The Dungeons of Arcadia

by Dan Allen

  Nyan-Nyan nodded, and a brave smile crept onto her face. “I did it. We did it—I have an army!” She gave a leap and spun in the air, raising her fist to the sky.

  “And you didn’t even collapse the Blasted Tombs,” Terras said to the Chaos Kitty. “Maybe . . . your curse is broken.”

  “But I’m still lucky,” Nyan-Nyan said, making eyes at Meeraz. She pressed her finger to his nose playfully.

  “Well, there’s always a first for everything,” Meeraz said. Before Nyan-Nyan tried to punch him in the gut, she was snagged by his strong arms and wrapped in a great hug.

  The other tonnerians, seeing the hug, joined it, thronging their new leader Meeraz and his mate Nyan-Nyan in a group hug and a chorus of meowing and purring, each singing out the sorrow of their loss and the joy of their slim escape.

  Then, as the moment passed into solemnity, the tonnerians rejoined the procession, moving in silence among the repetitive thumps of the gargoyles’ heavy feet until the company was all clear of the collapsed wall of bones and the Blasted Tombs were no longer in sight.

  Gork collapsed on the sand as the sun dipped toward the horizon.

  His mission had been to find steel from before the dark times—something to aid his people’s defense. In that, he had succeeded. Perhaps even better, an entire branch of the enemy’s spawning points in Arcadia had been temporarily cut off. And Nyan-Nyan would return to her people, not only with a mate, but with a powerful army of gargoyles. Gork also had the sword of the Dark Consul, though it was stuck in the belly of the golem and could not be removed.

  But all that felt small compared to the one truth he could not escape.

  Ruby was dead.

  How had the Goddess let this happen? How had she not protected the princess?

  Had Gork failed the Goddess? Was he a failure to all the Hearthsworn?

  The prophecy is undone.

  Nearby, Nyan-Nyan leaned against Meeraz’s chest. “Are you coming with me to the Frostbyte Reach?”

  “Of course,” Meeraz said. “We’ve dealt the Midnight Queen a hard blow in Arcadia. We can’t let up now.”

  “Then you are an ambassador of Tonneria to the Frostbyte Reach,” Terras said. “No longer are your prides separated.”

  “Independence was good,” Nyan-Nyan said. “. . . but meh, it’s gone.” Nyan-Nyan looked at Meeraz and purred deeply. Meeraz blushed to the tips of his silver-haired ears.

  “What about you, Terras?” Gork asked.

  Terras bowed his head. “I told the king I would return with his daughter. I will finish . . . what he asked of me.” The last words came out broken, choked with emotion.

  New tears climbed into Gork’s eyes. “The journey is long and dangerous. I will go with you.”

  “I cannot ask that of you,” Terras said. “It would only bring you grief.”

  Gork put his hand on Terras’s shoulder. “Your mission is my mission. I will not leave you alone.”

  “The problem is the golem,” Meeraz said. “How will you transport it?”

  “I do not wish to take any of the gargoyles from Nyan-Nyan,” Gork said. “She will need all of them and more.”

  Terras felt at his belt and lifted a stoppered vial. A small amount of pink potion swirled at the bottom. “Guess I missed some.” He looked up at Gork.

  “Care to try a bubble again?” the dwarf asked.

  “I’ll drink to that.”

  Nyan-Nyan, Gork, and Terras gave desperate laughs. The half-elf Druid and dwarf made their goodbyes, promising to send word as soon as they could.

  Terras tipped up the bottle and swallowed the remaining liquid.

  Placing the chrysalis on top of the golem’s legs, Gork grabbed Terras’s hand and took the golem’s great hand in his other. Terras completed the circle, drew a breath, and blew.

  Swirls of green mingled with the pink of the bubble as it swelled, enveloping Gork, Terras, the golem, and Ruby. Moments later, the rarefied balloon rose over the desert, carrying Gork swiftly away from the brave tonnerians on the desert sand.

  Nyan-Nyan and the tonnerian survivors waved solemn goodbyes as the sun set in the distance.

  “The bubble should last longer at night,” Terras said. “We might make it to King Jasper’s kingdom where we can find a wagon.”

  “If we’re lucky,” Gork said.

  Terras laughed. “Goddess knows we could use some of that.”

  Gork nodded. He put one hand on the princess’s casket of bound vines and lay down beside it, lost in emotion, reliving the greatest moment of his life, one he would never forget—the kiss of a princess.

  Epilogue

  News of the approaching caravan of heroes and their conquest of the Blasted Tombs spread rapidly through the Reach. Nyan-Nyan’s ascent of the lower slopes with her troop of tonnerian warriors and army of stone gargoyles was greeted by impromptu celebrations at every village.

  Freyjans and dwarves joined side by side in cheering throngs at the passing of the already legendary warriors. And, given the Chaos Kitty’s reputation, the crowds cheered even louder when the caravan finished passing through.

