THUMP.

A calloused Elven hand covering my mouth worked to muffle my screams.

“Heh, hit ‘em again, Torug!” The rasping voice came from my left. With a delighted cackle, she painfully wrenched up my arm, causing my shoulder to creak.

Torug, the orc enforcer, snarled over my head. “Shut up, keep him still.”

Blood dripped from my chin to the filthy cobblestones that lined that alley beneath me, with every breath. Not that they let me have too much time to breathe. A hand jerked my chin up, and Torug’s sneer fixed on me.

“Ya thought you could get away with dodging ya taxes? Thought ya little out of guild work didn’t count?”

His fist slammed into my stomach, and pain blossomed as something ruptured. “Think again. Ya owe us twice now. But ya don’t have it, do ya?”

Thankfully, he took my shaking head as a no instead of the painful spasms that wracked my whole body. Giggles of children filled my ears, the same street urchins who chased me on my previous visit to the markets. However, no Dogman cultists came popping out of doorways to my rescue this time. The alleyway they dragged me off to was located a fair distance from any passerby. No one was coming for me.

Would they kill me? If they did, they would save me the painful walk home. So, they probably wouldn’t.

Torug hit me again, and the children cheered. “My boss will want something, a nice present. A sorry gift. What do ya think?” He didn’t wait for me to nod. “That’s right. So here’s what ya going to do.”

My head swam in both pain and the strangeness of the request. All they wanted was honey from the giant bees that nested in the swamp? Only three jars at that. Delivered to the Thieves’ Guilds headquarters by the end of the week. That wouldn’t be so bad. Maps of the area were easy to gain, and my fellow surveyors would have made the trek in recent times. There must be a catch.

“And one last thing,” Torugs’ smile grew wide, and he leaned in close enough that his breath burned my nostrils. “If ya take any more of these out of Guild jobs? We’ll burn down ya apartment, bed and all. Understand?”

There it was. They destroyed my second source of income in a heartbeat, a heavier blow than any thrown at me so far.

With a small grunt, he stood up and nodded. “Teach him a longer lesson. I got places to be.”

“You got it, boss,” They chorused behind me.

Torug left the alley, taking the gaggle of laughing children.

“What do we do now, sis?” The voice came from my right. “Kill ‘em?”

“Nah. We proper break his legs, right?”

“What about his arms?”

“What about them?”

The two bickered about the best way to hurt me, which at least allowed me to regain my breath. They held my arms straight, pushing against the elbow as they pulled, so any attempt to wiggle free would end with the snapping of bone. Not that getting out of their grip would help me. My throat was hoarse from the pained screams elicited from earlier damage to my knees.

An all-around professional beating.

As they debated the finer points of rib breaking, an unfamiliar voice joined the argument. High-pitched and shouting vile Elven swears. My ears burned at the words floating in the air, and both of my captors sounded indignant as they shouted back at the newcomer.

My captors shoved me over, the force breaking my nose on the cobblestones. Willpower and experience made me turn over, and the scene before me took my breath away.

The two thugs were doing battle with a tiny woman in a ripped red dress, who threw rapid-fire insults at them. Laughing hurt, but when my concussed brain sorted out what was going on, it couldn’t be helped. She was from the demonic book. A type of summoning — a Demonic Sprite.

It appeared the Succubus didn’t lie. The sprite ducked and weaved through the air, red bat wings flapping in such a way, that anyone could tell that magic, not biology, kept her afloat.

Her red curls bounced under small red devil horns as she cackled gleefully, her red pitchfork ripping through the ear tip of the male elf. He howled in pain, and his sister attempted to grab the sprite out of the air. A mistake. The sprite’s red stiletto heel turned out to be as sharp as a knife.

Both siblings, now bleeding, backed away from the threat. Without a word, they bolted, each stepping on my legs as they did. A pained howl escaped my throat, causing me to cough up more blood, which joined the growing pool next to my head.

