I couldn’t even see the dungeon, at first. Instead, I saw what looked like a large shantytown. It was a massive group of tents - strong, solid tents, mostly, like an army would use. They spread out before us like a nomadic capital.

The tent city was bustling with people, many of whom were rushing to and fro down the unmarked dirt streets between the tents. The most noticeable thing, from a distance, was that they weren’t all disproportionately muscular, as I’d almost been getting used to, by then.

A few were, of course, and these ones mostly carried food and supplies, just as they did elsewhere in the First Ring. Or else they were building, erecting new tents, or whatever else sort of manual labor needed to be done. I was wary around these men now, even if it was unfair to judge the whole group by the actions of a few individuals. Life isn’t fair. File a complaint with someone else.

But most of the people walking around looked like adventurers. They had weapons of all descriptions hung at their side, or on their backs, or even held in their hands like they were itching to use them. Their clothes were similarly strange, a kaleidoscope of unfamiliar dress - though the most common were variations on the standard leather armor, like what Cadoc and I - and Amaia - now wore. They looked like foreigners, mostly, though this was a hard thing for me to judge. I was more foreign than any of them.

I wondered if any of them had seen Tom. I’d have to try to ask when I could.

I could hear Berenguer swear under his breath as the place came into view. “Late. Damn it all, we’re late.” Before we approached any further, he called for the convoy to stop. He took the time to whip a couple of his men. That is not a joke. He took out a long, dark whip, and gave a few of his men, seemingly chosen at random, a series of lashes. I’m not sure what, exactly, he was punishing them for - could they really have gone any faster? - but luckily, none of my party was involved, even though he had blamed Cadoc for delaying things, earlier. Perhaps he needed us unharmed for the dungeon.

I still couldn’t see where the dungeon itself was. While we waited for Berenguer to satiate himself - he had now moved on to giving waking nightmares to some poor, screaming man - I asked Cadoc if he saw it.

“That building there,” he said, pointing.

“Really?” I replied.

“I believe so. Look at how the tents are arrayed before it. And there are guards. It must be.”

He was pointing to a flat, circular, one-story building of stacked stone. It wasn’t very large at all, so either it was the smallest dungeon of all time, or it went straight down. The thought made me shudder. I’d been preparing myself for the sight of a hideous forest, or a great cavern, or an encampment of ratmen with spiky palisades and heads on sticks. But something about the idea of descending straight down into the depths sounded much worse. I felt claustrophobic already.

It wasn’t long before Berenguer had had his fill of violence. The tortured man shambled back to one of the carts, barely able to walk, but no one helped him. We began our walk into the town proper. Along the way, I marveled at the strange people.

One, dressed in electric-blue robes that looked like they were constantly being blown back by strong winds, was practicing with his sword. As he swung, I could see lightning snaking around the blade, and when he struck the training dummy, it was blackened and scorched instantly in the spot where the sword hit. It even made a sound like a miniature thunderclap.

Another, a young woman in fur-lined winter gear - despite the pleasant weather - sat before a large tub of water, hand out. She shook slightly as she strained herself, a big blue vein bulging on her forehead. We watched as ice crystals began to form in the water, then a thin layer of ice on the surface, and then, slowly, the whole pool was frozen.

Why are these adventurers training, I wondered, when the dungeon is right there? If they weren’t ready to go in, why come? Is the dungeon closed? Do dungeons close? Sorry, the dungeon is out to lunch, come back in fifteen.

Berenguer led us to a spot which had seemingly been left for us among all the tents. The carts stopped, and everyone began unloading. We were no exception. A man in silvery robes approached the group as we were still setting up.

The man was tall, thin, and amicable-looking. He held a long, intricately carved staff with a multi-colored jewel on top.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Berenguer! How nice to see you!” the man said. “I thought perhaps you weren’t going to show, after all.”

Berenguer looked unamused. “Anwar. How did you find out?” He asked coolly.

“Is that any way to greet a friend?” Anwar smiled. “And you are not the only one with eyes in this Ring. Did you expect to have the dungeon all to yourself?”

Berenguer didn’t answer, and everyone within earshot knew that the answer was yes.

“It is time, perhaps, for you to learn the value of sharing,” Anwar said.

Berenguer smiled a fake smile. “We shall see.” He was acting politely, but at this, a cold air passed over us, like what I’d felt entering the side door of Berenguer’s mansion. Shadows begun to creep into the daylight, dancing always just at the edge of my vision. I tried to tell myself that they weren’t real, but the fear creeped into my heart all the same. And I wasn’t even the target.

The other man did not respond, but a substance like mercury swirled around his tip of his staff. I could feel the tension rising. Anwar’s smile had disappeared. At any moment, I expected a fight to break out.

So did Cadoc, apparently, because his hand was on his sword. He looked conflicted, however, like he was spoiling for a fight, but had no desire to fight on the behalf of his kidnapper.

And just like that, Anwar’s smile returned, and the silvery substance evaporated. “See you around,” he said. “May the best man win.”

