The Dungeons of Arcadia

by Dan Allen

  Nyan-Nyan giggled. “I just got swallowed by a princess’s burp.”

  “A rarefied balloon, to be precise,” Ruby said. “Now it is time we said farewell to the Palace of Illusions—especially because it just collapsed underneath us.”

  Gork looked down in horror to find that he was floating in the air over a billowing cloud of dust and rubble with nothing under his feet but a thin pink film.

  “It’s solid now,” Terras said. He let go of the princess’s hand and slid a little lower in the sphere.

  “Yes.” Ruby gently released Gork’s tense grip. “Please keep arms, legs and weapons inside the bubble at all times, and enjoy your ride—Nyan-Nyan, mind your claws. In the event of a water landing—”

  “How does everyone know my name?” said the Chaos Kitty.

  “You always leave your mark,” Terras quipped, gesturing at the ruins of the Palace of Illusions.

  “I had help this time!”

  It was true; Nyan-Nyan hadn’t collapsed the vital support pillar on her own—but it had been her idea.

  Gork looked down as the bubble drifted higher over the mirror wall and out over the desert. “Where are we going?”

  “Following the path of the Dark Consul,” Ruby said, “to the Blasted Tombs.”

  Chapter 11: Biting Wind

  “In this dry climate, I’m afraid this balloon will only last a few hours,” Ruby explained as the pink bubble carrying the explorers soared swiftly over the desert sand. “Pray to the Goddess that we reach the Desert Drop Oasis before it pops.” She gave a second tiny burp, and a small bubble escaped from behind her hand. It drifted around the bubble as if exploring, nearing each adventurer in turn before settling in front of Gork and landing softly on his nose.

  Ruby gave it a look and it popped instantly.

  “How is she controlling this bubble?” Nyan-Nyan said in a low voice.

  Gork shrugged as he watched the fourth princess of prophecy shift her gaze from the cloud of dust behind them to the open sea of empty sand that was once the grand realm of Arcadia.

  All his life he had heard of the prophecy. Even when he was still a child at the age of thirty, there were whisperings about the fact that King Jasper III’s wife had already given birth to two daughters: Sapphire and Emerald. As far away as the halls of the Hearthsworn Dwarves, rumors had circulated that this could be the beginning of the end for the Dark Consul.

  As a child, Gork had given the matter little consideration. He had been more interested in exploring the vast underground network of caverns beneath the Frostbyte Reach. As he reached adolescence at age thirty-five, there were two more princesses: Citrine and Ruby. The birth of the fifth—Amethyst—brought grand celebrations across Crystalia. The entire mood of the battle against the monsters of the Dark Realm shifted.

  No longer was it a struggle against an inevitable doom. When the princesses were grown, they would stand with the armies of Crystalia against the Dark Consul, banish him, and restore the Goddess of light. Gork’s clansmen forsook their doubts and joined with the freyjans in the fight to save the Frostbyte Reach. Elves joined with humans, driving back the forces of darkness in the Fae Wood. Even the capricious gnomes in Clockwork Cove had begun to support the effort. Their clockmaker’s golems entered the battles, standing against the tide of evil beside centaurs. Every race once again stood as one.

  There was hope.

  Gork looked at his dusty hands and back up at Ruby. He hadn’t thought that finding one princess would make such a difference. Now he was quite sure that nothing else mattered.

  Many times, the Hearthsworn prince had imagined standing in the presence of one of the humans destined to end the Dark Consul’s tyranny, but being with Ruby hundreds of feet in the air—it was like standing next to a star in the heavens. Gork’s heart beat stronger in his chest than ever before. His muscles, which ought to have ached from his difficult journey, seemed to be no trouble at all. He had a strange wish that nagged at him like a child in a classroom raising their hand and waving it. Look at me.

  Ruby’s gaze shifted instead from the foothills of the Frostbyte Reach across to the distant Colossus and beyond.

  Gork rubbed his palms, which had begun to sweat. He wanted desperately to say something to this angel who had rescued him and his fellow adventurers. Yet no words came into his dizzy mind.

  “You can stop staring now, Gork,” Nyan-Nyan hissed into his ear.

