Dungeon Lord: Abominable Creatures (The Wraith's Haunt Book 3)

by Hugo Huesca

  They both stepped back, acknowledging the strikes. After a couple seconds to regain their breaths, they went at it again, this time with Ed being the aggressor.

  At no point did they use spells or talents. Kes studied their movements with a neutral expression. She couldn’t avoid a surge of pride at seeing how far they’d improved. It seemed to her that only yesterday she’d been forced to watch them stumble. After months and months of daily training, they knew all the basic stances and how to use them to develop a chain of attacks or parries as needed. They knew how to use their legs to power a strike, and their instincts were slowly getting to the point where they’d know if an incoming attack was worth parrying with, say, both hands instead of one.

  They weren’t anywhere close to perfect, and Kes’ trained eye picked a dozen tiny openings and errors in their stance that she’d have to drill out of them soon, before they became bad habits. Their reaction times lacked the years and years of experience that would take thinking out of the equation, and their attacks and feints were loudly announced by their body language and positioning. In a fair fight against an expert, they’d lose. But to an untrained eye, the chain of attacks, defenses, and counter-attacks was nothing short of impressive.

  Which was the entire point of Kes’ bringing the boots to watch.

  “Well, maybe they aren’t using magic right now,” said Old Ivan as he crossed his arms. “But just look at his talents, Kes! Lord Edward can’t even turn off that magical armor of his. That’s not the kind of talent we’ll ever have access to. No matter how fair our Dungeon Lord practices, he simply isn’t as easy to hit as a normal human being!” He turned his head, looking to see if the rest of the boots agreed with him. Most of them either did so openly or were nodding to themselves.

  Kes knew she had them. “So, normal human beings aren’t as good warriors as magical ones?”

  “Yeah,” said Old Ivan. “That’s the ugly truth.”

  “Well, how lucky you are that none of you are normal humans anymore,” Kes said. She let her audience digest her words—perhaps she’d spent too much time around Alder—then spoke again right as Old Ivan opened his mouth. “Let’s take a look at your own talents, shall we, Ivan?” She used her instructor voice, so the rest of the boots followed her example.

  Ivan Ardine of the Haunt, human. Exp: 40. Unused: 0 Brawn: 11, Agility: 8, Endurance: 12, Mind: 7, Spirit: 6, Charm: 7. Skills: Brawling: Basic III, Craft(leather-working): Basic X. Talents: Resist Disease, Steady Hands, Dungeon Minion.

  “Quit your damn staring,” Old Ivan said. Among Burrova’s villagers, it wasn’t exactly polite to stare at another person’s sheet without good reason. It made people nervous. “What’s your point, Kes? I’m an honest man, there’s nothing unseemly in my stats.”

  “Look at that dungeon minion talent,” Kes told him. The man blinked in confusion. “It’s right there on your sheet—or have you forgotten about it already? I hope not after you had to recite that dreadfully long pact condition.”

  The boots winced. Ed’s infamous pact conditions were marked in the Throne Room. Any person wishing to become a member of the Haunt had to recite them in their entirety, and that was no easy feat. Ed called them the Haunt’s Terms of Service, but he refused to explain why.

  “What about it?” Old Ivan asked.

  “It’s clearly magical,” Kes explained. “It improves your attributes and would add extra spells to your daily limit if you had spellcasting. That means there’s magic inside you, whether or not you know how to use it. It connects you to the surrounding dungeon, and to our Dungeon Lord. And didn’t you say that they are magical up to their balls? Half of that magic is focused on improving the dungeon and its minions.” Kes was now addressing the entire group. “As Lord Edward unlocks more talents, his minions also grow in power. Remember Klek and Tulip? The two of them could take on all of you, and they’re only a batblin and a spider,” she said. “Listen. Bards have a concept called the IC line that talks about adventurers and normal people. Adventurers take a lot of risks, so they rake in hundreds of experience points. So far, you’ve taken few risks, and that has been the smarter choice. But with my training, and the Mantle’s magic, you can take bigger chances and survive. Imagine what you’ll become with enough experience points and enough training. Guard duty would only be the beginning.”

