¡± she said graciously, curtsying in a manner which made me avert my eyes. That tunic was not made for the slightest bend. It would have been less obscene had she been wearing nothing at all at this point, but Tom was already gesturing to the blind next to his tailoring bench. LXXV - Necromancer Dobby Attart came out looking almost the same as before she¡¯d changed, save that her legs occasionally took on a slight shimmer when the light caught her skirt or underclothes. The double layer did do a little to cover her, but only just. I handed her the last card, this one depicting a golden gate barring passage to a flaming abyss, ¡°One more card Master Tom, and I¡¯ll do my best to reveal to you the nature of your holy man¡¯s deck.¡± Tom hopped up onto one of the chairs by his table so that his head was nearly level with my chest and Attart¡¯s eyes. Master Tom wishes his best luck on Mistress for her card!¡± He looked sincere enough, but that was one of the problems with elves. They were always sincere. I noticed the master had said ¡°his best luck¡±, and not ¡°the best luck¡±. I guess the badger¡¯s luck was stronger, because when Attart placed that card against her chest, everything went wrong for Tom. *** Crack! The sound wasn¡¯t loud, just the card unsticking from Attart¡¯s skin, but in the quiet anticipation it sounded like a gunshot. At first I thought the sound had startled Tom, for he toppled forward at the same instant the card broke free, but rather than make any effort to catch himself he continued to fall, lifeless. Attart flinched in precisely the wrong direction setting their heads on a collision course, but before they impacted the hob turned into a streamer of light and shot into Attart¡¯s eyes. In the next moment her whole body began to glow. And then she began to shrink. Whatever past-Oswic¡¯s flesh had been made of, it didn¡¯t appear to be a stable substance. First she¡¯d become Attart, and then dream Attart, and now her hair was crawling back into her head as she shrunk and her brand-new clothes¡ªonce tight¡ªwere draping about her like a child playing dress up. It wasn¡¯t just her height that was changing, it was her proportions as well. Her nose and ears crooked and sharpened like knives. Her impossible breasts and hips sagged and shrunk back down to dimensions closer to what she¡¯d previously held. Her eyebrows grew bushy and her face wrinkled like a wet sheet of paper. Finally, for the first time since her first card, her expression changed. Her eyes grew clever with a spark of mischief. Her skin cooled as the permanent blush retreated. And her mouth moved into an expression of horror. What has Mistress done? Oswic help! Attart¡¯s mind is-she is, Mistress Attart has gone mad Sir! Tom has invaded her mind!¡± I moved my swords slowly over to hover over the space between myself and... whoever it was in that oversized tunic with underclothes and skirt pooling about her feet. The voice wasn¡¯t Attart¡¯s or Tom¡¯s, nor the altered voice the shrine card had given her. This was different. Sir/Osw-, please do not just stand there! Tom/Attart is needing saving Sir!¡± Right. Better action of any kind than allowing fear to continue to grow. I raised my hands, though drew no closer, just in case, ¡°Attart, Tom, whoever you are. Please. Listen to my voice. We will figure this out okay?¡± Oswic Attart understan-¡± I cut her off with a second wave of my hands. Let¡¯s go with nods for now. Do you understand?¡± Attart, or Tom, or whoever it was nodded. Now, all together, following me, let us take a deep breath in. Raise your hands from your abdomen to your chin as you do so.¡± The exorcise was good, but it didn¡¯t really matter. The important thing was seeing if she could- -darkness rose from every corner of my vision at once. Light was devoured. The sun was lost. Light returned, now dimmer than before. The last sun had fallen- -Tom (or Attart) was unaware of my plight, so consumed by her own. She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly as she raised her hands. They rose without the slightest waver. I myself was more shaken from what I¡¯d just seen. Whatever I¡¯d planned to say was gone. Instead I found myself fixating on her form once more. She¡¯d lost about half a foot in height and still looked far more herself than Tom. Even the more extreme changes which had made Attart look old and angular had mostly reversed themselves. Her ears were still pointed and her skin still weathered, but now in a way which was striking rather than depreciating. Her smile was less fixed, though she still seemed mostly unable to control it and the crafty look in her eyes had become flirtatious in nature. Perhaps if Tom¡¯s mother had been a great beauty she would have looked something like this in her youth, though presumably quite a bit smaller. At least the changes seemed to have stopped. Sir Oswic? Please help poor Attart. She does not know what has happened to her Sir. Please Sir, her mind is tearing asunder.¡± Curiosity would be my path forward. I couldn¡¯t ignite myself to keep Attart warm or we¡¯d both die once the flames snuffed out, but I could find a common ground to give both of us strength. What had happened to her? I needed the card and I needed her calm. That meant steady clear instructions working toward my goal. Sir promised Attart to reveal the nature of the cards, not use them on poor sweet Tom. She doesn¡¯t like these cards Sir. Sir must solve it at once!¡± I mentally shook myself. Anything would do, just give her an instruction. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Attart, could you please retrieve the card you used for me? I have an idea, but I want to make sure of it.¡± Attart rummaged through her now doubly overlarge tunic with a haste edging on madness, but at least she was occupied. The card fell free from the tunic as she searched and she was none the wiser. I took a risk and crept as close as I dared to retrieve the card with the edge of my boot. I remained where I was and Attart remained where she was and neither of use was fused to the other, so I considered the action a success. I could only thank the heavens Tom had been standing closer to Attart than I had. I scooted the card a few feet a way and picked it up without Attart noticing. She now had her whole head in her tunic and was spinning it about her body as she searched. I¡¯d leave her to it. I placed the card with the others. The drum washing away the fourth world had taken Oswic¡¯s body and given it to Attart; from he with two to she with none. Sins past annihilated so that creation could start anew. The transmutation of metals into gold had taken spiritual mud from Attart¡¯s new body, weakening her temporarily and strengthening me; from she with more strength to him with less? I doubted Attart was stronger than me. Maybe more flexible? The card itself was obvious to any Magi. The purification of base metals leaving behind the slag and drawing forth spiritual gold. It was the philosopher¡¯s stone. The man prostrating to the dawning sun shrine had further changed Attart¡¯s body to be closer to an ideal than a reality; a place to worship? More than any other, this card confounded me. Beauty was one thing, but what was with that loving smile? I felt like her husband returned from the war every time she looked at me. The elves repairing a broken window with gold had promised restitution; the broken future becoming a treasure beyond compare. The window would be forever changed. Gold let in less light than glass, for one thing. But how much light it let in wasn¡¯t the only measure of a window. This card was an outlier in that it hadn¡¯t changed Attart in some way. At least as far as I was aware. The golden gate barring passage to the flaming abyss had merged Tom and Attart body and soul; the wise shall be guard for the sinner. Spiritual gold barred the path of damnation. True magic was strong in the nature of these cards. The deck would not be out of place on the shelf of one of the wise. The window had more of a fairy tale to, but the druids were similar enough to the Magi that there was significant overlap. Only the shrine evaded me. Was the problem the worship of the shrine when the sun itself was right there? Beauty was universal, but it was beheld differently through its many facets. So why did the forms taken by Attart reflect my own preference? My soul was still bound to Attart¡¯s body, even in spite of all which had befallen us. Perhaps that explained the connection. No, I was thinking about it the wrong way around. If Attart was the worshipper depicted on the card rather than the shrine or the sun, then it was a card of devotion. Love, tenderness, kindness, care. Her expression held all of them, and all were signs of devotion. Even her body had become ¡°devoted¡± to me by changing to be as appealing as possible to my eye. Which made the card a strange form of literal parable. There. That was the connection. Each card taught a lesson. Redemption. Transmutation. Devotion. Perseverance. And... redemption again? No. The gates prevented access to damnation outright. They did not retrieve lost souls. Salvation then. Attart was still searching her tunic. Tom¡¯s influence was strong. Attart. Master Tom. I¡¯ve discovered the nature of your cards.¡± Attart popped her head out of the sleeve of her tunic, ¡°Si-Oswic has fou- You have found their nature?¡± I spread the five cards on the table. They are virtues represented by Magus archetypes. The exact outcomes are unclear and may even be cursed, but the foundation is deducible. The holy man was not cruel, even his curses offer a path forward.¡± He has bound our souls, Oswic. Mine and Tom¡¯s. That is what it feels like, though I have never felt something like this before.¡± I have some suspicions, but first, you still view yourself and Tom as separate? Or yourself as the primary soul?¡± I would hardly be a master necromancer if I could not maintain a strong sense of self in the presence of other souls. We are bound but Attart has wrestled for her sense of self.¡± It was hard to say how she viewed that slip up, as her face was still almost entirely locked into a flirtatious smile. It was less distracting than the loving gaze she¡¯d had going earlier, but it was probably even less representative of what she wanted to be expressing. A grimace, if I had to guess. Attart continued, ¡°That said, I have never before such difficulty integrating a soul into mine. I had thought my first experience would make a second easier, but I feel as though I am tearing apart.¡± That tracked with where my mind was going, time to confirm it, ¡°Could you make me a new set of clothes from your collection?¡± I... Tom begs your pardon? Attart does not think this is the time for making clothes.¡± Well that threw me off. She was not compelled to form bargains above all else, even though she had refereed to herself as Tom. I held up two fingers, ¡°How many fingers do you think am I holding up? Lie about your answer.¡± She stared at me flirtatiously but did not speak. Strange. I am trying to determine the nature of your bond with Tom.¡± Her mouth quirked as though I¡¯d said something witty, ¡°Oh! I was terribly confused. You are holding up twelve fingers.¡± She wasn¡¯t compelled to make oaths and could lie easier than some Magi. That must mean, ¡°You don¡¯t seem to have inherited any of the elven compulsions. Unfortunately, that means you also won¡¯t have inherited Tom¡¯s elven talents. The two are inextricably twined.¡± Tom will keep her promise to save Oswic¡¯s friend, Sir.¡± It was disturbing hear someone else talk like Tom. Attart was the expert on soul mergers, but I suspected whatever process the souls underwent wasn¡¯t yet complete. Even she, master necromancer that she was, didn¡¯t know why she was having so much troubles with Tom. You can save Eric now that I¡¯ve explained the cards?¡± Of course, Sir. Old Tom Oldshoe never breaks her promises Oswic.¡± Tom certainly seemed to come out in force when discussing oaths. I think the problem you¡¯re having is the alienness of an eleven soul. There are some who contend elves don¡¯t even have souls, that they are instead forces of nature. Which is clearly wrong, but I suspect the strength of his soul and its utter inhumanity will take some time to adapt to, if ever.¡± And you only need watch the tiniest of flames to see even forces of nature held souls. It is most uncomfortable Sir. I,¡± she drew out the word in a way which left no doubt as to the nature of her victory, ¡°think it best we save Eric at once.¡± See if there is some clothes over there which fit you first. They¡¯re yours now after all.¡± Attart produced a sound which on a less comely body I would describe as a cackle. Here maybe I¡¯d settle for calling it a breathy laugh. I suppose they are,¡± she said. LXXVI - The Memory of What Was Strangely, Tom was in possession of several sets of clothing which fit his and Attart¡¯s new body. One was so worn it looked like it might fall apart upon being put on, one was covered in a distressing number of bloodstains, and the final outfit (the one Attart settled on) was an all black scullery maid uniform. At least, that is what we thought it might be. I¡¯d never met a scullery maid in uniform and Attart¡¯s books had only contained pictures of scullions. My bodyguard wore this, but she was outside the Bleak Fort when the first was activated,¡± Attart explained, which was no explanation at all. Tom had a body guard? A woman? Who was four and half feet tall? With garments fitting Attart¡¯s nymphine proportions? One who could leave the Bleak Fort without being detected? If Attart wasn¡¯t at risk of falling apart or into Tom I¡¯d be bombarding her with questions. Attart decided to leave her moonsilk things behind. The house was hers anyway, so she wasn¡¯t giving them away or even abandoning them. And I got back my tunic which was welcome. My skin didn¡¯t chafe as easily as normal skin, but still, I was wearing armour directly above it. That would chafe an elephant. Where next Sir?¡± Attart asked once we were done changing. If I¡¯m not mistaken we are close by. This door here, to our left when we entered your house,¡± I wasn¡¯t sure if I should refer to it as her house or not, but Attart had already claimed the bodyguard as her own and left her (Attart¡¯s) things on the clothing rack, ¡°should be the western door.¡± She nodded, ¡°It is. Master Tom does not know all the ways of dungeon but Master Tom knows the ways from her house.¡± Is the door safe, Attart?¡± I wasn¡¯t one to use someone¡¯s name ten times a conversation, not unless formality demanded it, but I felt a little reinforcement might be welcome here. It might also be hated as a reminder of her failures. I¡¯d take the gamble. I couldn¡¯t avoid hurting everyone every time. Stronger than safe Master, the door is secure. Attart made sure of it.¡± She tapped her finger thrice on the door and then slid it horizontally across. The door swung open on its own accord. She curtsied, ¡°After you, Master.¡± Did elves curtsy? Was that a result of Attart¡¯s etiquette or Tom¡¯s courtly manners? I couldn¡¯t tell who was winning. The moment I left Tom/Attart¡¯s home I was assaulted by a cacophony of whispers. Whispers I hadn¡¯t heard in what felt like days. Or had it been weeks? Hours? They rejoiced as if it had. Jubilation, threats and dark promises overwhelmed my mind rising in sound until even my vision faded and then, just as suddenly, the voices dispersed, leaving only a memory. Heat Blob Heat Blob? That wasn¡¯t just a contender for my least predisposing spell, it was the grand champion. Forget the dark promises and the corruption inherent in power, it was the names of the spells driving warlocks mad. How were you supposed to be taken seriously among your peers when that was your spell of the day? You¡¯d be laughed out of Bleak Fort if anyone found out. Who knew dark magic could be so incongruous with these darkened halls full of traps and tribulations? Said darkened hall was about fifty feet long and only lit by the lights coming from Attart¡¯s house behind us. My skin had been glowing earlier. Could I bring it back? It was as easy as closing my eyes. Light swelled around me and then went dim as I reined it back in. It appeared could control the intensity and glow anywhere between darkness and the light of the sun. Sir is a torch for us to see by!¡± exclaimed Attart. I noticed she stayed behind me even now that she could see despite Tom¡¯s knowledge of this path. In fact, Tom might be able to see better in the dark than I could in the first place. I was pretty sure there hadn¡¯t been any traps last time I¡¯d been here, but I might have just gotten lucky. I took each step carefully and scouted with my ring. It took two and a half minutes to reach the door on the other side. Once there Attart scampered forward in a manner more befitting a goblin than a woman of refinement and tapped her fingers along the door. The door swung open noiselessly, as if it had been installed by a semi-competent carpenter. Clearly some elf magic was beyond the ken of mortal man. The room beyond was occupied. Magic Swords II The spell was cast before I remembered I should have been expecting that. Thankfully the seven blonde women resting on the other side of the stone henge between us couldn¡¯t see my blades. They were in much better condition than the (previous) first time I had seen them. I¡¯d already smashed the altar for them this time. I¡¯d forgotten it had been so poisonous to the other inhabitants of the dungeon. Seven startled pairs of eyes locked onto my face. They were wary, but more than wary they were interested. I hadn¡¯t been able to recognize the sheer romantic yearning in their gaze before but now it was as plain as day. They were smitten with me. They couldn¡¯t know I¡¯d been the one to cure them, but the other option was that they¡¯d all fallen for my handsome face. I¡¯d be the last to downplay my good looks, but I didn¡¯t look like myself at the moment, and even despite my genetic prowess seven women were going to have seven different sets of taste. There was something else at play here. Gunhild was a troll of some kind. It would be safe to assume her sisters were as well. Was there a kind of troll compelled to seek companionship with human beings? Were they under a curse which could only be broken with marriage? Huldra. Beautiful women with tails of animals, hollows like trees in their backs, and something to do with marriage. Only the faintest fragments remained in my mind, but they¡¯d finally all clicked into place. I didn¡¯t recall anything about a troll-like form nor a propensity to live underground, but I¡¯d only come across the passage on the strange creatures in passing to begin with. Perhaps I could ask them. I stepped forward which (eaugh) unfortunately brought me into contact with the strange boundary produced by the stone henge. It was just as unpleasant as the previous time. I took another step and passed through, raising my empty hands as I did so. I am sorry to intrude. You are clearly still recovering from a poisoning of some sort. I am a Magus of some talent, is there anything I can do to assist you? You are all huldra, correct?¡± It wasn¡¯t the most elegant introduction, but the intent mattered more than words. The women relaxed. As much as they were able in their weakened state. The one furthest from me must have felt safest for it was here which spoke, ¡°What do you know of the huldra?¡± Very little. I have spent some time with one of your kind before and read a sentence or two in my studies. She appeared to be a gentle sort of troll who was intent on seducing me. Naturally I¡¯d appreciate it if you ladies avoided that.¡± The sisters glanced at one another and then back to me, ¡°Of course. I cannot speak for the one you met, of course, but our kind¡¯s attempts do not tend to be malicious. It is in our nature, but we are a gentle folk as a rule.¡± She weakly gestured at her fallen sisters and herself, ¡°And we¡¯re in no state to offer you harm even if we wished to.¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Of course,¡± I said with a slight bow of my head. But how did you know we were recovering from a poisoning? Any other would think we were dying if they¡¯d not seen our state an hour before.¡± Saxifrage. Truth be told, I suspected it because of my other knowledge. I¡¯ve seen huldra poisoned by dark metals before, and less than an hour ago I destroyed a nearby altar of the warlocks giving off a wicked energy.¡± I could see the suspicion growing. Who is your companion?¡± Prickly saxifrage. I didn¡¯t think ¡°She is a necromancer fused with the soul of a trickster elf¡± would put them at ease. The fact that they were attracted to me despite my elfin appearance suggested they had some way of detecting humans, or at least human males, despite their appearance. Attart could have been setting off all kind of alarm bells. Attart was a prisoner of the warlocks for many years. I recently freed her and now she has agreed to help me free another of their prisoners who is bound near here.¡± The tiny Northwoman¡ªHuldra¡ªlooked skeptical. Why doesn¡¯t she approach us?¡± I cannot,¡± Attart said. She was pressing her whole body against the gap between the standing stones. Her clothes sagged forward freely, but her flesh compressed as though against my walls of force. ... Former walls of force. I¡¯d have to go find them again. The henge was made by the warlocks, not druids, that much is clear,¡± said the huldra, ¡°But if it keeps out that which is good, why could the Magus cross?¡± I felt like I¡¯d had this conversation before, I was going to be feeling that way for the next month at least I guess. Perhaps for the same reason you can. I was infected by the warlock¡¯s dark magic in the course of my time in the dungeon here, by that very altar I suspect was poisoning you.¡± The huldra stumbled to her feet. In the swishing of her dress I caught a glimpse of the outline of her tail pressing against the fabric. Gunhild had been far more cautious. She¡¯d also been far more healthy and with more to hide by the time I started interacting with her regularity. Not that it would have helped against my ring. I saw the new woman¡¯s body entire as she passed by me. She had a long scraggilly tail like a cow¡¯s and a large cavity in her back like a hollow in an old tree. I¡¯d have turned off my ring sight, but Eric was close enough I didn¡¯t want to risk it. The huldra managed to make it all the way to Attart¡¯s side. In fact she gained in strength as she walked. The hand that firmly grabbed Attart¡¯s arm and pulled her through the henge¡¯s barrier was confident and full of power by the time it did so. A delighted shiver ran through Attart as she crossed the barrier and her eye closed in bliss. Given my own experience with the barrier, I suspected I was once again seeing the effects of one of the holy man¡¯s cards. Trollskap?¡± I asked, ¡°Or can anyone pull anyone through?¡± We huldra have our ways. It is our knowing. Skap, as you say.¡± So you trust us?¡± No. But with our health we do not have that luxury. Better to trust an unknown than the next thing the dungeon throws at us. I can only pray luck is with us.¡± I stuck out my hand, ¡°Oswic of Blackbridge.¡± Angrboda,¡± she shook it lightly. Bringer of Grief. I didn¡¯t know the language, but that one was easy enough to figure out. My own trust wasn¡¯t running too high after my last experience with Gunhild and now I was hit with an omen like that. My ring would be watching my back. Attart nodded politely but didn¡¯t stick out her own hand. Maybe women weren¡¯t supposed to shake hands? I hadn¡¯t gotten to that section before the book had devoured me. Where now?¡± Attart asked. I pointed to the door which shared the corner with the one she¡¯d just come through. Other side of that door. Be careful. A giant colony of bees has made the entire room their hive.¡± Are you able to disrupt the power of this henge?¡± I studied the stones. I didn¡¯t recognize the runes which adorned them, save for the fact that they were in the manner of others I¡¯d seen in the dungeon. But I didn¡¯t need to be able to recognize them in order to read them. I pulled my glove free and ran my finger along the nearest. The carvings writhed from jagged runes to an image of two doors. One door led nowhere, the other to a wondrous field. A solicitor stood before both doors, head turned to the door of wonder. A second man, fearful, had already run through the door to nowhere. Only the chooser could pass, I supposed. So it didn¡¯t block magic but the mind of the person themselves. I¡¯d ¡°chosen¡± dark magic, therefore I could pass, though with some difficulty, perhaps on account of my doubts. The Delta people and the huldra could pass because... because they had no magic? Trollskap was magic, but it was inherent. Again, the choice could be inherent. In any case, there was nothing here defending the stones. I ran my hand along the only other series of runes just to be sure and was rewarded with the image of a man cloaked in shadows. A name. The very man I¡¯d killed for my title in all likelihood. He¡¯d probably created the structure. That was more than enough motivation. Push VI Sword Storm III I chose one of the top horizontal stones to begin with. Once it started moving I figured friction would do the rest. I lined up my sword and crashed it against the henge in the direction of my push. Much to my surprise the stone didn¡¯t move. The stones were heavy-looking, sure, but I had been counting on them being as shoddily built as everything else in the dungeon. I guess... Neferhi (had that been his name?) was a better builder than the rest. Scorch, Sword, Scintillation It was a bit of risk to summon my strongest sword for such a basic task, but I would have spent far worse dealing with the cave bees. Even if Attart used her ghosts I¡¯d have to have found our way past the ogre to retrieve them. This time the stone toppled. The combined force of both swords was too much. The top stone flipped off the pillars supporting it and crashed into the ground with an impact that made the floor shudder and my ears hurt. Something shrieked in response so loudly I could feel its cry reverberating up through the floor from the levels below. How had it even heard me? The act of losing the topstone didn¡¯t topple the pillars, but without it to anchor them they both tipped over backward a moment later on their own accord. The second and third impact were still loud, but much lesser than the first. The Shrieker-from-Below didn¡¯t bother preparing a response. The horrible tingling buzz of the stone henge slowly faded over the course of the next minute. My shoulders lowered half an inch I hadn¡¯t been aware they were raised. Thank you Sir! Now Oswic must sit tight while Attart finds your friend.¡± Attart scampered back the way we came, skidded to a halt at the turn, and turned crawl along the south wall with her fingers. Angrboda moved to my elbow, ¡°What¡¯s wrong with her?¡± Truth was a trick thing with many of the mystical creatures found at the edges of civilization. Trolls were one of the exceptions. There were countless tales of trolls being tricked, manipulated, and lied to. I doubted the huldra could detect a lie like elves could. But lying had a cost all of its own as well. There was scant few situations where it was appropriate, and even if you thought the time was nigh, you were probably wrong. Far better to simply refuse to answer. In this case, however, truth might start building trust, ¡°Her soul was fused with hobgoblin¡¯s. She has managed to keep herself together admirably, but in the course of fulfilling a bargain she is overwhelmed.¡± She made a deal with a hobgoblin? Didn¡¯t her mother ever teach her not to talk to elves?¡± Darkness rose. An endless wave swallowed all light. There had never been any light. The endless tide swelled and swelled until it encompassed the totality of creation. And yet. Reflections of light rippled on the surface. The memory of what was was never truly lost. My ring touched flicked rapidly through my spellbook. My spells had not been restored, but my ability to write new ones had. I could feel it, calling to me to take pen to paper. Wax to parchment. The memory of what was was never truly lost. It bore repeating. It applied to more than my three lost suns. LXXVII - Eric Attart returned while my focus was elsewhere. I hadn¡¯t even been aware she left, but here she was, dragging Eric through a hole in the stonework. The bricks had simply slid away under her touch. Such was the way with elves. Eric¡¯s face had already been split in half, we were too late for that. He was also unconscious for some reason. Sir must help carry Eric,¡± Attart stage whispered to me. She dazed and perhaps a little worried. That was enough to worry me in turn. I rushed over to assist her, but was immediately brought short by her cry,¡°Stop! Sir must stop!¡± I skidded to a stop. Something cackled further along in the dungeon as the echoes of her shout faded. Something buzzed in answer. Many somethings. The cave bees were awake. What is it?¡± Attart¡¯s eyes widened dramatically, ¡°There is an orb sir! Sir must help carry Eric, but Sir must not look on it. Hurry Sir!¡± The orb. The orb which kills whoever gazes upon it? How had I forgotten? I could have gotten Attart killed. Should have gotten her killed. And now there was a horde of bees descending down upon us. Close your eyes!¡± I shouted. I disabled all but my ring¡¯s touch, pressed shut my own eyes, lunged forward to pull Eric free by his armpits, and cast my spells all in one motion. Fireball Fireball III The two fireballs combined only covered a space about as large as a man¡¯s torso, but the heat filled the small portal. I couldn¡¯t see to be sure, but given the lack of being suddenly stung to death, my wall of fire was holding the bees at bay. I careened back down the corridor to the room where we¡¯d left the huldra. The only thing which stopped me from falling as I bounced off the walls the counterweight of Eric in front of me, though I¡¯m sure his heels were torn and bloody at this point. What is going?¡± What is the noise? Magus? Magus!¡± You¡¯ve doomed us all!¡± We need to bar the door!¡± The clamour of women¡¯s voices around me was my sign to re-engage the senses of my ring. Sure enough, I¡¯d torn a rash along Eric¡¯s legs from his lower thighs down all the way to his ankles. I winced. The situation was hardly ideal. Eric was torn and bloody, the bees were angry, kept from descending on us only by a temporary pair of fireballs, and despite everything Eric was still unconscious. The door slammed. Gunhild herself had managed to recover enough to run over and shut it. The door had wide enough gaps around the frame for the bees to sleep underneath, but as long as they didn¡¯t know the path we¡¯d taken it might throw them off our trail. At the very least it would slow the coming after us. You! Oswic! Explain yourself!¡± Angrboda strode right up to me. It would have been more intimidating if she wasn¡¯t almost as small as Attart. Attart before her transformation. No one was as small as Attart now. I waved her back with one arm while I lowered Eric with the other. It was a welcome surprise to see her actually follow my gesture and step away. What did you do to him?¡± I asked Attart. I couldn¡¯t see any obvious signs of harm or asphyxiation but there was no way he wouldn¡¯t have woken from all the noise and pain under normal circumstances. I had to keep him quiet, lest he startle and wake the bees. I didn¡¯t have any cloth I wished to spare so I grabbed a handful of the jelly and filled his mouth with it Sir!