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

by Hugo Huesca

  “Inquisitor,” called Bartheny’s stern voice. “Do you know why you’re here?” A tiny strip of pale sunlight had evaded the drapes and fallen right over the woman’s eyes. She gave no sign of noticing—her entire focus was on him.

  Gallio held her gaze, and thought, screw it. “No, your Eminence. Although I suspect you’re about to tell me.”

  “Speak to us in that tone again and I’ll have you quartered,” Harmon said with terrible calm.

  “My apologies.”

  “The kaftar scum you so kindly helped capture has yielded to the interrogators,” Bartheny went on, as if nothing had happened. “We’ve found that Constantina’s lowlife elements are guilty of aiding a Dungeon Lord for more than a year. Since only the Heiligian Navy is standing between Dungeon Lord Wraith’s escape from Starevos by sea, we shall take immediate action.”

  It was as if someone had frozen his chest solid and then run him through with a heated iron. When Gallio spoke, his voice came raspy and distant, barely recognizable as his own. “And you needed me in handcuffs to tell me this?”

  Harmon rose to his feet, sending his wooden chair flying backward. “You know what you did, traitorous scum!” Tiny flecks of saliva flew out of his mouth.

  Gallio could’ve bet his life’s savings that the former warrior was about to have him executed. But then came a tiny voice, almost out of nowhere, with only one word. “Allegedly,” said Examiner Hatter, with one hand on his belly and the other flexing his fingers in the unmistakable tell of a magic-user preparing to cast a spell—if need arose.

  Harmon’s gaze drilled into Hatter’s unflinching face. The fat man smiled kindly, and to Gallio’s surprise, Harmon seemed to deflate. “Allegedly. Indeed, Examiner,” he said, picking up his chair and sitting back down.

  “The prisoners implied that Lord Wraith’s dungeon is manned by survivors from Burrova,” said Bartheny. “This contradicts the story you told the Militant Church upon your return, before being welcomed back into the service.” Her lip curled as if she were gazing at a pile of dung. “Given the time you spent among the Starevosi while not in direct supervision of the Light, us Examiners have agreed there’s enough risk that you may have skirted the fine letters of your renewed vows to protect your friends. We shall confirm or deny this theory by sifting through the corpses left in the Heroes’ wake after they deal with Dungeon Lord Wraith. If guilty, you shall be executed. If not, your current status shall be returned to you with our sincere apologies.” She held her hands as if in prayer. “In the meantime, you are off the case, Inquisitor. You are to wait in the prisons while we deal with Undercity’s… infection.”

  Hatter rubbed his belly and sighed. “I’m sure you’ll hate to miss all the fun,” he said sarcastically.

  “You’re dismissed,” said Examiner Harmon, gesturing at the guards to take Gallio away. “Get him out of my sight.”

  Gallio had dreaded this day would come. And now that he was living the nightmare, he found himself free from all emotion, as if a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulder. For the first time in so long, he had nothing left to fear, because the worst had already come to pass. As the Inquisitors reached for him and dragged him away, he realized it was as if he could see the scene play out from far away, like a god or a spirit floating above it all, observing.

  He shook the Inquisitors free and stepped back toward the Examiners. “You know,” he told them, fearless, like a Dungeon Lord giving his last speech as his dungeon was being raided and his last Portal was being collapsed. “This thing you plan to do to Undercity. You realize it’ll only legitimize him, don’t you?” He could see Harmon’s wide-open eyes as the Examiner’s fury washed all over him. It didn’t faze him. “There’s no going back after you do this. He’ll see you as monsters, and so will the Starevosi. Everything they’ll do to us they’ll believe is justified, because of this. You’ll create the abominable creature the Inquisition fears, Examiners, and it’ll stop at nothing until we’re broken and expelled from its kingdom.”

  Someone punched him from the back, right above the kidneys. Gallio bent over and heaved, and an arm locked around his neck. He couldn’t breathe, and could barely speak, as the pressure and blood went to his head. Even then, he forced himself to look up, at Harmon and Bartheny and Hatter, to make sure they understood the gravity of the judgment they were about to pass.

  How could the powerful be so blind? Perhaps those high chairs stopped them from seeing the wheels of history turn as it came to pass.