  “What does the ‘IC’ stand for?” someone asked.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Kes said, waving her hand. She realized she had their full attention. A part of her understood why Alder acted the way he acted. Motivation was a powerful tool. And perhaps all drill sergeants needed to love the spotlight, in order to do what they did best.

  “Think, people. Imagine going to sleep without being terrified of some creature breaking into your home and devouring your family. For once, the monsters under the bed may be scared of you. Sure, you’ll never be invincible. No mortal is. But you’ll at least have a fighting chance! That’s how Lord Edward feels every day. Imagine charging at a Spider Queen and winning. Forget the riches and the magic. You know what real power is? It’s knowing that, no matter how stacked the odds are against you, you’ll always have a fighting chance.” Kes left out the darker side of that implication, because they didn’t need to know—not yet. Ed’s Mantle had been bought over a pact with the Dark god Murmur. The Dungeon Lord’s minions, by the nature of their pact with him, benefited from Ed’s power, but also shared the risk that they could be corrupted by it as well. Whatever became of Ed in the years to come, the Haunt and its inhabitants would follow.

  Costel had a greedy glint in her eyes. “That’s a pretty picture you paint, Kes.”

  “Bah! Even if she’s right, minions are still arrow-fodder,” Rasvan pointed out. He and Old Ivan shared a nod.

  “You’re right, most Dungeon Lords use their minions that way,” Kes said. “Most Dungeon Lords are now dead. Look behind me. Would someone planning to hide behind his minions come to train here, morning after morning, for hours on end? The Haunt has survived this long, Rasvan, because we don’t do what got others killed. And that’s the final lesson I’ll teach you today. The Haunt, this thing we’re building, is more than a structure carved out of rock and ley lines. It’s more than a dungeon, as well. The Haunt is something that will last, and you’re a part of it. But it’s a responsibility too. I know you don’t understand, yet. You volunteered for personal reasons, after all. It’s all right. Someday, it’ll make sense. In the meantime, keep thinking I’ve gone a little insane. What I want from you is to pretend that you get it. I need you to yell ‘Yes sir!’ and then come back tomorrow to learn the best ways to disembowel any son of a bitch that dares threaten your home!”

  “Yes, sir!” her nine boots yelled in unison. Kes flicked away a strand of hazelnut hair caked in sweat. Where the hell did that come from?

  There are two ways to train a mule, Ria told her. Carrot and stick. I liked to use the stick. You’re waving the promise of a carrot at them and hoping they’re hungry. But be careful, boot. Here, in the basement of your mind, it looks like you believe your own words more than you’d like to admit. That’s dandy for a draftee, but very dangerous for a professional soldier.

  Fuck off, Sarge. The Minion talent gives one extra rank to Charm. Demagoguery. That’s all it is. “Class dismissed,” she said aloud.

  She watched them leave. They were sweaty and barely able to stand, and they stole curious glances her way when they thought she wasn’t looking. Young Ivan pointed to his temple and swirled his finger, Rasvan laughed, Costel sneered.

  “Green,” Kes whispered.

  Your Drill Sergeant skill has increased by one rank. Upon reaching Advanced status, your students will be able to purchase Improved-ranked military talents you teach them even if they don’t fulfill the skill requirements.

  7

  Chapter Seven

  Time to Strike Back

  Ed woke to a dull noise in the dark. Still in the throes of his dream, he tossed the covers of his bed as
ide and grabbed the crystal vial he kept on a stand. A feeling of cold doom crept up his arm like an infection.

  “Oh,” he said. “It’s just you.” He returned the holy water vial to the stand, and the doom evaporated.

  The old drone regarded him with eyes as big and round as dishes. Half his imp-like face was covered in coarse white whiskers, and the rest was wrinkled. “Pfft,” the drone told him, showing Ed the tip of a snake-like tongue.

  “Someone’s at the door?” Ed almost went back to sleep. To be honest with himself, he’d half expected a different visitor. But the Boatman had kept his promise—he hadn’t returned since their last encounter, and that had been months ago. Ed should have considered that a victory, but Kharon’s absence made him nervous. “One second.”