¡± She beamed proudly upward at me. Proudly. The expressions would have to wait, but I wasn¡¯t going to let them go once Eric was safely resuscitated. It was times like this I wished I could cast heal or teleport on others. That said, teleport wouldn¡¯t help me here. His throat was clear, as was his stomach. Either the jelly had fallen out or it had already been absorbed by his body. What had Eric said? He had some influence with the bees? It must have come from the jelly. If it came from anywhere else the warlocks would have used the same method to allow them safe passage. So if he ate a sudden influx of the jelly... was he now communing with the bees? Feeling their anger? Was his mind lost in the swarm? Angrboda knelt beside me, ¡°He isn¡¯t breathing. Move over.¡± And then she did the weirdest thing. She kissed him. Once, twice; long and slow. And then she began to press down so hard on his chest I thought his ribs might break. Was this how the huldra secured their victims? Gunhild must have noticed me getting antsy because she ran over to tug at my shoulder, as if that would stop my blades, ¡°She is breathing for him. It is a trick devised by those who live along the river. Often the victims will start breathing on their own again.¡± I watched the strange exchange. Now that she had mentioned it, I could see her own lungs heaving when she descended on his lips, the way she pressed his nose shut when she forced air into his lungs. I could even see his lungs inflating, but I tried not to focus on people¡¯s insides too much. I took stock of the situation, ¡°How long can they last like this?¡± I¡¯m not sure. Angrboda will give out before he does. I heard tell once of a man kept alive for over an hour, but he had four people taking it in turns.¡± Do others of you know this technique?¡± Gunhild nodded and shoved me to the side. She was somewhat rough in her haste but given the circumstances I didn¡¯t mind, ¡°I do as well. I will swap out on the next one Angrboda. Sister X, come and be ready for Angrboda to teach you how to do the compressions. The Magus will need to spend his time dealing with bees.¡± Bees. Right. I shuffled over to the door. They weren¡¯t yet on the other side, my fire was still keeping them at bay. At least I thought it was. My ring couldn¡¯t see that far. I looked down at Attart, ¡°Do you have any ideas for dealing with the bees?¡± I can see the soul of the swarm.¡± Can you do something with that?¡± What would Sir give Mistress Tom to help Sir?¡± She had the grace to wince. You want to try again?¡± Attart bit her lip and shook her head. So be it. I offer you my protection, for as long you wish to travel with me in the dungeon, provided you do travel with me in the dungeon.¡± I would rather you magic. Grant me your spells and I will guide the swarm back to their slumber.¡± Now was not the time to be greedy, curse Tom¡¯s mercenary little soul. One spell. I will grant you one spell per day.¡± Attart stuck out her hand, ¡°Sir has a deal, Sir!¡±Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. I shook it as if she were a child. Moon and tide knows she was small. She scampered to the door Gunhild had barred and had it swing open for her with a touch, I followed after nearly as qui¡ª¡°Shut the door behind you!¡± called one of the huldra¡ªpausing only to shut the door behind myself. Shield your eyes. Even an impression of the orb¡ªa shadow against your eyelids¡ªcan kill,¡± I murmured. Attart was already talking to the bees in the corner, but she raised her hands over her eyes and turned her back on the flaming portal. I pulled out my spell book and wax. If she failed I wanted backup. It was a risk to record a spell as fast as I could write a normal word, so I wouldn¡¯t unless necessary, but I was ready to double my wall of fire at a moment¡¯s notice. That is right that is right, follow sweet Attart. That is the way. Gently now.¡± She pointed at the fire with one hand and slowly waved to the side with the other. I steeled myself and obeyed her. The two fireballs rose to the ceiling and darted over her head. They might have fried a few hairs in passing, but I wasn¡¯t going to end the spells if I could avoid it. Follow the mistress, right this way. Gently. Kindly. Softly.¡± She couldn¡¯t see a thing but she walked backward as fearlessly as if she¡¯d be striding down a cobblestone road the right way around in broad daylight. Her little bare feet flashed as the hem of her skirt kicked outward and back. The edge was going to be soaked with cave jelly. Unless... I¡¯d have to think about it. The bees obeyed her. Their buzzing quieted, than stilled. Silence rang as loudly as a bell. Silence, if you didn¡¯t include the gibbering howls, clanking chains, and laughing walls. I waited for Attart to emerge, but she stayed where she was, just beyond my field of view. I could only place her by the murmuring of her voice. Why wasn¡¯t she leaving? What had been our deal? I will guide the swarm back to their slumber.¡± Unless she was waiting to hear them snore, it sounded like she had fulfilled her portion of the bargain. Which probably meant she was now unable to leave. Okay fine, it didn¡¯t probably mean it, but I was going to work off of the worst case scenario, just in case. I shut off my ring once more and screwed my own eyes shut. Then, with back to the wall containing the door, I began to shuffle toward the secret passage. My plan was based on a number of assumptions. The first was that her body was my body. I could still feel my soul cloaking her so it wasn¡¯t a tenuous proposition. The second was that I could close the secret passage on my own. My shoulder blade hit the edge of the portal. Let me see here. I reached backward with my right arm and fumbled around at the corners of the exposed brickwork. The far edge swung like a fence gate, growing in length as it did so. Please trust me Attart. Don¡¯t panic. I didn¡¯t dare speak the word aloud. The door swung shut, narrowly avoiding pinching my fingers just as I pulled them free. I could just make out her murmuring through the thickening stone, but it was fading fast. My left hand flipped rapidly through my spellbook. Where had I put it? I¡¯d grown reliant on my ring- True Teleport II Attart appeared in front of me, free from jelly except for a mild discoloration at the bottom of her dress. Our job wasn¡¯t over. Quickly now. Let us see if Eric has improved at all.¡± Attart¡¯s tiny legs had to jog to keep up with my strides. I waited impatiently by the door until she opened it, then hurried over to Eric¡¯s side. The man was still on the floor. Breathing on his own. Coughing and wheezing and clutching his ribs. He fixed bleary eyes on the two women looming over him, ¡°Storm take me to the promised isles, I¡¯ll never be one to argue against being woken with a kiss, but someone has to teach you ladies what to do with your hands,¡± his voice was the strange two toned lilt I remembered, though it sounded far wearier than last time I¡¯d rescued him. Gunhild giggled, ¡°Will you be the one to teach us?¡± Eric struggled upward, ¡°And here I¡¯ve heard Northwomen are great big louts, but that was the cleveriest idea I¡¯ve ever heard.¡± His gaze wandered from the women to my own, ¡°You¡¯re a pretty one as well. Not my type mind, but I¡¯ve never met an elf before.¡± I¡¯m not an elf but a victim of the warlocks, much as yourself.¡± Eric ran his hand through his hair and I experienced mild deja vu, ¡°Victim? Let¡¯s not be cruel to our fine hosts at Bleak Fort. I always wanted to be blond. And back home I was never woken by the delicate kisses and tender caresses of a pair of strange women back in the Delta at home. Normally I had to,¡± he winced and clutched his ribs again, ¡°had to seduce them first. Which one of you got me out of there?¡± I pointed and Attart stepped into the pale light of the withering torches. And then she stumbled. There was a warm breeze...¡± Attart¡¯s voice trailed off as she rose an inch from the floor. No, her feet stayed on the ground. She¡¯d grown once more. Her skin grew pale and her hair took on a dark red sheen. Her features changed too. Her angular nose became softer, than softer still until it was as cute as a button. The slight wrinkles of her face smoothed entirely and her lips shrunk from an archer¡¯s hunting bow to a horse bow. She looked now more like a Delta woman than one of the Bronze Coast. Even her eyes had lightened, though the mischievous twinkle, if anything, had deepened. Rather than frightened, this time Attart appeared curious. She tilted her head as she stared down at Eric, ¡°Mistress Attart can feel your gaze Sir. Is something the matter?¡± Eric¡¯s mouth was agape, ¡°I... I nothing at all. I should count myself among the stars while my feet still dance on this green earth. What manner of enchantment is this?¡± I was a little stunned myself. The holy man¡¯s cards were not done with us yet. Attart brought her hands up to her face and began feeling her lips and nose, ¡°Attart would be most pleased if the dungeon stopped having its way with her,¡± she pouted. Pouted. As if she¡¯d merely had her hand slapped while trying to sneak honeycomb. Was that Tom¡¯s souls influence or her own? Since she didn¡¯t appear to have an explanation forthcoming, I offered my own, ¡°Attart and I made a bargain with an elf which has not yet finished revealing its consequences.¡± Eric gave me the side eye, ¡°And is she... you know,¡± he raised his hand to his head and did little crazy circles at an angle where she couldn¡¯t see. No more than any of us. The elf bonded onto her soul. It has, effected some of her actions for the moment.¡± And who are you? What is your part in all of this?¡± I am Oswic, Darkswallower of Bleakfort. I come on behalf of Erin and her friends, though due to the dungeon¡¯s dark magic they won¡¯t remember me.¡± The name felt awkward rolling off of my tongue. Why not Shadowslayer? Or Warlock Wrangler? Maybe ¡°Swallower¡± sounded more impressive in the Orcneas runes, but in the Painted language it just sounded like I ate in the dark. Darkswallower? You¡¯re afraid to eat during the day?¡± I sighed, ¡°The kin-name was granted by the orcneas known as Goreswallower, given for slaying Neferhi the Shadowmaster. I am a former prisoner of the warlocks, and there enemy.¡± Eric laughed, ¡°The orcneas? And you killed a warlock? You say Erin sent you?¡± He whistled, ¡°What manner of bargain did she have to make to win your service?¡± My ring sense flared back to life. TransportII The invitation which had lured Eric here appeared in my hand. I handed it to him. None. I am an escaped prisoner myself. She is here in the dungeon, looking for you.¡± His eyes widened, ¡°You¡¯re a Magus. One of the wise.¡± Vows mean little in the halls of the warlocks, but I hope my word at least gives you pause.¡± He nodded slowly, ¡°You say Erin is here? Is she in danger?¡± Not as far as I am aware. She has a party with her. Brace, Conan, Oscar, Stovepipe, half a dozen more whose names escape me.¡± Eric¡¯s face broke into a grin, ¡°I never would have wished another risk my rescue, but it lightens my heart to know they came. I was growing tired of eating cave jelly. It reminds me too much of old Nana¡¯s cooking.¡± Gunhild had been inching closer the whole time we¡¯d been talking, now she snuggled in right against Eric, ¡°Do you miss her so?¡± Far from being bothered by her forwardness, Eric seem pleased. He barked out a laugh and threw an arm around Gunhild¡¯s shoulders, ¡°I miss my Nana, but not her cooking. Never could tell with her if the porridge we were eating was supposed to be roast or apple pie. She could turn a salad grey and lumpy just by looking at it.¡± Gunhild laughed in turn. It was something of a relief to hear so much laughter coming from a source other than the walls, but Eric had a right to know. Ware, Eric. The women are a good sort, but they are Huldra; trolls who seek to seduce men.¡± Eric swept Gunhild once over with his gaze. Several of the other women looked upset but she managed to keep the hurt off her face, ¡°Are they harmful?¡± Not as far as I am aware, though your attraction may not be your own. It is in the woman¡¯s control.¡± Isn¡¯t that ever the case?¡± Eric winked at Gunhild, ¡°I¡¯ll not turn down easy company, troll or otherwise.¡± Despite my own desires I felt a spike of jealousy in my gut. I would never trust the huldra like Eric seemed able to, but even still, Gunhild had been mine. I would have married her. I knew nothing about her, but I would have married her. It had been a spell. An enchantment. And yet, I would have married her. I let the sorrow of loss flow through me. Let it sit with me while I engaged the world proper. Attart, may we make use of your house while we recover? Eric and the Huldra are still weak, and it would be easier to defend them their. And some warmth would do them good.¡± Of course you m-¡± With my undivided attention on Attart, or rather attention undivided on her she changed again. She dropped the inch she had gained and her features darkened once more, but her hair kept its reddish hue and her face its button nose. She toppled, falling on her rear. Fortunately it wasn¡¯t a very far fall. Attart struggled unsteadily upward and dusted herself off. I couldn¡¯t quite be sure with her layers of cloth, but by her hands and feet it seemed every part of her had shifted subtly in some way. Gentle Attart will never get used to that. Sir best find a cure for her soon.¡± LXXVIII - Undesired Reunion Lightstep Again. A weight lifted off my shoulders. And my back. And my legs. Everywhere, really. That was the point of the spell. I¡¯d already lost it once, but this time I was going to- Whispers rose in my mind. Insistent. All consuming. I was alone in the void. Only the sussurations of dark magic bound me. There was nothing outside. Transporting Disc When I came to nobody had moved from where I¡¯d left them. I hadn¡¯t lost any time, but my hand had stopped moving. More importantly, my mind no longer held the forms of the rune I needed to write. I could try again, but it would have to be with a different. My stomach rumbled. I sighed and looked over my spellbook. I had a single sword spell left to cast before sunrise. I could try to duplicate it, or I could use it to protect me for a quick excursion. I¡¯d had it in my mind to find my fish cache again for a while. Tom¡¯s larder was surprisingly well stocked, but there was ten of us and I didn¡¯t trust elf food. Even Attart had warned off of eating it because she wasn¡¯t sure of the consequences. On the flip side it was warm and cheery in Attart¡¯s home. The lamps were lit and the fire was roaring. Tom had enough cloths and fabrics for us all to have soft beds for the first time in months. Years in the case of the huldra. There was even five large beds for those who didn¡¯t mind sharing. I moved to the south door before I could talk myself out of it, ¡°Attart, could you open the door. I need to head out for a bit.¡± Gentle Attart cannot let you go unattended. Where are we going?¡± I shook my head and rested my hand on her shoulder, ¡°Eric and the Huldra need someone to protect them until they¡¯ve fully recovered. I¡¯m going to find us some food. I know of a place, and I know a safe path to get there.¡± At least, I hoped I did. It had been a little while. *** South first, where the smashed door led to the remnants of the dark altar. But it wasn¡¯t that path I wanted to follow. The portcullis had been the safer path. I¡¯d nearly died to that icy mist entering the altar room. I hadn¡¯t set the trap off this time, and I didn¡¯t want to anytime soon. Push IIII The force was more than enough to raise the portcullis. My own strength had been more than enough when I was less strong than I was now, and the spell was twice that. Shame it only lasted an hour, especially because the spell left my spell book as I cast it. I needed to get some spikes to keep the doors in place like Brace and Erin had. Maybe I could trade Eric for them. The corridor took me over twenty minutes to walk down. First south, than west, than south again. Had it really been this long before? I guess I¡¯d walked them with less caution the more I¡¯d gotten used to them. I was on full alert now. My ring could detect most traps and my spellbook was running low on spells, both available and in total. It would be better to avoid any roving mercenaries and other troubles before they happened. The hallway ended in an archway leading into a room I didn¡¯t recognize. That alone was fine, all the rooms looked fairly similar here. To my right were words written in orc runes. To my left the floor were scattered three iron spikes. That was awfully convenient. I readied my spellbook and my ring, but crept toward the spikes nonetheless. Seeing as nothing leapt out to grab me, I grabbed the spikes in turn. Nothing. Spikes in hand I hurried back the way I¡¯d came, creeping forward at a blistering foot per second. I almost exhausted myself after that sprint, but I made it back in time to hammer the spikes home in the portcullis. Not even the perpetual moaners deep below paid attention to my hammering. I¡¯d fallen into a rhythm with one of the clanking chains echoing about the corridor and I guess it had disguised my actions. I even had one iron spike left after everything was ripe and gathered. Back down the path and across the room to the orcneas¡¯s runes. The runes shifted under my finger, becoming pictograms: An orcneas viewing an empty plint, an amorphous shadow in the distance carrying a heavy set skull. The skull had a long dirty beard. Who took my dwarf skull? Really? It might have taken over an hour to carve those runes. Why did the orc have a dwarf skull to begin with, and if he did have one, why did he think a message carved on a single out of the way wall would convince the thief to return it? Maybe this was an expression of the strange humour orcs were rumoured to have. ***The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. There was a wooden door opposite the archway I¡¯d entered by. I didn¡¯t want to be left defenceless, but I wasn¡¯t about to open one of these doors by hand, not when I didn¡¯t have to. It was time to try recording again. I hunkered down behind the lip of the archway so I was mostly in cover but could still make out the door, then I brought wax to parchment. Magic Swords III. Something was different about this cast. My lights and swords controlled strangely. They didn¡¯t move as if I was wielding them, and yet, when I ordered them to destroy the door, they obeyed. The door held firm against their blows, scratching and chipping rather than breaking. Curious, I took my attention away from my spells. The racket continued, the swords were still in motion. Come back down the hall and if there is a right turn follow it to the end, I commanded of one of my lights. It obeyed. It had made a decision based on a pre-set order. If there is a left turn spin in a circle, if there is no turn bob up and down, otherwise return to the door, I tried. Nothing happened. A few more experiments more or less confirmed the idea. Basic commands only. Not even basic. Rudimentary. Even so, it was a very powerful tool. Bob up and down when I pass through the doorway. The light did so as I approached my ineffectually flailing swords. Oh yes, I could use this. Soldiers¡¯ Swords: Four invisible blades act with the base force of 484 lbs. One for half an hour, two for 45 minutes, and the final for an hour. Two lights, bright as candles, join them, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. Two more lights join in at the end of the first hour, and end an hour after the first lights fade, providing 3 hours of light total. All act following the rudimentary orders of their master. My swords vanished without breaking through the door which was apparently made of ironwood¡ªsteelwood¡ªadamantinewood. A door crafted by the cyclops themselves. How had I gotten through this door before? I was answered a moment later when, freed from the assault, the door swung open on its own accord. It hadn¡¯t even been latched. Light trickled through me. It was a faint memory of what had been. The suns had risen. The suns had been swallowed by darkness, one by one. But the memory was enough. I could write once more. *** I found myself walking rather than writing. I could use another spell, I was sure of it. What spell that might be, I couldn¡¯t say. Any spell I wanted to be immediately effective I¡¯d have to wait for the true sunrise to refresh my spells, but I¡¯d seen the cost of waiting. Thrice I hadn¡¯t recorded spells when I could, and the suns themselves had been lost. Anything in any direction was better than nothing. I found my evil sense tugging me here and there at random spots and stains in the hallway. I avoided them all. I¡¯d had my fill of twisted violence. I stopped before the new door at the end of the hallway. Or... I could get a new set of swords every time the passage cost me the old ones. *** Soldier¡¯s Swords. The new door was as strong as its compatriot. These swords were weaker than some, sure, but the sudden leap in quality was surprising. Perhaps I¡¯d entered a separate realm of superior craftmanship rather than gone back in time. Acting on a hunch, I first pushed, then hooked the door handle and gently pulled on the door. It swung open. The architect had heard my thoughts and was now toying with me. It had to be¡ªmy sword vanished when it passed through the doorway. I could still sense it, in a way. Still give it orders, but I had no idea what it was doing with them. I¡¯d found the teleportation door outside the corner of screaming. I used my will-o¡¯-wisp to guide one of my swords to pry out the ru¡ªthe sword vanished. As did my second (third) sword. My final sword succeeded where the others had failed. The stone fell clattering to the ground and my blade passed through the doorway unmolested. Soldier¡¯s Swords II: Four invisible blades act with the base force of 484 lbs. One for half an hour, two for 45 minutes, and the final for an hour. Two lights, bright as candles, join them, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. Two more lights join in at the end of the first hour, and end an hour after the first lights fade, providing 3 hours of light total. All act following the rudimentary orders of their master, regardless of separation from their master. I stretched my jaw and rocked my neck from side to side. Didn¡¯t want to pull anything passing through the corner. Red leather, yellow leather. Red leather, yellow leather.¡± I waggled my tongue back and forth a few more times, took a deep breath, and stepped into the room. It wasn¡¯t my best performance, but I think I gave the creatures on the lower floors a run for their money. The howls set off a chain reaction which got an entire second choir of the damned going and which persisted even after I slipped through the pre-smashed door to my right and down the corridor. I was pretty sure one of the other doorways was more direct, but the threat of getting crushed from a ceiling block remained. I¡¯d already travelled this path in relative safety. Ten minutes later I was back in the Mushroom-King¡¯s chamber. He hadn¡¯t come back. I wasn¡¯t sure if he would or could. They mycelium of most mushrooms held their true intelligence, but each king I¡¯d met had their own personality. The pull of evil was overwhelming here. Every inch of the room was filled with some sin or another. Where I stood I was treated with a particularly vivid memory of mycilial tendrils crawling into a pair of men¡¯s eyes. I eyed the sooty ground. Couldn¡¯t mushrooms spring from ashes overnight? I hoped there was a size limit. I stepped around the bones of the skeleton and passed through the door he had opened. ??? Hello Oswic,¡± purred the mirror, ¡°you¡¯re early this time.¡± LXXIX - S?膿awere She looked different. It was only fair. I looked different too. Golden skin as supple as as dew and as bright as dawn. Lustrous green hair dancing like fairies in moonlight. Gentle robes clothing her like mist on the mountain. Voice like a mother welcoming me home. Eyes glittering like rubies in a hidden cave. So beautiful the divide between us ached. No less a demon. I squeezed shut my eyes, deactivated my ring, ¡°Mirrors lie.¡± She laughed, ¡°So do men. I missed you Oswic.¡± She missed me? She missed me? This was my chance to... to what? You¡¯d think I was naked, the way you have your eyes closed.¡± Are you?¡± I felt a thrill shoot through me like lightning. I¡¯d seen enough naked women for a lifetime with my ring. This was something different. The thrill of the game. You won¡¯t know unless you open them,¡± she teased. I prefer the mystery. What if I open my eyes and it¡¯s not what I¡¯m hoping for?¡± She was silent. That was fine. That was fine. I still had my punchline left. I¡¯d hate to think I didn¡¯t get to see your immaculate fashion sense.¡± She laughed. Relief flooded through me. Is that what you call it? Maybe I¡¯ll change while you¡¯re not looking. You better open your eyes or I¡¯ll be less.. fashionable.¡± Less fashionable? If clothes were fashion then less was¡ªthe mirror. I thought I¡¯d been ready for it, but it had caught me off guard yet again. That was a lesson in humility right there. I wasn¡¯t immune to affectation. No one was. If I didn¡¯t leave soon I¡¯d slip back into it. How had I escaped the first time? And what was that feeling? The tugging toward all parts of the mirror. Men had been here before me. Had been... consumed by the mirror. They¡¯d entered to join the demon, and never returned. I needed to say something. I could feel the silence growing like a physical weight. If I didn¡¯t speak soon she¡¯d leave. But if I mentioned the other men, she¡¯d think of them instead of me. Or she¡¯d run once I revealed to her my knowledge of her nature. I forced myself to calm down. I didn¡¯t want to scare her. Carefully now. No. It didn¡¯t matter either way. The goal was to get free of the mirror. I slapped my cheeks. Even my thoughts of escape had been warped- The demon laughed, ¡°What are you doing?¡± Why was I in the mirror room? How had that not been my first thought? I opened my eyes to get a better sense of my bearings. The only light was from the demon¡¯s shining skin. My own light had dimmed as the night drew on. She was wearing a feminine copy of my outfit, down to the gloves tied at her belt and the half dozen weapons poking from wherever they¡¯d fit. The demon put her hands on her hips, ¡°Don¡¯t go looking for the runes. They won¡¯t let you run away this time.¡± I activated my ring. My eyes remained locked on her face while my gaze roamed about the frame of the mirror. The runes had been my key out of here last time. Why they¡¯d been my key, I couldn¡¯t remember. Something to do with false alchemy? It didn¡¯t matter. They were gone. It was a minor miracle in of itself that I managed to keep the panic from my face. Wouldn¡¯t dream of it,¡± That wasn¡¯t true, but she didn¡¯t need to know that. She cocked her hip, ¡°Mhmm?¡± Leave me in the desert, how was I supposed to reply to that? It barely qualified as an answer. I can¡¯t, can I? You remember my past even though it is your future. You¡¯re my reflection. I can¡¯t run from myself.¡± The demon leaned against the mirror, forehead pressed to the glass, right arm above to stabilize her. If I¡¯m your reflection why can I do this? Shouldn¡¯t you be leaning against the mirror as well?¡± It was a good question. The reflection might be incomplete. Or represent not my image but my actions as imagined by the mirror. Or simply be a demon wearing a simulacrum of my face. My reflection would also be male, but I haven¡¯t held that against you.¡± Her lips quirked, ¡°Should it?¡± I saw the demon¡¯s game now. She was just asking me questions to cover for her own lack of understanding. No. No that was too simple. She was more than a clever automaton. There was something else there, buried deeper. What do you know that I don¡¯t?¡± She smiled, ¡°Now you are asking the real questions. Few make it this far.¡± The light shining from her skin dimmed. As the light faded, so did her outfit, slowly replaced with another as shadows replace light. Belt, pouches, waterskins and weapons all disappeared until she was unburdened. Gambeson and trousers became the red dress currently wrapped about my neck. I thrill ran through me. There was something here. Something more. Who are you?¡± I asked. Who are you?¡± she replied. Oswic of Blackbridge, Magi of the Sacred Order, Master of Twilight, Voice of the Storm.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Then so am I.¡± You aren¡¯t though, are you?¡± The demon laughed. It was not a cruel laugh, but one of genuine amusement, ¡°I am the Speaker on the Wind, the Darkswallower of Bleakfort, Wise Woman, and Five Time Hoopstone Champion of Ravenhold. I am the Demon in the Mirror, and the Mirror in your Heart. I am your soul and your virtue. I am your hopes and your fears. I am your desires, your destiny, your doom; both judge and judgment itself.¡± The lightning running through my veins turned to ice. None of that had been a threat nor attempt at intimidation. She¡¯d been so matter of fact. As inevitable as nature itself. But I¡¯d dealt with confidence before. That was the key to it. She¡¯d made herself my soul and my goddess, but even the gods could be wrong. Thus men were given their own spark of divinity. Mirrors do not show the wind. Nor do they reflect themselves. Their fire¡¯s flame is cold, their ice is mild to the touch. Their roses¡¯ thorns do not draw blood, their rains do not feed the land. You claim my end without holding my beginning. You are the bearer of light, but you yourself do not shine.¡± And her skin dimmed once more. Now the mirror reflected only my own dim glow, and my own dim appearance. There was no demon in the mirror. Only me. Dirty faced, torn shirt, tired eyes. She did not lounge against mirror, nor retreat to draw me hither. She moved only as I moved and spoke only as I spoke. She was as I. But her words¡ªand her sex¡ªwere her own. I am with you.¡± That was all it took. A wave of exhaustion poured over me as tension left me. I sank to the floor and leaned back against the well. I could push on until my journey¡¯s end, but in my exhausted state I might never return. Better to seek my own safety and give Attart doubts, then to ease my guilt and confirm them. Whispers rose in my head as my eyes closed and my lights dimmed. I struggled upward for a brief moment, but the mirror spoke. It¡¯s okay. Let me handle them.¡± So I did. *** Time Blade The name was evocative, I had to give it that. I¡¯d awoken with the dark magic spell bouncing about in my brain with all the others. Though admittedly they were quieter now. The constant sussurations had been ordered and organized, like well designed seating at a feast. Only the relevant tidbits floated up to me whereas the rest was a gentle murmuring I could safely ignore. The mirror had been busy. I¡¯d slept through sunrise somehow. Even more strange, I knew I had. The mirror had taken note of the event in my mind without waking me. She still hadn¡¯t spoken since I¡¯d woke and yet I knew it had been her. Me. I still wasn¡¯t entirely who or what she was, or what to call her. What was the term? S?