Dungeon Lord (The Wraith's Haunt Book 1)

by Hugo Huesca

  The only one who really seemed to enjoy the stew was Klek. The batblin ate and ate and ate until there was a noticeable bump in his belly. Granted, he was smaller than the humans, so he only needed two full portions to be satisfied. The batblin burped with a drowsy, dreamy expression and used his furry hand to wipe away the remains of stew from his snout-like mouth.

  “Thanks for the food,” Ed told his two friends and the old lady. Now that his stomach was full, his mood was greatly improved. “Ma’am, could you point us in the direction of Ranger Ioan? I heard he was in need of adventurers.”

  Alder groaned. “Here we go. Not even time for a healthy digestion.”

  The lady pointed them to the single building near the center of the marketplace and said it was the town hall. Ed thanked her and they went on their way.

  “Are you sure about this, Edward?” asked Lavy while they waded through the crowd. It was nearing midday, and the market crowd was in full swing, a storm of activity unlike anything Ed had ever seen before. “Neither of us are fighters, I’m not sure the Ranger will even take us.”

  “Oh, I hope he won’t,” said Alder.

  “We need money, don’t we?” Ed said. “But that’s not all. I’ve been thinking, this adventuring business may be the answer we’re looking for.”

  “What do you mean?” Lavy asked.

  “Well, I’m not planning on living hidden in a cave my entire life,” Ed said. “That’s not why I’m here. But we can’t leave Starevos unless we reach Undercity, right?”

  “Yes,” said Alder. “Although, I’m not sure how ‘let’s get killed by a horned spider’ will help us with that.”

  “Simple. People trust adventurers, don’t they? We stay around for a while, we get paid, we help people out, and earn experience points while we do so,” said Ed. “Eventually, I just tell people I’m going to return to Constantina and you’re coming with me. When we make the trip, we’re stronger, we’re well known, and we have some coin. What’s not to like?”

  “I feel like you aren’t listening to the ‘getting eaten by spiders’ part of my argument.”

  That wasn’t Ed’s only reason. He believed the spider attack wasn’t just a random occurrence, like Alder had insisted. If Burrova was getting ready to attack the monsters, it meant something had gone down the night before.

  Ed couldn’t just ignore it. An attack like that, the same night that he had been transported to Ivalis?

  It couldn’t be a coincidence.

  “You don’t have to come if you don’t want,” said Ed. “Just return to the cave, or stay here. I’ll find you.”

  “Without us, you’ll get killed,” Lavy pointed out. “And I don’t believe we’re getting a replacement Dungeon Lo—ahem, a replacement—anytime soon. So, I’m going with you, but I’ll stay far from the action, and remember, I’m only worth two spells. After those, I’m going to run away, and you’ll be on your own.”

  Alder sighed. “Rushing headlong into danger is part of the Bardic way of life. I just wish it didn’t have to be spiders. I’m deathly allergic to having hundreds of eggs injected into my guts.”

  The town hall was wider than it was tall, built out of wooden planks without varnish or other treatment, giving Ed the impression it had been hastily built and Burrova had sort of sprouted around it. The hall was a good fit for the rest of the place. The only building constructed out of stone was a small church next to the western wall of Burrova.

  There was an elderly clerk sitting at a crude bench next to the entrance to the hall. He was dressed in the fashion and demeanor of bureaucrats everywhere, and he barely gave Ed a second glance when the young Dungeon Lord approached him.

  “We’re looking for Ranger Ioan,” Ed said. “For the spider business.”

  “Hum,” the clerk said. “He’s at the back, I guess.”

  That was all he said. He went back to grazing, or whatever he was doing.

  Ed forced away the urge to choke the man and went in the direction implied.

  The inside of the hall was bursting with a different kind of activity than the market. Around eight or so villagers were lazily sitting or standing in front of a desk to the right of the entrance. Behind the desk, a portly man dressed in a more expensive version of the villagers’ tunic was frowning at one angry woman while taking notes on a parchment.