  He jumped out of the bed and waved his hand in front of the magical torch by the wall. It turned on and bathed the bedchamber in warm purple light. The floor tiles were warm thanks to the Haunt’s heating system. Ed hurried to a dressed stand while the drone watched with a judgmental frown at his sluggishness.

  At first, Ed hadn’t even considered keeping a drone inside his chambers while he slept. He had enough alarms spells in place, anyway, and drones weren’t exactly quiet and respectful of people’s rest. Kes had convinced him to try it by pointing out that alarms could be dispelled, and a drone at least could scream if someone entered the room uninvited. It’s just the smart thing to do, she had told him. What happens to the rest of us if you choke on a grape when no one is around?

  He threw on a comfy green tunic and slipped into his Thieves Guild boots while tightening the Guild’s utility belt around his waist. “Have them come in,” he told the drone after making sure the wrappings covering his left hand were in place. The old creature scoffed and disappeared into the antechamber. For the life of him, Ed couldn’t guess at what rules governed the age and physical features of a drone. For all he knew, it was completely random. This one had already been like this when he’d summoned it for the first time. It was as if the creature had been born to be a butler.

  The door to his chambers opened, and he heard unsteady footsteps. Ed hurried to the antechamber, waving magical torches on as he went along. The purple light illuminated a ragged batblin dressed in a doublet with the Haunt’s Lasershark sewn by its lapel. He was holding a scruffy hat in his hands, turning it around nervously.

  “My Lord,” the batblin squeaked. “Terribly sorry for waking you up, my Lord, but you said to do it if it was important—” Ed frowned. It bothered him that the batblin could be afraid of angering him simply for following his orders. “Terribly sorry!” the batblin exclaimed, seeing Ed’s expression.

  Ed noted the critter’s split ear and the burnt patch of fur poking out of the doublet’s neck. “Drusb, is it not? Don’t be afraid, you only followed my instructions. Tell me, what happened?”

  “Klek and Tulip, sir,” Drusb said. Ed’s heart froze mid-beat. “They’ve returned, sir, and are asking for you. I told them you were sleeping, but they insisted. Said you’d want to hear their report at once.”

  Ed let out the breath he had been holding. They’re alive. For a resourceful batblin like Klek, a scouting job wasn’t as dangerous as it was for others, but there was always the chance that something could go wrong. “I’ll meet them in the War Room,” he said. “And wake the others, have them catch up with us there.”

  He hurried to grab his green cape from the hanger next to the door while Drusb grimaced and looked back at the darkness of the corridor outside. “Even the Witch? She is… cranky when woken, sir. Scary.”

  Ed was already out into the corridor, hurrying for the stairs. “You’re right, send a few drones first, just in case she wakes up with a mood.”

  Drusb gulped, then his footsteps receded as he rushed for the other chambers.

  The fireplace crackled in the War Room, the flames waving under the supernatural light of the torches. Feverish concentration permeated the air. Ed hunched over a parchment map of Constantina and its surroundings, studying a pair of red pins set between Hoia and the ruins of Burrova. The map was spread on a mahogany table reinforced with bronze and carved with grotesque figures at the legs and edges. Klek had climbed atop the table and was carefully pinpointing the exact location of Jiraz’ dungeon, while Tulip hung from the ceiling by a strand of web.

  “Where’s Lavy?” Alder said, forcing down a yawn. He was reclined on a mahogany chair which had a back taller than anyone present and a skull engraved at its top. “She’s the only one missing.” Kes had her back against one tapestry that adorned the walls, while Kaga sat on the floor next to the fireplace, enjoying the warmth on his bare back.

  There was the faint noise of a commotion upstairs. Ed vaguely sensed that a few of his drones had been unsummoned. “She just woke up,” he said.

  A few minutes later, the two drones by the doors pushed them open, and a disheveled Witch strolled into the room. “Fine, fine, I’m here. This better be important, my beauty sleep is ruined.” She rubbed her eyes with her sleeve and took notice of everyone in the room. “Klek? When did you come back?”

  “Just now, barely completed my quest in time,” Klek told her.

