Dead Must Die: The Realms: Master of the Dungeon - Book One

by C. M. Carney

  “So, we're screwed is what you’re telling me,” Simon said, his voice rising as panic threatened to consume him. “I don’t wanna die. I just stopped being sorta dead.”

  Panic is the province of the weak of mind. We have time and they will need to run the gauntlet through the entire Barrow to reach us.

  “Good thinking. They’ll never get through the wyrmynn, the black ooze and the garden of the dark dryad without losing some of their people.”

  And those that fall will strengthen us.

  Simon nodded his head and then thought about the dark dryad. “Wait, what about my girlfriend?”

  So, she’s your girlfriend now? The Barrow said, with a hint of snark. Good to know.

  Simon scowled again, regretting the lessons in bro on bro insults he’d given the Barrow. “Whatever dude, the point is we can’t leave her to get killed by Sir Holy Roller Whackjob.”

  Technically she is already dead.

  “Dude, you know what I mean. You gonna help or not?”

  I will help, otherwise I will be alone again and that would be, inconvenient.

  “Feeling the love guy. Thanks for that”

  You are welcome.

  “That was sarcasm dude. If we survive, I’m adding it to the syllabus. Okay then, the first step is riling up the wyrmynn. That cold-blooded bastard Scarface has been a thorn in my side since the day I became the landlord of this place.” Simon looked over at the three dread knights who were still engaged in their rubbing, hopping and spinning.

  “Yo, Hoppy and … Rubby, you two head to the wyrmynn camp. Get ‘em all riled up and lead them towards these invading schmucks and away from my honey bunny’s grove. Spinny, you wait until your boys, and hopefully, a bunch of those reptile dickheads are killed and then draw that knight into the black ooze room. If you can avoid getting melted by the ooze, great, if not, it’s been nice knowing ya.”

  All three dread knights turned and hopped, rubbed and spun their way towards the exit. Simon smacked the butt of his spectral hand against his forehead.

  “Idiot,” he berated himself. “Stop your extracurricular activities and shamble like normal.”

  The undead warriors stopped and walked from the room. Then Simon closed his eyes and watched events unfold through the Barrow’s perceptions.

  *****

  Sir Humperdinck led the way again. The obnoxious knight kept saying “I’ve got the lead,” every time they went through a door, passed under an archway or crossed any line that could conceivably be a threshold, even though nobody else wanted to take point. They’d faced very little in the way of opposition since dispatching the dread knight, but a constant low-grade field of angst and menace hung over the Barrow. After a few boring hours of wandering in circles, Gerryt offered to point them in the right direction. The knight reluctantly agreed, but only after extracting a promise from Gerryt that he was not taking, nor wanted to take, the lead.

  “For a haven of the undead, this place has a surprising amount of life,” Gerryt said crumbling a bit of dried wyrmynn dung between his fingers and smelling it. “Wyrmynn and I’d say this is less than a week old.” He looked on the ground. “And the fellow who left this rushed after his clutch mates … that way.” He pointed down a tunnel that dipped downward.

  Sir Humperdinck strode purposefully and noisily down the passage. The other members of the group eyed each other warily, and then one after another followed the blundering knight.

  They soon came upon the wyrmynn, or more accurately the wyrmynn came to them. They were chasing two more of the dread knights, and they were hissing mad. A few arrows protruded from the bodies of the dead warriors, the puncturing weapons not very effective against creatures who no longer needed internal organs.

  Brahk laughed nervously and pointed at the first of the undead creatures. An arrow protruded from its crotch, bouncing in a rude phallic manner as the dread knight shambled towards them. Behind it, another dread knight ran, its back a pincushion of a dozen more arrows.

  Sir Humperdinck dispatched both beasties with graceful swings of his sword. Then the wyrmynn were on them, lots and lots of wyrmynn. The bipedal lizard men were fierce warriors and by the time the battle was won, a few dozen corpses littered the floor.

  One of them belonged to Gerryt.

  “Dammit,” Serraia said and closed the hunter’s eyes. She pulled a necklace from his neck and tied it around her wrist. Verreth and Brahk both comforted her.