  It was luck that several of the rope and slat bridges only gave out after the last of the gargoyles, with Nyan-Nyan on its back, had passed over. With a bit of luck, several slips on narrow trails led only to a few falling stones and no injuries—aside from the large swaths of trees that were leveled by the ensuing landslides.

  The stone men were placed by the freyjans to guard the summit of Barrel Roll Pass until a new ice wall could be conjured. Meanwhile Gamfir, after a mind-numbing review of Mysteries of Arcadian Rune Work, for Really Bored and Relatively Advanced Readers, began an urgent study of the Arcadian artifacts, recruiting freyjans to test the new weapons—for luck.

  Only a few forges of most ancient and revered history were blown to smithereens, and several pieces of half-finished metal were accidentally magnetically glued to the wall before the smiths at Ordendoral’s Anvil had worked out the basic runes. No freyjans were harmed in the testing of the artifacts—well, none that couldn’t be bribed to keep quiet when interviewed by the joint committee for magical safety.

  At the request of King Holm and the nobles of each of the dwarf clans and freyjan prides, supplies for war—dried meats and hearty grains, leather, coal, cloth for coats and tents, medicine, and alchemical ingredients—poured in from the outlying villages, sent with volunteers to bolster their forces.

  The forges under the mountains ran hot day and night, turning out armor and weapons, their smiths fueled by an unseen fire. All in the Frostbyte Reach could sense the stirring of fate, the changing of the season.

  If Crystalians were to win back their world, it was now or never.

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  The Midnight Queen

  Chapter 1: Otto the Royal Paladin

  Deep within the barracks of Crystalia Castle, Otto the Royal Paladin sat at a long, marble table accompanied by the white-armored members of his order. The men murmured about the rumors of Princess Ruby’s death, exchanging furtive glances with each other.

  Otto looked up from his clasped hands as his father, the leader of their order, strode in and sat down at the head of the table. The middle-aged man rested one gauntleted hand on its marble surface, the other brushing his long, blond hair from his face. Otto had inherited the golden color from him, but over the years the great warrior’s hair had become flecked with gray.

  “As we have feared,” his father began, his voice hollow. “Those who traveled with her have confirmed that the death of Princess Ruby was caused by none other than the Midnight Queen.”

  There were gasps and whispers around the white war room. Being the latest and greatest of the Dar
k Consul’s generals, the Midnight Queen had devastated the royal line, and Otto was unsettled by how quickly she had managed to achieve such a feat.

  His father lifted a hand to silence them. “As the order of Paladins, one of us must join the party of Heroes tasked with capturing her. I will be honest with you: whoever undertakes this burden will not likely survive it. Therefore, I ask only for volunteers. Who among you will take up this quest?”

  The majority of the Paladins avoided his gaze, some twiddling their thumbs, others their mustaches. The dark rings around his father’s eyes appeared to deepen.

  Swallowing his fear and steeling himself against the decision he knew would change his life forever, Otto raised his hand high. “If no one else will rise to meet this challenge, then I shall!”

  Grunts of disapproval surrounded him. He was the youngest of their order, after all. However, the pride that appeared in his father’s eyes quashed any uncertainty that arose. That was all he needed to know: taking this quest to rid the land of such darkness was the will of the Goddess.

  “Very well, a meeting of great Heroes will be taking place at the Rain Court soon,” his father said. “As the only Paladin there, you will be the representative for our entire order. Is that clear?”

  Otto nodded, avoiding the contemptuous expressions of those around him. “I understand.”

  The second-in-command stood up. “Commander, I—”

  “The decision has been made,” his father interrupted. “King Jasper was quite clear. Many Heroes have already requested to join the quest, but only one warrior with an affinity to the Goddess is required.”

  The man returned to his seat.

  “The rest of us will rally our numbers for the front line.” His father stood. “There is a great battle ahead of us, and we must all be prepared. Paladins, that will be all.”

  As the meeting concluded, Otto rose from his chair and moved to the exit before anyone could attempt to change his mind or explain how the glory of such a quest was not worth the risk involved.

  I’m not doing this for glory, he thought. I’m doing this because it needs to be done.

  The second-in-command stood and raised a hand to block his path, but Otto simply walked around him, heading straight to the Cells of Silence.

  ***

  According to the many lessons Otto had received from his father, the Cells of Silence were a place for quiet rumination, where priests and mystics from all across Crystalia could read signs and cast spells to locate places of gathering evil, and where Paladins could pray before leaving to face them.

  When he was done, he rose from where he had been kneeling and made for the door. Entering the connecting hallway, Claire of the Sisters of Light pranced over to him. Claire’s smile lit up the dim corridor. Her long, blonde hair was in pigtails that fell from the hood of her blue and white habit. The front of her garment was marked with a golden cross which swayed with every step.

