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.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  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—the 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.”