  “There is no time for sentiment. We need to keep moving,” Sir Humperdinck said, impatient.

  “Give her a moment,” Verreth said in a commanding voice. “They were lovers.”

  “What do you mean? Sir Humperdinck asked.

  Verreth cast a sideways glance of confusion at Brahk.

  “What mean what mean?” Brahk asked. “They did it.” The knight stared at the half-orc blankly, until Brahk made a loop with the thumb and forefinger on his left hand and inserted the index of his right into the resultant hole. He made squeaking and moaning noises as the speed of his finger fornication increased. Sir Humperdinck’s face turned to crimson, and he looked to his feet, his large boots moving side to side and kicking a pebble in childish embarrassment. “Hee, hee,” he laughed.

  “Wait, are you a virgin?” Verreth asked. Sir Humperdinck’s embarrassment turned to rage.

  “Of course not. I have bedded many a fair maiden in my time.”

  “Brahk say you lying. Brahk think you never see naked girl ever.”

  “I did too, once,” the knight sputtered. “I once saw a maiden, bathing in a lake, clad only in shimmering samite.”

  “That’s not naked,” Verreth said.

  “Well, she took it off.” Sir Humperdinck countered. “As she was dipping into the water.”

  “So never saw naked then?” Brahk asked.

  “No, technically not, but …”

  “Ha, ha, no technically. You a virgin.”

  Sir Humperdinck’s face flushed more, and he gripped the hilt of his sword in a tight grip.

  “Enough, you idiots!” Serraia barked in a loud voice. “Help me bury him.”

  The three men, properly chastised, nodded and then looked down finding their feet to be very fascinating. Serraia stared at them for several long seconds, her jaw twitching in rage, daring each one to speak.

  “Uh, Serraia,” Brahk said, raising a hand like a child in a school room. Her eyes snapped to him and saw he was pointing down. She spun to see Gerryt’s body was dissolving into a viscous soup, which then leched directly into the stone of the cavern floor.

  A sound of despair came from her and she brought a hand to her mouth. Around them the bodies of the wyrmynn also turned to pools of steaming, bubbling goo. The organic slurry seeped into the floor. Not long after, the weapons and armor scattered across the floor disintegrated to dust.

  “Fell sorcery indeed,” Sir Humperdinck asked, covering his nose with the edge of his cloak to block the acidic smell of melting flesh. He looked to the others. “We must cleanse this place.”

  The others nodded with a renewed sense of purpose. A few minutes later they marched through the wyrmynn camp, ignoring the women and children in their pens, and descended to the next level.

  As they stepped into a new chamber, they saw another dread knight turn and flee.

  *****

  Back in the throne room, Simon cringed as he watched the Barrow feed. “That never stops being gross.”

  Is it any different from how you fed when you were alive? the Barrow asked.

  “Yes, yes, it is. I never dissolved my food and slurped it through a straw.”

  What is a straw?

  “You know, I’m not quite sure. Not important though. Those assholes are on their way.”

  The remaining dread knight is leading them to the black ooze. Perhaps we will get lucky.

  “Maybe,” Simon said.

  You do realize that you are speaking aloud again?

  “Yeah, so?”

  You know it is
unnecessary.

  “Yes, I know,” Simon said, his voice sounding every bit like the petulant teenager he was. “But, this voice is growing on me.”

  If you say so, the Barrow said in a tone laced with sarcasm.

  “You could stop being such a jerk.”

  You are right. I apologize.

  “Um, good.” Simon felt uncomfortable and spoke again. “How’re your power levels looking?”

  In response, the Barrow opened a status window in Simon’s vision.

  The Barrow - Sentient Dungeon

  Host: Simon

  Current Tier: 1

  True Tier: 8

  Status: Starving

  Health: 8,567/86,890

  The Barrow is one of the most ancient sentient dungeons on all Korynn, but years of neglect have left it starving. Now that it has bound itself to a host it is capable of consuming energy and experiences.

  Current Life Essence Points: 687.

  “Not too shabby guy. We’ll get you back up to Tier 2 in no time.”