  “Otto! Otto! Otto!” she called as the door to the high priest’s chamber swung shut behind her. “I heard you’re going to join the group of Heroes that will soon be leaving for the Midnight Tower!”

  “I say, would you keep it down!” Otto glanced around at the priests who were giving them sharp looks at her outburst. He turned and strode from the Cells of Silence. “But you’re correct, and according to the high priest, you are to accompany me at the meeting so you can inform him on everything that occurred there.”

  Claire chased him down the winding corridors and through the Halls of Honor. Along their walls were the portraits of past Heroes, kings, and queens, as well as a large landscape painting of King Felspar I—the first king of Crystalia—looking out over the countryside surrounding the Castle.

  “But it makes no sense, Otto,” Claire called as she caught up with him. “Why are we only now sending a group of Heroes there?”

  Otto shook his head. “Because this is the first time they have been together since they were sent on their own quests to retrieve the princesses. After what they have all been through, they’re all invested in seeing this through to the end.”

  “You don’t think the king will want them all to stay here and guard the princesses after everything that’s happened?”

  “The princesses were able to handle themselves well in the most dangerous parts of the realm. I’m sure they will be safe inside the Castle. It would take a large army to breach these walls and enter by foot.”

  Claire skipped to catch up with his long strides. “So, there’s no other way in?”

  Otto cupped his chin. “By air, perhaps . . .”

  “I’m sure the Midnight Queen has allies that can attack from the air.”

  “It’s a possibility but a risk we’ll have to take. We must travel to the Midnight Tower and capture her as soon as possible.”

  Despite saying this, Otto knew the Midnight Tower wasn’t a place that a soldier could just stroll into, even a Royal Paladin like himself.

  After his initiation into the order of Paladins, his life had been a series of going on dangerous quests and recovering from the injuries he received on them. Whether it was bruises from the Wandering Monk Mountains in the east or broken bones from a fall in Dragonback Peaks, he had always returned with some wound that the Sisters of Light would tend to.

  This was how he’d met Sister Claire. Ever since he had shared the story of his journey as she healed his broken arm over a year ago, she had demanded he come to her the next time he needed healing so she might listen to his stories of places she would never journey to. They had been friends ever since. Otto was more than happy to share his tales. It allowed him to return the favor for the effort she put into healing him, and the enchanted look he received from her always raised his spirits during his painful recoveries. Now whenever she was with him, her smile made obvious the affection she had for him—perhaps too much affection. His duty demanded that he exclude all emotion that might serve as a distraction. If he let himself feel the same for her, it would only hurt them both whenever he embarked on a quest.

  They entered a stairwell at the end of the hall and climbed the many stairs that led up to the Rain Court. Otto came out into the great, open hall at the top of the Castle. High walls blocked the swift wind, and the bright afternoon sun shone down on the large circular table where King Jasper III, his two remaining daughters, and the greatest Heroes of the land held court. Looking at them, Otto wondered which of these Heroes would be accompanying him.

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  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to Bryce, Nicole, Micah, Clara, and Cyrus, my expert alpha readers and listeners and consumers of all the snacks in my pantry. Thanks to Amanda who makes it all worth it. Great job, Emma and the fantastic team at Future House Publishing—live long and prosper. I can’t miss thanking the Super Dungeon Explore author all-star team for ideas, comments and encouragement: Adam Sidwell, Zachary James, Wendy Vogel, David J. West, and Christopher Keene. High five and thanks to Deke, Soda Pop, and the Ninja Division for making this awesome project happen. Last of all, a great big thanks to all the faithful and true Super Dungeon fans. You seriously rock, and your generosity makes great things happen. Now give yourself or the nearest stuffed tiger a big hug, because you deserve it, and so does the tiger.

  About the Author

  After fifteen years in the science lab designing lasers, nanoparticles, and smartphone sensors, author Dan Allen roared onto the writing scene in 2017 with the fantasy epic Fall of the Dragon Prince and sequel Blade of Toran. At home in the Rocky Mountains, Dan is CFO (chief fun officer) of his family and enjoys cosplay, escape rooms, game design, and general science mayhem. You can keep up with Dan’s latest fantasy and sci-fi on his website authordanallen.com, where you can also send him random science questions.

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  What could be more interestin
g than stories of dragons and deeds of daring? How about an author who also invents parts that go into top-selling smartphones, who can also do a backflip and . . . use chopsticks with either hand?

  From shortest, most picked-on kid in the school to college athlete. From 10 years of failed science to a top-secret government laser lab. From the twenty-five-year-old who had never written a story to published author. Take it from someone who likely grew up smaller, less popular, and less rich than you (and possibly blew up more labs than you), you can do anything if you chase your dreams.

  . . . except defying gravity.

  Unless your school is the first to successfully levitate from laughter alone.

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