by Hugo Huesca
Mixed feelings coursed through Katalyn at the mention of Torst Locksmith.
“Torst would never have wasted resources on protecting me,” Katalyn said.
Kharon shrugged. “People are complex; figuring them out is Murmur’s thing, not mine. Good old Torst made his pact and added a small amount of protection for his descendants into his conditions. Definitely not enough to be wasted on trivial Thief matters. It is protection meant for something a bit bigger than that.”
“This is a trivial Thief matter,” Katalyn told him. “Some cultists and an asshole ex-partner that sold me out to them. I’ve survived worse. I don’t need your help, monster.”
“Yes, thing is, you’re sadly misinformed. Your captors aren’t cultists. In fact, they think of themselves as freedom fighters vying for Starevos’ independence. Which is a bit ironic, and kinda fitting, given that their country’s lack of freedom is your family’s fault… in a way.” Kharon winked at her, which was a hard feat given that he had no visible eyelids. “See, Katalyn, you aren’t getting my help. Not even Torst Locksmith would’ve had something valuable enough to exchange for my direct intervention. Instead, I’ll find you a nearby ally of about your level of experience points—a young man who owes me a small favor. I’ll bring this ally to you in time to assist you in your darkest hour, which should come—”
He glanced up at the sky. “In about six to seven hours, give or take.”
Katalyn stared at the unholy abomination, too stunned to be scared of him anymore.
“A thank you would’ve been nice.” Kharon sighed and made a carefree gesture with his hand, like swatting away a fly. “In any case, it’s time to return your soul back into your body. The rebels are sending someone to your cell as we speak. If you hurry, your escape plan may yet go unhindered.”
A brutal wind, more powerful than anything Katalyn had ever felt in her life, caught hold of her and propelled her away from Kharon, away from the park and its innocent, unsuspecting people, and returned her violently to her own body.
She was in the catacombs, lying on her back in front of the open ossuary’s door.
The cultists’ song had diminished in volume and intensity, as if waiting for something, and she could hear footsteps approaching.
KHARON FOUND HIMSELF ALONE.
“That’s done,” he said. He allowed a brief moment to congratulate himself for his efficiency. Undoubtedly, he was the most productive of all of Murmur’s progeny. But the day had just started and, as people from Earth liked to say, evil never rests.
“But first,” he said as he walked to the back of his ice-cream truck, “breakfast.”
He went to make himself acquainted with little Diego.
2
CHAPTER TWO
LORD'S COUNCIL
Lord Edward Wright faced the coffers of his council room with the intense stare of a man facing down his executioner. The coffers were filled with valuables in the same way that the heart of the Dark god Murmur was filled with compassion.
In other words, Ed was flat-out broke.
For most of his life, his chronic lack of funding had been the normal state of affairs, but since his arrival in the world of Ivalis, nothing about his life could be called normal anymore.
The bare stone walls of the circular chamber underscored this fact. The rough wooden table and chairs in the center of the room looked as if they had been put together by a dozen tiny, unskilled hands. Nothing was adorned. No pelts or tapestries for this dungeon, no precious magical artifacts taken from vanquished heroes, and no trophies for his hard-earned victories. Well, no trophies… except for one. A single spider leg twice the length of Ed’s, encased in a resin-like substance the color of honey. The leg had been an unexpected courtesy from Ed’s own drones, a single memento of his battle against Queen Amphiris. The spot where Ed’s sword had severed the Queen’s leg was clearly visible at the end of the trophy.
Ed’s eyes wandered from the coffers of the leg, and the memory of a little girl’s scream stirred in his mind. Ed looked away and suppressed a shiver.
There were worse things in the world than lacking money.
“You’re cold too?” asked a woman’s voice behind him. Lavina Odessa Trevil of Devon, Witch of the Haunt, stood at the chamber’s entrance with her arms crossed and a pout carefully crafted to guilt Ed for his lack of chivalry. As far as Ed could tell, she had just arrived. “I’m freezing here. You should have used your drones to figure out central heating for the Haunt, instead of wasting them on the comfort of… commoners.”