¨¥awere? Shower, as in, one who shows. Watcher, fool, jester, spy. It also meant mirror. Fool was my favourite of the bunch, but Watcher was the most like a name. I struggled up from the stone floor and unbent my neck from where it had used the stone well wall as a pillow. I had a need to use EliminateII and nowhere to use it and my mouth was dry with dust. The first swig from my waterskin ended up on the floor. I just needed to rinse my mouth. The second was longer. Sweet, cool relief. That was one problem down. Heal That was an hour¡¯s relief every minute. I felt better almost instantly. After the first minute I was able to move my neck around enough to stretch it out and help the healing along. The room to the right of the door had ended in a trapped door, hadn¡¯t it? No one was about to go in there. I shuffled over to the door with my ring active. I didn¡¯t even need to open the door in order to take care of business now that I could see through walls. EliminateII It felt strange not needed to do up my trousers afterward, but it was a relief given that I had an audience. I stepped lightly back into the mirror room. When had I ended up against the well anyway?. When did the sun rise?¡± Quite a while ago now. Three or six hours,¡± replied the mirror. Attart would be worried. Despite my reasoning the night, or morning, before I needed to get back before she came looking for me. Hopefully the women and Eric had also had a long night¡¯s rest. To my advantage I was a Magus. People tended not to worry about us. If anything, they placed too much confidence in our abilities, even if they severely underestimated our limits. Also in my favour was the fact I hadn¡¯t said where I was going. Sensible caution would damn me, perhaps, but she would realize she couldn¡¯t go running after me. I still had some time. Hopefully. Though it pained me to do so, I raised the light of my skin until I could see, and then sat with book in hand. Lightstep Again. The spell was as fun as ever. Even sitting there, I felt like I was balanced on a cloud. My head could lean forward and my back arch without the slightest strain. The light from my skin stretched to the horizons. The world turned inside out. My mouth filled with colours. Everything was bruised and rotten. Lightstep II: The next person to wound the caster dies. The spell was cursed. The thought came to me as I heaved and caught my breath. It was the only explanation. I¡¯d never failed to record a spell this many times before. I¡¯d lost one. Warped one. And now I had a protection that was more a danger than a boon. What if Attart accidentally scratched me with her nails, or if Eric slapped me on the back? What qualified as a wound? The rune was both too simple and too complicated to parse. Now would be a good time to run into the ogre, though I wasn¡¯t sure if I could guarantee surviving a single hit from him. The frogs might be easier, at least. I straightened to look at myself in the mirror. She was looking pale as well. Be careful,¡± she managed through clenched teeth, ¡°you dream of trees devouring the light.¡± Strange. I could have sworn I dreamt of albatross. *** (CHAPTER?) I left after that. It turned out that beyond the necessary, there wasn¡¯t much to be said to your reflection. Even goodbyes were superfluous. It wasn¡¯t like I wouldn¡¯t see her again. I¡¯d already seen the Watcher¡¯s reflection in the pool. At least, I meant to leave. I was distracted by the appearance of a chest of goods far to the left of the mirror. I hadn¡¯t seen it before for the same reason I didn¡¯t see it now. It was invisible. Only my ring gave the game away. The contents weren¡¯t invisible, and I could feel them all the same. The chest was locked, but I was strong. I was able to tear it open with my bare hands. Inside were eight scrolls. Seven of them were labelled. Two each of ¡°For Charming Others¡±, ¡°For Material Enhancement¡±, and ¡°For Commanding Flames¡±; and one ¡°For Enhancing Memory.¡± The last merely had instructions to place my thumb in the centre in order to activate it. These were a magician¡¯s scrolls. Promises taken from a demon in exchange for the magician¡¯s soul. I rolled the scrolls together and feed them through the top of my pouch. They were magic of the darkest sort, but I hadn¡¯t been the one to pay the price. I didn¡¯t want to use them, but neither would I outright destroy or abandon that which was already created. Was that corruption seeping into my mind? Maybe. I was confused about a lot of things. Ends didn¡¯t justify the means, but how was I supposed to judge the means while in pursuit of my ends? I was starving, trapped, and isolated. Wracked by magic and doubts¡ª No. No those were excuses that sought a reason to eventually be allowed to use the scrolls. I should destroy them. Be easy on yourself.¡± It was the Watcher who spoke. She¡¯d been watching. Naturally. Easy on myself. Right. I¡¯d hold the scrolls. Destroy them should they prove destructive, but otherwise, I¡¯d allow my doubt to follow the kindest path. Maybe dark magic wasn¡¯t inherently evil. Maybe it was, but the act was in creation, not use. Should a starving man refuse the fruit of an invasive tree? Until I had my answer I¡¯d hold to them. LXXX - Never Look Away The pool room had a chest hidden in the waters. It had held a potion Master Tom had claimed was his. Given the results of the holy man¡¯s cards, I left the chest where it lay. Instead I crawled down the tunnel which led to the back of the tapestry hung in the long room of statues. There was a door across my path. I¡¯d travelled the way enough times to know I hadn¡¯t gotten lost. Had there originally been a door barring this path? My ring sensed a complex lock holding the door shut. I crawled backwards down the tunnel and ducked behind the raised pool. The room was much easier to navigate when I no longer feared my reflection. She was comforting more than anything now. Magic Swords II The door blew apart as if it was made of paper. Maybe it was made of paper. I wouldn¡¯t put it past the Architect to save on costs. It also tore through the tapestry like it was made cloth, which it was. That was a shame. I¡¯d been hoping to keep the passage somewhat secret this time. I crawled back through and into the room full of statues. I focused on my skin, letting it grow brighter and brighter until the room was illuminated by the shine of my face alone and my armour glowed red like an oddly shaped curtain at dawn. My gaze was the beam of a bulls eye as I weaved my way around the statues and over piles of rubble. I wasn¡¯t quiet as bright as the sun, but in the darkened caverns it felt like it. Though my light was weak by the time it reached the far corners of the room, with my eyes I could still make out every last detail. Anyone or anything adjusted to the dungeons would be blinded if they stumbled across me. So it was close to noon. I¡¯d noticed the night before that the intensity of my glow matched the rising and setting of the sun. The Watcher hadn¡¯t followed the same rules to the end, which was why I¡¯d noticed the discrepancy. I couldn¡¯t have glowed with more than the moon¡¯s faint light if I¡¯d wanted to. There were two exit on the far end of the room. I took the path to my right which was not the doorway which had teleported me off course. It was an open archway as opposed to the sealed door which would lead me back to my original prison. The source of the warlock¡¯s darkness might still be there if I was interested, but food and a swift return weighed more pressingly on my mind. The beetle wasn¡¯t in the room this time. Herbivores needed to be constantly on the move. Perhaps it had only been passing through when I last saw it. The door to the frog chamber hadn¡¯t caused me any troubles back when I¡¯d been blind and crippled, but I saw no reason to risk trying it. I had my swords already out after all. I stayed behind the pile of rubble while they got to work. The iron door squealed open inch by inch. The material itself held firm as my swords pounded it open. If the light shining from my body hadn¡¯t already alerted the frogs, the sound would. They attacked immediately. Seeing as there was no one in the doorway, the end result was two skewered frogs sliding down the length of invisible blades in the air. They¡¯d nearly killed me the first time we¡¯d met. They¡¯d still managed to knock my swords to the other side of the room with their jumps. The were immensely strong for their size, and that was saying something, given that they were nearly as tall as I was. They were light though. A single of my swords could lift one. It didn¡¯t move fast, but I could raise them, meaning the were close to the 484 lbs limit. The chest was where I remembered it, behind the pile of boulders I¡¯d cowered behind the first time I¡¯d met the frogs. I used one of my magical blades to pry the lid of the cask as I no longer had claws. I didn¡¯t miss them. I didn¡¯t quite remember all the cask had contained. The woman¡¯s pants and tuttenseck I hadn¡¯t been able to forget, nor did the overwhelming smell of fish surprise me, but I¡¯d completely forgotten about the onion.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. I didn¡¯t remember the flower petals either, but one of the objects I¡¯d been counting on wasn¡¯t there. I¡¯d thought I¡¯d found my anti-infection ointment in this chest, but it was nowhere in sight. I eyed the large frog pellet next to the chest. I¡¯d found something in there, hadn¡¯t I? But it couldn¡¯t have been the ointment, that wouldn¡¯t have been sanitary. I sent my sword digging through it just in case. It was mostly dust and crumbling bones. Nothing else of value revealed itself. I threw the women¡¯s clothes and the onion back into the chest. Someone might have a use for one of them. Especially given that Tom¡¯s place currently held eight women. Women loved onions. Rapture The chest began to glow. I commanded it to rise with a thought and sent it before me back the way I¡¯d came. There was more I could do up here¡ªre-visit the statue of the dwarf goddess, give the dryad a proper burial, gather more water, see if whatever commanded the darkness remained on the warlock¡¯s corpse¡ªbut I didn¡¯t want the women chasing after me, and I¡¯d promised to deal with the mural on the second floor first thing. *** Back through the room of levers and dials where I¡¯d first met the ruby beetle, down the long chamber of statues flanking me on both sides. I was in front of the door which had sent me into the mirror room instead of the statuary where I now stood. My ring found the teleportation rune set in the frame faster than my eyes could. Like the door to the screaming room I sent my swords at it. Like the screaming room I lost my first pair of swords. Unlike the screaming room, I only had two swords to begin with. I wondered if there was some poor frogs somewhere who had been skewered by a bevy of teleporting swords. They were about to get skewered by a bunch more. Magic Swords III Four swords this time, though these were the strange swords which autonomously obeyed my commands rather than my direct control. Pry out the teleportation rune please?¡± I ventured. It worked first try. Maybe it was the please that did it. It didn¡¯t hurt being polite. Back through the Mushroom King¡¯s lair and past the fried rat corpse. I didn¡¯t remember which door I¡¯d come through, but only one of them had been smashed to splinters. It was handy, that. Transversing the two rooms took ten minutes on its own. I¡¯d just reached the hallway when I heard the scream. Attart. The thought struck me at the same instance the sun rose in the inky waters of my mind. Light swelled but never broke from the depths, instead spreading like oil underneath the surface. It was only with a supreme force of will that I let myself move slowly down the hall. I was approaching the screaming corner. Odds were Attart had gone looking for me and ended up there. She¡¯d been through it before. She wouldn¡¯t panic. The answering screams did little to calm me. Even if she wasn¡¯t in immediate danger, the noise might attract something. I¡¯d met the mercenaries in that room before. I quickened my pace. The screaming stopped before I got there. That was good. Right? I burst into the room and started screaming myself. It scared me more than Attart. She was far to my right, struggling against one of the stuck stone doors. I started crossing toward her and called out the moment the room permitted me to stop screaming, ¡°What are you doing?¡± I...¡± she stumbled and caught herself against the stone. She¡¯d started changing the moment I¡¯d caught sight of her once more. My eyes had a mind of their own and locked on the fabric tightening around her breasts before I was able to look away. I was grateful she didn¡¯t mention it. My cheek were probably be glowing enough to see by even if I¡¯d never met the corpse in the sky. Attart frowned at the doorway I¡¯d just come through, ¡°My memories are all a jumble. I had thought we had gone through this door.¡± I deliberately turned to face the door myself, though some part of me begged me to keep my eyes on Attart. She¡¯s half Tom, you fool! I admonished myself. Shame flooded me a moment later and my whole body stiffened. Every change must have been a reminder of the incongruity between who she was and what (not who) I wanted her to be. I barely managed to reply through my clenched throat, ¡°You can generally tell where I¡¯ve been by the broken hinges and splintered doors,¡± I croaked. You can look at me.¡± My heart lurched. Where was the toad-dragon when you needed it? I do not mind. It makes me happy,¡± I felt a hand on my shoulder blade, not my shoulder, it was too high for her, ¡°And it makes me happy to look at you. You saved me.¡± I looked down at her, placed my own arm around both her shoulders. She¡¯d been trapped in more than a physical prison. It was a miracle she was still going. Especially now given Tom¡¯s assault on her soul. Solitude was one thing. Isolation was another. She smiled up at me, ¡°Attart¡ª¡± she made a face but her smile returned. A real one, not the ones which had been forced on her, ¡°Attart is with you. Never look away.¡± LXXXI - Restitution It said something that our second round of screaming attracted as little attention as the first. In any other circumstances the whole castle should have come running, but in the Bleak Fort we hardly warranted a few extra howls in reply. I should have been more disturbed by that fact, but I felt oddly cheerful. I¡¯d felt cheerful all day, I¡¯d realized. My evil sense had finally ended. Even without seeing a dozen murders and suicide around every corner, the pull of each evil had weighed on me. Now they were gone. I impulsively pulled Attart up into a hug. She was practically weightless. She laughed, ¡°Whatever was that for? It is most unseemly.¡± I picked her up again and spun her around, ¡°You will see. Today we destroy the mural and you will wonder how your steps were ever so heavy.¡± She raised a fine eyebrow above a sparkling eye but didn¡¯t question me further and I didn¡¯t elaborate. Better to show. The journey took us half an hour which meant my spell ended on the far end of the strange smelling room before Tom¡¯s house, and I was forced to carry my cask the last fifty or so feet. We returned to find Eric buried beneath a pile of huldra. Both Eric and the women had outfitted themselves with clothing pilfered from Tom¡¯s collection. The eclectic collection of cloth made it look as if though the room was full of jesters in motley and the huldra weren¡¯t done there. Now the gaggle of troll women was holding various clashing colours to Eric¡¯s chest in a competition to dress him in the most ridiculous outfit possible. Eric waved me over, ¡°Oswic! You¡¯re just in time. Does blue suit my red half or my blond half better?¡± I haven¡¯t a clue,¡± I said at the same time Attart declared, ¡°Blond,¡± firmly behind me. He grinned, ¡°What about you? Surely a mage needs a uniform as overwhelming as his power?¡± Several of the huldra giggled, which was a strange sight on a north woman. They were trying too hard to compensate for Eric knowing their nature. Or perhaps they truly found him that charming. I need my armour more. It¡¯s saved my life a number of times here.¡± He eyed the holes above my chest, ¡°So long as no one tries to stab you in the heart. And what are the odds of that? You¡¯ve clearly made it this far.¡± I dropped the cask in front of him close enough that the nearest women had to scatter. I¡¯ve brought breakfast. Lunch by now,¡± I removed my glove to pry off the lid, ¡°All the dried fish you could hope for.¡± Eric¡¯s face lit up, ¡°You could bring me anything which wasn¡¯t cave bee jelly and I¡¯d be ecstatic.¡± He sat upright to peer into the case, ¡°Though I¡¯ve never had onions served on a bed of underclothes before.¡± I reached past said underclothes and withdrew a stick of fish for myself, ¡°First time for everything. Help yourself.¡± All descended on my cask. There had been enough for a single person (me) to last just under two months before. If I continued to share among all ten of us, it wouldn¡¯t last the week. Maybe two weeks given how small they all were. That was fine. I could find other food. And the huldra knew how to survive without it besides. This would get them back on their feet and give them much better odds than last time when we¡¯d sent the starving and still weak women out to fend for themselves. Water was a different issue. I lent out my skins and was returned with all but two empty. I¡¯d have to make a run for the stream, but first, I wanted to write something to ease my journey and Attart¡¯s mind. I sat and withdrew my spellbook. A boy I was, then did a maid become; a plant, bird, fish, and in the vast sea swum...¡± it was an ancient rhyme, the rhyme of reincarnation. The words didn¡¯t matter so much as that they were said. I needed to keep speaking for an hour, so I¡¯d chosen a number of poems to keep me going. If I simply recited an epic, I wouldn¡¯t have the flexibility needed to create the spell I wanted. While I spoke I looked about the room at will, making sure to look down at myself on occasion as well as the full 360 degree scope of my surroundings. Conscience: The caster can hear themselves speak for an hour. During this time they can see through their eyes. I¡¯d never recorded a spell like this before, nor had I heard of anyone else doing similar. Unfortunately for precedent, most people didn¡¯t have the hybrid elf-woman soul of a necromancer inhabiting the transformed duplicate of their body. It was amazing how boring some people could be. I¡¯d scarcely set down my crayon when Attart pounced on me. Not physically, I¡¯d warned them about my protective curse, but her presence took up the full range of my sense as she moved to fill my gaze. She was back in that hybrid form of both mine and Eric¡¯s regard, though she had changed somewhat from last time. Both of us had learned something. You promised me a spell Oswic. One spell per day. I have come to collect your debt.¡± I scooted backward so I had enough room to stand, ¡°There is no need to sound so ominous about it. What do you need?¡± Need is irrelevant,¡± she sniffed. I was suddenly reminded she had been an etiquette teacher for four very long years, ¡°You made a promise. You will cast whatever I desire.¡± Actually, I¡¯d promised her one spell per day. That didn¡¯t really mean much of anything. I could cast the spell of my choosing for her, or write a spell, or maybe even simply dedicated my casting to her. I wouldn¡¯t push the issue unless needed. Tom was bound to her, and I didn¡¯t want to face the vengeance of a dobby paired with the power of a necromancer. What would you like me to do?¡± I asked politely. She flushed and raised her hand to cover her face, ¡°Not here. Follow me.¡± She led me out of her house and to the far corner of the strange smelling room. I could just make out an opening on the other side of the wall to my south. To the east was solid rock. The dungeon did have limits after all. Probably. You have a spell for...¡± she flushed again, ¡°Your morning routine. I am almost sure of it.¡± I stared blankly at her. Morning routine? Spell writing? Drinking water? Her face reddened further. It had started doing that again after her encounter with the orb. My curiosity was piqued, but I¡¯d leave it to her to explain what that was about. If she ever so chose to do so. There are no... facilities down here,¡± she tried again before trailing off meaningfully. Even I wasn¡¯t that dense. I cast my ring sense about for a suitable corner on the far side of the wall. Ten feet of stone was more than enough to preserve modesty. The other end of my bubble was already enveloping Attart. It was no worse than attending to a sick person¡¯s bed pan. Better, really. EliminateIII It worked.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. I¡¯d suspected it would work, else I wouldn¡¯t have created the Conscience spell, but it was nice to have the confirmation. My soul was still wrapped about her body. For the purposes of spell casting, we were effectively the same person. Attart sighed in relief, ¡°Thank you.¡± I gestured back the way we¡¯d came, ¡°Come. The mural awaits us.¡± *** We left Eric to the questionable care of the huldra, much to both of their insistence and delight. I had my own misgivings, though none of the trolls had seemed hostile before. Even after I¡¯d slain Gunhild she¡¯d fled rather than attacked me. Even if Eric didn¡¯t have the same strength I commanded, the threat of my return would keep them in line if necessary. Attart and I exited to the door north of her house. It was trapped, but Attart insisted we not knock down her door. Instead, she ran her fingers along the door like she had the others, and it swung freely open, trap still dormant. I was uneasy, but she blithely stepped straight through. A row of demonic faces awaited us. I¡¯d forgotten a set lurked here. They were my face, as per usual. They were also clearly female, a spitting image of the Watcher before she¡¯d been the Watcher. That was different, wasn¡¯t it? Surely I would have noticed if they were female before. With the grotesque nature of the statue and the similarities between me and the mirror, any difference would be subtle. I was so preoccupied with my thoughts that I didn¡¯t notice that I¡¯d forgotten about the pressure plate until Attart and I had both stepped over it. Neither of us set it off. I felt, heard, and saw my heart begin to race. It even tasted different, which I didn¡¯t need to know. It wasn¡¯t my lack of attention which had put us in danger. Not directly. We had moved slowly and my ring¡¯s sense had been fully extended. The trap was subtle, with the key components hidden far underground. Only the pipes, pressure plate, and triggering arm of the trap were visible, and the pipes only from the far side of the trap. I wouldn¡¯t have noticed it among the noise of the ring¡¯s sphere even if my mind had been fully focused on the task at hand. Only my memory would have saved us, and there the endless corridors of the dungeon all blurred together. Would I have remembered if I hadn¡¯t been distracted by the faces? How could I know? I would remember for next time. The hallway opened directly into the room with the balcony. The room had four doors, and, much like the pressure plate, I didn¡¯t remember which I¡¯d gone through. I was almost certain it was one of the ones on the left. And it hadn¡¯t been close, had it? The far left doorway then. Are you able to open the doors here like those in your domain?¡± Attart cannot. She knows of other paths only a hob can go, but I am a goblin no longer.¡± I have my own spells for opening doors. Stay here.¡± Soldiers¡¯ Swords I only had one more mass of swords available after this. I was starting to run low on spells since the death of the druidstone sun. The simple wood door didn¡¯t stand a chance. Harsh voices gibbered and screamed at the first impact. More joined as the door snapped around its lock and swung open. Goblins,¡± Attart whispered. Wrong door. Friends of yours?¡± I asked. I whispered too, though there probably wasn¡¯t much point. Maybe the silence would cause them to overestimate our numbers. Or our species. If they thought we were an ogre or the toad dragon they¡¯d be less willing to charge out. Attart shook her head, ¡°Mistress Attart has no friends among them Sir. Savages. Cannibals Sir. She would not want to meet them alone. The goblins below can be reasoned with. These ones cannot.¡± I¡¯d met the goblins below and their ¡°reason¡±. If these were less civilized than the other group they¡¯d be little more than slavering animals. They weren¡¯t charging out, but I didn¡¯t want them at our backs. Neither did I want to slaughter them in cold blood, nor bait them in to a hot blooded conflict they¡¯d otherwise avoid. I still remembered the dark elves. Can you speak to them? Can I? I don¡¯t mean to bargain, I just want to see if we can establish where we stand.¡± What would you have me say?¡± We mean no harm¡ªno, a truce. A truce as long as we don¡¯t cross the threshold and neither do they.¡± Attart closed another twenty feet from the arch we¡¯d entered through to the battered open door. I followed. Both of us stopped ten feet from the door. Attart let out a series of feral shrieks and howls that sent a spike of fear directly into the part of my brain responsible for huddling around the fire on a dark night while wolves circled in. My swords twitched reflexively; a hairs breadth, nothing more. I trusted her. They shot into stabbing position a moment later when the chorus of howls replied to her. Had any goblins been standing within ten feet of the doorway we would have had a diplomatic incident. The howls died down. They accept. Though they are not happy about their door Sir,¡± Attart pulled her bonnet down into her hands, ¡°Not happy at all.¡± Can goblins lie?¡± These ones can.¡± Is your house safe?¡± No.¡± I could feel tension growing between my shoulder blades. Either I took the goblins at their word or I didn¡¯t. If I didn¡¯t... I wasn¡¯t about to slaughter them to make me feel a little more secure. Maybe I¡¯d feel different if they snuck past and killed all the huldra. I pushed that thought aside. The huldra could defend themselves, there was a trap in the way, and even if Attart¡¯s house couldn¡¯t guarantee safety it was still a fortified position. Attack anyone who walks through that doorway. The spell said I had to order the swords, not order them out loud. They¡¯d keep our deal enforced, at least for the next hour. Soldiers¡¯ Swords II I ducked behind the metal staircase. Attart took my queue and crouched with me. The second set of swords struck home. The crash of magic against wood resulted in a fresh cacophony of howls from the goblins. Scrabbling feet rushed forward. The howls grew louder. I spun to face the doorway where my swords lay ready. The noises stopped before the goblins made themselves visible. They¡¯d caught themselves, or only approached far enough to see whatever it was they wanted to see. That was good. They had kept their deal. The feeling in my shoulders eased. Not fully, but it eased nonetheless. A ¡°small¡± square room full of torches instead of goblins. That was more in line with my memories. Two doorways led outward; one to our left, one to our right. Wrap a rose about the willow. I didn¡¯t remember which one it was. I chose at random. Left from where Attart and I now crouched behind the broken door frame. The door was rendered into wood chips in short order. Several cautious minutes later revealed the stairway descending into the depths. Here is our path,¡± I said, ¡°Restitution awaits.¡± *** Half an hour of walking brought us to the 60 foot landing. It had taken longer than normal because Attart¡¯s legs couldn¡¯t handle the stairs, though after the first painful five minutes they had grown somewhat. Apparently I was fickle in my attraction. The heavy portcullis waited before me, the one it had taken three or four strong men to lift. Attart was still descending the last of the stairs. Each of my swords was a strong man. The portcullis rose. Attart hurried to my side, faster than caution would permit, though still far slower than a normal woman walking a normal path. She recoiled as she caught sight of the mosaic. By the last ships, what is this?¡± I travelled to Elysium, to the land of the dead. A man there spoke to me, a friend. It is easy to make friends in the land of the dead. He told me the secret, the truth the warlocks have hid from the rest of the world for a thousand years. We were never meant to be afraid. Righteous men need not fear death.¡± And yet they do.¡± They do.¡± Sword Storm III I could have saved the spell. I could have avoided the risk, strengthened my spell book, doubled my power. It was the blind pursuit of strength which had driven warlocks down this path. Pursuing strength wasn¡¯t wrong, admirable even. Helplessness and dependency were no virtues. Even power pursued for its own sake allowed for mastery. Perversion, and losing sight of what mattered was too high a price. Would forever be too high a price. I need not senselessly throw my spells away for symbolism. Neither need I hoard them like a miser when they could bring about my desires. My needs. I needed the mosaic gone. The world did. And so I removed it. LXXXII - Elysium Remembers One hour. That was how long we rested. How long it took Attart to collect herself. How long it took her to savour the newfound peace. There were still tear tracks on her face as we headed down to the third floor. Brace and Erin would be found. The family would be reunited. Oscar and Ois¨ªn and Rian would live. If we were lucky. But death was not the penalty it had once been. It was extreme. You were out of the game. But there were other games, on other shores. The only way to lose was not to play. If it was well to be done, it was worth trying, even at risk. They¡¯d nearly attacked a demon, I could only pray an elf would be better. Two elves, after a fashion. This was the third time I¡¯d properly ventured down to the third floor. Once on my own. Once with Gunhild. And now with Attart. Two failures. Two missions meant to be definitive that ended in tragedy. This time. Threes were special. I led Attart down the long spiral hall. Right and right and right and right and right again. We ignored the portcullis and the door to our left. The creature of many voices had come from there. Brace¡¯s party was absent from the room where I¡¯d met them. That was to be expected. It had been weeks later last time I¡¯d ventured here. They had said they¡¯d gone down first. They might not even be on this floor. The room contained a broken helmet near the door and a dais at the far end of the room. I hadn¡¯t remembered the dais. Did I have the wrong room? Not that I¡¯d entered the first time round. Relationships had been too fraught back then. Attart gestured at the only other door leading from the room, ¡°Do we journey on?¡± It was a good question. If we stayed we almost guaranteed they¡¯d find us. But if we pressed on we could find them sooner and head off tragedy. They may have arrived in one piece to the room the last time round, but they¡¯d spent time and supplies they no longer needed to spend. I was also worried. Not all was as it had been before. The mirror had remembered me. My debts to Tom had remained even if he didn¡¯t remember me. The cask had not contained the items I¡¯d remembered. The frog pellet hadn¡¯t contained¡ªmy spell book! I remembered in a flash of insight. Had those things I¡¯d brought back in time with me remained in my possession? The whole dungeon would be changed, or at least the first 5 floors. We need to. When I looked through the cask earlier, not everything was as I remembered. I think my presence here has changed the past. They might be in danger if they wander too far.¡± Attart nodded, ¡°I wondered when you didn¡¯t bring back a second spellbook.¡± Of course. Tom had all my memories. Attart had all my memories. She knew the path nearly as well as I did. Why did the mosaic surprise you? Don¡¯t you have all my memories?