  “You know I hate it when you sneak up on me like that,” Gork grunted. He swung for her, but Nyan-Nyan leapt away, and his attempt to snag her caught only empty air. She snickered as she continued bounding around the springy balloon.

  Ruby smiled at Nyan-Nyan’s antics. “How old are you?”

  “Fifteen!” Nyan-Nyan replied, beginning another bounding circuit around the inside of the bubble.

  “She’s a full-grown freyjan,” Terras said, arms crossed and eyes closed where he lay near the base of the bubble. “That’s not really the sort of behav—”

  Nyan-Nyan pounced on his stomach.

  “Ooh!”

  The Chaos Kitty sprang away as Terras swiped at empty air.

  “I’m not getting married and having a brood of whining cubs,” Nyan-Nyan said defiantly. “I’m just fine on my own.”

  “I’m sure your village council thinks otherwise,” Ruby said. “But you are . . . welcome with us,” she added. Her lips twitched with the first sign of broken composure Gork had seen on the princess’s perfect porcelain face. Even for the princess, being this close to the legendary Chaos Kitty took some getting used to.

  “She’s looking for the tonnerians,” Gork said, finally coming up with something to say. “And I am searching for metal forged with ancient Arcadian magic for clues to help us fight the cursed weapons of the Ravager orcs.”

  Ruby looked at him. “You’re Gork, son of Holm, aren’t you?”

  Gork raised a curious eyebrow. She knows who I am? The princess was truly astonishing.

  “Of course, you are,” Ruby decided. “You are not like the other dwarves. You’re . . .”

  “Thin?”

  Ruby nodded. “Yes.”

  “Blond?”

  “Quite.” She smiled again, and a touch of red peeked into her cheeks. “Are those weapons of your make?”

  Gork lifted a hand ax from its loop on his belt and offered it handle-first to the princess. She took it gently, as if receiving a baby. “Such craftsmanship. My father would be infinitely jealous. Human swordsmiths haven’t created anything of that—” Her eye shifted to the sword tucked in Gork’s belt. “By the Goddess, what is this?”

  Terras sat up. Nyan-Nyan stopped bouncing.

  Gork drew the rune sword from his belt and held it on his open palms. “It is an ancient artifact. I recovered it from the gut of a Biter Booty.”

  Nyan-Nyan stopped her bouncing. “He let that horrible thing lick me!”

  Ruby peered at the sword. But her stiff posture and the grip of her hand on the skirt of her dress told Gork there was more than mere curiosity.

  Fear.

  “Do not touch it,” Terras warned. “It drained my magic in an instant—nearly killed me.”

  “I’m so sorry for your trouble,” Ruby looked away from the sword. She reached out and touched Terras’s cheek gently, then let her hand fall away. “That must have been terrible. And it was all so that you could find me.” A tiny tear of gratitude gathered in the corner of Ruby’s eye.

  Gork yearned to reach up and wipe it away.

  “This adventure has become more dangerous than I realized. Yet here we are—together.” She smiled. “And this is no ordinary sword. In fact, there is none other like it.”

  “Where did it come from?” Nyan-Nyan asked.

  Ruby met Nyan-Nyan’s curious eye with a piercing gaze. “It is a dark tale.” She turned to the wall of the balloon and began drawing with her finger. As she touched the vibrant surface of the bubble, scenes in shad
ow and translucence appeared.

  “Long ago, the Dark Consul made a discovery that changed our world,” she said. As she spoke, images of ancient Arcadia spread across the balloon, covering every surface with moving figures and exotic towers.

  Ruby stroked the wall and the balloon darkened. A face appeared in the shadow. Gork, despite his usually stalwart dwarf demeanor, gave a tremble of fright. The gaunt face peered down into a dark cavern.

  “What gives the armies of darkness strength? Why do they come to Crystalia?”

  The image of the Dark Consul on the surface of the balloon loomed over him and a chill ran down Gork’s spine. He, too, had pondered those fateful questions.

  “If we are to save our realm,” Ruby continued, “we must retrace the steps of the Dark Consul—learn what he learned.” She looked up at the image conjured from her imagination. “This is where it began. Rumors of powerful magical patterns in a network of caves in Arcadia drew the interest of the Consul. An unrivaled spellmaster, he gained the trust of the Hyrian mages and with their help, he explored and excavated the caves, looking for the source of the magic.”