  Assuming the Knight of the Blazing Fist does not kill you and force me to go dormant before that occurs.

  “Yeah, how do we stop that from happening?”

  We could hope for the best.

  The best turned out to be not so great. The black ooze dissolved both the dread knight decoy and the half-orc, but it fled when the knight sent flashes of empyrean light blazing through the chamber. The rest of the adventurers pressed on as the Barrow absorbed the two corpses.

  “Was it just me or did the black ooze kinda look like a dude?” Simon asked.

  Indeed, it is a curious form for the creature to take.

  “It kinda looked familiar too, but I can’t quite place it.”

  That is a mystery for another time.

  “Right. At least Spinny turned them away from the dark dryad’s grove.”

  I’m not sure that was the best strategy.

  “Saving her life wasn’t the best strategy?”

  No. She could have killed a few more of them. And if she fell, she would have provided a filling meal. Either way, we are weaker for protecting her. But you want a date.

  “You are one cold bastard.”

  I am as my nature defines me, as are you, as is this Knight of the Blazing fist. I fear your sentimentality may doom us both.

  In a typical teenage fashion, Simon refused to admit the Barrow was right, and he was wrong. “Well, no point in crying over spilled milk. What do we do now?”

  The only thing we can do. Generate as many dread knights as possible and hope.

  “No,” Simon said. “There is one more thing we can do. I’ll need a bit of that power of yours.”

  8

  Sir Humperdinck led them through the final hallway and into the Barrow King’s throne room. The undead sorcerer sat on his throne, black spectral smoke robes flowed around him and he clutched a gnarled staff of blackened wood. An unnerving chill flowed in waves through the room, biting into Verreth’s bones.

  Arrayed in front of the lich were more than a dozen dread knights. These were better armed and armored, and fuller in the muscle department than the ones they’d dispatched earlier.

  “I do not like this,” Serraia said.

  “Fear not fair maiden, for I am Sir Herman Heinrich Humperdinck and I was born for this moment. I hold my sword up high, bathed in the glory and light of the empyrean realm. I will lay these abominations low and I…”

  “Jeez dude, are you done yet?” the Barrow King asked.

  Sir Humperdinck stopped and looked in shock and bewilderment at the undead monstrosity who’d just interrupted him. “How… how dare you?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I dare. You’re boring. Shut up.”

  Verreth looked sideways at Serraia and whispered. “He sounds like a kid?”

  The Barrow King’s eyes snapped to Verreth, and all the arrogance and confidence leached from him like blood from a critical wound.

  “Um, no I am not a kid. I am the Barrow King, and I’m many, many thousands of years old. And powerful. You don’t know how powerful.”

  “Okay,” Verreth said, leaning back on one foot, prepping to run if the need arose.

  “I care not how much power you have, for I, Sir Herman …”

  “Harry Humperjohnson, yeah, yeah I know, I heard you the first time,” The Barrow King said, once again interrupting the knight.

  “Well… I never. It is Heinrich Humperdinck not … I won’t even repeat what you said.” The knight sputtered and wheezed as he tried to regain his composure.

  Verreth grew suspicious. Something was off with this whole situation. What he didn’t know was whether that ‘off’ worked to his benefit, or if it meant his doom was upon him. He needed more information.

  “If I may, your liege?” Verreth asked, earning an angry glare from Sir Humperdinck for daring to address the Barrow King. “I believe we can come to a beneficial arrangement.”

  The Barrow King turned its silvery eyed gaze upon him. “Yeah? Whatcha thinkin’?”

  “Well, as you may suspect, my lovely companion and I do not see eye to eye with all of our stalwart companion’s … philosophies.”

  “What?” Sir Humperdinck blurted in shock, eyes glaring at Verreth. “He is a lord of undeath, a foul defiler of life and … and … he speaks in a mocking tone.”

  “Yeah, I don’t care about any of that,” Verreth said. “I just want to live.”

  “You cannot be serious,” Serraia said, eyes tinged with red. “He killed Gerryt.”