¡± Your memories are fragmented and scattered, and a memory is already a faint echo of a thing. They form something more akin to a story than a reality.¡± I was running low on sword spells. Our break had lasted longer than my swords. But the door out from here was made of wood rather than iron or stone. I could work with that.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Fireball III Wood wasn¡¯t typically quick to burn, but wood for burning wasn¡¯t typically as old or as dry as the doors. And coals burned hotter than wood. A flame twice as hot as that was more than enough to remove the doors hinges in under ten minutes. The smoke was another problem altogether. The dungeon had torches and lanterns aplenty, so there was clearly ventilation somewhere, but not enough for so much so fast. The ceiling was high enough the smoke didn¡¯t flood the halls immediately but traversing the room itself was going to soon be a problem. I didn¡¯t fully think this through,¡± I admitted. Said admission was drowned out by the clamour of shouting and scraping metal from beyond the door. Brace and Stovepipe with me! To the front! Erin and Oscar watch our retreat! Stick together now! Swords ready!¡± I knew that voice. Cillian?¡± I called. Perhaps a bit foolishly, in retrospect. There was a monster not much further down the hall who could do similar. The chaos subsided. Frantic whispers replaced the readying of arms and armour. That wasn¡¯t Eric.¡± Then who was it?¡± What was it?¡± My natural hearing was more than enough to follow their entire conversation. Had a been supernatural they could have been half as loud and I still would have easily heard them. They¡¯d not yet learned enough of caution. Not when panicked at least. I let them come to their own conclusions as to not startle them further. Cillian ended the conversation with a cry through the smoking door, ¡°Who goes there? Friend or foe?¡± Oswic of Blackbridge,¡± I wouldn¡¯t be doing myself any favours if I mentioned I was one of the Magi at this point, ¡°A friend, though you wouldn¡¯t remember me. The dungeon warped my passage to send me backward through both time and space. Back before the time we met.¡± What is this strange lightness? We near fell towards it when it first came upon us. We¡¯ve come seeking the source of the enchantment. Are you responsible?¡± I am responsible for the lightness after a fashion, though not in the way you might think. The warlocks placed a burden on the world. A fear of death. It pressed against us all, caused us all to lean towards the dark mosaic at its heart to stand upright. I removed the curse. Without the weight you have been fighting since before your were born it is no wonder you fell.¡± That is an extraordinary claim. Do you have proof?¡± Look into my eyes. Do not be afraid. My appearance is no longer my own. The dungeon has twisted me.¡± I brightened myself until the room beyond began to glow, until my light cut through the smoke and gloom. Then I stepped forward. If they panicked my skin could probably take the blow. Probably. There were gasps and a woman shouted of fear; Erin. I know you.¡± Oscar¡¯s voice. Evidently he was doing a poor job of watching their retreat. He has that same light in his eyes. The light which entered yours yesterday.¡± The light of Elysium,¡± I said, ¡°Rian and Ois¨ªn and Conan should have it as well.¡± Oscar didn¡¯t appear to be listening to any of us. How do I know you? I thought we¡¯d met only in dreams. A dream friend. Have the warlocks been invading my mind?¡± I had to laugh at that, ¡°They can, but you know the truth of it, don¡¯t you?¡± Aye. Clear as a glass house. Truth cannot be faked. Not when it is true.¡± The bond was still there. We¡¯d been bound as brothers by our time in Elysium. Memory had left him, but memory was a weak measure in face of the experiences we¡¯d shared. Oscar let out a roar of joy and danced through the smoke and flames between us, much to the consternation and yelling of the women and the laughter of the men. He threw his arms around me and I mine around him. I¡¯ve freed Eric,¡± I said, ¡°He waits in the company of a horde of beautiful trolls two floors above.¡± Oscar slapped my back hard enough I felt it. I was surprised his hand didn¡¯t break. I¡¯d expect no less of the man!¡± he barked, ¡°Is he well?¡± I pulled back to look Oscar directly in his sparkling eyes, hands on shoulders. He matched me. Well enough. His appearance has been warped. The warlocks are not kind in their experiments, though he is bearing up well.¡± Erin was the next through the fire. She approached me more hesitantly, but approach me she did, in spite of her fear of magic and the arcane. You trust this man?¡± she asked Oscar. With more than my life.¡± That was enough for her, ¡°You must take us to Eric at once.¡± LXXXIII - Future Unlike the Past The goblins kept to their bargain, I pointed out the pressure plates and no one missed their step. Attart shadowed us on the journey back. A figure in the dark, hidden by her clothes and habit. The others didn¡¯t question her except to confirm she was my companion. That was enough. I suspect Attart herself was contending with the strange changes wrought by so many people, but I didn¡¯t have the time to ask. All in all, our half hour return was remarkably easy. The huldra hadn¡¯t even eaten or married Eric in my absence. The reunion was less tearful than last time and less joyful for it, though it was also less tragic. No longer had three lives been spent rescuing their friend. The huldra delighted in Erin and Brace¡¯s company and more or less avoided the eunuchs. Erin was so happy to see her brother she didn¡¯t even mind their attentions, though she did ward off any huldra which got too close to Brace. After the initial hugs and kisses Stovepipe stepped back to join me in enjoying the reunion from afar. You say we used to be friends?¡± Less than those I shared Elysium with, but yes. Mutual respect if nothing else.¡± He chewed on his lip, ¡°I know something about Elysium. Couldn¡¯t tell you why. Is that part of whatever happened?¡± I glanced at the albatross slowly tracing a circle about the room high above. Could be. It was just two days ago we were all friends waiting to be reunited.¡± Does it hurt?¡± I looked at Oscar, and at Ois¨ªn beside him, and Rian dancing about Eric on two legs, poking a prodding for any weakness or injury I had overlooked. It¡¯s a complicated feeling. It¡¯ll never be the same.¡± Never is. There is no going back. As babes we float down the river to the sea. As old men we are lifted high into the sky and return down the path through the stars. No place for even a footprint.¡± A cloud drifted across his eyes. An actual cloud, like the herald of a storm. I blinked and it was gone. The explosion about his eyes was no more, but the druidstone had still left its mark. Erin overcame her fear of magic last time.¡± Stovepipe smiled, ¡°Wonderful. I always knew she was as strong as the Lion.¡± From the way he said ¡°Lion¡± I assumed he was talking about the giant stone statue at the heart of the Delta and not the animal. What does it mean to lose your own progress due to another¡¯s actions?¡± I spoke the question outloud, but the musing was for myself more than anything. Progress?¡± Stovepipe murmured. He was right to question me. Overcoming an obstacle was not about the obstacle but about the character it revealed, and Erin already had done so in my eyes. Her strength was not diminished, merely untested. I am one of the Magi.¡± Stovepipe raised an eyebrow. The cloud was back, slowly drifting the same direction as last time, ¡°I thought you might be something like that. Hard to imagine many others escaping on their own. What is your companion?¡± He nodded to the far end of the room where Attart huddled behind her changing curtain. She turned her hat into a veil at some point. Only her eyes and forehead were left exposed. She is a necromancer. As I understand it, you at the Delta have less fear of the diviners of the dead than us in the Painted Lands.¡± It depends on the necromancer. Not all use their gifts the same. Why does she hide from us? Is she hideous? Stunted? There is no shame. The Delta knows inner beauty shines through.¡± Not hideous, but changed. Much like myself in that she has drifted far from who she was, worse in that her body is not her own, worse again that an elf has been bound to her soul, and worse still that her appearance is mercurial; it changes when she is observed.¡± Stovepipe deliberately faced away from her, ¡°Poor girl.¡± The warlocks have much to answer for.¡± Stovepipe eyed me up and down, ¡°Are you the one to make them?¡± I laughed, ¡°They are already undone. The mural is an affront to the world. With it gone and the knowledge of what it was as natural consequence they will not last long. I need only end the rift which separates the dungeon from reality.¡± The what now?¡± Right. I suppose I had explained that last time, not this time round. Your ingress will no longer serve. Warlocks are oath breakers. They sever the connection between a man and his word, or between nature and order. Here, they have gone a step further and separated the dungeon from the world itself. The changes wrought to the mural will be hemmed in until the connection is restored.¡± Stovepipe¡¯s eyes widened, lightning flashed. Do not fear. A band of orneas have taught me the way of it. I need travel down, down to the caverns far below. There even the warlocks¡¯ power cannot reach and I can travel around to restore the portal from the outside.¡± Why did they ready the rift?¡± If you didn¡¯t think me a teller of tall tales before you will now, but I give you my oath what I say is true. For what it is worth in the warlock¡¯s dungeon. They opened the rift to prevent my escape. I was bound in a cell some short ways from here. A warlock named the Shadowmaster came to invade my mind and unmake my axioms. I killed him and half his guard before the rest escaped. The orcneas named me Darkswallower of Bleak Fort for the deed.¡± They fear you.¡± The guards do. A full force of warlocks wouldn¡¯t.¡± Why don¡¯t they send one?¡± The rift cuts us off from time as well. I don¡¯t remember precisely how the orcneas described it, but it is my understanding that if we do escape, no time will pass between when they activated the rift and when we break free.¡± So if we see an army of warlocks march down from above we will know we failed?¡± Something like that. I¡¯ll try to stop them either way. It is far more likely they wait a few months their time for the denizens of the caverns to crawl up into the dungeon and kill all of us, but the result is the same. If the rift can no longer be ended, time will have proceeded as normal.¡± Time starts again when we all die.¡± That¡¯s how I see it.¡± Let¡¯s not,¡± Lightning crackled, he raised his voice, ¡°Erin, a moment? Let the others see to your brother. It will just take a minute.¡± Erin approached us cautiously. Approached me cautiously. She knelt before me. I would curtsy, but I left my skirts at home. Thank you for saving my brother¡¯s life. Our family is in your debt. Should you ever want for anything, call on the ¨® Briain household.¡± I dipped my head in a slight bow, ¡°I am honoured.¡± Stovepipe rolled his eyes and pulled Erin to her feet, then he shoved her into me, ¡°Go on then, you fool. He won¡¯t bite.¡± It wasn¡¯t that my reflexes were slow, but that I used them to quell my first response, which would have been to elbow Erin in the gut. As such, I was completely unprepared when she threw her arms around me and began to shower me with kisses. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. I was so worried about him. I thought we¡¯d never see him again. I was worried I¡¯d led everyone to their deaths coming here. We¡¯ve seen such terrible things. Everything is twisted with dark magics. Thank you!¡± Half her words were a blur as she pressed her lips against my cheek, shoulder, forehead, neck; wherever she could reach, and she was not a short woman. Stovepipe chuckled, ¡°That¡¯s the girl I know,¡± he scratched the side of his nose and mentioned almost casually, ¡°Oswic here is a Magus.¡± Erin froze, but she did not withdraw. Her limbs were so tightly wrapped around me a lesser man¡¯s ribs would be starting to ache. A Magus?¡± she asked hesitantly. Slew the warlock which bound him and came straight here. Apparently he¡¯s from the future. Knows us there.¡± She still didn¡¯t draw back, but she remained completely still, ¡°The future? How did you come to travel here?¡± It was not my choice, though in many ways I am glad for it. Oscar, Ois¨ªn, and Rian were slain by goblins originally. It does me good to see them. The warlocks¡¯ twisted magics sent me and my companion back to the point of my own escape.¡± Yes, who is she? Why does she hide?¡± Erin kept her head locked staring over my shoulder as she mentioned Attart. Perhaps she was acting as though she was in the arms of one of her family¡¯s bears. The magic which brought us here tore her from her own body. A hobgoblin¡¯s tricks restored her appearance in part, but now she takes on the attributes those who view her most desire. And the hob¡¯s form is inextricably bound with her own.¡± Erin softened, ¡°That¡¯s why she is so small?¡± I nodded. It had been a minute now and I had no idea what to do with my arms. Anything but returning her embrace felt supremely awkward, but if I did so she¡¯d probably think I was trying to eat her. She was a prisoner of the warlocks for many years, and might remain imprisoned still in this time. If we return to her cell I may be able to restore her to her original form. I will try.¡±This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Why do you have such a dread feeling about you? Like you wish to devour me?¡± She DID think I was a bear¡ªthe holy man¡¯s card. I¡¯d forgotten. Stovepipe hadn¡¯t mentioned anything. Perhaps it only effected women. The same dobby which cursed Attart cursed me as well. Both accidentally with a holy man¡¯s cards. Fear not, it is harmless even if you submit. Attart was merely tired for several minutes.¡± I could not see Erin¡¯s face (I¡¯d deactivated my senses the moment Stovepipe called her over), but something must have passed over her, for she suddenly pressed herself firmly against me, and clung even tighter than before. Stovepipe¡¯s eyes widened in shock, and then his expression softened into a faint smile. Brave foolish girl.¡± The feeling of Erin overwhelmed me, much like it had with Attart. This time my head was enveloped in the spiritual mud. It was so thick I could scarcely breathe, but I couldn¡¯t reach up to free myself, for Erin had gone suddenly limp and I needed to catch her. I lowered her gently to the floor with Stovepipe¡¯s help. What was she thinking?¡± I asked. Erin¡¯s eyes fluttered open, storms flashed their as well, ¡°She was thinking she wanted to know if she could trust the word of a wizard,¡± she said. It was a little reckless,¡± Stovepipe chuckled. He rescued my brother. And he had Conan and Oscar vouch for him. I already trusted him in my heart, I just needed to tell my head.¡± I clawed my mouth free of the mud and wiped the rest with my sleeve. I must have looked like I was insane. Stovepipe raised an eyebrow at me, ¡°Harmless?¡± My heart sank. I¡¯d taken some form of strength from Attart, but apparently my face hadn¡¯t been the same. Excuse me a moment.¡± I retreated to the corner of the room and reactivated my ring. Stovepipe was a master of bodily control, or so unphased by the world he wouldn¡¯t have reacted if the toad dragon burst through the door next to him. Erin, now regaining her strength reacted more appropriately and fainted. I myself fell flat on my back. My face was nearly a twin of Erin¡¯s. Erin with golden skin and ruby eyes. Not quite as feminine, not quite, but I didn¡¯t look like her brother. At best you could call me elfin, though that had already been true. Some would call me pretty. Beautiful even, if you discounted the beard. Like the Seven-Lettered god, master of both masculine and feminine, or perhaps the ideal dandy, winner of every noblewoman¡¯s heart. Erin woke with a scream, which was not ideal for her rehabilitation when it came to magic. I deactivated my ring and struggled to my feet. Perhaps it is best if I leave,¡± I mumbled. I¡¯d had little control over the situation, but I felt embarrassed anyway. At least those sun-parched statues looked nothing like me anymore. Stovepipe pulled Erin to his chest. Brace ran over to me and grabbed me by the shoulder. I flinched at her touch. She withdrew, then slowly grabbed me again. Nothing was given to me, no one was absorbed, ¡°Come on now, I¡¯ll go with you. We all know you meant nothing by it. We¡¯ll just give her a moment.¡± Shame your curse didn¡¯t pick the better looking sibling!¡± Eric called from where he lay, ¡°You¡¯d think it would have better taste.¡± That got the room laughing. Talk had resumed by the time Brace had guided my still dazed form out the door and was sounding livelier than ever. We were back in the corridor with the female versions of my face carved into the wall. The old female version of my face. The poor warlocks would need to update all their statues. Brace pulled the door shut. She noticed me studying the statues. They sort of look like you, don¡¯t they?¡± Makes me seem suspicious, doesn¡¯t it? No idea why the warlocks carved them.¡± We¡¯d be made if we could understand their broken minds. Look at what they did to poor Eric. He puts on a brave face, but that is my sister¡¯s brother,¡± It took me half a second to remember the Delta people had a very different alternate definition of sister, ¡°I¡¯ve known him my whole life. He was never that raucous before.¡± And they targeted him for no reason. You¡¯d think they¡¯d try to conquer the mind of a noble, not deal out petty experiments in punishment upon him.¡± I know something of power from Erin and Eric. After a time you start to question why you don¡¯t do everything you can do. It isn¡¯t like there is consequences. A lot of their raising was having the eunuchs teach them restraint.¡± There is always consequences. My powers are such I could have destroyed my village a dozen times over with a single spell, but I was always watching. Not me here in front of you, but that spark of divinity planted in all of us. The divine I with the power of morality, creation, destruction. That which makes me a god on earth. Makes all of us gods.¡± I guess you had similar training¡± Similar results. The training is mostly about cultivating nature, both inside and out. Similar to alchemy. I¡¯d consider the Magi to be a branch of alchemists even.¡± Brace released me. I hadn¡¯t even noticed she¡¯d still been clinging to my shoulder, ¡°What is the nature of your curse? I feel drawn to you despite seeing what happened with Erin.¡± I shrugged, ¡°The holy man who laid the curse in his cards was a man of restitution and reconciliation. Many of his curses and blessings seemed to be keyed to forcing the recipient to submit to their own nature so that they might change.¡± Your curse appears opposite.¡± It does. It has only triggered twice. Once with Attart, which made me stronger, and now with Erin.¡± Which gave you beauty.¡± I touched my face. I nearly poked out my eye. My nose was in the wrong place, my eyes too wide. I¡¯d thought about it as giving me her appearance. But I you may have the right of it. Twice is not enough to be sure.¡± You say Attart fully recovered.¡± My heart began to race. My stomach boiled. Did I want this? ¡°In a matter of minutes.¡± I would grant you some part of myself, if you were willing. Three is the number of answers and answers come in threes.¡± She said the last in the tone of one repeating an old saying. I am grateful for the offer, but I think it would do little to calm Erin if you collapsed as well.¡± She was willing to give herself up to your curse. You know that. It is her own face which scares her now. She¡¯ll get used to it. You got used to these statues.¡± Had I? I still didn¡¯t like looking at them. Though the reason was deeper than being unsettled by my own appearance. It was the reminder of the warlocks¡¯ intentions toward me, even if I only had glimpses of what those intentions might be. If I was honest with myself, the intentions remained whether or not I could see the statues. I was strong enough for that truth. Erin was as well. You are right. If you are still willing I¡¯m ready to try for a third time. We¡¯ll let Erin come to us, however, if that is alright with you. She can choose her own courage rather than be forced to endure. I can face my statues, but the enduring does wear at me.¡± Brace sat on the ground and sat next to her, ¡°Deal,¡± she said. Then she plunged forward across my shoulder. Unconscious. She¡¯d been touching my arms, but it was my right leg which was enveloped. I ¡°cleaned¡± it while Brace regained consciousness, but even once I¡¯d finished I didn¡¯t feel any difference. Brace¡¯s breathing quickened, though she remained draped about me, ¡°What happened? Do you have my scars or did you decide to take my red hair instead?¡± I leaned her upright against the wall and spread my arms wide, ¡°I look and feel the same as far as I can tell. Something happened to my leg, but I can¡¯t look at while I¡¯m next to you.¡± Why not?¡± Even here, struggling for survival, countering vile magics, after thirty years of training, I felt my face go red. I¡¯d have to remove my trousers or activate my ring, and then we¡¯d both be naked.¡± What does a Magus need with a ring like that?¡± The red continued, ¡°It¡¯s a ring of senses. We wouldn¡¯t actually be naked we¡¯d just¡ª¡° And where can I get one?¡± It was only then I noticed the large grin across her face. She was teasing me. Eric is putting on a show, but he¡¯s only imitating me. It¡¯s a wonder they all put up with me,¡± she leaned forward until her nose was nearly pressed against my ring, ¡°Now, what does this thing do?¡± I can see, hear, taste, smell anything within about fifteen feet of myself. Among other things.¡± She whistled, ¡°How do I taste?¡± I pushed her away from my ring. She laughed. Like feet and mold and worse. It would be more accurate to say I sense everything, not anything. The voyeurism of watching someone¡¯s stomach from the inside loses its appeal after the third or fourth time.¡± Brace made a face, ¡°Everything? Then you¡¯d taste... that¡¯s disgusting.¡± It is. Which is why I try not to use my ring next to others. Not unless I¡¯m travelling, where safety is more important.¡± So trousers it is?¡± Only if you look away.¡± To my relief and surprise she did so. My trousers were difficult to remove without first removing my armour. Plus, the last time I¡¯d taken them off I¡¯d been sent back in time to the moment of my death. Thankfully this time was far less eventful. I freed my right leg after a good deal of shimmying, and brightened it with a thought to get a proper look. The brown and green stain where the Mushroom-King had fused my brace with my leg was gone. The skin was smooth; bare except for a mark on the inner thigh. I turned my leg. A tree with wide spreading branches, coloured brown like a birthmark. It was small, only half the size of my palm, if that. It was rather beautiful contrasted with my golden skin. The edges glowed faintly. I studied my other leg, the one which hadn¡¯t been effected by the spiritual clay. The legs didn¡¯t match. My right leg was now lighter than my left. My skin had become the smooth pale of the Delta, though gold instead of white. The pattern was different too. I hadn¡¯t even noticed skin had a pattern until now. It was especially notable at my hip, where Brace¡¯s skin ended and mine began. Nothing a bit of tanning wouldn¡¯t solve unless you were looking for it. The golden hue already covered most of the different in tone between us. I pulled my trousers back up, ¡°You can look now. Tell me, do you have a birthmark on your right thigh?¡± She raised a red eyebrow, ¡°I do. Have you stolen it? Do I need to pull down my own trousers and check?¡± My face was once more as red as the hair would presumably be on my new leg, ¡°In the shape of a tree?¡± Just a dark splotch, like a bit of ink. Go on now, I¡¯m curious.¡± My right leg was a thing of mottled colours. A being I call the Mushroom-King warped it to absorb a splint I¡¯d wrapped around it when the warlocks broke it. My skin is now even and clear, save for a mark in the shape of a tree.¡± Brace poked her own leg, ¡°About here?¡± Exactly there.¡± So you took the strength of your friend, Erin¡¯s face, and now my clear skin?¡± Only on my leg. The rest of me is unchanged.¡± I still feel the pull of you. I¡¯m willing to try to even you out.¡± I raised up my hands, ¡°I¡¯d rather not push my luck. The difference is hard to notice. All my skin still has a golden hue, even when dim.¡± Do we need fear luck? What is the nature of the holy man? We have three clues now.¡± I noticed she¡¯d said ¡°we¡± and not ¡°you¡± and smiled my gratitude in response. She noticed and smiled back in return, ¡°You saved Eric. You¡¯re one of us. The fact you look like Erin¡¯s identical twin is irrelevant.¡± Strength, Beauty, and... lessened disfigurement?¡± All blessings or improvements.¡± I ran my hand over my face, ¡°In isolation, perhaps. The card depicted molten gold being drawn from a pool of slag.¡± Ascension.¡± Darkness swelled. The blackened ore of our discussion became a truth in my mind. Cracks formed. The sun peaked through, a ray passed over, then was swallowed as the darkness crumbled and swallowed the fissure. The sun had risen, for what it was worth. But the imagery was a clue in of itself for the conversation at hand. Spiritual purity. A crucible of form. The feeling of mud when I am ¡®gifted¡¯ could be the slag of the exchange. What remains is ¡®gold¡¯.¡± So the best of the two is taken and the rest is discarded.¡± Ouch. The pain was reflexive more than felt in earnest. Even a blind man would register Erin¡¯s transcendent beauty over my own. I think we¡¯re close, but not quite there. I was and am far stronger than Attart. And the strength she granted me was more of a feeling than a reality.¡± Brace lay her hand on my shoulder, ¡°Once more?¡± I readied myself to catch her, ¡°Very well.¡± LXXXIV - Friends Shall Return As far as I could tell the skin on my arms was smoother and perhaps stronger. Less likely to chap in damp or dry air. Apparently Brace was always the last to get a rash in inclement environs. Her skin was her pride and joy. And yet my new leg didn¡¯t have quite the same solidity to it. I was only taking one aspect at a time. Appearance, strength, resilience, beauty. I¡¯d have to spend more time with her if I wanted the benefits across my entire body, but if the effect we could be stuck for days in a cycle of exhaustion and recovery. And that was before considering the risks of taking on her face as well, or worse. It was hard to say what the holy man had determined to be superior, or even who the judge of such things was. Brace had recovered enough to stand, ¡°I think we can say it is harmless. To those around you if not yourself. The only unfortunate thing is your face. I could break your nose for you if you¡¯d like. Might make you look rakish.¡± I laughed and stood myself, ¡°I appreciate the offer, but I doubt you could. My skin is as strong as leather, and my bones like iron. My lungs are literally gold for that matter, I¡¯m much heavier than I look,¡± Leg broken and twisted, fire racing through my chest, spear piercing my side. Memories rushed me and I shuddered, ¡°Even if you can, I¡¯d rather not attempt it. I¡¯ve felt enough pain for a lifetime.¡± She winked at me, ¡°I¡¯m stronger than I look. All this armour isn¡¯t for show. Just give me the word and I¡¯ll flatten you.¡± I¡¯ll keep it in mind. For now, I¡¯d like to be alone if I may. I require an hour to write one of my spells and the timing is important.¡± I¡¯ll go in and explain things to Erin if she hasn¡¯t figured them out on her own already. She¡¯ll see reason. I¡¯ll tell them you are not to be disturbed.¡± Thank you.¡± *** _?Regeneration?_ When I returned the room was in good spirits. Erin, Attart, and Brace were all in one corner together whispering about something. The huldra had split off to talk with the eunuchs at last and Eric and Stovepipe were standing next to the door. Good to see you standing,¡± I said. Eric startled, then a smile slowly spread across his face, ¡°You as well. The family looks are a heavy burden.¡± I couldn¡¯t help but smile in return, ¡°But I lost my chance with the huldra, it seems.¡± Eric waved his right hand dismissively, ¡°They¡¯re awfully tame for seductresses once you get past all the bluster. Far too easy to tease.¡± Their curse compels them to seek marriage first and foremost.¡± Eric made a face, ¡°They have it all backwards. Once we¡¯re free from here I should take a few to the Delta to show them the proper order of things.¡± Delta folk don¡¯t marry?¡± Fools do. I¡¯ve been married three times so far, and it never works out. The moment you live with someone they start letting off gas and eating like swine. Much better to keep the mystery alive.¡± Stovepipe shook his head, ¡°Don¡¯t dismiss it. Marriage is a rare privilege. You, the necromancer, and the Magus here are the only humans in this room who can go through with it.¡± Eric batted Stovepipe with the back of his hand, ¡°Low blow.¡± Stovepipe smirked, made his voice even higher pitched than normal, ¡°It was.¡±Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. I joined Eric in his laughter. It felt good. We were strangers yet, but I could see the future where I would once more be among friends. *** Dawn came. I cast Attart¡¯s spell for her first thing, but my own I waited on. _?EliminateII?_ With my spells being used twice as often as otherwise, they needed all the protection they could get. I cast the spell a moment later without incident and returned to Tom¡¯s house. We dined on fish and I handed out the last of my water. The Delta people had their own supplies, but the huldra would soon be through my own. Either I¡¯d need to cut them off of my fish, or find new fish in a hurry. It was already a quarter gone. I need to gather more water,¡± I said, gesturing to my empty skins, ¡°I may be some time if I meet obstacles along the way, a day or two even, but I will return.¡± Attart elected to stay, which surprised me. She was slowly getting used to the waves of changes company brought over her, though she¡¯d not yet removed her veil. Erin, on the other hand, rushed to join me. This didn¡¯t surprise me as much. She¡¯d done it in her past life, after all. She pulled a handful of her own empty waterskins from her pack, ¡°We could use some more water as well. I will go with you.¡± It would be easier for me to take her pack instead of my own, and faster too. But it wasn¡¯t always about doing what was easy. You¡¯re welcome to.¡± We left through the south door. Myself fifteen feet in front, and Erin taking up the rear. Half an hour later we approached the wailing corner. I¡¯d already explained it to her, but hearing about it and actually hearing it were two different things entirely. Remember, the only danger is what the screams attract. And I can handle that. The screaming itself is harmless.¡± Erin¡¯s already alabaster skin paled further. I¡¯m ready.