  For the first time in his life, Gallio believed that the mighty and powerful weren’t the drivers of history as the Bards and themselves made it out to be. No, they were history’s tools, marbles smashing against one another from the powerful currents of destiny. It was as if, in one terrible, crystal-clear moment, he could see the gates of all possible futures thrown open. He saw armies of monsters marching against the armies of the Militant Church, he saw landscapes being littered by dungeons extending all across the horizon, and he saw hordes of mutated horned spiders flowing out of tunnels and drowning young Inquisitors—like the kid choking him right now—under the sheer weight of their numbers.

  It wasn’t magic. He hadn’t suddenly bypassed Objectivity and unlocked the gift of prophecy.

  It was just common sense.

  And these three idiots just didn’t have it.

  “Don’t worry, Inquisitor,” said Harmon with a hint of mockery as punches began to rain down on Gallio. “The creature you speak of won’t live for very long. No one ever does, against the Light’s Heroes.”

  Gallio spat blood on the cold hard floor and looked up, although this time he only saw blurry movement as the world danced around him. His ears rang, and his throat burned as if on fire. “Then strike at Lord Wraith with all we’ve got,” he managed to say with a raspy mess of a voice that was barely audible. “Use everything. Call all Heroes in Enrich’s arsenal, all griffin riders, all Inquisitors. Summon reinforcements from Galtia. Spare no rune. Maybe then you’ll have a chance at stopping what you started before it gains enough momentum.”

  “Don’t tell us how to do our job, Inquisitor,” said Examiner Bartheny, while Hatter looked sadly at Gallio’s condition. “We’re not the ones who screwed up. You are. Enjoy your cell.”

  Someone struck him hard in the head with a sword’s pommel, and then it was darkness.

  “I really think you should come with us this time,” Diana told Lisa, looking at her sister through the reflection of the vanity mirror while Diana brushed her hair. “There’s this guy, Anton, who just broke up with his girlfriend. Poor thing. He’s a production assistant or something. Anyway, we’re gonna hit up the club with the guys tonight. Why miss it? There’s nothing wrong with having a bit of fun.”

  Lisa grimaced. She hadn’t slept well for the last week. Her nightmares kept waking her up. Right now, she would’ve drowned a rabbit if would satisfy whatever fictional creature lurking in her nightmares.

  “Diana, that’s not my scene,” she told her sister. Perhaps tonight would be the night. “I don’t know any of those people.”

  “Well, you’ll never know them if you stay here all weekend,” Diana replied. For an instant, Lisa saw a hint of concern glinting in her sister’s eyes. “Before, it wasn’t an issue, you know? You were having fun, playing with your… online friends, I guess. But now? I can tell you need a change of pace. I’m worried about you, Sis.”

  Lisa sighed. Perhaps her sister wasn’t wrong. Lately, thanks to Ryan and her shit-hole job, she’d even stopped enjoying her own hobbies. Perhaps that was why she couldn’t sleep. It was her mind’s way of telling her something was wrong.

  Maybe she’d need to do something crazy, like taking the offer the black calling card had made her. Why not? People went on adventures all the time.

  Or perhaps she could do something less likely to end with her in a basement somewhere. Diana had fun and had a job that she enjoyed. “You know what?” Lisa started. “Maybe—” Her phone buzzed with a n
otification, followed at once with another one.

  “You were saying?”

  “Just one second.” The notification was from Ivalis Online, an alert about a World Event that had just started, about some Lord Wraith Big Bad Guy who had invaded Undercity. Lisa smiled. Urban warfare wasn’t that common in RPGs.

  The other notification was from Mark. It only said, “Dude!”

  “Well?” Diana demanded, now slightly annoyed.

  Lisa shrugged. “Sorry, Di. Maybe next time.” She avoided looking at her sister, so she wouldn’t have to see the disappointment across Diana’s face.

  “Whatever,” Diana said quietly. She grabbed her coat, a fluffy thing that looked like a deflated, giant rabbit. “Don’t wait up for me!” She headed for the door.

  “I never do!” Lisa shot back with a small grin.

  She threw on her favorite hoodie and headed toward the fridge to prepare some snacks. It’d be a long night. With any luck, Ryan would even have some rich-guy thing to do and wouldn’t show up.

  Perhaps it would be like the old times.