Anwar walked off, his appearance brief and confusing. There were layers to what was going on here that I didn’t understand, and so, half in a daze, I asked Berenguer about it, as soon as the man was out of sight - though I was always loathe to talk to him.

“Who was that?” I asked, as the illusory shadows faded. My voice was embarrassingly weak, and warbled in residual fear.

“Anwar.” Berenguer replied, still looking out in the direction the man had gone. “A rival, you could say. A thief, you could also say. He is a snake who talks from both sides of his mouth.”

“And what was he talking about?”

Berenguer turned to me suddenly. “Do you think I have brought you here for your political advice?” He snarled. “Raise the damned tents!”

I did as I was told, though my blood boiled. I didn’t want to be whipped.

Later, Berenguer called the three of us to him - Amaia, Cadoc, and I - and his mood had changed again, it seemed, a little brighter now, though still serious.

“There has been a change in plans,” he said. “This was meant to be like a farm, you see. You three would harvest the materials of the dungeon, return them to me, and you would continue doing that more or less forever, as the dungeon regrew. Or until you paid off your debts.” He turned to Amaia. “Or until you decided to leave, my dear lady.” The nicety sounded like poison.

“I am afraid that is no longer a possibility. Now, we cannot know what the others mean to do. Perhaps they mean to destroy it, the fools.” He shook his head.

“Fine,” he said, muttering to himself. “Let us play this game then, Anwar.”

“What is the job?” Amaia asked.

“Same job, my dear, same job. Enter the dungeon, find treasure, and bring it back to me. Return, do it again. But our timeline has moved up.

“I need you all to work fast. Take everything you can. Strip the dungeon clean.

“I wish I had known,” he said, talking to himself again, under his breath. “I would have brought someone stronger, sent them to the core. Damnit.”

“Why don’t you go?” I asked.

Bereguer smiled viscously. “Do you think I have all the time in the world, rat? And there are rules now, damn them. Witnesses. What would it look like for a mage of my stature to fight over a First Ring dungeon with the rabble? Reputation is a weapon I don’t wish to lose.”

“Can we destroy the core, then?” Cadoc asked. Berenguer laughed.

“Try it, dear Cadoc, try it. I invite you to try it. But leave one of you behind. Amaia, let’s say. She’ll need to bring me back the treasure after you are slaughtered.”

Cadoc nodded. Berenguer sighed.

“No, Cadoc, you fool. I see that look in your eyes. I was joking. Do not destroy the core. Do not. Until I know what the others have planned, I do not know if there may be a way to salvage my farm. I will be calling for backup, and trying to-” he spit on the ground, “negotiate. Perhaps Margaid will see reason…”

“Will there be others?” I asked, trying to follow the mechanics of this. “In the dungeon with us?”

“Have you been listening? Of course there will be others. Actually…” Berenguer stroked his chin.

“There is another option,” Berenguer said, slowly. “There are rules out here, indeed, but in the dungeon… Well, certainly no one to enforce the rules, at least. So if your competitors happened to perish inside, why, that is only to be expected in a dungeon, yes?”

“I’m not killing anyone,” I said.

“Coming from the man who tried to burn my house down with me in it, that’s rich. Just consider it, that’s all. One way or another, if you do not bring me enough treasure, you’ll be stuck with me. And as much as I enjoy your company - that’s a lie. I despise you all.” He turned to Amaia again. “Not you, dear, you understand.

“If you get rid of everyone else, we could take it all, see? We could set up our little farm, like I had planned. Then your debt would be paid. Consider it.”

I was considering how I could strip the dungeon of resources and send them to Earth, not to Berenguer. But I didn’t say that, of course.

If this was a competition, then I had every intention of winning. But the real opponent was Berenguer himself. If we didn’t die on the way - big if - then perhaps the treasure would give us something we could use to escape. Or kill him, if need be. It’s self-defense at this point, I thought.

“The doors open tomorrow,” Berenguer continued. “Prepare in whatever way you need. There are food vendors, and harlots, and booze. The merchants seemed to know what was happening here before even I did. Bastards. I will cover your tabs, within reason. Do not think it a kindness. You will pay back every copper.”

We left, and the three of us had another meeting on our own. We were inside the tent Cadoc and I were assigned to. No one else was around.

“We need to get stronger,” I said immediately. “And the best treasure should be near the core, yes? Let’s go to the core.”

Cadoc grinned. “And here I was thinking I would have to convince you, friend. Yes indeed, let us destroy the core. What a heroic quest.”

“Protect the townspeople,” Amaia muttered to herself.

“Indeed!” Cadoc said. “We will be heroes to them. In glory we shall return to their cheers, for they will be free of the Kalamuzi.”

“And perhaps we will be free of Berenguer,” I added quietly. Then I laughed. “Sure, fuck it, let’s destroy the core. He’ll be so pissed.”

It was agreed. We all shook hands.

We were going to enter the dungeon, and we were going to conquer it. It’s what Tom would have done, sure, that’s undoubtedly true. But I was also fed up with letting people push me around.

And nothing sounded better to me than fucking up Berenguer’s plans.