¡± I took a step forward. I didn¡¯t look back. The only way to truly teach someone was to let them follow, and to extend the trust that they would. Plus, it would look far creepier to see my screaming mouth agape as I walked backward. It took some time. I waited past the corner, not looking back, ready for whoever might be attracted by the sounds. Five minutes passed in silence. A blood curdling scream tore through the laughter of little boys playing. I jumped a foot in the air and spun on the spot. Soldiers¡¯ Swords I lifted the swords in time for Erin to rush out of the corner without impaling herself. Her screams turned into laughter. You should have seen your face! Wait, you can! It looked like this,¡± she pulled an absurd face, which was clearly an exaggeration. I may have been too panicked to focus properly on what my own face had looked like in the moment, but it had never been so undignified. And then it looked like this!¡± Erin stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes before falling into a second helpless wave of laughter. I frowned at her with my best wizard¡¯s glare. It only made her laugh harder. You even summoned a bunch of lights you were so scared! What are they supposed to do?¡± I flew one of the will o¡¯ wisps at her face, ¡°Nothing. They just give off enough light for me to see when my skin isn¡¯t glowing. It didn¡¯t used to glow until recently.¡± She batted at it curiously. Her hand passed through on the first pass, but I made the wisp follow on the second. She laughed and started ¡°tossing¡± it from one hand to the other. They¡¯re so pale. You can really see with them?¡± The dungeon is pitch black. Besides,¡± I pointed at my eyes, ¡°I can see in the dark. I just need the tiniest bit of light.¡± Erin moved closer, prompting me to turn off my ring, ¡°Can I look at them?¡± It¡¯s your face,¡± I said. Erin shook her head, ¡°It¡¯s yours too. I apologize for earlier. I was startled, but that is no excuse. You had your¡ª¡° It has to be around here somewhere. Waterskins don¡¯t just up and disappear.¡± A man¡¯s voice. Unless there is magic involved. Did you magic them away, Dave?¡± A woman¡¯s voice, tinged with madness. The king of the faeries had returned. LXXXV - Djehuti The Mindpiercer Nine people, three women, six men cavorted, crept, and¡ªin one case¡ªcartwheeled into the room. An angel!¡± cried the king of the faeries. She fell to her knees and clasped her hands together, ¡°We are saved!¡± A god, more like,¡± said another of the women, the one who had cartwheeled in, ¡°Do you reckon gods bleed?¡± Of course they don¡¯t,¡± replied one of the men, ¡°They¡¯re immortal.¡± Who says an immortal can¡¯t bleed?¡± I just did.¡± Fair enough. What does Dave think? Dave?¡± Another of the men (presumably Dave) squinted at me, and then at Erin. She¡¯s a pretty lass, isn¡¯t she?¡± leered the third woman. The others looked away uncomfortably. Her face fell, ¡°Sorry. Don¡¯t know what came over me.¡± Dave pointed at me, ¡°They¡¯re the same.¡± Can¡¯t be. The glowing one is taller and has a beard. And he¡¯s glowing.¡± Dave shook his head, ¡°Look at their noses. They¡¯re the same.¡± We should report this.¡± Can¡¯t. Stairway is out.¡± Use a spell.¡± The time is not right.¡± It never is.¡± Dave nodded sagely as though the complaint had been wisdom. It never is,¡± he repeated softly. He locked his gaze with mine, ¡°We are looking for our waterskins. Have you seen any lying about?¡± One of the men staggered forward, ¡°He¡¯s got my boots!¡± Another gaped, ¡°And my trousers! He stole them! Look!¡± He pulled at his own, identical pair to demonstrate. Don¡¯t be ridiculous,¡± said Erin, ¡°You¡¯re wearing your trousers. How can he have stolen them?¡± He stole your face and you are still wearing it. Why should trousers be any different?¡± Trousers ought to be easier, even,¡± said another of the men. It was only then I realized it, though to be fair, it was more difficult than it should have been, ¡°You¡¯re standing upright. Easily. You¡¯re not mad.¡± The cartwheeling woman rolled her eyes, ¡°Of course we¡¯re not mad. Why would we be?¡± There is a water source a ways from here. A Magus was chained there. Do you know it?¡± Naturally. It is where we¡¯d fill our waterskins. If they weren¡¯t missing.¡± The Magus escaped. The Shadowmaster is dead and the waters are tainted by his blood. If you drink down stream from him you¡¯ll be driven mad.¡± How do you know this?¡± asked the cartwheel woman. Because he is the Magus,¡± said Dave. I reactivated my ring. Erin¡¯s body was as lovely as her face. The outside bits of her body at least. Her insides were much like anyone else¡¯s. I tried to not let either distract me as I readied myself for spellcasting. You are actually a warlock, aren¡¯t you?¡± Dave nodded, ¡°I said I was, didn¡¯t I?¡± I pointed at the kneeling woman, ¡°And is she actually the king of the faeries?¡± That received a number of blank stares, from Erin as well as the mercenaries. What gave you that idea?¡± asked the woman, rising. He¡¯s from the future,¡± said Dave, ¡°That is how he knows about the water.¡± And warlocks could read minds. I¡¯d gotten very lucky last time I¡¯d run into him. He hadn¡¯t even resisted. What had he said? ¡°I was a warlock yesterday, now I¡¯m a king?¡± Something like that. If we were unlucky he could kill us with a spell before we could react. I doubted I¡¯d last long against lightning cascade or equivalent. On the other hand, I could probably kill him with a spell before he could react, but he hadn¡¯t done anything to offer me harm. Yet. I¡¯d sworn to the Dead King I was the enemy of the warlocks, but that didn¡¯t mean I had to stoop to murder. I¡¯d freed my mind from that compulsion. The best I could do was give Erin a chance. Go back to the others. Find someplace to hide. I¡¯ll talk with Dave.¡± Stay.¡± There was something intense about how he had said that. Erin¡¯s eyes briefly lost focus and then she blinked, clearing them. She looked at me for confirmation. I jerked my head to the door. She ran, screaming. Not from fear, mind. The wailing corner was in the way. A hail of black and green roared through the doorway, coming the other way. Erin stumbled back in fear and let out a shout entirely her own. It was green under my life sight. Moss? The hail clung to the frame, lurched awkwardly past the doorway, and slapped off Erin¡¯s face and armour. Where the substance hit armour, both leather and the cloth beneath shattered and dissolved, leaving patches of her skin bruised and bare. That was no moss I¡¯d ever seen. Very well. Regenerate I charged the warlock. Take him down fast. Take him down fast. Take him down fast. Take him down fast. A second wind rose, blowing the other way. Just a gentle breeze. But the warlock was gone and the world was spinning. I was now facing the wall of... it was moss. Moss which now completely filled the doorway and continued to bulge forward into the rest of the room. My ring oriented me a moment later, the warlock was outside my range, but I recognized my surroundings.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Sword, Scorch, Scintillation Both the mercenaries and the warlock were silent. They¡¯d dealt with Magi before. That was fine. My spells could move. True Teleport II I ended the spell the same moment it began, but now I facing the opposite direction. Take him down. Take him down. Take him down. Dave reacted first, despite my quick maneuver. He had already been moving. A wand was in his hand. Flame gouted out the end of the wand, clipping my right side. Pain. My armour and clothing burned away in an instant. My body didn¡¯t last much longer. Safe Teleport I moved until I was a foot outside the cone of his fire. I couldn¡¯t afford to take longer to travel. Not with Erin still in danger. My chest, face, and right leg were in agony, my arm hadn¡¯t hurt since the initial impact. It was missing. I had to shove away my ring¡¯s image of melted flesh and bone, exposed ends of ribs and golden lung. I was a dead man walking. I nearly made it. Time Blade. The wand in the warlock¡¯s hand snapped. It had been broken hours ago. He¡¯d only drawn half on me, unaware of the damage. His blow against me had never landed. My own fireball enveloped his head a moment later. My sword bisected one of the mercenaries who had been getting close to Erin. She¡¯d readied her club, but their fight against the goblins had shown me the Delta expedition had more courage than skill. Soldier¡¯s Swords II The spell vanished as it was cast, but I still had the blades. Kill any mercenary who doesn¡¯t run. It was quicker to think it than say it. It should have been, but it turned out the swords didn¡¯t obey mental commands. Dave was frowning in the middle of the fireball. It didn¡¯t seem to be hurting him though his shoulders were on fire. I¡¯d slipped up, just for a moment. He didn¡¯t know why, only that I¡¯d had a moment of triumph hidden among my fear and pain. Something shot through the room and pierced Erin directly above the heart. Two holes appeared in her armour, one in front, one opposite, exiting her back. Her skin was unmarked. Whatever had happened didn¡¯t seem to slow her. Much the opposite even. Erin raised her club and let out an ululating battle cry. Then she charged the mercenaries. Winter¡¯s breath turn stone to sand! Transporting Disc. A circle lit up around Erin¡¯s feet and then she was gone. Darkness solidified around me. The whispers in my head did not lessen, but I felt my conscious expand. Much like a crowd moving to a larger room. The same amount of noise, but more space to contain it. Dave groaned and then his flesh began to shrivel. The mercenaries nearest him startled and backed away. His skin tightened against his face until his head was almost a skull, his muscles withered and his armour sagged. His hand, still aloft and holding his wand became a gnarled talon. The whispers were overwhelming. Dark magic boiled from every pore of his tortured flesh. Heat blasted suddenly against my face, and the floor lurched suddenly underfoot. I staggered, catching myself, but then it lurched again, as though the room had been cast out to a stormy sea. I caught myself again. And again. And again. The warlock and his minions didn¡¯t seem to be having any such troubles. Kill them!¡± I shouted. I probably should have muttered it, but hindsight clears the cloudiest eyes. My soldiers¡¯ swords leapt into action at last. The blades were strong, untethered, and invisible. Any one of those could overwhelm even the most talented warrior. Together, they wouldn¡¯t stand a chance. I didn¡¯t wait around though. My Sword, Scorch, and Scintillation blade clove another mercenary from shoulder to hit, and then leapt to pierce another before the soldiers¡¯ swords arrived. It missed the second mercenary. I was having troubles focusing, what with the ground swaying so violently. Sword Storm III I¡¯d not used overwhelming force to end Dave like I had the Mushroom King, and it was time to correct that mistake. I created the new sword right beside the warlock, and struck in the same moment. Turns out there was a reason I¡¯d been holding back. Light flared. A star, as bright as my namesake appeared before Dave. My swords vanished. My lights winked out. My fires were smothered. The warmth of regeneration cooled. The star winked out. The warlock¡¯s own spells remained. That wasn¡¯t fair. Magic Swords III I cast the new spell experimentally. Four more swords stood at the ready. Three above mercenaries, one above Dave. They stayed. His spell had been a one time thing. Dave¡¯s eyes widened just as my mouth began to open to give the order to strike. His head spun, literally spun a full 360? and then he vanished beneath a black... something. Kill them.¡± My sword scraped along the substance cloaking him. It wailed like glass. Obsidian. Half the remaining mercenaries died. The other half came close enough to strike at me. None were running. Something wrapped around my face as they struck. Black, weightless, as dark as the Shadowmaster¡¯s own darkness. I¡¯d have been blinded if not for my ring. Fast Teleport I reappeared behind Dave. I did not want to be hit by those swords. The shadow didn¡¯t come with me. This close to his obsidian shell, the light from my face illuminated Dave¡¯s own, staring back at me. His body was still facing the opposite direction. He¡¯d appeared somewhat affable before, but now he was like a shrivelled owl carcass preserved in a corrupted egg. Disturbing, to say the least. It wasn¡¯t half as disturbing as the next instant, when the shell suddenly unfolded and leapt at me, wrapping me in its embrace. It was a unique kind of torment, and given what I¡¯d experienced in the dungeon, that was saying something. My ribs cracked, my skin split where my blood and fat had no room to flow, my bones all bruised at once¡ªwhich I could see¡ªmy spine cracked as I lost nearly half an inch of height, my shoulders and elbows speared my side with nowhere left to go. It was a wonder I hadn¡¯t passed out from the pressure alone. I tried not to cheer, but victory soared in my heart nevertheless. Clothes¡¯ Hanger Safe Teleport II I reappeared fifteen feet behind myself, next to the stack of candles. The floor was still lurching, and my legs were too weak to save myself. I coiled into the ground like a dropped rope. That also hurt. I didn¡¯t think there was a bone I hadn¡¯t broken. Greater Heal IIII Greater Heal III Greater Heal II Greater Heal The mercenaries were staring at Dave¡¯s body. Or, they were when I reappeared, but the flash of my light got them to focus on me instead. Wonderful, couldn¡¯t they see I was busy bleeding? Kkkrr...¡± I tried to speak to order my swords to kill them as well, but my jaw wasn¡¯t working. Dislocated. Dislocated somewhere into the roof of my mouth. Stupid literallist swords. I¡¯d meant kill all of them the first time. Obviously. Magic Swords II It was a wonder I¡¯d only lost the one spell so far. Someone out there care about me. Wish they¡¯d cared enough to stop my teeth trying to interlace with my other teeth. I guess I¡¯d take what I could get. With the floor still bucking up and down like a stallion on a catboat during an earthquake it was hard to aim the swords. Only one hit, but it hit the king of the faeries right between the eyes, killing her instantly. Now they looked nervous. Generals worldwide would have killed to have soldiers with their courage. The man whose trousers I had stolen lowered his sword a fraction, ¡°Look, let¡¯s call it even, eh? We¡¯ll take the warlock¡¯s things and you¡¯ll never see us again.¡± I was healing at a rate of nearly a week¡¯s worth of healing in a minute, but a week in which I didn¡¯t sleep or eat or drink throughout. And it had only been 30 seconds. Lrrrrbv..¡± Trouserslost edged toward the body of the warlock. I flung the body of the king of the faeries at him. He cursed and leapt back, ¡°Alright, alright, we¡¯ll go. Have you no sense of the profane?¡± I made my face glow brighter until he could see my raised eyebrow. He worked for the warlocks. We were in the largest dungeon on earth. The source of the mosaic which profaned the relationship of life and death itself. Some of my thoughts must have carried into my expression because he sighed, deep and weary, ¡°We all have our reasons,¡± he murmured. They left. LXXXVI - Noble Countenance I¡¯d gotten lucky. It had been half an hour and I still couldn¡¯t walk, but I¡¯d gotten lucky. Dave hadn¡¯t annihilated me with his first spell and his fire wand had ¡°missed¡±. Not only that, but I¡¯d managed to avoid thinking about the spell I¡¯d inadvertently laid on myself which would kill the first person to wound me. There had been a short moment where I¡¯d slipped, but fear and pain had been enough to distract Dave from his suspicions. In retrospect baiting out a wound from a warlock was a bad idea, but there was no good options. For all I knew, had I simply impaled him with one of my swords he might have killed me with a similar curse. Heal V Heal IIII Heal III Heal II I¡¯d wanted to save those, but if I didn¡¯t get moving soon I was going to start attracting rats. Sir?¡± Attart¡¯s voice. And here I thought that had been me screaming. I guess I was taking too long. No, that didn¡¯t make sense. I¡¯d told her to wait, hadn¡¯t I? Another scream. Erin! I struggled to rise¡ª There he is! He¡¯s moving! Quickly now.¡± Footsteps approached, but not torch light. A woman with a hollow on her back and a cat¡¯s tail came into view. Not one I recognized. That was how they¡¯d gotten here. Gunhild had been able to see in the dark as well. Erin knelt by my head, ¡°Oswic, are you okay?¡± Other than the pain coursing through every inch of my body, my crippled limbs and my inability to speak? I was doing great. Hrggggnnn¡± Attart was now kneeling on the other side of me. When had that happened? She shifted as I noticed her, would have fallen on top of me if she hadn¡¯t been ready for it. What happened to him?¡± The huldra whistled, ¡°He gave better than he got. Look at that man, he cut him clean in half. And that one too. And that one.¡± Erin was topless. I¡¯d only just noticed. It didn¡¯t really make a difference with my ring, but there you were. The moss had destroyed most of her clothing. I guess she hadn¡¯t stopped to get more. Or hadn¡¯t been able to. I wasn¡¯t actually sure where I¡¯d sent her. I shut off my ring to preserve what little of my own honour remained. Which one was the warlock?¡± Erin scanned the room, ¡°I can¡¯t tell. I didn¡¯t get a good look at him. And none of them remind me of him. Maybe one of the ones missing their face?¡± The huldra bent over Dave and then leapt back, ¡°540 doors open at once, he pulled the life out of this one. I thought you were the necromancer.¡± So Erin now knew Attart¡¯s vocation, but had stayed by her. Attart joined the huldra, ¡°Mistress cannot be doing such things. Nor, Mistress suspects, can Sir. Dark magic was involved here.¡± Dvvvvv¡± it was more spittle than speech, but it got Attart¡¯s attention. Is this the warlock?¡± Attart asked. Hggggnnn¡± I will take that as a yes,¡± she said. Attart moved out of my view, ¡°I will avoid his soul. I do not know if warlocks can cast their dark magics after death. Give me some time and I will have the truth from the others.¡± *** It took more than one spirit to get the full story out. They¡¯d all died before the warlock, so none was entirely sure what had happened, but one had held on long enough despite his mortal wounds to see the obsidian dome attack me. Erin and the huldra had also figured out a ¡°yes or no¡± system in the meantime with my glowing skin. I couldn¡¯t flash like a lantern, but I could gradually brighten for yes, and dim for no. It had a few misunderstandings, but allowed me to supplement what the spirits were telling Attart. By the time regeneration ran out I still couldn¡¯t move my jaw. It hadn¡¯t set right. I could at least (slowly) (painfully) stand. Ghyaaaaaaa!¡± Not that it felt good. But I couldn¡¯t move my jaw, and I didn¡¯t have the courage to adjust its position myself, so I had to improvise. Where are you going?¡± Erin asked. Her brow was furrowed in concern, ¡°You don¡¯t have to walk. We¡¯ll get the others, prepare a sling. You need to¡ª¡± I stepped past whatever invisible threshold defined the corner of screaming. My jaw wrenched fully open, as wide as ever. Ligaments tore, bone fractured and every joint from my shoulder up popped. My plan worked! I was a genius. I was pretty sure the screaming was louder than normal, but I didn¡¯t let it bother me. I was too busy passing out. *** He is moving. Are you alright Oswic?¡± I was lying on Attart¡¯s lap. She¡¯d gained weight. Apparently my ideal woman had trended towards a pillow sometime between passing out and fully gaining consciousness. It helped counter the way the room kept lurching back and forth. No one else was saying anything though so I was polite in turn and didn¡¯t mention it either. Every curse is a blessing, and every blessing a curse.¡± Oww. I could talk, but it felt like my face would fall apart, and something kept clicking every time I opened my mouth. Did you consider letting Erin give you her face a second time in order to heal?¡± Well now I felt stupid. Though truth was, I was somewhat scared to try. I wasn¡¯t sure where that road was leading. If the choice was between being a crippled man or a woman with no hopes at love and family... It would be an easy choice if I wasn¡¯t in so much pain. But health superseded everything once it was bad enough. Even my future. I¡¯ll try yours, if you are willing.¡±This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Of course. Stay right there. I am going to lie down.¡± Attart did as she said, which slightly lifted her legs, putting my own neck at an uncomfortable angle. And then it settled as her legs shifted form to once again accommodate my head. For that brief moment, I was selfishly grateful for the holy man¡¯s card. Both of them. Attart went limp as mud crawled up my arms. Sweet relief embraced me as I scraped it away. My bones straightened, my elbow realigned, my fingers became more than a tangled mess. Strangely, my arms did not look like Attart¡¯s. The colour was still gold rather than the light bronze of the Bronze Coast. My muscles still superseded hers, I still bore the lesions and scars from the warlock¡¯s crushing cage. But they were not ¡°mine¡± now either. My fingers curved differently, delicately like a noble¡¯s. My knuckles were most obvious, no longer raised from years of training and combat, now as thin as a (large) child¡¯s. The hints were there in my forearms as well, though far more subtle. A hair thinner here, a breath narrower there, the strange bump on my wrist was gone. Little things like that. The absence of pain was the most extraordinary part. It was enough I could cry. I could also help, Oswic. While Attart recovers.¡± Erin. She was hesitant. Scared, probably. But full of courage. I¡¯d appreciate your help greatly,¡± Click, Click, Click. Ow. Ow. Ow. Hopefully I¡¯d get a new jaw. She lay down the opposite direction of Attart and placed her hand on my forehead. Her hand slid away as strength left her. Mud washed over my whole body. It was my turn to be scared. I had no choice. It was smothering me. I scraped it away. *** My jaw still hurt. I¡¯d lost a full inch of height from the transfer and more. I¡¯d shrunk in every direction. With my crushed bones being the size of Erin had been preferable to the size of Oswic, I guess. It had fixed all my bones. My spine could now move. And yet my jaw was still aching. It wasn¡¯t even that Erin¡¯s head was unusually large (though it was). My jaw had been dislocated and mashed beyond merely a reduction in size. It was a miracle I hadn¡¯t lost any teeth. At least Erin was tall. I was still lying on Attarts lap. I could sit now, but she was comfortable and the room was still lurching about unreasonably. I wished one of the others would ask it to stop. Twice more, Oswic?¡± Attart asked, ¡°We do not yet know if you can control what is taken.¡± Twice? My healing spell would set me right in time. Or right enough. It would be hard to have my jaw heal properly from that beating. I¡¯d be resetting it day after day, and my teeth might never face the same direction. Twice more was good odds. If it went poorly I could stop without losing too much ground, and if the results were minor or positive I could try again. Are you willing?¡± I asked Erin, ¡°I would take from you both times if you are willing. We are already close enough that I am risking less.¡± And Lady is taller than me.¡± And you¡¯re taller.¡± Erin set her jaw (show off), ¡°Of course I am willing. I thought we were done for when the warlock cast his first spell. I¡¯ve never seen such power. I instantly regretted coming here, cursed myself a fool for thinking I could invade the warlock stronghold.¡± She choked and cleared her throat. Her voice was tight, ¡°And then you stopped him. Stopped him and his army all while protecting me. Even when he melted you half away you were calm and somehow stopped him. I thought you were dead thrice over, but you were always one step ahead. We need you, and I will do whatever is needed to help you.¡± We were all silent for a moment, but then Erin rushed to fill the silence, taken by a sudden thought, ¡°It¡¯s not so pragmatic as all that. We need you, but I love you Oswic. You said we were friends before, we are friends again and more. Brother and sister. I am by your side. I am yours.¡± Did that mean brother and sister, or brother and sister? The Delta had odd ideas about the proper use of words and I wasn¡¯t sure how to ask. I¡¯d take it in the familial sense so Brace wouldn¡¯t kill me. Attart was still smiling so something was going right. Thank you. I will do my best to earn you love. I am ready now.¡± Erin gently cupped my jaw with her hand. Ow ow ow ow ow. There was no such thing as gentle when it came to my jaw, but I got her intention. Did intention matter? We were about to find out. *** My beard fell off. It was wild and tangled. My constant teleports kept me cleaner than the most fastidious bather, but my grooming was none existent, so the change was an object improvement to my appearance. But it had been my beard. And now I looked entirely fey. If someone only saw my head at a glance, I might even be mistaken for Erin. Minus the radiant skin, living hair, and glowing red eyes of course. At least I¡¯d kept my manly chin. Erin¡¯s eyes fluttered open, ¡°Did it work?¡± I shook my head to avoid opening my mouth. Ow. It didn¡¯t help. No. But right county. Gave me the closest shave of my life. Are you willing to try again?¡± She passed out as a way of answer. This time the cloying feeling crawled up my legs rather than over my face. The fact it had effected the area around my jaw might have been a coincidence. I groaned and sat up. My healing was supernatural. My spells had removed scars, they¡¯d set my jaw, eventually. Maybe others would consider it rakish. Wiping down my legs revealed a set of magnificent calves a king would envy. My legs had already been muscled and strong, but now it looked as if I¡¯d been dancing all my life. Erin had mentioned she was a dancer, hadn¡¯t she? Erin woke while I was standing. Her eyes held none of the panic they had the first time I¡¯d taken from her. That part of my mission at least had been a success. I did a quick assessment of my resources. I¡¯d recovered most of my injuries, but my jaw was still a problem. Enough of one I was considering teleportation past the screaming corner on our return. I was nearly out of spells and we¡¯d made it less than halfway to the stream. My companions were all worse at combat than I was, and I was no champion among men. On the other hand, I had a necromancer with me. Attart, can you bind these mercenaries¡¯ spirits? The warlock took a lot out of me, I don¡¯t know if I can make it to the stream on my own.¡± Rest. We can get water another day,¡± said Erin, ¡°Three days without water. Everyone knows that.¡± Attart cast an appraising eye around the room. ¡°They died recently enough I can bind them Sir, but it will take some time. Several hours.¡± We can wait. If you would?¡± To Erin I said, ¡°You¡¯re right. It¡¯s wise not to push too far or too hard. I¡¯m used up. Even if I could probably succeed against the giant ticks or a surprise pair of frogs or ruby beetles, there would be little risk in not overextending. The pain is my jaw is hellish enough without a dry throat and parched lips, but the pain would be temporary, whereas death would not. However, I am not asking you to trust me or rely on me. I am done for today. But Attart can handle it. A necromancer is an expert in every field, a general with countless scouts, a captain with invincible soldiers. Anything short of another warlock won¡¯t be a problem, and I¡¯ve been here before. Maybe things won¡¯t be as I remember, and the world always has more surprises left in store, but those same surprises might be waiting instead for our return if we live too early.¡± And caution too far is another form of recklessness,¡± she nodded, ¡°Very well. If you trust her, I will too.¡± *** I could risk one more attempt at fixing my jaw. The calves had been a non-issue, and losing my beard would have been neutral in normal circumstances where I didn¡¯t have Erin¡¯s face. I had sensitive skin and shaving was always a trail. I¡¯d had sensitive skin. I could probably drag a dry razor across my face without feeling it now. Are you up for one more attempt while we wait?¡± Of course,¡± Erin replied. My legs again. More specifically, my feet. Off to a bad start. I used my ring to observe the change while I freed them from the enchantment. It was subtle, and it was going to make my shoes uncomfortable for the near future. If I¡¯d had to describe my toes before the change I¡¯d say they were functional enough. Broad, maybe. Tangled would be another term. Not broken or snarled like an ingrown hedge. Simply wild. They crooked and warped every-which way. Erin, by contrast, had the toes of a princess. Which was good, because she¡¯d intimated she was indeed some sort of noble. I hadn¡¯t taken their dainty nature, just their order. Straight, strong. Like a marble statue designed to impress rather than disturb. I could live with it. Would have to either way. But walking was a concern. My stolen boots had slowly been worn to fit my feet. I had no doubt my whole stride would be thrown off. I¡¯d probably get blisters if I could still get blisters. (Which I couldn¡¯t). That was enough risk taking for one day. LXXXVII - Respect for the Dead Erin and I turned to other diversions. She filled the time with stories about here and Brace. How they had met. How they had fallen in love. The journeys they¡¯d been on together. Her favourite things about her. The little things which annoyed her to no end but she loved anyway. The huldra, Borghild, adding in stories of her own. Of her and her sisters. Of navigating the caves around and below the dungeon. Of avoiding warlocks and orcneas alike. They were a resourceful folk, though secretive. Two, three, four hours? It was hard to tell. Long enough that it was boring, but not so long Erin and I gave up all together. It was a lot. But I was content not to talk, and have someone while away the time. It didn¡¯t hurt that the room was still spinning. Dave had really done a number on me. Finally, in the middle of an anecdote about Brace flirting with a whole temple of priestesses, Attart announced she was done. Their arms and armour are ours Sir.¡± I swayed into a standing position. The floor was still rocking like the deck of a ship, but it appeared to have entered gentler waters. Are you alright Oswic?¡± It was Borghild who noticed. A troll looking for weakness, an uncharitable part of me said. It may or may not have been true. I let it. The warlock did something to my balance. The room feels like it is swaying.¡± Are you safe to travel?¡± I am now. It was worse before.¡± Are you sure?¡± Sure enough.¡± I balanced my way over to Dave¡¯s body. My ring revealed no mark save the damage he had caused himself. Dead without a cause. It was a shame his wand was broken. The flame might have been enough to deal with the ogre outright. His body held other treasures. A highly suspect ring, a stone, sitting in an otherwise empty pocket, and his cloak. The cloak was white, made of swan feathers. Everyone had heard stories about swan shifts. The legend was popular enough some nobles wore commissioned cloaks in their fashion. This could be one. But Dave had been a warlock. If any one would be wearing the real deal, it would be a warlock. I unclasped his cloak and slid around my own shoulders. His ring went on the hand he had melted away. The stone replaced the teleportal stone in my pouch. I only had so much room. Have some respect for the dead!