  Sunlight poured through the bars of the cell, falling straight on Gallio’s eyes, forcing him to come to his senses. He grimaced in pain and squinted.

  How the hell does Bartheny pull it off? He huddled in a corner and sat, hugging his body, aching all over. He didn’t need a mirror to know he was a mess. The metallic taste of blood marred his mouth, his face was swollen and raw, and one of his eyes was closed shut. Even breathing was painful. He probably had a cracked rib.

  “Assholes,” he mouthed, massaging his sore throat. Slowly, his brain reassembled his scrambled memories of the last few hours. First, the beating. Before that, the Examiners. How Hatter had confronted the other two, in a small but obvious way. How Bartheny and Harmon had almost had Gallio executed.

  And finally, what they were about to do to Undercity. He gave the window another glance, wondering if he’d be able to see the slums as the Heroes rampaged through.

  “Some friends you have,” said a low, raspy voice coming from behind Gallio’s wall. The Inquisitor jumped in surprise and almost kneed himself in the face. “At least they treat their buddies just as bad as their enemies.” The unseen man cackled softly in a way only someone with a snout could do.

  “You’re the Haga’Anashi we captured,” Gallio said quietly, easing himself back down.

  “Guilty. Thanks for that, by the way.”

  The Inquisitor didn’t answer. He sat in silence, wallowing in his misery.

  Eventually, the kaftar rapped on the wall. “Hey. You still there?”

  “No, I headed off to Elaitra for a quick breakfast,” said Gallio, grinding his teeth and clutching his head.

  “Bring me some when you come back, will you?” Again, the kaftar cackled quietly, immediately followed by rasping wheezes of pain. “Listen, man. I don’t know you. I don’t even know why you’re here. Probably because you’re an asshole, but you’re the best I can get. Your Light friends won’t kill one of their own, right? Hear me out on this. They’re about to do something terrible. Something from which there’s no coming back. You need to stop it. Warn someone. Anyone. Lord Wraith. Perhaps he has the resources to save the city.”

  Gallio shook his head, then remembered the kaftar couldn’t see him. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that. And not a single Dungeon Lord has been able to hold off the Heroes for long. Even if he somehow survived an attack of this magnitude… Undercity’s still doomed.”

  “The entire city? Or just the part that your people don’t like?” asked the kaftar. “Yes. I bet you anything that after it’s all done and over, Mullecias Heights and the other rich districts will be all that’s left standing, not even a scratch on them.”

  “Perhaps.” Gallio said. “Even if it is true, we’re done. The Inquisition won’t wait long. They’re probably mobilizing the griffins as we speak, to pave the way for the Heroes. The gates are already blocked. There’s a procedure. Please, stop talking to me. I cannot do a thing for you.”

  The kaftar chuckled one last, sad time. “Ah. But you have helped me already. You agreed with me. A part of you knows the Inquisition is not this high-and-mighty moral guardian it claims to be.”

  “So what?” Gallio said, clutching his head. “Why do you care?”

  “Are you not an Inquisitor?” the kaftar said. Something in his voice changed as if the pain had eased up a bit. As if a kind of hungry eagerness had replaced it. “You just broke one of the most important tenets, did you not? ‘Submit to the will of the Militant Church from the bottom of your heart.’ ” Gallio blinked in surprise and opened up his character sheet, despite knowing perfectly that nothing had changed. The sheet confirmed it. He hadn’t fallen from Alita’s grace. “It makes you think, doesn’t it? That there’s something more to your character sheet than what they’ve told you? That’s one mighty sunwave you’re able to cast, Inquisitor Gallio.”

  “What do you mean?” Gallio asked. “Who are you?”

  No answer came. Outside, footsteps approached.

  “Kaftar!” Gallio called. “Explain yourself. Now!”

  The only response was the hard screech of the rusty door to the jail cell being pushed open. Two people strolled inside, the first one fully suited for combat—Alvedhra and Examiner Hatter.

  Alvedhra met Gallio’s gaze as the man stumbled to his feet, almost without realizing they were there. “Who are you talking to?” the woman asked, a look of concern in her eyes.

  “The kaftar in the next cell,” Gallio said calmly.

  Alvedhra and Examiner Hatter exchanged glances.

