The first surprise was learning that this dungeon was inside the walls of Eraztun.

“Is that normal?” I asked Cadoc, trying not to let the others overhear.

“You’re asking me, friend, what is normal inside of a city I first entered at the same time you did?”

I shrugged. “I guess I am.” I certainly didn’t want to ask anyone else. It amazed me how much I preferred talking to Cadoc, when I compared him to my other options.

And to think, I used to find him annoying. I didn’t know annoying, yet.

“I believe it is normal, yes,” Cadoc answered. “I have heard of it, at least. Especially in the first ring. Many people outside the walls considered it a false rumor - they didn’t want to believe that the great city of Eraztun would allow such a thing - but it always made a certain sense to me.”

“Isn’t this city supposed to be safe?” I asked.

“It is safe,” he said, without even a lick of irony. It sounded ridiculous. We had just been kidnapped only days earlier, after all, but I didn’t bother reminding him of this. I suppose, if I thought about it, we had been kidnapped outside the city. We just happened to be kidnapped by people from the city, who then brought us in.

Speaking of which, I still wondered if anyone was ever going to notice that we weren’t exactly supposed to be there. Would we eventually get reported to the fantasy version of ICE, and deported? All someone had to do was ask to see my magic, and the jig would be up. I’d be thrown out, or worse.

Then again, Berenguer probably wouldn’t let us go so easily.

We were walking across great sloping plains of grass, where large horned mammals ruminated. They looked liked over-sized goats, with horns that were more like antlers. These grasslands were interspersed with fields of grain and vegetables, with the occasional farm house placed seemingly at random.

We had been walking - marching, more like - for hours that day, and had walked all of the day before, as well. It amazed me, again, just how large this “city” was. The longer I spent in Eraztun, the less I seemed to understand about it. I looked to our left, and saw the rest of the city towering over the world. It looked so far away, and yet so intimidatingly close, too. I couldn’t make up my mind whether it looked closer that it had outside the walls - as it obviously should - or if it, somehow, impossibly, looked further away.

“It is a First-Ring level dungeon,” he continued. “That means the people here can handle it. If it got out of hand, or became a Second-Ring dungeon, then a higher ring of the city would likely come to help. At this level, they won’t bother.”

Someone is going to have to explain the whole ring thing to me. How can a second-ring dungeon be in the first ring? What does that even mean? But I held this thought, and asked about the topic at hand.

“If they can handle it,” I asked. “Then why is it still around?”

I hadn’t seen him move from the front of the convoy, but suddenly Berenguer was speaking into my ear in his grating voice.

“Money,” he whispered, and my skin crawled.

Berenguer apparently meant to set up camp just outside the dungeon, and so he was leading this caravan there himself. The caravan consisted of a number of carts drawn by massive lizards, like large komodo dragons, which hissed at me if I got too close. Which I didn’t do often. I was warned they they would bite, and would not let go when they did. They were driven by some of Berenguer’s men, who I may have recognized, if I hadn’t had the sense to avoid them, too.

Berenguer had told us he didn’t plan to stay - other projects to work on - but that the beginning stages almost always needed direct supervision. I wished he would just leave us alone. Every time he spoke, my blood boiled, and I think he knew it.

“If we simply destroy the dungeon,” Berenguer continued, “What happens?” He spoke like one of those professors I despised in college. He waited for a response, but I was doing my best to ignore him.

“People stop dying,” Amaia answered.

Ah, right, Amaia was there, too. It was easy to forget. She didn’t speak much - a minor miracle - and tended to keep to herself. I occasionally spotted her staring, wide-eyed, at the surrounding farmlands, like she’d never seen a field before.

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Amaia had simply approached Berenguer and asked for a job - as if he were a regular employer and not an evil wizard who enjoyed torturing people with their own minds. She requested to be put in the expedition party with Cadoc and I. Berenguer had agreed, and also agreed to pay her handsomely for her services. Which was better than I was getting.

She didn’t seem very happy about taking the “job” - maybe it was a little too much like “responsibility” for her - but she also made it very clear to Berenguer that she would leave the second she felt like it, and felt absolutely no loyalty or obligation to him whatsoever. Berenguer had laughed at this.

He was laughing again, now, at Amaia’s response. His laugh sounded like the creaking of an old house.

“And why, pray tell, would I care about that? No no no, what happens then is that the dungeon is gone.

“The dungeon, full of monsters which we can carve up into sellable pieces, full of plants and animals not native to Eraztun, full of treasure and magic - it just vanishes. Doesn’t that strike you as a tragedy?”

“Strikes me as the point,” Amaia responded.

Berenguer pointed a finger at her. “Then you have much to learn.

“The secret to success,” he continued. “Is squeezing every last drop from every opportunity that comes your way. Like our friends here.” He motioned to Cadoc and I.

“I could have killed them. Instead, I will drain them.”

“I get the idea,” Amaia said.

The second surprise was just how badly contained the dungeon seemed to be.

It wasn’t long after that discussion that we could see black smoke billowing up from somewhere ahead of us, a little to one side. Amaia noticed it first.

“Fire,” she said, and pointed.

“To arms!” Cadoc said. “A battle awaits, I am certain. I can feel it in my blood. Let us join the fray!”