¡± It was Borghild, of all people who objected to my looting. Attart was frowning and nodded as she did so. Erin was unfazed. I straightened, ¡°I offer him more respect than the warlocks ever showed me. I¡¯ve taken only items to arm myself against the darkness. His clothes and personal effects are still his.¡± That¡¯s every thief¡¯s justification. ¡®He deserved it¡¯. ¡®He would have done the same if he was more clever.¡¯ If a thing is wrong, it is wrong. There is no victory along the underhanded path.¡± She was right. You are right. I was trying to justify myself when I shouldn¡¯t have. These are mine by right of conquest, as I might take his sword if I wished. I have taken magical weapons only, weapons he could have and did employ against me. His respect is immaterial.¡± Borghild grinned, ¡°Good. There are lines which should not be crossed.¡± There are. Though their outline becomes blurrier every day. Thank you for providing clarity.¡± *** Down the nearest hallway. Turn right. Turn left at the fried rat corpse. Left again through the second teleportal the skeleton had opened. Down the rows of statues. Stood in front of a door I¡¯d passed through dozen of times before. If any door was safe, this one was. I spent some time checking it with my eyes and ring anyway. Dave had surprised me. It looked safe. The others hide behind the statues while I opened the door. I was the most likely to survive any traps or ambushes which came our way. Nothing. Left and left again. I hugged the wall as we travelled. I could see the stream on the other side, but no creatures stirred in my sight. Attart and I turned the corner at once, me with weapons at the ready, her with her ghosts. The stream was clear. Clear of foes. Bodies still choked the lower portion. The sphere of darkness was gone. Had it been gone before by now? I was still nearly two weeks ahead of when I¡¯d first encountered the ticks. The water is safe upstream here. It drove those mercenaries mad beyond the warlock and the guards.¡± Borghild gagged, ¡°Why would they drink it downstream of the bodies?¡± It was dark, and they might have been going mad already. If you¡¯re not among friends the place can get to you. Especially if the mosaic was still functioning.¡± We filled our skins and our stomachs in the stream. Cool water soothing parched lips. It had only been half a dozen hours since I¡¯d last drank, but the air was dusty here. It felt dry despite its cool temperature.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Erin¡¯s legs wobbled as she rose with her full pack. Give it to me. I¡¯m more strong than I have any right to.¡± I can carry it.¡± I¡¯ve no doubt. But it won¡¯t slow me down. Our friends are thirsty as well.¡± And creatures still lurked in the dark. That part didn¡¯t need to be said. No sense inviting bad fortune. *** When we returned to the room with the bodies I was presented with a choice. Head left, through the screaming corner, or straight ahead to the room with the dark altar. The dark altar would be my first choice if not for the unsprung trap. I¡¯d risk the trap if I had any more teleports left, but if I had any more teleports left I¡¯d simply skip over the screaming corner. I could probably find the trap. Probably evade the pressure plate. Last time I¡¯d set it off¡ªthe ice fog! That¡¯s what it had been. I¡¯d escaped it. I could escape again. There would be no tree to climb, but the path was open, wasn¡¯t it? I¡¯d go slow, be careful, on my own. If only I wasn¡¯t in so much pain. Then I could think clearly about the pain. I was going to do it. I¡¯m not taking the screaming corner again. My jaw hurts enough from the one time. I know a path safe for one person. I¡¯ll meet you back at the house.¡± The women were quick to agree. Their faith in me might have been a little unwarranted, but I appreciated it. They bid farewell via their screams. The dungeon howled in response, and footsteps followed. The remaining two mercenaries. They approached with swords drawn. The women were already out of sight. Didn¡¯t you learn your lesson the first time?¡± He startled at my voice. Why had... had he thought I was Erin? It had been her screaming, and I did wear her face. We thought someone might need help.¡± Truly?¡± He scowled, ¡°We¡¯re not bad people. On different sides, maybe. Maybe not even that. We can¡¯t fight back against the warlocks like you can. Even then, we thought we¡¯d left you for dead.¡± You didn¡¯t have to work for them.¡± He shrugged, ¡°I could also let my kids starve. Where are the women?¡± Do you care?¡± Pop. The night burst like a bubble. The sun shone through for the briefest moment. Then everything fell back into place and was still. Of course I do!¡± he was scowling again, ¡°I hear multiple women screaming and now you¡¯re wearing one of their faces. What are you? A demon? A doppelganger?¡± I¡¯m a victim of circumstance. A Magus and a prisoner of the warlocks. My face was warped and warped and warped again by the dark magics contained within the dungeon. Warped to save myself from the injuries inflicted by your employer.¡± You¡¯d do the same.¡± The choice is never to feed my child the blood of innocents or watch him starve. There is always another path.¡± That¡¯s easy to say. Doesn¡¯t mean anything.¡± I pointed to the door leading to the mosaic. The scrying one, ¡°I¡¯m going this way.¡± I started walking. Both the mercenaries stepped back into the other doorway they¡¯d come through. Easy for the tyrant to sleep soundly thinking himself wiser than the weak he oppresses.¡± I was tired. I was sore. I was angry at the man for devoting himself to torturers and slavers. And I was sore. It bore mentioning twice. I snapped. Easier still to kill the weak rather than act in their best interest.¡± Neither man fled, though both were pale. The mercenary who had until now been silent spoke, ¡°And you claim us the evil ones?¡± I¡¯d regretted the words as they were leaving my mouth. But I was still tired and sore and angry. I moved past the threshold and out of sight, neither accepting nor denying his words. He was wrong though. Wasn¡¯t he? Yes. Very clearly yes. Even if it didn¡¯t feel like it, Dave had been the one to trap Erin with magic when she¡¯d fled. Dave had been the first to attack. Before him it had been the mercenaries to capture me, to lock me in my torturous cell. It might have even been these two who were part of the party to capture me. But it was hard to watch a child starve. *** I saw the trap right away. I¡¯d already known where it was, and my ring made it trivial to relocate. The rooms had even stopped swaying. My path was significantly shorter. So much so that I arrived in the strange smelling room just as the others were entering Attart¡¯s house, even with the delay caused by the mercenaries and the caution in looking for the trap. Erin held the door for me. Eric was the first to comment on my appearance. Oswic! Did you shave? Looks good, but next time not so hard. Your face is all swollen.¡± Laughing hurt, but it still felt good. I dropped the backpack in the middle of the room, ¡°Here you are. All the water you could need.¡± Eric was the only one who went for the water. The others all descended on me. What happened? Erin appeared in the middle of the room with her armour in tatters. She was screaming about trying to kill someone. Took a while to calm her down and then she was saying you were in danger. Ran out the moment Borghild said she would guide her.¡± We ran into a warlock. He killed me, so I killed him twice. Got a mangled jaw and a close shave for my troubles.¡± And I¡¯d lost an inch or two. It was amazing how much larger everything seemed with such a little difference. First the Mushroom King and then Dave. It added up. Brace¡¯s jaw dropped, ¡°You killed a warlock? Fought him in a fair fight?¡± As fair as any fight is. He did a lot more damage than you see now. I had to use most of my spells to recover.¡± I¡¯ve never seen anything like it,¡± said Erin, ¡°I didn¡¯t know magic could be so flashy. So awesome and awful and terrifying.¡± What now?¡± Conan asked, ¡°What¡¯s the next step.¡± I sat heavily in Tom¡¯s chair. Very heavily. My lungs were gold, after all. I need to recuperate. Refresh my spells. Sleep, probably. Dawn tomorrow I set out to find Tom¡¯s mother. Tom was the elf who owned this house before Attart. He is Attart is some way I don¡¯t understand.¡± We all looked at Attart, who had to catch herself on the table as a wave of changes came over her. Mistress does not know either,¡± she said. She frowned, ¡°Mistress is Tom, but Mistress is Attart more.¡± Even should Tom have completely disappeared, the bargain remains. Such is the binding of the elves. I wish to resolve the time limit as soon as possible, but my path will be cautious. I have three months, I will take all three if necessary. But neither will I delay when I can take action.¡± I was having troubles concentrating by then. My little speech had driven a spike straight through my jaw and up into my brain where it lodged (for some reason) behind my eyes. I¡¯m sorry, but I must take my leave. I have work to do. Oh, and don¡¯t mind the skeleton.¡± LXXXVIII - No Longer Alone Push VIII?Anything I have control over, I can record. The skeleton casts the spell again on the same target when I cast the spell, which meant I controlled the skeleton, at least for this. I needn¡¯t record all aspects of a spell, that was the shortcut magic was founded on. Push IX: Push an object with 15400lbs of force for up to half an hour. Even the ogre¡¯s endless strength had to have a limit. Surely. And if not, the beetles couldn¡¯t resist my spell forever. It was only mid afternoon when I was done according to Cillian, but I felt as though I hadn¡¯t slept in days. I leaned back against the wall next to the hearth and let the warmth and conversation wash over me. I rested more than slept. Pain kept me from falling fully asleep. Even lying down was a losing prospect, but I dozed. Dozed and dreamt of trees reaching for the light. Wrapping round me, blocking out the sky. But I was a dryad, had been since I¡¯d eaten that unfortunate corpse. I wondered if she had been restored when I¡¯d returned back in time, or like the waterskins, was forever stolen. I told the trees to move and they obeyed. I could see the sky. I could see the albatross which flew high above. *** I was the first to wake. Tom¡¯s house was a rare refuge. A place where we could sleep without shifts, without one ear always ready for what came next down the corridor. Only the huldra weren¡¯t exhausted. The others slept heavily; as babes who had just finished crying. None woke as I stirred. A death sentence anywhere else. Necessary here. I slipped through the door to the corner of the strange smelling room and cast my spell. I sat and readied my spellbook. My jaw was still aching. ?Regenerate?. Greater Heal IIII. Greater Heal III. Greater Heal. The pain began to fade. Regenerate II: The caster¡¯s body heals as though from 2 years of restful sleep over the course of an hour. Regenerate II I made sure to keep my jaw moving as the healing surged through me. It was like grabbing the druid stone all over again. Four years of deep healing in an hour. Nearly two weeks every minute. After half an hour I was feeling brave enough to try eating some fish. Miracle of miracles, it didn¡¯t hurt. Didn¡¯t hurt more than normal anyway. By the time it finished it was as if my jaw had never been injured. The lacerations on my skin were gone from the splitting as well. My mind was even clearer. A headache I¡¯d not realized existed had ceased its throbbing. The others were awake. They didn¡¯t seem to have noticed my transcendence. Perhaps the pain was a private thing, or perhaps they simply expected miracles of mages. When all had finished breakfast I called Attart to me. Ready to continue?¡± Sweet Mistress Attart is ever ready,¡± she said, then she blushed, though I wasn¡¯t sure why. Angrboda caught us at the door, ¡°We are leaving as well. Will the others be safe?¡± As safe as they can be. Anything the walls and swords cannot handle, you will not make the difference. Go in peace.¡± She smiled, ¡°You as well. It has been a pleasure to deal with those who do not invite conflict with us on sight for who we are.¡± I can only try to amend for my own past mistakes.¡± They through the door I¡¯d never been through, where darkness gaped and the smell of the sea filled the air. From there what paths they would follow I did not know. Attart locked the door behind them. Then Attart and I headed for the stairs, through the room where the goblins still kept their bargain. They would be the biggest threat to Brace¡¯s party, though the way was barred and trapped. It could be that few creatures wandered in these halls, for fears of encounter those even more terrible. I didn¡¯t doubt the toad-dragon would appreciate a goblin horde entering its lair. *** Half an hour¡¯s descent then half an hour more brought us first to the second floor, then the third. Attart didn¡¯t slow me as much this descent as she had before, not because she was faster, but because I was slower. It turned out height was important on stairs when you weighed as much as I did. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. The door had stopped burning, though the room still smelled of smoke. The torches were all dead. Outside my radiance the dungeon was dark. I could develop a complex if I let the imagery go to my head. Past the door the corridor forked both left and right. The right was a dead end, but the left held a shoddy wooden door concealed behind a curtain. We couldn¡¯t see the curtain from where I was standing, but my ring revealed it on the far side of the door. Magic Swords II Something was unusual about my spell, which in other words meant everything was proceeding as normal for the Bleak Fort. For one thing, I didn¡¯t have control over my spell. For the other, unlikely my Soldier¡¯s Swords, the will-o¡¯-wisps and swords were moving anyway. Get back!¡± I called as the swords crashed into the door. It wasn¡¯t anything different from what I would have done, but there was no telling what they¡¯d choose to destroy next. I¡¯d end the spell the moment the turned, but my reflexes weren¡¯t perfect. The door didn¡¯t stand a chance. I tensed as it crashed to the floor, but that was the end of it. The jack-o¡¯-lanterns flew forward to (presumably) illuminate the room while the swords stood at the ready. I cautiously approached. The swords waited, then moved out as I drew near enough to see into the room, providing a vanguard to any foes. Sentience? They didn¡¯t seem hostile. I stalked the sword on my right straight over to the statue of the dead Magus until I was able to press my hand against its blade. It didn¡¯t strike back, nor even react. Merely 500 pounds of force suspended in mid air. It¡¯s safe!¡± I called back to Attart, ¡°Safe enough.¡± Have you not walked these paths before?¡± The journey was never safe, and the dungeon ever finds new ways to turn my spells against me.¡± The question was, were the swords for or against me? Magic Swords II: Two invisible blades dance and strike with the base force of 484 lbs. One for 45 minutes, the other for an hour. Two lights, bright as candles, swirl about it, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. Two more lights join in at the end of the first hour, and end an hour after the first lights fade, providing 3 hours of light total. All move to further the goals of their master. Move to further the goals of their master.¡± It took me a moment to decipher, as the rune was exceptionally complicated. It was also far less complicated than it should have been. Impossible. Sentience couldn¡¯t be bound simply by willing it. The nature of spells meant control was paramount. Free will was antithesis to the principle of writing. The swords moved. I leapt back, but I was not their target. The statue of the corpse bearing the raiment of a Magus was. I grabbed Attart up in my arms as I ran. The gas had been slow last time, but I couldn¡¯t remember how slow. The stairs were a long way away. I spared a glance as I exited the room. Red billowing clouds were already starting to rise. My swords were nowhere in sight. Sir! What is Sir doing? This is most improper.¡± Her brain would catch up with her mouth in a moment. I tucked my chin around her shoulder to lower both our profiles and kept running. I couldn¡¯t spare the breath to answer her. Not when I was carrying as much as I was. Miraculously, I made it to the steps without stumbling. I should have thought of that sooner. I was heavy enough a hard fall might seriously injure Attart. Kill her, even. She was tiny. I placed her on the third step and ran up beside her. We need... go higher...¡± the Dark Altar hadn¡¯t improved my stamina. My strength helped, but armour, heavy gear, and an entire woman were a lot for a small man to carry, no matter how strong. Is Sir alright?¡± I stopped ten steps above the ground, ¡°Here... should be fine. I¡¯m okay. Don¡¯t know what that gas does. It should fade soon.¡± Has Sir seen it before?¡± Tom was fighting back today. Last time I was here I travelled with one of the huldra. Gunhild. It was shortly before we parted ways.¡± Did something happen?¡± The gas was fine. We got away in time. Beyond statue is an ancient cave, probably one of the original structures the dungeon was built around. A short ways after that is a room filled with undead chained to the walls.¡± A howl reverberated down the hall and up the stairs to punctuate my claim. Is that where the sounds come from Sir?¡± One of the locations. They didn¡¯t stop after we laid the dead to rest. It wasn¡¯t a pretty fight. I nearly died and attacked Gunhild in my panic. I thought I was saving her from another gas attack. The injury destroyed her disguise. She fled me after that.¡± My voice choked at the end. The event had never happened and it had never happened a long time ago. A month into the future that would never be. But it was still fresh in my mind. Betrayal on all sides. The tragedy of what was and what could have been. Attart rested her hand on my shoulder, ¡°Can you handle the undead this time?¡± I¡¯d rather not. I¡¯d take the door straight at the bottom of the stairs if I could find my way forward from there. If the creature of many voices didn¡¯t lurk there. More spiders, perhaps? The undead aren¡¯t the problem. It¡¯s the chains. They are alive and will seek to bind us. There must be some trick to it. Gunhild and I were almost certain Brace¡¯s party went through there.¡± We could ask. We are waiting for the gas anyway.¡± We could ask. Why had I never thought of that before? I turned my head so she could see me smile, ¡°I suppose we could. I''m not alone anymore.¡± LXXXIX - Heavy Burden We returned to the now open door two hours later, gas free and none the wiser. Less wise than I¡¯d hoped, anyway. Brace hadn¡¯t had to deal with the undead using anything more than a bundle of steady nerves and enough torchlight to avoid their grasp. They¡¯d all been chained. That had jogged my own memory. The collapsed ceiling and broken chain the undead Gunhild and I had faced. The volcanic eruption had freed the undead and made them a threat they hadn¡¯t been before. That raised some questions. Did my memory serve for finding our way to the fourth floor? Gunhild and I had travelled through fissures and chasms opened by the volcano. The routes might no longer exist. I could teleport us (in theory), but the going would slow and there would be no clear path for others to follow. Time would tell. There was no sense reaching that far into the future. Attart gasped as my light filled the cave. This is magnificent! Even the Deep Well of the Star Chambers back on the Bronze Coast do not match it. Your light barely reaches the ceiling.¡± I looked up, far far above, a hundred feet over my head where that chute lay set in the ceiling. If only I could fly I¡¯d see where it led. It was too close to the Rift to be out way out, but perhaps it had been one once. Maybe it had even been the original way in, which allowed the builders to carve this cave. Soldiers¡¯ Swords Tear down the gate.¡± My swords flew across the room and began hacking at the iron portcullis with zeal. A normal sword would break before it succeeded. A normal man would tire. My swords had no such limitations. Each stroke was as sharp as the first. Each as powerful. The noise risked attention over simply lifting the gate, but this way the path could be followed by those without my strength or spells. People such as me, after fighting a warlock. It was good fortune that I did destroy the gate; a heavy blade fell from the ruins when the swords were done. A large pendulum set to swing as the gate was lifted, large enough to cleave a man in two. Clearly, not all traps of the warlocks were designed with capture in mind. Perhaps the warlocks also struggled against the creatures wandering their halls?¡± I mused as we stepped over the wreckage. Or they also struggle to walk the dungeons trapped by whoever walked before,¡± said Attart. Beyond the door was the ¡°tiny¡± ten foot by ten foot room. To our right, a wooden door gaped open. Drag along the threshold.¡± My swords moved to obey. Neither they nor my ring nor my eyes found any traps, so I led the way through. The room was long and tall. Nearby, a staircase led up to a catwalk which split like an ¡®H¡¯ to hug both the left and right walls. Straight ahead was the door which presumably led to the room of many voices. Up on the left hand side of the catwalk was the only other door, made of wood. Had I been here before? I had no memory of the place. Where I¡¯d normally blame the failing on my mind, I instead had to wonder: How different was this new time from my own? Destroy the door at the top of the alure.¡± The door popped open with the first blow rather than breaking, at which point my swords began to hack and chop at the now open frame. Stop! Wait for me on the other side of the door.¡± The swords were making far too much noise for my liking. I didn¡¯t know what wandered down here, and I didn¡¯t want to meet it if I could avoid it. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. I waited at the threshold while Attart made her slow way upward. When I normally said someone climbed the stairs I meant it figuratively, but in her case it was a literal ascent. If she¡¯d had a pack she¡¯d also need picks to keep her pressed against the face of the stairs. I was growing somewhat concerned. Surely we should have found the undead by now? Had I remembered the path wrong? I consulted my memory, literally consulted. I had a perfect memory of the stairs burned into my brain after a... It had faded. As had the memory of the merman and the false Push rune. When had that happened? The corridor ahead twisted, right, left, and then forked one path going straight, one path to the right. Had the volcano offered another passage? I should have asked Conan for a map, assuming this time still contained his map. I¡¯d stolen the mercenaries¡¯ waterskins after all. We¡¯ll take the first path on the right. It will be easier to trace our path back if we are wrong.¡± You do not remember the way?¡± The path may have changed. I am not sure right now.¡± The corridor was long and winding. Ten minutes of echoing footsteps and whispering moans. Lamentations and creaking chains which grew louder as we walked. We were on the right path. The corridor ended in an open archway which itself led into a tiled room with alcoves in the walls and a bookcase in one corner. The bookcase was empty. Everything clicked into place. This was where Gunhild and I had fought the undead. The long corridor we¡¯d just been down was where she¡¯d hid after I¡¯d killed her. I was now standing only a few feet away from where I¡¯d nearly drowned on my golden lungs. There was only one exit to the room, a sturdy looking wooden door to my left. I could hear the faint clank of manacles beyond. Attart was staring at the alcoves with wide eyes. What have they wrought?¡± she whispered. She looked horrified. I activated my soul sense and move in range of the nearest alcove. Maggots on a flower! By all that is pure and strong!¡± The alcove was filled with a solid mass of souls. They pressed against one another until it was almost as if their flesh had melted. Cheeks pressed into armpits, legs wrapped around necks, hands and arms twisted to the breaking point so they could weave through whatever gaps remained. It was a mass grave for souls. No care had been paid to laying them to rest. They¡¯d been stuffed there simply to get them out of the way, with less care than I showed my over full pouch of treasures. It was pretty easy to deduce where the souls had come from. We must lay them to rest,¡± there was no hesitation in her, nor room for disagreement. Attart was in full governess mode. She strode swiftly to my side. I need candles. And my skull. Blood will do, but I need something from the grave.¡± I eyed the door where the howling was continuing unabated, ¡°I can get you a corpse.¡± That will do.¡± She didn¡¯t even bat an eye. It was good to remind myself that she was a necromancer every once in a while. I pointed at the door, ¡°Knock it down.¡± Attart and I retreated while my swords got to work. The door was strong enough it took several minutes to bust open, in which time I thought the racket would wake the whole dungeon, yet nothing stirred. The corpses beyond didn¡¯t even react. *** It was different seeing them there, chained rather than dead. They¡¯d been in chains last time, and they certainly were not alive now, but there you had it. Sad, weak, pallid, broken men, still straining against their chains in the dark. It was all they had left to them. Not even their souls remained. My light was the first thing they truly reacted to. A howl spread from one set of lips to the other as light fell across their faces. Efforts to break free redoubled. They had more than freedom promised to them now. They had vengeance, if only they could wrap their hands about my neck. The anger and the desperation nearly broke my heart. I¡¯d been cavalier about fetching Attart a corpse, but I was no necromancer. A corpse was more than a corpse. These were men. Men who still moved and pleaded. Men who had fallen afoul of the warlocks much as I had, with far less fortune to their name. They scared me nearly as much as they caused me pain. Sword Storm III I¡¯m sorry.¡± One by one the links of the runed chain snapped. The men slumped. Some to their knees, some still held aloft by their chains, some all the way to the floor. At rest at last. Forgive me,¡± I told the man who I¡¯d killed twice now, once in both timelines. He didn¡¯t protest my touch as I cradled him in my arms and lifted him to be brought back to Attart. He didn¡¯t need to. Mine were enough. XC - Shortcut Conscience I scouted ahead while Attart worked. If she was attacked while we were separated the spell would alert me and hopefully allow me to extract her or fight off her foes from afar. It wasn¡¯t quite the same being able to see through her eyes and mine as it had been before. I didn¡¯t have an extra brain this time to handle her information. It was more like my ring sense, an extra thing to keep track of, disorienting, especially as I couldn¡¯t control where she looked or when she blinked. For the first few minutes I¡¯d half hunch in anticipation every time her eyelids closed. It felt like I was constantly being dive bombed by birds. The hexagonal prison cell contained three exits and nearly a score corpses. I tried to not let my study of one take away from the other. It was a struggle not to meet their glassy gazes. May you find rest in Elysium. May the fields forever roll green. May the sea birds call you home as the sun warms your cheeks. Let the wind ruffle your hair. Let the foam and the water invigorate you. And never shall you feel hunger nor thirst.¡± I found myself spending a quarter of my spell¡¯s hour closing eyelids and setting the men to rest, for as pitiful a rest as I could give them. They¡¯d probably be eaten by rats before the day was over. Three exits. North Star? One exit pointed north, the only which was a door rather than a gate. That felt familiar. My sword remained from where it had severed the chains. I retreated around the bend of the room while I sent it to find me a passage. The door was sturdier than it appeared. Sturdier than its latch. It crashed open but the wood held. Something else gave. A gear, a heavy *Clunk*. The floor in front of the door dropped away. Water gurgled and hissed. That was new. I crept forward toward the newly revealed hole. The entirety was unveiled by my ring before my eyes could view it for themselves. A pit, ten feet deep and filling with water. Another trap meant to capture alive. Probably. For a brief moment, the sun reflected at the bottom of the pool, then the dark water poured over it. Why was it filling with water? Maybe it stopped the undead. I could probably make the jump, even with my gear weighing me down, but it wasn¡¯t something I wanted to risk unless I had to. I increased my shine until I could see a ways into the room beyond. It was large enough that it remained dimly lit, even to my ruby eyes. Gold glittered near the centre. The walls peeled away at angles suggesting a second hexagonal structure. This was the room where I¡¯d painted Tom¡¯s portrait. It was the right path. The water was still gurgling. Soon the whole pit would be filled. If only I could freeze the water. It was an idea for a future spell. Glass Aura might do it. I still didn¡¯t understand how the warlock¡¯s dark magic worked. Was it my will or their which informed the spell? Did the spell have one effect or many? I didn¡¯t want to use dark magic anyway. I could teleport across of course, but that wasn¡¯t a long term solution, especially not with Attart following me. I sent my blade to the eastern wood portcullis. I was sheltered near the pit, as the pit was sunk nearly twenty feet into the wall. The portcullis itself was inset ten. The room was almost more like a wheel with spokes coming off than a hexagon when viewed in that way. A light not my own began to ooze outward from the gaping hole the moment my sword tore down the portcullis. I dimmed my own light in sync with its growth. The light was white-blue, like the centre of a star. Not as illuminating as my own, but far sharper. Easier to see in the dark even if it failed to reveal its surroundings. It was a light made to attract attention. A stone drifted along the ground, light as a firefly. A spear, a pillar. At four feet in height, calling it a stone was insufficient. A kin to one of the strange stones I¡¯d found guarding the cursed armour and my bone discs. The stone drifted to the centre of the room and then stopped, apparently satisfied with its migration. A single half-step toward the stone sent my gear jangling and banging against its self. The light dimmed at once from the stone. Creepy thing. I gave it a wide berth as I made my way to the eastern portal. Another hex waited. This one was nearly empty. A single shattered mace lay in a corner. Cobwebs decorated the ceiling. Large cobwebs. To the south were two exits, to the north a third. Hello?