  “That’s Governor Brett,” Lavy whispered at Ed. “The hall doubles as his manor. He was appointed by Heiliges to run Burrova as some kind of punishment. No idea as to what. Probably whore-related, if you ask me.”

  Judging from Brett’s expression, the punishment had been effective. From what Ed managed to put together from their conversation, he and the woman were arguing about chickens.

  “All devoured,” the woman exclaimed, “and nothing left but entrails and feathers. Someone has to pay for this!”

  “If you catch the fox,” Governor Brett said tiredly, “I’m sure you will punish it effectively.”

  “No fox,” said the woman. “Someone opened the corral’s door, I know it—”

  “Your husband is a drunkard, Marya. Perhaps the culprit is within your own home.”

  “Don’t try to shift the blame on my dung-brained husband, Brett. You and I know Nicolai spent the night with the shoemaker—”

  Lavy nudged Ed along, and he realized he had stopped to eavesdrop, “Let’s go, oh mighty adventurer. I fear if you keep listening, we may end up involved in a most noble chicken-related quest.”

  Ed lost trail of the conversation, mostly due to Alder’s snickering, and along with Klek they reached the back of the hall.

  They arrived at a fenced garden, which doubled as storage for the hall. Ed saw rusting farming equipment, such as harnesses and plows, next to moss-covered sacks of grain and clay pots filled with stagnant water.

  A small group was gathered at the other end of the garden, inside the shade offered by an oak that was either malnourished or still young.

  This group consisted of about five people, three men and two women. They were standing in a circle, and there was a rack of weapons in the middle of the gathering. When the group saw Ed and his companions approach, the conversation died down.

  “Oy,” said Alder, “good-day, friends. We’re looking for Ranger Ioan. We heard he’s in the need for adventurers.”

  That earned them a bunch of looks and expressions, none of them positive. Five pairs of eyes passed over Ed, and he had the clear sensation that what they found wasn’t all that positive.

  “Here’s Ioan,” said one of the men, a sun-bitten man with an unkempt, auburn beard of several days. He smelled strongly of mint and wine. “I am, indeed, in search of adventurers, though I don’t see any around here.”

  Ed almost blushed. The difference between his group and Ioan’s was clear. The Ranger wasn’t wearing the plain, cheap tunic of the market—he was dressed in black, curated leather armor damaged by time and, perhaps, battle. Over it, he wore a dark green cape with a cowl pulled down, of an almost fluid material that seemed to flow heroically in the breeze. At the Ranger’s hips, half-hidden by the cape, were the hilts of at least two swords, tough and efficient, and strapped across his chest were four black knives. On his back, he carried a quiver and a carved short-bow.

  The woman closest to him shared his tanned skin, had short hair tied in braids, and was dressed almost exactly like him, down to the cape.

  The other three weren’t Rangers, but they were armed and armored, and, in short, they all looked like adventurers should.

  I wonder how many experience points they have, Ed thought. His eyes itched with the desire to activate his Evil Eye and see for himself. He wished he knew how Lavy or Alder, who didn’t have his power, managed to see stats themselves.

  “Perhaps the batblin is the hero, and the others are his servants,” said another man, standing the end of the group. He could’ve been Ioan’s cousin or brother, since they shared similar features; but he was wearing the guard uniform: cheap leather at the chest, le
ather braces, a wooden mace hanging by a strap at the hip, and a cheap red tunic over it all.

  “Hilarious,” Lavy muttered, rolling her eyes. “Can’t we leave them to become spider-food, now?”

  “Mind your manners, Vasil,” said the third man. He was the shortest of them all, had long, pale blond hair that was almost white, cut short and sleek. He was tanned, strong, and had a powerful chin that would’ve earned him an acting job back on Earth. His back was tense, and he was armored like Vasil, only he was wearing a hardened leather ensemble and his mace was steel, and engraved with fine runes that Ed couldn’t decipher. Instead of a red tunic, his was purple, and had more in common with silk than with wool. It was clear, though, that it had seen better days, and the fabric was patched and sewed all over.