  “You’re the only person in these cells,” she said. “The Haga’Anashi both died during the interrogation last night.”

  Examiner Hatter handed Gallio a vial filled with a red liquid. “Here, drink this,” he told him.

  “What is it?” Gallio asked, eyeing the liquid with suspicion.

  “It isn’t poisoned, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Hatter said, taking a small sip himself. “See? It’s a healing potion, prepared by Cleric Zeki.”

  “Zeki hates me.”

  “And yet he’s a member of the Militant Church who adheres to the tenets and believes in my orders with all his heart,” Hatter replied. “He made the potion to the best of his ability.”

  Gallio drank the potion. It tasted of cinnamon, fresh strawberries, and childhood dreams. A pleasant sensation traveled down his throat and spread through his body. He guessed it felt like being hugged by a loving mother—not that he’d know. The pain lessened, enough for him to breathe easier and stand up without hobbling.

  “Alita’s mercy, they did a number on you,” Alvedhra said. She threw Hatter a reproachful glance.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” said the Examiner kindly. “I wasn’t the one who shook off three guards only so he could mouth off to an Examiner.”

  “What are you doing here?” Gallio asked them both.

  Alvedhra placed a gentle hand over the bars. “I heard what happened, came as soon as I could. Inquisitor Oak gave me some time before we have to leave for the slums. Even if you two have had your differences, we’re still a team.” She then nodded at Hatter. “On my way, I found his Eminence. He insisted that he was on our side.”

  Examiner Hatter nodded curtly. Behind the Examiner facade, Gallio saw a short, tired man who ate too many sweets for breakfast and drank too much. “Your loyalty is not in question, Inquisitor. After all, Alita granted you the sunwave during the battle for Burrova. To question her judgment is to go against everything we hold sacred.”

  “And yet, here we are,” Gallio said, crossing his arms. “What’s really going on, Hatter?”

  Alvedhra winced at Gallio’s lack of manners, but the Examiner gave it no mind. He only sighed tiredly and shook his head. “Politics, Gallio. Same old. Same as always since the world began to turn.” He looked over his shoulder. “Greater circle of silence,” he whispered, his hands glowing a pale blue as magic spread acr
oss the room. He cast a small string of spells to ensure their privacy. When he was done, Gallio suspected that only a demigod would’ve been able to bypass the protections. “Tell me, Inquisitor, how many others do you know that can use the sunwave?”

  “What kind of question is that?” Gallio asked, frowning. “Many. All members of the Golden Circle. Inquisitor Errin of the King’s Royal Guard. Examiner Harmon, even. And surely many others, out in the field, keeping a low profile.”

  Hatter waved a finger like a sausage. “Errin is a boaster. He claims to be able to use it, but hasn’t fought in the field in years. I even doubt he has cast a single smite during that time. And I know from personal experience that Harmon, although an extremely powerful warrior and a real war hero, cannot cast a sunwave.”

  “So what? That still leaves hundreds of Inquisitors—”

  “There’s only one man alive who has used the power Alita bestows on her champions. He’s standing in front of me,” Harmon said gravely. “No one else. Not the Golden Circle, not the war champions with thousands of experience points. Just a cynical ex-Inquisitor returned to the flock through mostly suspect circumstances, one who’s so plagued by doubts about his faith even a blind bat like Bartheny can see it. That’s it. The Militant Church has kept it under wraps. Not even King Varon knows. To maintain secrecy, the Examiners decided to allow any claims of being able to use the sunwave to stand unchallenged.”

  A flurry of emotions drowned Gallio’s rational mind. “No way. That’s impossible.” The sunwave was like a badge of honor for an Inquisitor, the equivalent in an army of the highest award that could be given to any soldier. It was impossible that, in all the Militant Church, a miscreant like him was the only one worthy of it.

  Alvedhra looked at each of them with wild eyes. “But why treat him like this, then? He’s a hero. A real hero, flesh and blood. He should be a symbol for us to rally to. Why would Examiner Harmon almost try to kill him?”

  “Like I said, because of politics,” Hatter responded gravely. “You’re the wrong kind of symbol, Gallio. If the truth about you got out, we could send the wrong message to the world. Worse, we could send the wrong message to the Heiligian nobility. It’s their pockets that sponsor the Starevosi campaign, after all.”