¡± If the room contained more voice stealing spiders, they were silent. I sent my sword up and along the ceiling, tearing the webs apart as it went. No spiders fell out. Not even normal ones. Hadn¡¯t the spiders duplicated my spells before? I could bait them out. Fireball I sent the flame to scour the webs as well. If a torso sized fire didn¡¯t get their attention, they weren¡¯t in here. By all that is true, don¡¯t them be in here. I stepped into the room with my ring off and my hands over my head. A spider dropping onto my face would be far more distracting than the split second warning my ring would afford me was worth. Nothing. I hunched my shoulders and made my way to the room¡¯s centre. More accurately: my shoulders hunched. I didn¡¯t have control over that decision. Nothing. I let myself ease half a fraction. Nothing. Stolen story; please report. I eased more fully. Perhaps the webs had just been for show. A bit of decorating for some warlock dungeon holiday. I retreated back to the doorway, ring on, and sent my sword to the north door. It was only wood, my sword had it down as soon as it arrived. It was another hexagonal room. I was trapped in a beehive. The hexes weren¡¯t perfectly aligned, or the shallow edges of the hexes in a square had overlapped, either way it resulted in a thirty foot corridor between the two. To the left of the corridor was an open archway, leading back into the room of dwarf gold where I¡¯d painted the portrait. To the right was a warm fireplace, merrily crackling along as though it were set in some cozy tavern and not a forsaken warren of torture and death. Beneath the hearth¡ªand beneath the wall all along the edge of the room¡ªwas nothing. The room was built around a central plateau. Below it plunged a void, ten feet wide and endlessly deep. My light didn¡¯t reach the bottom. Memories of crawling around in the dark came back to me all at once. Had I come this far without my ring or without light, had the warlocks trapped me on a lower level, my journey may have been a much shorter one. I didn¡¯t need to cross any of the five bridges in the room to make it over to the archway. The path hugged one of the few sections of the floor still attached to the wall. I sent my sword ahead, just in case, but neither sword nor ring found a trap in the doorway. All the searching for traps was slow. My sword vanished as I entered the room. I only had another half hour or so before Attart was done and I¡¯d only travelled fifty feet from where I¡¯d started. Two unexplored exits awaited, both directly in front of me, one three side steps to my right, one three side steps to my left. One held a door, and the other was an open arch, so I went for the arch. If all options were equally likely, the easiest made the most sense to me. As it turned out, ten minutes of study revealed nothing, whereupon I stepped through the arch and found a twenty foot corridor terminating in a solid wall. My ring revealed no secret hinges or panels at the end, even after a thorough investigation. At least I had an alcove to hide in while I broke down the other door. Magic Swords III Tear down the door.¡± The door was iron, meaning it didn¡¯t break, and it was loud. It was not, however, locked or latched, and my swords managed to knock it open without difficulty, an observation I was able to make through the wall separating us with my ring. Miraculously, the noise didn¡¯t attract any more wandering stones or hordes of rats. Perhaps this low down they¡¯d already fell to worse fates than a vandalizing Magus. Thirty feet ahead was a dead end To the left, the path forked. This felt familiar. I took the fork and found myself staring down fifty feet of hallway to a depression in the ground. Upon approaching, it became clear I¡¯d found the staircase. Another path shot off to the right at a right angle at the top of the stairs. I wasn¡¯t going to descend those stairs without my spells being at the ready. They¡¯d keep until tomorrow, or the day after. The ogre waited. I still had about a quarter of an hour before I had to return, so I decided to secure our approach by scouting down the other branch of the hallway. *** Ten minutes of winding hallways finally came out on a fork, still no doorway in sight. I was out of time, but Attart could wait. I ordered one of my swords to carve an ¡®x¡¯ in the flagstone beneath me so I knew which of the three was my return, then took the path straight ahead. After a few more minutes I came out upon an open wooden door leading away from a catwalk. I¡¯d gone in a complete circle. Confused, I returned to the intersection. If I hadn¡¯t seen the stairs the first time round, and there had only been one other path, it must mean we¡¯d taken the path which was currently on my right. My ¡®x¡¯ was straight ahead. One path had taken me an hour to find the stairs, the other had been ten minutes of slow and careful exploration with no obstacles. I¡¯d just found us a shortcut. This time I took the right hand path, both to ensure I ran into Attart and to confirm my series of logic. Ten minutes later I was back in the strange bathroom. Attart was sitting on the floor in the centre of the room, watching both doorways. Oh!¡± The changes still caught her by surprise. She caught herself as she tipped forward, then looked up at me and smiled, ¡°We saved them. They are free.¡± I returned her smile, it was nice she could smile, ¡°I have some good news also, I¡¯ve found a faster and safer passage to the fourth floor.¡± She began to rise, I waved her down, ¡°Tomorrow. I want to have all my spells at the ready. There is an ogre near the bottom of the stairs. If we encounter him we will need them and more. Last time I faced him I could not defeat him. Attart¡¯s eyes grew wide, ¡°Should we be going down?¡± I have stronger spells now. Less of them, but stronger. I think if I take him by surprise I might have a chance. If we must fight him. I¡¯m hoping to avoid dealing with him altogether. That said, I¡¯ll go down alone until I can secure a safe passage. I will need my full concentration to stand a chance. Once you retrieve your ghosts it might be a different story.¡± Attart scrunched her face into a moue, ¡°Sir is probably right.¡± Don¡¯t worry. Just a few more days. If we do face the ogre there is a shortcut to your book through their lair. Now, could you please watch the doors. I have preparations to make. And once again, don¡¯t mind the skeleton.¡± *** Push VIII?. Push IX. Push IX vanished from my spellbook as it was cast. It seemed I was fated to never have enough spells at once. If any future apprentice complained about the difficulties and pace of spell writing in the future I could talk their ear off better than the most curmudgeonly old man. I needed to spend more time protecting those spells I found valuable. Push X: Push an object with 30800lbs of force for up to half an hour. Even the ogre with all his dark powers should struggle against fifteen tons of force. If he didn¡¯t, well, then the warlocks would have lost control of the Bleak Fort a long time ago. Maybe I could even crush one of those bugs. The only question which remained was to create a second in the morning, or protect it so I wouldn¡¯t lose it. Creating a second would not grant me a second cast on the day I planned to face the ogre, so unless I wanted to delay finding Tom¡¯s mother another day and digging even further into my supplies, I should protect the spell. On the other hand, I¡¯d seen a few creatures dismiss the first castings of my spells. I had three months. If I could afford to delay a day I probably should. Delay a month even until I was truly ready, but for that I didn¡¯t have the food. I stood. I¡¯m ready to go, let¡¯s see if Eric hasn¡¯t eaten all our food yet.¡± *** The journey was uneventful, which was to say, peaceful. The path was straightforward, the halls were as quiet as they could be, and the goblins, despite my constant misgivings, had kept to their bargain. Even the whispers of dark magic which occasionally invaded my ears were still. Still, a weight lifted from my shoulders when we finally passed the threshold to Attart¡¯s house. Sanctuary was welcome in these darkened tunnels, no matter how diminutive they passed off their dangers for the moment. I knew the ogre and the toad-dragon both still lived, and lower, I suspected, waited deeper horrors. The day was only half over by Cillian¡¯s reckoning when we returned, and so I spent the time in gentle company, relaxing among old friends turned new. Eventually, long conversation turned to sleep, sleep to dreams and dreams to nightmares. Trees rose about me on every side, like the dark forest about Blackbridge. Trunks and creaking boughs waged constant war against the sun, both in reality and my dreams. Here the battle was fought in seconds rather than years. Darkness spread and the sun slowly vanished beneath grasping limbs. But I was a dryad. Wasn¡¯t I? The limbs glowed green in the dark. I could see them, reaching, striving. I could see the withering grass at my feet, brown and dry now that their meadow had been turned to shadows. I asked the limbs to move aside and they obeyed. Green lines twisted, turned dark as the first rays of light blinded me, then brilliant greens and rich browns as my eyes recovered. The grass beneath my feet swelled and twisted, life restored, turned upward to greet the sun. A spire rose above me, an ever widening circle as the trees continued to grow upward but leave a path for the sun. The spire pointed not straight up, but directly at the sun, and moved as the sun moved. A tower of sunlight. And there, in its centre, always in its centre, flew the albatross. XCI - Ogre Slayer I woke as the sun rose again, both in dreams and reality. The dream remained, lingered. It seemed real. It was real. I¡¯d planted a seed, hadn¡¯t I? And now it threatened to smother me. Such was the nature of dreams, and the thing which made all dreams¡ªseed or no¡ªreal. _?Push X?_ Whispers mingled with the sunlight, light and shadow. What they claimed, I couldn¡¯t say, I was focused, utterly, on preserving my spell. The voices would not be denied. Louder, louder, LOUDER. Until it was all I could hear. Rain Coil. Rain Coil. RAIN COIL. RAINCOILRAINCOILRAINCOIL It couldn¡¯t be contained. There were too many spells floating around in the void, I wasn¡¯t enough for them. It had to fit. I was made to. My recording finished. The ground fell away from me as I flew toward the heavens. The outside world grew smaller even as the inside world grew, swelling until it could fit the new spell. I fell forward, strangely off balance. I was also in agony. My clothing had all shrunk. Safe TeleportII The pain didn¡¯t stop. I think something was bleeding internally. Regenerate? Nothing happened. I wasn¡¯t holding my spell book. Of course I wasn¡¯t holding my spell book, I¡¯d just teleported. I activated my rin¡ªright. The teleportation. Brace was the first to notice my naked self crawling back toward my pile of gear. Oswic?¡± She drew her sword, ¡°What is it?¡± Spellbook. Need. Spellbook.¡± Erin was closest, but Conan was faster. He scooped it up from the pile and shoved it into my hands. I laboriously turned the pages until I found the one I needed. Regenerate? This time it worked. The pain eased almost instantly. I¡¯d gotten out of there in time, before I¡¯d been crushed again. I was aware of a room full of people staring at me, three of them women. I lowered my spellbook into a makeshift shield. Conan, if you would be so kind as to grab my clothes.¡± My voice sounded strange to me. Deeper. It clicked. Something about my spellwork had change me, changed me like Dave had been changed into a shrilled husk, perhaps like how the Shadowmaster had begun weeping sap instead of blood. I¡¯d been lucky. Instead of turning into a poplar tree or growing seventeen new pairs of eyes I¡¯d merely grown taller. Normal taller. I didn¡¯t doubt the dark magic would have been as happy to simply increase the length of my legs, or my toes. My tunic was in tatters. There was no way I was getting my boots or gambeson back on. In fact, of everything I had previously worn, only my belt was salvageable. Even my ring was too small. That, by far, was my greatest loss. The warlock¡¯s ring had also been damaged by my transformation. The band was warped, stretched as I¡¯d grown. I¡¯d not yet figured out what it could do. It, at least, could be fitted on the pinky of my right hand. My dress still fit over my head as a scarf as well, so there was that. Attart, do you have anything here which would fit me?¡± Nothing, though I can make you something.¡± Trousers?¡± In exchange for your firstborn child.¡± That was a little steep. What can I get for this jade brooch?¡± I held up my temporary solution to the holes in my gambeson. A tuttensek of equal size.¡± Somehow, she said it without flinching. My own face turned red, whereas Brace and Eric both burst out laughing. At least Cillian had the grace to look horrified on my behalf. What about a robe?¡± Tell me the nature of the warlock¡¯s ring.¡± I wasn¡¯t about to go exploring the nature of the ring naked, especially not in front of a room full of people. Binding with Tom was the most annoying thing that had ever happened to her. I will grant you a necklace of gold and an earring to match.¡± A patchwork kaftan.¡± While I¡¯d never been to the Bronze Coast, I knew something of their fashion. A kaftan was a sort of robe, open in the front. I think that was worse than being naked. What if I throw in a second gold necklace and a beautiful piece of star quartz?¡± A fine pair of boots.¡± That was also worse. I didn¡¯t think I was going to get anywhere dealing with her. Still, I¡¯d give it one last try. A loincloth? A shendyt like those worn by the Delta people in their home?¡± Haven¡¯t worn one in years,¡± muttered Eric. A favour, which I may call in at any time,¡± replied Attart. I¡¯d just gotten free of Tom¡¯s three favours, and now she was demanding a fourth. Still, it was the best deal I¡¯d gotten so far. I may refuse the favour if I believe it suicidal or immoral.¡± Attart, ever the lady, kept her gaze fixed on the wall behind me while she approached and stuck out her hand, ¡°Deal.¡± I shook it. *** It only took Attart ten minutes to make me my loincloth. It took the sussurations less time to mount a second assault on my mind. The chamber was larger now, where the whispers were stored, the spell slipped into my mind with ease: Acid Colossus But the fact it did so gave me an insight into the dark magic. It wanted to be used. Needed to be. I¡¯d been warped, changed, though not disagreeably, from storing too many spells in my mind at once. And again, for only the second or third time I could remember, the new spell was a suggestion, not a rule. I could let the Acid Colossus slip away if I so chose. I didn¡¯t need to keep every spell in my mind. Didn¡¯t need to risk turning into a tree or shrivelling into a husk every time dark whispers invaded my mind. I didn¡¯t know how many spells I could safely contain, perhaps their was no safe number, but I knew I was already in the danger zone. But I would soon face the ogre. I kept the spell. Consequences be what they will. The fabric of my shendyt was something called ¡°diasper¡±, a patterned white on white silk which, combined with my glowing skin and fantastic calves, left me looking like one of the Delta¡¯s gods. I kept the thought to myself. Though I was far underground their had already been far too much lightning for my tastes, especially when used against me. I still had to unstick my cutlass from my hand every time I accidentally brushed against it while walking. Once ¡°fully¡± clothed I stood, confident enough to view my changes. It was as I¡¯d hoped. I was still myself, only taller. Much taller, half a foot or so. Embarrassingly, after my crushing and absorbing and warping of the Mushroom King, much taller did not amount to a giant, but instead a very tall man. Six feet two inches by Attart¡¯s ruler. I bound my belt back around the shendyt and loaded on my waterskin, weapons, and pouch. My shift of swan feathers provided covered my shoulders. I was warm, dressed, and loaded for ogre. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Naturally everything went wrong while I was powdering my nose. EliminateII?succeeded, but I didn¡¯t need magic to evacuate my bowls. The world turning sideways would have done it for me. An impossible vibration set my teeth on end and my hair on edge. Everything was topsy turvy. When reality reasserted itself, it was if nothing had changed. My spell was fine, I was fine, my environs were fine, Attart was still standing beside me, now looking slightly concerned. Something had happened. I¡¯d felt the effects of the dark magic twisting reality enough times by now to know it. But what had happened, I had no idea. It was concerning. Attart¡¯s casting went without incident. Something happened.¡± Attart stated it as a fact, not a question. Something. No idea what. The dungeon has been fighting back against me more and more. That was my second spell in an hour.¡± Do you want more time? We can create more spells. You have several months before you have to find Tom¡¯s mother, right?¡± I could spend a lifetime crafting spells until the ogre didn¡¯t stand a chance. But I didn¡¯t know how long it would take to find Tom¡¯s mother. Building up a stockpile of spells was also a losing proposition. The dark whispers would continue, and my spells would continue to fail me. This morning had been a stark reminder. Besides, I already had a plan for dealing with the ogre. If I took the time to guarantee its success, I might never consider myself ready. Fear was my main obstacle, not strength. Better to be done with it. I¡¯m as ready as I¡¯ll ever be. Let¡¯s eat and be on our way. I need to leave before sense re-takes me.¡± *** Just as we were about to cross into the room where I¡¯d first met Brace and crew, a harsh white light shone behind us. I turned, hand flipping through my spellbook, only to be greeted by the sign of a rapidly dimming stone. Are you following me?¡± I demanded. The stone didn¡¯t deign to respond. Don¡¯t touch it,¡± I said to Attart, ¡°There¡¯s something strange about those stones, especially that one. The others I¡¯ve met are far more shy.¡± What is it?¡± I have no idea. They go dim if they notice you noticing them, and they have a keen sense of hearing. And they steal whatever you touch them with.¡± At the centre of the glow, did you notice? It looked like they were full of gold and treasures.¡± Like a calcified will-o¡¯-wisp. I¡¯m not risking it.¡± We moved on. The stone didn¡¯t follow. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. I¡¯d though the rats were after me earlier, and yet I hadn¡¯t seen them in several days. Wouldn¡¯t see them in several days? My memory had gotten a bit jumbled from the time travel. *** My shortcut remained marked and took us straight to the staircase. It was much shorter than the previous path had been. Gunhild and I would have never run into troubles had we gone straight rather than right at the fork in the road. And then she would have been eaten by an ogre. Someone had been looking out for us. Someone else was out looking. The ogre wasn¡¯t home. His wife was. Tasty manflesh comes right to my door!¡± She cried, bursting through said door. Her charge knocked aside a plumb bob hanging from the ceiling, a trap the ogres had already disabled. Sword Storm III The sword caught her charge cold, barely wavered as it sliced into flesh. The ogress, now in two pieces, didn¡¯t slow. Clothes¡¯s Hanger Safe Teleport Light flared from my spellbook as I teleported forward. I reappeared a second later, facing the opposite direction. The pieces of the ogress continued to skid down the hall. Attart had waited high up on the stairs, avoiding being anywhere near our conflict. Their was colossal crash as the dead ogress slammed into the wall. From further down the hall, halfway between the lair and the stairs, a roar resounded. I smell MEAT!¡± Her husband was coming home, and the path was no longer barred by the volcano. It was time to face my fears. Lightstep II I nearly collapsed in relief when the spell succeeded. The ogre¡¯s mere presence had warped my spellcasting to the point I¡¯d needed divine intervention. If he stopped me now I¡¯d have to fight fair, and I wasn¡¯t sure I could win a fair fight. I ran back down the hall, hoping to face the ogre before he could see his wife¡¯s remains. I wanted him hungry, not angry. Otherwise he might start casting his strange magic. I could (hopefully) survive a blow from an eight hundred pound monster, but not a 10,000 pound one. I didn¡¯t make it. Regenerate II I didn¡¯t have time to dodge, but I got the spell off before his club smashed the book out of my hand. My middle finger went with it. The rest of my hand stayed behind. White light assaulted the edges of my vision, though it hurt less than I¡¯d expected. I dove for my finger as the ogre collapsed. Lightstep II: The next person to wound the caster dies. I¡¯d been betting everything on the definition of ¡°person¡±. Shorebirds couldn¡¯t bring more relief. I was no surgeon, but I lined up my severed finger as best I could with the stump on my left hand and pressed the two jagged ends together. Pain flooded through the finger in equal measure with relief through my body. Feeling. I could feel the finger. It was a broken mess, but my spell¡¯s healing was powerful. Every two minutes a month of rich, rest-filled healing went by. After five minutes it felt secure enough I shifted to lie on my stomach and elbows on the floor in order to more comfortably grip my hand. Ten more minutes passed and the breaks were gone. I¡¯d set the bones as best I could as my finger became more and more secure, and by some miracle I¡¯d set them right. It¡¯s safe now. I¡¯m straight ahead down at the bottom of the staircase. Down the winding corridor, ignore the path on the right.¡± I¡¯d cast Conscience before moving forward. Attart should be able to hear me and see through my eyes. She should already know it was safe, but the ogre had been deceptive before, so I¡¯d told her to wait until I confirmed it. By the time she arrived I could use my middle finger again, though it still felt weak. It was growing stronger every passing second. Attart retrieved my spellbook, as well as a page which had been torn loose; Push VI. That went far better than I¡¯d hoped.¡± You lost your finger.¡± I could have lost my head. But look,¡± I raised my hand, ¡°I¡¯m not even wounded.¡± You thought you might die.¡± I was more confident before the death of his wife made him angry. He hit with a lot more force than I was expecting. Even a creature as big as him shouldn¡¯t have been able to wound me like that. You¡¯d struggle to hurt me with a dagger.¡± She eyed me up and down, ¡°You are half naked. I am sure I could think of something.¡± The ogre fight could have gone a lot worse. I led the way to the ogres¡¯ lair. Can you support your own body weight?¡± I¡¯d borrowed a rope from Brace before we¡¯d set out for just this occasion. Mine had been lost when I¡¯d lost my bindle going back in time. The rope was strong, we¡¯d tested it before leaving; Conan, Stovepipe, and Oscar on one end and me on the other. It hadn¡¯t broken, but that didn¡¯t mean we hadn¡¯t weakened it by accident, or that it would survive a full hundred and fifty foot descent. I can¡ªI could,¡± she corrected herself, ¡°Since my time in the book, I¡¯m not sure.¡± She gestured at her body, ¡°And these changes, I doubt they have made it any easier.¡± A small flair of shame went through me once again. I let it burn somewhere in the background while I dealt with the problem at hand. Here,¡± I said, offering her one end of the rope, ¡°Grab this.¡± With her arms and legs both firmly wrapped around the rope I was able to lift her off the ground without issue. With the edges of the well helping her she could easily descend. I used to climb when I was young. I was never very good at it, but I have never been afraid of heights.¡± She tried to lift herself on the rope while I kept her suspended. She rose several handspans before dropping to the floor, ¡°I will not be able to ascend more than a few feet before I grow too tired to continue.¡± We¡¯ll find another way back up. Here,¡± I handed her the remains of my tunic, ¡°Wrap this about your feet and legs, especially since you¡¯re not wearing any shoes.¡± She approached the hole, ¡°This is a refuse pit, I know it.¡± It is.¡± She shuddered, but took the tunic, ¡°I better still be trapped in that book with all my ghosts or I will be very cross.¡± She was getting much better about controlling her pronouns. Perhaps Tom¡¯s own ghost was finally subsiding. Lightstep Again Rapture Lightstep Again treated Attart as the caster of the spell, whereas Rapture treated her as an object the spell could act on. She was a more useful spell focus than myself. A total of 160 lbs of force was enough to lift her from the ground with my mind, the rope was a failsafe more than a necessity. If we stayed on the fifth floor a day I could levitate her back up the well. Whoah!¡± she let out a cry of delight as I floated her over to my side, ¡°Higher! Higher!¡± The ceiling here was nearly 100 feet tall. I lifted her to thirty. There was no sense risking a larger fall. Something could always go wrong, hence the rope. Attart let out a full bellied laugh, one without the layer of concern and propriety she had maintained since I had met her. One which gave a clue to the woman before the etiquette book. I gave her five minutes of swooping and soaring before I lowered her to the ground. We had a time limit. Can all Magi fly?¡± I smiled at her, handing her two bones from the ogre midden, ¡°They will. I am the first to come up with the spell as far as I am aware. Though I suspect the elders keep some secret for the rest of our safety. Perhaps they all fly when we aren¡¯t looking.¡± What are the bones for? It is improper for a lady to handle such dirty things.¡± When you get in sight of stone you can use them to make a racket that I can teleport to. Throw them or strike them against the ground. You can also shout, but then I¡¯ll teleport on top of you.¡± She primly tucked the bones into the sash about her waist, ¡°I will see what I can do. Guide me to the well.¡± I grinned and sent her up thirty feet before diving back down to the lip of the well. Attart gave a shout of joy as she ascended and a scream of pleasure as she plunged back down. I moved to the edge of the well so I could track her descent. I dimmed my skin in order to better see, she should glow slightly. Attart grasped the rope in both hands and lowered herself into the well. She had to work to pull herself down, overcoming the force of my spells. I decreased the lift of rapture until I saw her arms take on a portion of her weight. A handful of pounds, no more, enough to hopefully catch herself if the spell failed. Her descent began. XCII - Bugbear It took her less than a minute to get to the bottom. She called for me to stop when she was only a small light far below, presumably a small ways above the midden. Left!¡± I obliged and she vanished from view. My spell was ready for the¡ª *Clatter* True Teleport II Attart was hovering above me and to my right when I reappeared. My very own shoulder angel. I lowered her to the ground. I could see the chasm from here. She¡¯d lowered us down on the wrong side of the refuse. That said, I¡¯d been looking for a path around it when I¡¯d been sent back in time, so I didn¡¯t know the path from the right side anyway. The question was, should I try another route, teleport us to the far side, or face the King of the Dead once more? I carried myself well the first time round, but that didn¡¯t mean I wouldn¡¯t mess up something this time. Especially with a necromancer in tow. Would that make him happy or sad? What is your relationship with the Dead King?¡± She didn¡¯t need to ask which dead king. We have met, both inside the book and out. I insulted him. We do not get along.¡± He travels?¡± She shook her head, ¡°I entered the dungeon in an attempt to free myself. It did not work.¡± She hesitated, then added, ¡°I looked different then. Very different. It is possible... He may not recognize me.¡± It was still a risk. Our other options were across the ledge above the chasm to the unexplored door, or through the mound of waste. With my strength and my new height I could force my way through the second option, but Attart was at risk of suffocation. The ledge brought with it the risk of the unknown, and would require spells or nerves of steel to cross every time. I should have prepared for the obstacles, as well as the ogre. I needed a mantlet I could push through the mound like a shovel, and stretch out like a drawbridge as needed. I picked Attart up with my spell. The path across the chasm was open, no door barred passage. Soldier¡¯s Swords Scrape along the edges of that archway.¡± The swords flew to obey. No trap was found, no trap had ever been found in archways so far as I remembered. And the sound would attract its own troubles. If the troubles were akin to the ogre, perhaps it was time to stop searching. But I¡¯d be sending in Attart first, and I couldn¡¯t use her like that in good conscience. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Steel yourself. We¡¯re going across that chasm.¡± She smiled, ¡°I am ready.¡± I floated her across the fifteen foot gap. It was narrow enough I could jump it, trivial with a bit of a run up. Fast Teleport Judge me and find me wanting, I was afraid of heights. I was also running out of transportation spells. There was an alarm set up in the room. A large bell attached to a simple trip wire. For once without my ring I learned about the trap before I set it off. I pointed it out to Attart while I was lowering her to the ground. I needed to find a way to resize the ring. There was a door straight ahead and a portcullis to the south on our left. The portcullis was the way we wanted to go. Lift the gate.¡± My swords flew to obey. The gate noiselessly opened. It was nice to occasional change things up. I approached the gate, letting my light flood into the circular room bey¡ª Push X? The giant mushroom exploded into a cloud of blue of and red chitin. Green under my life sight. I¡¯d reacted to the apparition before I¡¯d realized it couldn¡¯t possibly, be the Mushroom-King, for I could control it. Three cloak figures stepped out of the shadows as one. That alone should have been an anomaly. My light shone bright enough to dispel all shadow. Neferhi the Shadowmaster lowered his hood and smiled at me, ¡°Oswic, I¡¯ve been looking for you. We have much to discuss.¡± *** Attart hurried to my side, ¡°Oswic, that is a soul, not a man.¡± Neferhi turned his gaze on the little necromancer, ¡°Attar, there is no need to be so rude. Perhaps you didn¡¯t finish your lessons?¡± The Shadowmaster held up his hand. In it was the etiquette book in which she had been bound. Attart flinched, ¡°Attar died. I am Attart. That book is not the book which killed him. Leave us be before I bind you.¡± The other two figures shed their hoods. They also bore the face of the Shadowmaster, ¡°We are already bound. But you may stay. We could use the company.¡± Neferhi had been nothing but polite and reasonable with me, as loathe as I was to admit it. These creatures, bound souls, whatever they were, were as evil as a theatre villain. What are they?¡± I asked. I do not know. They are not ghosts, but neither are they corporeal beings. I have no sway over them.¡± Perhaps I would. Let us pass. I am a Magus seeking the downfall of the Bleak Fort. If you wear the Shadowmaster¡¯s face then you know already I am the Darkswallower. I¡¯ve slain two warlocks and will not hesitate to destroy your pale imitation.¡± My skin began to glow with the brilliance of the sun. Their robes and skin turned faintly translucent in the glare. Neferhi returned the book to his robes. Go in peace. Head south. The left hand path will take you there.¡± I softened my light to a more comforting level. My own eyes had been starting to hurt. The walls of the room were run through with veins of what looked like gold. The reflection had been blinding. The room held to exits, both to the south. Two doors, one iron, one wood. Ours was the path through the wood. Is the door safe to open?