“We will do no such thing,” Berenguer said. “We’re on a strict itinerary. And if that wasn’t an accidental fire, then we must be getting close.”

I shuddered at finding myself agreeing with Berenguer. I wanted nothing to do with whatever was going on.

Unfortunately for me, the path we took led close enough to the source of the fire, anyway. We could see what was happening, all too clearly.

To our right was a small village of thatched-roof houses. It looked like it was a pleasant enough little farm town, maybe a dozen houses in all, and a little marketplace. “Was” being the operative word. At the moment, it looked more like a layer of hell.

The houses burned, and screaming could be heard at regular intervals. People ran, panicked, in all directions, and some of them crossed in front of our caravan. “Help!” They yelled, but Berenguer pretended not to notice.

Then I saw what was attacking the village.

They were humanoid, but bestial. A scraggly layer of matted black-or-brown fur covered their short bodies, with bald spots and overgrown patches interspersed, and their hands and feet looked too small when compared to the rest of them. In their hands, they held any piece of junk that even resembled a weapon - a pitchfork, a scythe, a hoe. Some clad themselves in clothing that was equally shoddy - ripped and torn. Some even wore a piece of armor or two, but never a full set. Some wore only one boot or glove, or a cloak with more holes than fabric. Others, however, were obscenely naked, and they were terrible to look upon. Some held no weapons, and they were somehow even worse, using only teeth and claws.

They tittered and squeaked in an incomprehensible gibberish, and moved quickly, but without grace. I could see no clear leader to this raiding party - no organization, nothing that I could tell. They were beasts.

The closest animal comparison we had on Earth would be a rat - especially since their snouts were long and pointed - but if you imagined that, you wouldn’t get it quite right. They looked like something out of a nightmare.

The village must have mounted a defense already, but it had fallen. Dead bodies lay in the streets, covered in leather armor, and holding real weapons - swords and spears, mostly - which were quickly gathered up. The monsters were ripping pieces from the corpses - pieces of armor, yes, but also pieces of flesh. I saw a group of them swarm a pile of bodies, and then quickly scatter. I couldn’t tell you how long it took, because it all felt so unreal. But I can tell you that it was fast, and when they were done, there were not even bones left. It was as if the remains had been disassembled. The creatures ate some parts, wore others, and stored more in wagons, wagons full of viscera, weapons, armor, money, pieces of woods torn from the houses - everything. They took without thought.

Every bone in my body screamed at me to run. Luckily, we were some distance away, and either they had not noticed us, or else they sensed Berenguer’s power, and did not dare approach. I did not have a clear idea of how powerful Berenguer was - something I’d probably have to talk to Amaia about, unfortunately, as Cadoc didn’t seem to know - but I had to assume he outclassed these monsters.

Cadoc drew his sword. “Let us not be cowards. Let us fight.”

He begun to walk towards the scene, but was stopped by Berenguer, who grabbed at his wrist.

“Have I spoken too quietly?” Berenguer said. “I forbid you. We will continue on.”

“Have you no shame?” Cadoc responded, fighting against Berenguer’s grasp. “I would rather die than let anyone witness me flee from such a battle.”

Berenguer shook his head. “No, you would not. You would rather live. If I caused you enough pain, you would realize that. But I haven’t the time. Instead…”

Berenguer held out a hand, and I felt as his magic worked on Cadoc. Cadoc then looked around desperately, a somehow blank look in his eyes.

“What have you done?” He put his hands to his face as if feeling for something. “You have blinded me!”

“I have,” Berenguer said. “Pray I do no more. I will return your vision when we arrive. Rickart!” He called to one of his men. “Load our friend here into a cart. And keep him there.”

Cadoc swung his sword wildly, but Berenguer walked away, back to the front of the caravan. Rickart came, knocked the sword easily from Cadoc’s hand with the blunt end of a spear, and pushed him over to the cart. Cadoc soon complied rather than trip over himself, though he yelled all the time, calling Berenguer many synonyms for “coward.”

Cadoc was an idiot. I didn’t want to make a habit of being on Berenguer’s side, but there was no reason to fight. It was clear that no one in the village could be saved. They were all either dead, or so close that they wouldn’t survive to the end of any battle we started. Even if they were alive - and would somehow stay that way - we were vastly outnumbered. Without Berenguer’s help, there would be nothing we could do. And Cadoc was a fool if he expected Berenguer to help.

“What about you?” Amaia said, suddenly, and I jumped. I had forgotten she was there, again, and she had appeared at my side like a ghost. I wish people would stop doing that.

“We have no choice,” I said, avoiding the question. “So it isn’t worth talking about.”

Amaia nodded, still gazing at the carnage. “Not my village,” she said, and I had no idea if she meant it, or if she was making fun of me for not caring. She smiled grimly, and that didn’t help me figure out what she was thinking, either.

I stole one last glance at the village. The carts filled with dismembered spoils had already begun to roll away. I noticed, to my horror, that some of the bodies in that pile were moving. Women. Children. Half buried.

I turned away. There’s nothing I can do about it.

Unfortunately, it turned out I was wrong in my assumption about the monsters keeping their distance. It wasn’t long before a group of them blocked our path, ready to devour us.