  “We are the adventurers,” said Ed. He decided not to let the taunting get to his head. For all he knew, this was how warriors talked to each other. Yeah, that sounded right. They were sizing him up. “You want help hunting spiders, we want to get paid. Are we doing this, or what? I don’t have all day to waste, I could be getting drunk right now.”

  Alder whispered at him, “You almost sounded like an Undercity cutthroat, Edward. Nice try.”

  I’ve had lots of practice, Ed thought. Granted, those were fictional games, and the people standing in front of him didn’t look fictional at all. So, he decided to take the macho bullshit up a notch, to be sure.

  “And, pray tell,” said Ioan, “how do you intend to hunt spiders if you’re not carrying any weapons?”

  “I see there’s enough weapons in that rack over there.” Ed pointed to the middle of the circle. “More than enough for me and my companions, unless you’re planning on carrying that lance inside your ass. In which case, you should have told the guard this was a pleasure stroll, and not business.”

  The Ranger’s eyes widened at hearing that, and for a moment Ed feared he had overdone it. He held no doubts about what the results of a fight with the Ranger would be.

  But instead, Ioan scowled and turned to the man in the purple robe. “You know something, Gallio? I’ve seen spawns of the Vast Wetlands that would curl the blood of a grown man, but there’s nothing as foul and disgusting as the kind of men Undercity breeds.”

  Gallio smirked, “At least he’s here looking for work and not for trouble, Ioan. I say we give them a chance. The Light is not one to deny honest work for anyone who asks for it. And these three look old enough to decide if they want to risk their lives or not.”

  Ioan shrugged and said, “I defer to the wisdom of your gods, then. I hope the Light will assume responsibility when they’re killed.”

  Ed opened his mouth to speak, but Ioan cut him off by turning sharply to him. “I’ll assume you’re ready to go. Daylight is our ally against the horned spiders, so wasting it is not an option. I’ll also assume you know what you’re getting yourself into, friend adventurer. Your stats don’t seem all that impressive to me, and judging from your endurance, you aren’t able to use those improved reflexes more than a couple times. Know that we won’t slow down for you, and if we leave you behind, the spiders aren’t likely to give you a quick, painless end.”

  Ed almost turned pale at the mention of his stats. But neither Alder nor Lavy reacted with anything more than disinterested looks at the weapons rack, so Ed assumed that Ioan couldn’t see the Dungeon Lord mantle talent, or anything of the sort.

  “Noted. What about the pay?” he asked.

  “If you live, our Sheriff here will pay you an entire quarter-Aureus for your team to divide,” said Ioan, nodding in Gallio’s direction.

  Ed turned to Alder, “What do you think?”

  “That’ll do,” the Bard said simply, keeping up his bored, professional facade.

  “Deal,” said Ed. He made a mental note to figure out later what the hell a quarter-Aureus was and what you could buy with it.

  “Good,” said Ioan. He motioned at Gallio, Vasil, and the second Ranger. “We still have one last preparation to make, so meet us at the southern gate in half an hour.”

  He glanced at the last woman, who so far had limited herself to watching the exchange with growing impatience. “Kes, do you mind helping our adventurers outfit themselves for the hunt?”

  Kes was the first person Ed had seen who was not entirely human. The closest word to describe her was “elf,” given her pointy ears, white hair cropped short, and hazelnut eyes, but she wasn’t attractive like the elves he had seen in movies or videogames. She looked like a bird of prey, with pointy, elongated bones and rough skin burnt by the sun. Her nose was hawkish and her lips were a thin, severe line. Her body was built for fighting, with no curves except for those of her legs, which were so muscled and powerful it was almost grotesque. She was armed with a long lance and a short sword similar to a Roman gladius.

  “I’ll take care our cannon-fodder is well-equipped,” she said with barely a glance at Ed and company. “We wouldn’t want to make a poor impression on Amphiris, now, would we?”

  “Amphiris?” Ed whispered to Lavy and Alder while everyone but Kes left the backyard in a hurry.

  “No idea,” said Alder. Lavy shrugged.