¡± It is safe.¡± May I use force?¡± Destroy it, if you wish.¡± Clearly they cared for the home of the warlocks as little as I did. Tear down that door,¡± I pointed for my swords¡¯ benefit. They went to work. XCIII - Ill Stay with You Beyond the flattened mushroom martyr and the ghosts wearing the face of my captor, beyond the veins of gold running through the wall and the chest overflowing with gems, the second room waited. It was also circular, though much smaller than the first¡ªstill far larger than any found outside of a palace. Perhaps fifty feet in diameter. Barrels of sand were stacked around the doorway, though I couldn¡¯t say why. Little hourglasses dotted the floor. At the far end of the room a pile of bloody clothing lay in a heap. To paths waited for us, one to my right the other continuing south, straight ahead. An hourglass crunched behind me. I spun around. Attart had stopped moving. She wasn¡¯t standing still, nor frozen in fear, she¡¯d stopped. Entirely. She wasn¡¯t even breathing. Her foot remained partly off the ground, just above the broken hourglass. I eyed the other hourglasses scattered about the room, the barrels of sand, and then the pile of bloody clothes. Were they related? I moved over to the clothes first. I didn¡¯t want to touch the barrels unless I had to. I moved slowly to avoid the hourglasses, but even with caution I nearly trod on one. They seemed to shift and roll underfoot the moment I took my eyes off them. Like they wanted to be broken. The majority of the fabric turned out to be a scarf, with the rest being a pair of loose trousers. Both were so dark a blue as to be black. Power emanated from them like heat from a stove. There were answers there, if I dared. I didn¡¯t like all the blood. Hourglasses, their sand, or bloody clothes. My options weren¡¯t inspiring. The blood hadn¡¯t even dried. I gingerly gathered up the clothes in one hand and my spell book in the other. The ghosts of Neferhi better not have been watching. TransportII My gear ended up in a pile a few feet away on a bare stretch of floor. The scarf and trousers landed beside them, free from blood. I¡¯d worried the clothes themselves were bleeding for a bit. I put my shendyt back on and re-secured my belt and pouches. Then I withdrew a round bottle from my belt. The potion of sins. I downed it before I lost my courage. The room was free from sin. None had died here, or at least not in a way the potion considered blasphemous. Even the pool of blood didn¡¯t elect a response. Hopefully it would wear off before I found the suffocating suit of armour again. So, the clothing was safe, despite the blood, or at least not murderous. It also looked like it would fit. The trousers were large enough even with my new size, and though a scarf didn¡¯t have to be fitted to anyone, this one was long enough it would serve on a giant. I pulled on the trousers and wrapped the scarf about my neck. Then I unwrapped the scarf and pulled off my trousers. With my other set of arms. If that wasn¡¯t disconcerting enough, the scarf was still on me, as were the trousers. My arms were now undressing the rest of me. Removing my pouches, my belt, my shendyt. As they did so my arms reached up and unwrapped the scarf and pulled off my trousers. My arms still hadn¡¯t moved. And the scarf was still wrapped around my neck. Now my arms were corking the potion in preparation to remove my pouches, while my first set of arms lowered my spellbook. My arms¡ªmore of them every couple minutes¡ªwere going back in time, but not taking me with them. They looked as solid and real as any other set of arms, but they could pass through each other as they went about their business. I even felt I was controlling them, yet they performed their strange duty without fail. The sight was so mesmerizing, so unlike anything I¡¯d ever seen, it took me a moment to realize my skin had turned as black as the night sky. The same colour as the trousers and scarf I wore. The hourglasses nearest me were flowing backwards That seemed promising. One of my many hands opened, palm up, and sound emanated from the space above it, like the noise of a blooming flower. ¡°I can save her.¡± The voice was that of an old woman, a decrepit hag. It came from nowhere, from the air above my palm. ¡°How?¡± My own voice had changed. It sounded like the hag might have when she was young, though slightly deeper, more melodious, and perhaps even more powerful for it. A young woman¡¯s voice, vibrant, firm, free, full of life, yet tempered with an edge of wisdom. Another hand, another palm unfolding into the voice which set the hairs along my spine on edge. ¡°With a thought.¡± ¡°Please.¡± This voice was similar to my own, and yet, not my own. Still that of a young woman, but without the burden of the years. ¡°I can save her whenever I want,¡± she said. ¡°Then please do so. What do you require of me?¡± I replied in nearly an identical voice. It was so hard to keep track of which words were mine I started doubting which thoughts were mine. ¡°I can do whatever I desire.¡± Had that been me, or her? I approached Attart¡¯s frozen form. My forest of arms followed, attached at my shoulders like any other. It was a wonder I could move under the weight, yet they felt only as heavy as any other pair of arms. There was no response from the blooming air palm voices as I carefully made my way back through the hourglasses which still sought to fall underfoot. Whatever the clothes did, they didn¡¯t fully protect me. At least, not to my desired level. Perhaps the hourglasses would no longer trap me in time, or the effect would reverse as soon as it began like my arms. I didn¡¯t want to find out, and so I couldn¡¯t. Some of my arms extended toward Attart as I drew close, reaching into her pockets, under her sash. Searching, searching, but never finding. A hand opened, palm up. ¡°How long am I going to let her stay like this?¡± ¡°Never. Please. Please fix her. Save her.¡± The arms continued to rummage. ¡°I can save her whenever I want.¡± Were those... my thoughts? They sounded nothing like me, nor even like my reflection. Did I now have the power to save her? Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. I reached out a hand, one of dozens. The skin and nails were as black and as firm as stone, like I¡¯d been carved from granite and polished smooth. Hesitantly, my finger touched her cheek. That was all it took. Attart¡¯s foot finished crushing the hourglass underfoot and she let out a curse of pain. Neither of us were wearing shoes, but unlike me, her skin did not carry the strength of iron. I caught her in my arms and lifted her before she could fall or step on any more hourglasses. She shrieked and then clamped down on her mouth, forcing back control. ¡°Oswic? What happened. You look like you would give nightmares to a spider. Did the hourglass do something¡± A palm unfurled, ¡°She is pretty.¡± At the same time I responded, ¡°Yes, but not in the way you think.¡± The sun rose with Attart¡¯s eyebrows. Then set, then rose again. Itself caught in the strange loop of time. My hands reached out and rummaged through her clothes. Even the memory of what I hadn¡¯t done was reflected in the arms endlessly seeking the past. Attart¡¯s eyebrows rose further. Greater Heal IIII I set her down once her feet healed, ¡°I don¡¯t know why my arms are doing that, or why any of this is happening.¡± A palm opened, ¡°I am looking for four lost years. She should have them somewhere.¡± Attart laughed, ¡°If they were in my pockets I myself would have found them by now.¡± Another set of arms reached for Attart, causing me to carefully step back. ¡°I can give them back. I should give them back.¡± ¡°Is that you or,¡± Attart gestured at the wall of arms about me, ¡°whatever this is speaking?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not me, nor my thoughts, though I might be her thoughts, for what little sense it makes.¡± One of my arms sheathed my cutlass in preparation to fight the Shadowmaster. ¡°But does she want to go back?¡± It was the younger voice this time. Attart looked at me with large eyes, ¡°If I can regain four lost years, I would.¡± ¡°Even if you lost your memories, your experiences?¡± I asked. At least, I think it was me. ¡°Would I?¡± ¡°You would,¡± the voice replied, at least, I think it was her. The hand closest to Attart had opened anyway. A direct address if I¡¯d ever seen one. ¡°Is there any way to keep them? Anything you can do?¡± The hag replied. ¡°Your body and soul remembers as much as your mind. If you keep your soul you will remember. The hobgoblin will not be freed, neither will the one you bound all those years ago.¡± Another hand opened, this voice the younger woman. ¡°Keep your mind along with your body and soul, or restore all three. Those are the choices if you wish to regain four lost years.¡± That was hardly a choice at all. ¡°I can always change my body later within the dream realm.¡± ¡°You can change your mind even easier.¡± ¡°And my soul least of all.¡± Maybe it was a choice. ¡°What will happen to me once I am free? Will that other still be bound?¡± ¡°I will restore everything or nothing. Your soul is your soul, no matter where your body dwells.¡± She looked at me and bit her lip, ¡°I should like¡ªI would like to be restored. Even if it lost me my memories. Four years imprisoned and four years taken is far too many for any life to recover. If I have a chance...¡± Something twinged inside of me, but I tried not to let it show on my face. This was her decision, not mine. To me, the decision was the wrong one. I¡¯d lost years to injury, but I¡¯d learned all paths turned out the same. I¡¯d regained those years by advancing myself with their wisdom. I would have rather not lived them all the same, but I couldn¡¯t deny what had been. That said, if I could, perhaps I¡¯d jump at the same opportunity. Though in my case without experience I¡¯d be led to the same mistakes. I was the sort who needed to burn himself on the stove before he understood its heat. She looked about nervously. Her fingers played with fabric of her dress, ¡°So, what now? What need I do?¡± The young voice replied. ¡°I will embrace you.¡± Attart moved within reach of my arms, this time they did not grasp at her, merely continued to replay the past. I twisted as a could to avoid any cutlasses or spears from poking out her eye. ¡°Could you kneel for me?¡± She asked, looking up. I did so. Attart wrapped her arms about my neck and kissed me on the cheek, ¡°Thank you for everything. You saved me, and I hope will save me still. Some part of me, if only the part you carry in you, will always love you.¡± I wrapped my arms around her, ¡°You do what you need to do. I¡¯ll look out for you, memories or not.¡± ¡°Goodbye Oswic.¡± I could see the tears reflected on her face I felt on mine. ¡°Goodbye Attart. I hope we meet again.¡± A wave of hands descended from above and cracked Attart open like an egg. She folded outward, growing in size until she was even slightly taller than she¡¯d been before absorbing Tom. Her form continued to spill outward even as her body which had become her shell shrank away to nothing, clothes and all. A naked young man was in my arms a moment later, eyes wide and staring. ¡°Where? The warlocks. Where am I?¡± He struggled free of the mass of arms, I let him. His eyes searched the room frantically, latched onto something only he could see (his ghostly warriors perhaps?), then darted back on me. I was more than a foot taller than him, my black as midnight skin glowed with the light of the sun, my eyes burned red, and I was ringed by a dozen arms wielding weapons and books of spells. He was naked and unarmed. He made his decision. He covered himself with his hands. ¡°I¡¯m here to help,¡± I said, raising a pair of black arms placatingly. He took a step back, thankfully to a bare patch of ground. ¡°How?¡± I unwound the scarf from around my neck and pulled down the strange trousers. My shendyt preserved my modesty, though that still left me at an unfair advantage. My skin burst into gold and the forest of arms about me disappeared. ¡°I am Oswic...¡± My voice trailed off. My brush with... with whatever the arms of time had been had not left me unmarred. I still spoke with her voice. The young at least, instead of the old. ¡°I am Oswic. A Magus of the Sacred Order. I¡¯ve come to rescue you from the warlocks and bring their citadel down around their heads.¡± ¡°Your voice. You sound like a god. Though your body doesn¡¯t match.¡± ¡°Hey, you try maintaining a physique on dried fish and ogre slaying alone.¡± The man laughed, ¡°You escaped as well?¡± ¡°I slew the Shadowmaster to escape. Then I slew Dave. The warlocks are my enemy.¡± ¡°What kind of name is ¡®The Shadowmaster¡¯?¡± I laughed in return, ¡°The warlocks¡¯ names are not pretentious, despite how they sound. They do hold mastery over their domain.¡± My voice was starting to scare me. It had been bad enough when warped by the dark altar, and again when saved by the druidic rune, but now I sounded like a puppet for a goddess. And I kept unconsciously trying to make my voice deeper which just made me sound sultry. ¡°What do you last remember?¡± ¡°I¡¯d just escaped from my own cell and had recovered some of my things. I was just about to pick up a grimoire of sorts which had caught my eye on the ground. No, not a grimoire, it looked like one, but it was a book on etiquette or some such. And then I was here, for some reason.¡± A chill ran through me. I¡¯d brought him back to the moment precisely before he¡¯d been lost¡ªThe black multi-armed goddess thing had, not me. ¡°Then I have much to tell you. You were trapped in the book for eight years. It warped you, twisted your mind and body and drove you to suicide and despair.¡± ¡°Despair? Hard to believe. I feel light. Lightest I¡¯ve ever been save in my happiest moments. Ever since you appeared things have seemed wonderful.¡± ¡°That is the breaking of the warlocks¡¯ mosaic you feel. There is much to tell. For now, suffice to say I rescued you, but your body and your soul were not your own. We were companions for several days before I found a way to restore your body mind and soul to the point before you were trapped by the book. But your memories were lost in the bargain.¡± ¡°That¡¯s hard to believe.¡± ¡°It is. I have companions who can verify parts of my story, though not all of it. For the moment, your name is... Attar, correct?¡± He nodded with a frown, ¡°You know that much.¡± ¡°And you are a necromancer. You should have six or seven spirits about you now. Ones you do not recognize, who bear real weapons and armour.¡± His frown deepened, ¡°I was wondering about that.¡± ¡°More importantly, some part of you is still trapped in that grimoire. Probably. I¡¯m not sure how my control of time managed the trap. But we should hurry in case, before the other you is lost.¡± Attar took a slow look of the dark cobbles in the distance, the laughing walls, and then beacon of light pooled about me, ¡°I think I¡¯ll be sticking by you, regardless of your reason. If that is alright with you.¡± Relief mix with pain filled me, threatened to break my heart at the same time it warmed me from head to toe, ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡± XCIV - Fire Attar and I moved carefully across the hourglass strewn floor to hide behind the sand barrels while my swords got to work. I wasn¡¯t sure how much longer they¡¯d last, given all the strangeness we¡¯d just experienced with time, so I sent them after both doors, in case the due south path was the wrong one. Both flew open with a single strike, stuck in their frame rather than latched. The swords barely scratched them. I sent them to scrape along the floor for good measure, which undid what little stealth I might have gained from the unusually easy opening, but I could face almost any foe easier than a lightning bolt to the temple. And no foes came. Two glowing lights waited for us in the darkened room beyond. Two lights which dimmed as we shuffled our way closer, but which had not dimmed from my assault on the doors. Two more of the strange moving stones. No, the same moving stones. That wasn¡¯t right. And yet, now that I could see the centre of the room clearer, there were the rune carved bones, bundled with leather. There was the bread, perfectly preserved in the centre of the room. And the armour which drowned. There had been three stones before. What was more, the door we now walked through hadn¡¯t been a door. I¡¯d checked with my ring. Attart¡¯s ghosts had said it was safe. I¡¯d also felt myself drown while wearing the armour, seen the man die to the stone¡¯s poisonous gas. Things changed. Or were different from different angles. Different times? I was almost tempted to put the scarf on again. Almost. It might do more than change my voice if I relied to heavily on it. I¡¯d heard stories about men becoming mere avatars for their gods, and whoever the being was, she wasn¡¯t even my god. I didn¡¯t even know her name. Don¡¯t touch the armour, whatever else you do in here. Same for the stones.¡± Attar stopped short, ¡°Is everything so dangerous in the dungeons?¡± Yes.¡± Attar shivered. The floor was warmer than most, but no clothes was no clothes. Especially for someone from the Bronze Coast. How do you learn if something is safe here?¡± You let me touch it first. I¡¯m far more durable than most. Or in your case you let your ghosts handle it. One of them wore the armour last time.¡± He frowned, ¡°Last time?¡± Right. There was more to the story than simply lost memories. We went back in time before you lost your memories. We returned to this place in order to free your past self from the grimoire, but, as you can see we freed you in a different way instead.¡± So we¡¯re in the past, but my memories are even more in the past?¡± Yes, but not as far as you¡¯d think. It is the year 1000. You spent eight years in the grimoire over the course of four years.¡± Attar sagged, ¡°Four years... Everyone will think I¡¯m dead.¡± I put a hand on his shoulder, ¡°You¡¯ll prove them wrong.¡± He shook his head, ¡°Why did I give up my memories? It¡¯s not like I can get back those years. Even if I will live longer and learn more, the world has moved on.¡± I¡¯d been there. Not as extreme, but I¡¯d taken the long way around. The world moved endless eons before you were born and you still managed to catch up. And you were but a babe back then. You will manage.¡± He smiled, and for a moment I could see a glimpse of Attart in him, ¡°Thank you. I will try.¡± I bit down on my lip to stop my heart leaping from my chest. Tears were starting to form at the corners of my eyes. I was going to miss her. I looked away. Attar had enough of his own problems to deal with at the moment. No sense confusing him with my tears. I approached the bundle of bones with caution. There was a different number of stones and a different number of doors in the room. There was no telling all of what had changed. Attar followed in my footsteps, ¡°Is that bread safe? I haven¡¯t ate since I escaped my cell.¡± It was a good question. Unfortunately, I was busy drowning. I could feel the armour wrapped around me, filling my lungs with water. The shadows grew around me as the light dimmed. It was the shadows I fled, not the water. The armour was the only thing which could keep me safe¡ª I forced my attention onto the bread before the potion lost me in the armour¡¯s sins. No one had died making the bread. No one had had an evil thought while baking the bread as far as I could tell. It still might kill the necromancer, but so would starvation. At some point we had to take the risk. It is safer than anything else in this room.¡± Attar peered down at it. He was hesitant, but hunger won out. I removed my crayon and spellbook while he ate. On the one hand, the last time I¡¯d written a spell in this room I¡¯d been sent backwards in time. On the other, the corridors near here had been filled with ruby beetles, chimera, and ghouls. I formed a triangular barrier about the two of us while Attar ate, then drew my handcannon and removed the cap. This is going to be noisy,¡± I warned Attar. The weapon itself didn¡¯t panic him. Perhaps he didn¡¯t know what it was, or he¡¯d already seen how I could overpower him with whatever I wished if I had meant him harm and so trusted me. I sat somewhat awkwardly, trying to balance three things with two hands. It was almost tempting to put the trousers and scarf back on. There were a lot of ways to go about the spell. I could record the hand cannon wholesale, letting me scare the chimera as I had last time and projecting a force reliably as I desired. I could fire an object with the force of a gun, requiring ammunition but allowing me to shoot whatever I wished. I could also choose not to record the noise or the flash. Given we¡¯d soon be facing the chimera, and ammo was limited, simple was best. For now, at least. I pointed the handcannon at the wall and fired. The gun roared a tongue of flame and the shot crashed into my invisible wall, but did not break it, and, praise all good things, did not ricochet, but merely dropped to the floor when it ran out of energy. Handcannon: An invisible handcannon fires in the direction of the caster¡¯s choosing. The spell was recorded without incident. I¡¯d forgotten that was possible. The noise hadn¡¯t even attracted any attention. Last time I¡¯d worked magic in this room I¡¯d been sent back in time. In retrospect it had probably been reckless to risk that happening a second time. But I¡¯d not thought it likely the room itself was responsible. And even if it was, that gave me more time to deal with Tom¡¯s mother, and more spells at the ready for slaying whatever foes I came across. The only real downside would be tearing Attar¡¯s soul back through time yet again, and the potential of being taken by surprise by the Mushroom-King. I reloaded my gun and replaced the cap once it was cool. On the subject of Attar¡¯s soul: he was no longer entangled with Tom. He was also a very small man. I¡¯d not trusted Attart with the ring even though she could wear it, in part due to jealousy, but in larger part the risk of given the power to someone who was wrestling with a hobgoblin¡¯s vices. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. The question was, what, if anything, had Attar inherited from his brush with Tom¡¯s soul? There was also a risk of him still wearing my soul and allowing him to cast my spells he could see, even if by accident, with the ring. The runes in my brain had knocked me out for hours, maybe days at a time when I¡¯d first written them. I didn¡¯t want to incapacitate him now. But there were some tests I could do once my spells were returned to me. For now, the ring would remain a secret. Scorch, Sword, Scintillation I was running frighteningly low on spells. I pulled aside my bone wall to allow the sword passage and then moved it back into place. The south east door didn¡¯t even slow it. When the increased howls didn¡¯t lead to anything of substance I packed up the bones and put them in pouch. Follow me carefully, but keep an eye out. I may still be surprised. We will be facing a chimera shortly if all goes according to plan. Leave it to me.¡± Attar rubbed his arms, ¡°Can I borrow a weapon? I¡¯d feel a little better with something to hold, even if it is just for show.¡± I should have thought of that earlier. I removed my cutlass and handed it to him. My hands would be busy with my spellbook and my handcannon anyway. I led the way though the door, careful of the splinters if only for Attar¡¯s sake rather than my own. Though given my weight it was probably prudent to avoid them in bare feet anyway. Two doors waited after fifty feet of corridor bent at a right angle. I sent my sword through the one on the left while my fireball guarded the continuing corridor. If anything came through the door straight ahead I¡¯d have to shoot it. I flipped the cap off my gun while my sword made short work of the door. The thin wood made no more noise than snapping a twig. Naturally, as I was prepared for conflict, the room was empty. Attar followed me inside. The wobbly floor room! I¡¯ve been here.¡± I gestured to the things scattered about the room. Without the chimera they hadn¡¯t all been drawn to the centre. Your things are here. Don¡¯t touch the book. Try not to look at it.¡± Attar¡¯s red cloak rose up from the ground and fluttered over to settle around his shoulders That¡¯s better,¡± he said with a smile. It wasn¡¯t. If anything, he looked more naked only wearing a cloak. Were any of these clothes yours?¡± The nightgown, technically. I stole it fair and square. And the k¨¡?¨¡ya there.¡± Is that what those robes were called? I¡¯d never remember it. Grab your things. You might need them to defend yourself while I deal with this book. I made sure I had the dream potion in hand before I retrieved the book. I didn¡¯t want to risk leaving it behind, nor did I want to drink it just yet, in case the effect didn¡¯t carry over. Once I was sure Attar had retrieved his things I opened the book. Give me an hour. If I don¡¯t return head back through the hourglass room if you can. Past the pit to the right is a mound of waste with a rope leading to the upper floors. Follow the destroyed doorways and staircases and you will hopefully find others to shelter you.¡± I tore a sheet from my spellbook and sketched him a quick map, ¡°You may need to find an alternate means to cross the pit, but I hope your ghosts can provide. Few other paths are as safe. My memory isn¡¯t perfect. If the map deviates too far, search the area, but do not wander too far from the path. Good luck.¡± To you as well. May the sun set over empty waters.¡± May the sun rise with warm winds.¡± I opened the book. *** Fire raged all around me. I staggered back from the heat, but there was only more heat behind me. Even the centre of the garden where Attart and I had had tea was ablaze. What had she said? ¡°On my first day I burned the place down.¡± Something like that. My hair was fireproof. I knew that already. I pulled it to me and wrapped it around my face like a shield. That helped somewhat, but I was still standing in the middle of an inferno only wearing a shendyt. I wasn¡¯t in immediate danger of succumbing, but burns would eventually kill as surely as smoke and flame. I needed to stop this. I could make it rain, but I doubted it would be enough. Whispers raged through my mind as I sorted through the spells available to me. Heat Blob All the heat in the surrounding area rushed to the far side of the garden. The flames were snuffed out immediately and my inflamed skin was struck with a sudden chill. The park bench at the centre of the heat blob exploded into brilliant white light as every grain of wood ignited at once. KRAKOOM!! The sound was a thunderclap and a rush of wind which may have knocked over a lesser man. I fled the blast, seeking the door to one of the wings, and the corridor to the door beyond, leading to the outside of the structure. The interior was also aflame. The far door and two strides of floor leading up to the door were hungrily being consumed by fire. The rafters above trickled down smoke and the occasional ominous creak. All I had were bare feet. I frantically dug through my pouch until I found the rune with the flower of flame upon its face. I had no idea how to active the thing so I just threw it at the door with all my might. A puff of flame met my efforts, no larger than my head minus the hair. The door shook but didn¡¯t even break. As a small saving grace the explosion devoured the fire¡¯s air, temporarily extinguishing a small hole in front of me. Push VIII? The door flew away nearly as fast as one of my bullets. The rush of air drew flame like a siphon, which the opposite of what I¡¯d been hoping for. Greater Heal III I wrapped my shift about myself and leapt through the flaming portal. The grounds were also on fire. There was a lake in the distance, half a mile from my position. I ran. Greater Heal II Even both spells together wasn¡¯t enough to keep up with the burns, but it was close, getting less close every passing second. The flames weren¡¯t lesser out here, I ran through sheets of fire, live coals broke under my footsteps, smoke swam in my lungs, my throat felt raw and bloody. I¡¯d gotten a little more than I¡¯d bargained for. Rain Coil A waterspout descended from the heavens and wrapped around me as I ran. Sweet relief on my cheeks as the super-heated smoke was suddenly cut off by a wall of water, sudden pain as stream rose all around me. But I could breathe. I kept running. The fire was only getting hotter and warlock spells didn¡¯t have a set time they lasted. Not one I¡¯d found. It wasn¡¯t the most painful two minutes of my life. It wasn¡¯t even the most painful experience I¡¯d had in the last week. Which was rather depressing, because it should have been. It hurt like a torturer¡¯s magnum opus and carried a fear only permanent injury could bring. I struggling to breath as I made my final few steps, even with my Rain Coil protecting me the gasps a drew down my ragged throat were limited just enough by steam and smoke to make me feel as if I was drowning, but was never quite enough to do me in. I dove into the water in what should have been a cloud of steam, but instead my skin burned even more fiercely and the cold drove what little air I had from my lungs. I surfaced desperately and was met with a mouthful of rain. This was ridiculous. I wasn¡¯t going to drown in a fire. People would laugh at me. At least my lungs themselves seemed to be holding up, even if my throat was burning. Whatever had turned them gold had also made them immune to the damage the rest of my body was experiencing. My spellbook slipped in my hand. I grabbed it with the other and kept it under the water. The fire would have damaged the outside, but hopefully if I let it cool the wax wouldn¡¯t run enough to damage the spells. I¡¯d check on them once I was out of the worst of the danger. For the moment I awkwardly flailed on my side away from the shore. The lake was shallow enough I could almost stand, which I made use of by kicking repeatedly off the bottom as I went. Fireproof though my solid gold lungs may be, they didn¡¯t float nearly as well as my old ones had. Neither did the my cape of feathers, which quickly became water clogged. It was only my enhanced strength in my relatively slight frame which prevented me from drowning with an inch of water overhead. The far shore was free from flames, and only about twenty feet from the edge. A large dirt path surrounded the manor, preventing the fire¡¯s spread. Awfully considerate of the estate to stop from burning down the neighbourhood. It was probably decorative. Something to further the symbol of chaos the manor had been built in the shape of. I dragged myself onto the shore and hobbled away from the still present heat of the flame. It was still raining on me. I was going to freeze to death instead of burn. I¡¯d take it. My spellbook cracked as I opened it (the wax, not the parchment) but the spells held. I had an idea about how to find Attar in this mess. Flames of Revenge As I hoped, only a single flame appeared. The spell sent a flaming blade after every community I knew, but in this mirror world, Attar was the only community. I guess the reflection of the Watcher didn¡¯t count. I doubted the blade would hurt her anyway, she was safe in the pond, a mere murky glimmer and glimpse beneath the rain-rippled surface. The blade went straight back toward the manor. Damn it.