Her accent reminded Ed of Transylvanian vampires in cheesy movies, but as far as he was aware, she really spoke like that. And although she talked of commoners like a dog may speak of a flea, Ed had seen her spend an entire day treating the various wounds of the villagers, shoulder to shoulder with Andreena the Herbalist.
Of course, Lavy had complained non-stop during that time, but that was just her style.
“I thought Lotia was a cold region,” Ed told her.
That only added fuel to her pout. “We use coats in Lotia, like any sane person would. By the Wetlands, I’m considering buying the resist elements talent and wasting my precious experience points, just so I can stop shivering.”
She pointed at both her clothes and Ed’s. They were dressed in pilfered leather armor from the Burrova watchmen and cheap woolen clothes underneath. They barely did anything at all to stop the bite of the cold, which was amplified by the stone that surrounded them. The leather armor contrasted with Lavy’s almost-gray complexion that, along with her raven-black hair and purple eyes, marked her as Lotian royalty—if there was such a thing as royalty for someone who had lived in one dungeon or another all her life.
Ed shrugged. “We’ll work on the heating after we’re done dealing with the villagers.” He adjusted the nicked short sword that hung from a strap by his waist and passed a gloved hand over his unruly black hair. “Ah, it’s no use. We need ‘grim and intimidating’ for today’s show, not ‘asshole who needs a haircut.’”
Lavy tiptoed around him in a playful semi-circle while examining him with a critical eye.
“Let’s see. You’re taller than most of them, except Heorghe, but you could use some extra muscle… I don’t know, Ed. Can you have the drones make you a cape? That’s just what you need.”
“I’m not wearing a cape. No way,” Ed said, thinking of Earth’s superhero movies.
He fidgeted with his sword again.
Lavy winced in sympathy. “You’re nervous. A Dungeon Lord worrying about the opinion his prisoners have of him—that’s something you’d never see back in Lotia.”
“They’re not prisoners,” Ed pointed out. “I’ve never done this before, is all.”
Lavy scratched her chin, deep in thought. “If you’re unsure, you could relent and buy that amazing dread lord aura you have in your advancement path. It creates magical fear in your enemies, doesn’t it? Just what you need! And besides—” she added nonchalantly, like her suggestion was a mere coincidence “—it’s quite a bit more badass than the other option. What’s its name… Eh, the defensive aura. Alder can do defense, leave that to him!”
Ed shook his head. “I haven’t decided yet. The auras are mutually exclusive, so I don’t want to lock myself into one path until I absolutely have to.” He smiled. “Besides, magical fear is probably overkill for these people.”
“Well, I had to try it. Not my fault if you don’t end up a terrifyingly sexy Dungeon Lord.” Lavy shrugged with fake nonchalance, then her expression softened. “Trust me, they’ll be too concerned fearing what you could do to them to worry about your appearance. I saw Lord Kael deal with prisoners a dozen times, and Lord Heines a hundred. Both of them could’ve worn a jester’s costume and no one would’ve dared to point it out.”
Kael had been Ed’s predecessor, and Heines had been Lavy’s step-father. Sort of.
“I am not them,” said Ed. He had traveled all the way from Earth to this strange new world ju
st so he could prove that to himself.
Lavy, for some unfathomable cultural reason, had thought that Ed said this as if he needed reassurance.
“Oh, I’m sure you have it in you,” she said, and gave him an awkward pat on the back. “It would soil the Lordship’s reputation if Murmur forged a pact with someone who lacked talent for dramatic entrances and the like.”
For the sake of his sanity, Ed decided to accept the compliment. Lavy shot him a bright smile, no doubt feeling pretty proud of her pep-talk skills.
Ed couldn’t help but grin at the idea, and for a moment they stood like that, until the silence inevitably became awkward. They each took a polite step back and looked away. Ed coughed a couple times.
He and Lavy were friends, but theirs was the kind of friendship where both parties felt undeniable physical attraction to the other, while at the same time having mismatched personalities. For example, Ed was freaked out by Lavy’s obsession with all things evil and undead, and Lavy wasn’t into Ed’s obsession with not being a murderous asshole.