  “I did not. That was the wyrmynn,” The Barrow King protested, leaning forward, hand clutching his staff. “Though we did feed on his corpse, so I get why you’re mad.” The Barrow King eased back onto his throne and made a sound like a man struggling to suck a piece of mutton from between his teeth. “Sorry, I’m still getting used to these new teeth.” He sucked for a few more seconds. “Almost got it.” The slurping grew to a disgusting intensity.

  “We are wasting time,” Sir Humperdinck roared and raised his sword. “I call on the Devas of Light and the Lords of Life to grant me the power to burn this dread revenant of death.”

  Golden light flared from every pore of Sir Humperdinck’s body. Verreth watched as it flowed over the closest dread knight charring its skin. The other dread knights leapt into battle even though each moment of exposure to the knight’s holy light burned away more of their artificial life.

  The Barrow King raised his staff and smacked it hard on the dais in front of his throne. A shimmering shield expanded in front of the revenant glistening like an oil-covered puddle. The empyrean energy impacted the shield with the force of a stormfront against a rocky shore, but the shield held.

  The dread knights were not so lucky. The holy energy rolled over and through them. Then the light flashed out, leaving multicolored spots lingering in everyone who had eyes.

  Verreth blinked away the spots just in time to see the dread knights collapse in heaps of ash.

  “Well that sucked,” The Barrow King said, a twinge of fear pushing through the pubescent squeak in his voice. “You couldn’t have waited a few more seconds to do that?”

  “Why would I deign to grant you even a second more of this unnatural existence?” Sir Humperdinck asked.

  “Because then my reinforcements could have arrived.”

  Sir Humperdinck had no time to wonder what the Barrow King was talking about before a wave of high-pitched keening erupted into the room in the form of dozens of tiny, mushroom-headed men. Several of the fungoid creatures rammed their toadstool caps into the back of Sir Humperdinck’s legs, knocking him to the ground.

  A dozen more of the creatures swarmed the downed knight, bursts of spores exploding from mouthlike orifices straight into his face. The knight howled in pain and confusion, struggling to regain his feet. He swung his massive sword back and forth, cleaving through the spongy bodies of the mushroom men with ease.

  Verreth grabbed Serraia’s arm as he backed away from the expanding cloud o
f spores but could not pull her free before the spores enveloped her head. She hacked and coughed and then screamed.

  Verreth released his grip on her and fell backward, scrabbling on all fours to the back wall where he hid behind a column. He watched as Serraia’s tanned skin became a splotchy melange of gray-green spots. She went silent and fell onto her face.

  Another roar of pain and anger drew Verreth’s gaze back to Sir Humperdinck. He rose to one knee, swung his sword wide, ending the life of three more mushroom men, then stood and swung again. The surviving fungoid creatures backed away, possessing enough self-awareness to preserve their lives.

  Sir Humperdinck held his free hand up and made a fist. A corona of green fire flowed around his fist, up his arm and surrounded his entire body. Then the green flames thrummed off of the knight’s body in waves. A high-pitched keening rose from the fungoid men as the green fire rolled over them and they started burning, bringing the pleasant smell of roasted mushrooms to Verreth’s nose. The waves of green fire did not penetrate the Barrow King’s shield, but it flickered and then failed as the wave of green fire dissipated.

  Sir Humperdinck knelt, placed his sword point down and spoke.

  “A Knight of the Blazing Fist is the light in the darkness, a shield for the living and the bane of the undead. Your foul existence is at an end. I will cleave thy skull in twain. I will sunder your connection to this realm and cast your tortured soul to the abyss. While I have breath left in my lungs and while my beating heart pumps lifeblood through me, I shall let no undead live. This I vow.”

  Sir Humperdinck stood, surrounded by holy fire and filled with radiant light. He strode with purpose towards the undead lord.

  “I just have one thing I’d like to ask,” the Barrow King said, the pitch of his voice rising.

  “I will hear none of your foul incantations, lich,” Sir Humperdinck said and swung his sword in a mighty arc. The Barrow King ducked, and the sword missed by mere inches, taking a chunk of bone out of his throne.

  “No, no incantations, just a question, one of theology.”