  Klek looked very different from the malnourished batblin that had originally joined Ed and the others. A kaftar-made serrated dagger hung from a black sheath at his side, and his fur was shiny and thick. He was bulkier than Drusb now and approaching his tenth rank in Endurance. Ed could’ve sworn the batblin had even grown an inch or two. Kes’ training, paired with a healthy diet, had done wonders for Klek. And he was much more confident nowadays. “You don’t need beauty sleep, Lavy,” he told her.

  Lavy half-snorted and waved her arm at him. “You flatterer. It won’t help you if you ruined my sleep for nothing, mind you.” She plopped down on the nearest chair.

  “Thank you all for coming,” Ed said. “Time is short, though, so… Kes, you mind?”

  The Marshal stepped forward, the very image of martial gravitas. “I’ll be brief. The Haunt’s survival in Starevos caught the attention of a minor group of Lotian Dungeon Lords down on their luck. They came here testing their fortunes and have been waging a campaign against the Inquisition’s Heroes for a few months—with little success. Their idiocy bought us some breathing space, and a chance at finding the Heroes’ weakness. The Haunt’s command—”

  “That’s us,” whispered Alder, smiling while elbowing Kaga. “I’m a commander now.”

  “—the Haunt’s command,” Kes went on, “gave our agents Klek and Tulip the Quest: Find a witness of Heroic attack. They’ve been keeping an eye on the activity of Dungeon Lord Jiraz in the region, at great risk to themselves. They completed their quest today. Jiraz is gone, but one of his underlings survived the destruction of the dungeon.” She rummaged through the table, found a parchment, and held it up for everyone to see. It was the drawing of a coffin that matched Klek’s vague description. “We believe it to be a vampire. Although we don’t have intelligence reports to confirm it, we suspect he was Jiraz’ second-in-command, and fought the Heroes along with his Dungeon Lord in the final battle. After his body was destroyed he returned to his coffin to regenerate, where he was captured by the Inquisition, which arrived after the Heroes left the area.”

  “Sorry for butting in, Kes,” Alder said, “but I thought vampires turned to dust after being destroyed.”

  Lavy clapped with delight. “A Nightshade vampire! I have always wanted to meet one.” She stood and grabbed the coffin drawing from Kes’ hands. “Nightshade is a vampire breed native to Lotia, so it’s no surprise that Alder hasn’t heard of them. They’re much cooler than those lame Heiligian Marauders, and more passionate than those dry Starevosi Oldbloods.”

  “You sure sound like you know a lot about those guys, despite never having met one,” Alder told her.

  “Well, yes. I’ve read a lot about them.” Lavy’s lip trembled and her cheeks turned bright red. “In research tomes, I mean. For research.”

  “
Right.”

  The Witch hurried to change the subject. “Nightshades are the most resilient vampires around. An ancient one is almost impossible to kill—they just keep coming back. Somewhere along their progression tree they can unlock a talent that allows them to turn to mist if they’re slain, and they return to their coffin instead of dying. I think it’s called mist heart or something like that—”

  “Sort of like a lich’s phylactery?” Ed asked. That would be a useful talent to have, although having to protect a coffin was much harder than hiding a small trinket. “Interesting.” He made a mental note of asking Lavy the specifics of the other vampire breeds later.

  “I’m more familiar with Oldbloods,” Kaga shared. “A distant branch of my family used to hunt them, a long time ago. Vampire hunters! Those were the days…”

  “Thanks for the intel, Lavy,” Kes said, snatching back control of the conversation. “Jiraz’ vampire is in the hands of the Inquisition. They’re bringing his coffin to Undercity to execute him, probably as a show of force—to intimidate the rebellion.”

  Heiliges had conquered Starevos more than a decade ago, and small rebel groups still sprang up here and there. Nicolai’s group had been one of those. It was all part of a complicated plan by Murmur to buy his favored kingdom, Lotia, enough time to rebuild its army so it could challenge Heiliges’ supremacy again. Ed knew that the presence of Lotian Dungeon Lords in Starevos meant that Murmur’s plan was working.

  “I want that vampire,” Ed said. “The chance that he knows something about the Heroes we don’t is too big to pass up.”