So, it was best for both if they kept their distance, at least until their hormones calmed down.
The situation was interrupted when Ed heard approaching footsteps.
“Bard incoming!” Alder’s voice came a second before he appeared. “Everyone’s decent back there, right? I don’t want my innocent eyes traumatized by a sudden flash of our Dungeon Lord’s ass.”
“Fuck off, Alder,” Lavy said. “I’ve three spells per day now, and I swear I’ll spend them all on you if you keep annoying me!” She oozed pride, same as every other time she managed to mention her recently increased spellcasting skill in conversation.
Alder was a tall, thin young man. He had a bowl-shaped haircut, and blond hair that flickered red and orange in the light of the torches. He was almost always grinning and looking at nothing, with unfocused blue eyes—he was a daydreamer. Unlike Ed and Lavy, he wore only his woolen clothes. His neck was covered by a clean bandage, and he carried a wooden flute tied to his waistband.
“Great,” Alder said, completely ignoring her threats, “thank Alita that you’re clothed. Now I can tell our guests to step in. They are getting more nervous by the minute.”
“They may be nervous because you keep terrorizing their daughters,” Lavy told him.
“A Bard doesn’t terrorize,” said Alder. “We romance.”
Ed spoke over Lavy making gagging noises:
“Let’s get it over with.”
Alder gave him a mock flourish and left.
While Lavy hurried to take a seat at the table, Ed made his way in front of the spider leg trophy, his back to the entrance, and waited.
Soon he heard footsteps over naked stone, and the faint traces of conversation. The conversation stopped as the villagers arrived in the chamber, which Ed took for a good sign.
Alright, Ed, just like you practiced, he thought. Lavy was right. It was ridiculous to be nervous about this. It couldn’t be worse than fighting Ioan or killing the mindbrood.
He took a deep breath, focused, and made an active effort of will not to shiver from the cold.
Heat surged from his eyes in an almost physical torrent and the world was bathed in an eldritch, green light.
When he turned to face the people in the room, he knew his flaming eyes shone in a way that made his skull visible under his skin.
There were exclamations of surprise, along with a couple mentions of Alita and some minor forest deity. Deep inside Ed’s chest, his black heart pounded with satisfaction at the Dungeon Lord’s adherence to the ancient customs of the Lordship.
“You’ve worn out your welcome,” he told the four men and women from Burrova. “You must leave this dungeon if you want to live.”
HE GLARED AT THEM, hands on the table, trying to project an authority that he didn’t feel.
We’re trying to help you, you dolts, he thought.
A middle-aged man, shaped like a pear, was the first to speak. “My Lord, we have nowhere else to go.”
That was Governor Brett. He wore clothes worth more than everything else in the room added together, but they were torn and dirty, his breeches ragged and stained by various dried substances. One of his boots was missing, and his foot was almost blue from the cold and the traces of spider-poison still in his bloodstream.
Ed winced and turned his Evil Eye off. The world returned to its normal color, and he took a seat between Alder and Lavy.
“There are a dozen villages like Burrova not a day’s journey away from here,” Ed said. “Any of them should do nicely. Most of your people left days ago.”
Ed and his minions had allowed the remaining survivors of the attack of Burrova to rest inside the dungeon, but as time went by, it was clear a small lot of villagers weren’t as eager as the others to disappear into the countryside.
“Why are you so intent on getting rid of us?” Brett went on. “We can be useful. Don’t think we haven’t noticed the state of your… installations.”
Ed blushed. “If you stay with us, all of you will be in danger. Haven’t you heard? Dungeon Lords and their minions don’t have the best life expectancy these days.”
Alder shot him an alarmed look, as he always did when anyone mentioned the constant, life-threatening danger they all lived in simply due to their association with a Dungeon Lord. The bandage around his neck was perfect proof of that.
But the Governor appeared unconvinced. “You are in need of us, my Lord. Heorghe here is the best blacksmith this side of the ocean, and Andreena’s skill as an herbalist is worth her weight in gold.”