  Nyan-Nyan wrinkled her nose. “Why would anyone want to help him?”

  “The Hyrians believed he was helping them,” Ruby said. “He was a winged celestian, after all. Who could have imagined how far he would fall?”

  Terras pointed to the shadow image on the wall of the balloon and asked the question on Gork’s mind. “What was in the caves?”

  “That was what I discovered at the Palace of Illusions.” Ruby made a gesture and the image shifted to show miners fleeing the cavern in a panic. “At the center of the network was a natural portal to the Dark Realm.”

  “Natural?” Gork tugged his beard. Nothing could be more un-natural than the Dark Realm and its monstrous creatures.

  “Its darkness is a reflection of the light in our world,” Ruby said, “It is as much a part of creation as our own shadows.”

  “So,” said Terras, “the Thorn is not a creation of the Dark Consul, but some kind of shadow of the Deeproot itself.”

  “So it seems,” Ruby said. “Both existed since the beginning. And natural portals appear and disappear at random throughout the realm—usually lasting only a few minutes. But the Dark Consul found a way to pass more than just magic through them—stabilize them long enough to cross into the world beyond . . . and return.”

  The image shifted to depict a wide room in a limestone cavern. Flaming torches ringed the room, their light casting long shadows from the cloaks of the gathered Hyrian mages. Each wore a red ruby amulet on a necklace. In the center of the room was a tiny black circle, a portal only a handspan wide. The portal suddenly distorted, and the Dark Consul emerged from the shadow, returning from the Dark Realm.

  The Consul stalked forward. He was frighteningly tall and his figure trailed curling black mist—his nature obviously altered by the darkness. He raised his arms, unleashing a powerful curse. The gathered mages fell to the ground, magical power flowing out of their amulets into the shadow as streams of lacerating light. The edges of the portal tore and stretched until, one by one, the mages were swallowed by the growing darkness.

  “He used the mages to widen the portal,” Gork gasped. “The very magicians who helped him!”

  “The first of many betrayals,” Ruby said softly.

  Gork stared at the image on the balloon, a shadowed image conjured from Ruby’s imagination. “Look at that.” He pointed to a sword at the Dark Consul’s side. There was no mistaking its shape.

  “That,” Ruby said, “is your sword.”

  Gork reflexively dropped the cursed weapon.

  Nyan-Nyan hissed in fright as the blade point fell toward the bubble under her feet. The sword clanged against the metal tip on her tail and Gork caught the sword on the bounce.

  “Oh my,” Ruby said, putting a hand to her chest. “What luck.”

  Nyan-Nyan gave a proud smirk and folded her arms.

  Gork swallowed. He was holding the sword of the Dark Consul.

  “The sword,” Terras said. “What does it do?”

  It was an interesting question. From what Ruby had said, the Dark Consul was a spell mage, not a rune smith.

  Somebody else probably forged it.

  Even stranger, the markings on the sword didn’t seem to look like any of the spells he had seen on the orcs’ weapons. Something stirred in his memory. An empty spell . . .

  “That’s it!” Gork gasped. “I read about this kind of artifact in Mysteries of Arcadian Rune Work, for Really Bored and Relatively Advanced Readers.”

  Ruby gave a cheeky grin at the book’s long name. Humans didn’t have the patience for long titles. Gork couldn’t help but mirror her contagious smile. He looked at Ruby. Her perfectly proportioned lips parted in a look of expectant curiosity, as if she were about to open a present.

  Gork squeezed both his hands in a gesture of elation. “I think he might have made a mistake.”

  “Who?” said Nyan-Nyan. “The Dark Consul?”

  “Yes!” Gork lifted the sword, feeling both hope and a mix of horror at the fact that the Dark Consul himself had used it. He looked at Ruby. “You said he was a spell master?”

  “Yes.”

  “But not a rune smith?”

  “I’ve never heard of him favoring artifacts. He was far too powerful to rely on such things.”

  “Ha!” Gork had to stop himself from jumping in excitement. He wasn’t sure the bubble would hold if he threw his weight around. “I’ll bet he wore it because he thought it made him look regal.”