  “She’s the horned spider Queen,” said Kes, who had shifted closer to them and was sporting a wide, predatory smile full of sharp teeth. “Bigger than a horse, with mandibles capable of tearing a man in twain in a single bite. Her venom is so dense it kills instead of paralyzing, and her web is as strong as steel. We’re going to hunt her today, and you’re going to be in the front lines…friend adventurer.”

  There was something in the way Kes smiled that was more disturbing than any of Ioan’s taunts.

  13

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Hunters

  Little Ilena went out while her mother was away. She wanted to see the brave group that was headed to hunt the horned spiders. She almost squealed with excitement at the idea. All the kids in Burrova were talking about it, and many had decided to meet near the South Gate to watch the heroes go.

  A good daughter would have stayed with her brothers and sisters by their market stall, waiting patiently for their father to return, but that would mean she wouldn’t get to see the adventurers leave.

  The older kids had laughed at her fantasies of heroes setting off on a brave quest, like in the Bards’ tales of old.

  “It’s only Ranger Ioan, Sheriff Gallio, their helpers, and three thieves from Undercity,” they had told her when they passed by her family stall in the marketplace. “No heroes here. No hero cares enough about Starevos, much less about Burrova, to come all the way here.”

  But Ilena knew better. Surely the Sheriff, the mercenary, and the two Rangers weren’t incredibly interesting, as far as heroes went, but what about the three strangers? She had always dreamed of a tall, dark, handsome foreigner that would appear one day to carry her away from the farm and her brothers’ constant bullying. Maybe she was old enough now to earn such attention? Maybe one of those Undercity thieves was actually a lost prince in disguise. Ilena had heard the story of the Assassin Prince of Undercity who had been executed years before she was born. Perhaps he had faked his death, in secret, and was here now?

  The possibilities were endless. She had to know.

  Since Father’s hangover could make him sleep until well past midday, and all her brothers were older than Ilena—more interested in their games or in hollering at the farmer-girls their age—surely they wouldn’t miss her for an hour or two?

  It was easy to slip past them using the movement of the crowd, almost dancing around a sea of legs and dresses that only last summer would’ve been a death sentence for her. Nowadays, people seemed to move as if treading water, allowing Ilena to squirrel her way through the crowd like a rabbit darting into its burrow.

  She went past the market, hollered a greeting at the lady who was curdling milk at the edge of it, and made her way into a mud-covered alley between a communal house and Heorghe’s forge. The mud and the grime made a mess of her w
arm, fur boots and splattered her wool skirt, but she barely paid any attention to it. She could see the South Gate and the black forest sprawling beyond it.

  The garrison was stronger here than at any other point of the palisade, with frequent guard patrols across the balustrade, each with longbows whose quivers included the few enchanted arrows that Heorghe had managed to forge.

  The guards would’ve seen Ilena drawing near, for sure, had their attention not been focused on the party of nine that was about to leave the safety of the palisade.

  The little girl reached a group of rotten barrels half an arrow-flight away from the gate, which made for an excellent spying position. Other kids had apparently thought the same, because she could see their silhouettes hunching among the shadows of the dead tree next to the barrels. She nodded a curt greeting to them, and the dirt-covered faces did the same. Ilena felt a twinge of pride, like she was a member of the Thieves Guild and this was a mission.

  She could see the two Rangers—Ioan and Alvedhra—leading the group. Ioan looked anxious to leave while Alvedhra kept her usual mousy expression.

  There was something about Ioan that Ilena found comforting, even attractive, like she had known him for far longer than even her own father. Every once in a while, the Ranger stopped by her farm after returning from his travels to Constantina and shared exotic candies with her and her brothers.

  Am I in love with him? She asked herself, trying to tie her feelings to the way the wandering Bards talked about love in their tales. Maybe he felt the same. A couple days ago, after his latest trip, he’d offered a special candy, only for her, and she had sworn to keep the secret, so her brothers wouldn’t demand their part.

  After Ioan and Alvedhra were Sheriff Gallio and his aide Vasil. The patrols of the palisade looked at Gallio with respect and deference, but Ilena barely gave him a second glance. He was short, and grim, and his white-blond hair was always caked with sweat to his forehead. He lacked the dignity which heroes generally carried themselves with.