Andreena chuckled at that. Like the governor, she was overweight, but unlike him, she appeared sculpted out of solid rock. The herbalist was old enough to be Ed’s grandmother and had skin that the sun had slowly transformed into tanned leather. Her gray hair was pulled into a tight braid slung over her shoulder, and she wore an apron stained by plant matter, grime, and the blood of at least four different species.
“I am indeed worth my weight in gold, even though Brett probably spoke without thinking, since he forgot to mention what he is skilled in,” the herbalist said. Then, she shot a glance at Alder’s neck. “We’ll have to change that bandage tonight, dear.”
After the initial shock caused by Ed’s Evil Eye, she had been the fastest to recover, and now appeared as comfortable as an otter in her nest.
Ed was losing control of the conversation and he knew it.
“It’s not about your skills; it’s about keeping you alive,” he explained. It wasn’t the first time he had made this argument, but it was like speaking to a brick wall. “When the Inquisition comes—and they will come—you want to be as far away from us as possible, because once they peg you for a Dungeon Lord’s minion, they will hunt you down forever. Go hide in some other village, pretend you never had anything to do with Burrova, and forget this ever happened at all.”
“Wouldn’t that be convenient for you,” said a bald, bone-thin old man dressed in the black cassocks that identified him as a member of Alita’s church. “We go get killed in the wilderness of this thrice-cursed country, so you can get rid of us.”
“Zachary, you better decide if you hate us or need us before you beg Lord Wright to let you stay,” Lavy said. She shot the priest a nasty glance. “You can’t do both, and your attitude tires me.”
“Of course a creature of the Dark such as yourself can’t stand me,” Zachary told her. “I am one of Alita’s chosen, a holy avatar of the Light in Starevos’ forsaken lands. My mere aura is anathema to you.”
“There’s no aura anywhere in your stats. And besides, you were sent to Burrova because nobody liked you back home,” she pointed out. She had no way of knowing that, but it was a fair inference. “And since no one likes you here, your only shot at surviving is begging a Dungeon Lord to let you stay with him, since the other villages won’t cover for you.”
The man’s smile had several teeth missing, and he wielded it like a mercenary may wield a f
lail. “Me, begging? You are mistaken, wench. I’m merely doing my Righteous Lady’s will, by remaining in the midst of the damned and offering you a chance at redemption, like that traitor Gallio should have done instead of leaving us in your hands.”
Ed couldn’t ignore that. “Redemption by fire, you mean.”
He knew the man wouldn’t be as confident if he were talking with the usual Ivalian Dungeon Lord, who would’ve summarily executed a member of a competing faith and forgotten about it.
There was little Ed could do, though. Lavy was right. If he expelled Zachary without a second thought, the man would die before he managed to leave Hoia Forest. That would be the same as Ed killing Zachary himself.
Which frustrated Ed to no end.
“Please don’t antagonize the deadly spawn of the Dark,” Brett chastised Zachary. Then he told Ed, “Believe me, your Unholiness, I would like nothing more than returning to Heiliges and forgetting I was ever here. But, like Zachary, I fear I lack the locals’ favor. As it turns out, a decade of loyal service as their Governor left that ungrateful lot little appreciation for me.”
“I like how you made yourself into the victim, even when it was Heiliges who conquered and occupied Starevos,” Alder said. From what Ed knew of the Bard, Alder was genuinely praising Brett for his narrative mastership.
Because talking to Brett was getting him nowhere, Ed tried Andreena.
“What about you? People love you—you could go wherever.”
Andreena shook her head, which made her gray braid shake like a whip. “Yes, but only for a while. The Inquisition has never liked herbalists—we compete with their Clerics—and we tend to get blamed when anything goes wrong, so I may get persecuted no matter where I am, once they come knocking. Besides, and this is more important, I still have a dozen sick men and women too weak to make even a short trip through the forest.”
He couldn’t argue with that. So he tried the last one of them. Heorghe was a blacksmith, a man of shoulders so broad he may be able to subdue a bull with his bare hands. His forehead was prominent, and his receding hairline made it look as strong as a hammer. Ed had heard that before the spiders had captured him and his family, Heorghe punched a spider warrior to death.