  “Don’t forget it has a Hyrian ruby amulet in the hilt,” Terras said. “It tried to kill me.”

  “Of course—any mage would want an amulet to store and focus their power. But he didn’t need it.” Gork stroked his beard. “I’ll bet he wore it for fashion—to look powerful when he went to the Dark Realm.”

  “Gork,” Ruby said, her voice tantalizing. “Aren’t you going to tell us what it does?”

  “Well, besides gaining material strength from the magic of its user—it would be unbreakable in the hands of someone like the Consul—this sword can remember a spell. As the magic is summoned, the spell is written in the metal, starting at the tip—those are the lines we saw. Some sort of material memory.”

  Ruby’s mouth opened in shock. She clapped her hands. “But that kind of rune magic was lost—this must be the last artifact of its kind.”

  “As I recall, the object can repeat a spell, but you must go back to the place where the spell was cast,” Gork said. “But since the inscribed magic begins at the tip, then if the spell is cast from the bottom of the sword, it should go backwards and undo the original spell.”

  “But we have no idea what spell it stored,” Terras said.

  “A more powerful spell cast by its user will certainly write over anything learned previously,” Gork said. “What could have been more powerful than pulling all the magic from two dozen mages to widen a portal to the Dark Realm?”

  The shadows on the balloon replayed Ruby’s image of the account of the Dark Consul’s return from the Dark Realm. “It is rumored,” she said, her voice wavering, like the teller of a fireside ghost story haunted by her own tale, “the howling in the Blasted Tombs began that day.” She looked from Gork to Terras and Nyan-Nyan. “And it continues to this day.”

  With a feeling of creeping horror, Gork stared at the Dark Consul’s blade. “Then the mages he betrayed are still there—trapped, holding the portal open.”

  “Think of what they could tell us,” Ruby said. “Imagine their desire for revenge—trapped for centuries in the Nether Realm, seeing both worlds but never able to escape.”

  “If we undid the spell and reduced the size of the natural portal back to its original size, it would be like strangling the Thorn,” Terras added. “It could slow the growth of spawning points in the entire region.”

  “Fascinating,” Ruby
said as the shadow images on the balloon faded. “Imagine the odds of finding that sword in all of Arcadia.”

  “Probably about the same odds as knocking out the one pillar that would collapse an entire palace,” Gork said with a chuckle. He slid the sword safely back into his belt, not at all comfortable with the idea of what he was holding.

  “I don’t hear anyone complaining,” Nyan-Nyan said. She pulled a hand out of her gauntlet and casually inspected the claw on her finger. “So, we’re headed to close the portal with the sword?”

  “Not just that,” Ruby said. “We seek the one thing the Dark Consul has which we do not.’

  “Bad breath?” Nyan-Nyan hissed. “I’ll bet he has really bad breath.”

  Ruby chuckled.

  But Gork knew what Ruby meant. In his fight with the orcs, the important thing was that the orcs didn’t know about his trap. Knowledge was key. “But how are you going to learn about the Dark Realm? You can’t go inside the portal. That would be—” Gork was about to say stupid, but looking at Ruby’s sparkling beauty, he couldn’t find a word to say.

  “Once we understand the principle of how our worlds connect,” Ruby said. “we can end the war on our terms. But without that knowledge, we fight blindly against an enemy we do not understand, just as they do not understand us. There can be no balance, no hope for peace.”

  “You sound like you’re suggesting we don’t have to win,” Terras said with a wary eyebrow raised. “Merely make peace.”

  “It may be the only way,” Ruby said. “Light and darkness, day and night. Each has a place. But unless we learn how to contain the dark, there will be no day. Unfortunately, our time is short.”

  “Speaking of,” Gork said. “Are we going down?” A sinking sensation in his gut told him all was not well. He looked around to make sure he hadn’t accidently poked a hole in the bubble, but the drying bubble had developed tiny cracks on its own. Air hissed through tiny fissures that ran up along the sides of the balloon.

  “It’s happening already?” Ruby said. She grabbed her ponytails and gave a sigh of desperation. “Careful, now. No sudden movements. We wouldn’t want the bubble to—”