My vision swam, making it hard to focus on the face of the Sprite that now hovered above me. She was holding something now, an ivory shape. A bone? No. On closer inspection, the white was paper. A scroll then.

It took several moments to blink the tears out of my eyes, and she took my nod as a go-ahead to unfurl the scroll and held it floating above my face.

{To my summoner,

Hello again. I did promise to send you something more interesting than an Imp. I hope she serves you well. She has served in my household for a long time. Protect her. I would like to see her again. Besides, she is under orders to do the same for you. She’s capable of foraging for herself, so fret not about her basic maintenance, do keep her company.

Love Demendra L. Holithier.

P.S. I hope you don’t speak elvish, it’s funnier that way.

P.P.S. No, the curse is not removable. Better people than you have tried.}

It hurt to smile. Was she doing well? She mentioned having plenty of escape routes last time we’d been together. It would be worth seeking her out after this. Any fool would pay to visit her massage parlor.

“Do. Do you have? A name?” The words were haltering, my throat burning at each movement.

Her response was a series of swears, and it finally dawned on me what Demendra meant when she spoke of a curse. Demonic Sprites were originally fae, tricksters who infiltrated the lower realms and then annoyed the wrong demon. Usually, the Demon would smile, laugh, then get them drunk enough to sign a curse-ladened contract that bound them in ways that even the most rule-obsessed fae would find impressive.

So she couldn’t speak, at least, not in a way fit for children.

My sluggish brain tried to come up with a name as she floated above me, hands on her hips. Red? No, that was too on the nose. Pitch? Her voice was high, and she carried a trident as a weapon. Though she was wielding it like a pitchfork, scooping imaginary hay into my head.

“Can I call you Pitch?”

Pitch didn’t stab me, a good sign. Though, when she finally understood that dying would help me out, she stabbed me in the neck with relish.

The good news was she respawned with me, which would save time on walking.

***

Anger filled me as the door slammed in my face.

The sound, a death bell on the idea we could trust The Council to help. A single silver lining from the affair was the response didn’t turn into outright mockery. Westington pushed the boundaries of even that, though, as he leaned forward, putting the displeasure on his wrinkled face on full display.

“How is this our problem?” His voice came out cold, not angry, but disinterested. “If you want better protection from other guilds, earn your promotion. We have given you the means to do so. To. Better yourself. Yet here you stand, begging for handouts. Pathetic. Even after we took a chance to show you what a high-level job looked like.”

There was no chance to respond. His finger raised to the ceiling like a sword.

“You and your demon spawn should be thankful for the opportunity to explore somewhere new. Get out of my,” He paused quickly, as several of the others shot annoyed glances in his direction. “Our. Sight.”

Nobody on our walk through the upper-floor common room spoke to us. Most were too drunk to notice, though the sober ones showed open disdain. Unhelpful, as always.

A shimmering barrier rose to cover the bottom stair as soon as we finished our descent. Not even my empty boot could make it through, bouncing back into my hand. Pitch tried to fly through next, her growling curses louder as she smacked face-first into the magical obstruction.

They erected protections against their lesser’s? On orders from The Council themselves, or did one of their more enthusiastic lackeys summon it into being? No amount of searching uncovered any runes, which meant a live casting. With myself as the focus, seeing as neither my bound familiar nor an article of my clothing passed through.

That was powerful magic.

Magic that could keep The Guild Hall safe from say, a dragon. Elvish swearing still filled the hall as Pitch shook her fist at the barrier, not stopping even as she followed me down the stairs. Nothing we did would get us through the barrier.

The Council was now off-limits.

As the younger surveyors stood around watching Pitch, the elders pulled me to the side to discuss my meeting with The Council. None of them looked happy at my report of the barrier blocking my path. Curses rose, as two younger members went to try themselves. They returned moments later, heads hung low at their own failure.

Against anyone with a silver badge, then? Not that it mattered. We didn’t need to pass it today.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Multiple voices murmured, an annoyed undertone filling the circle. A cheer exploded from around us, drawing everyone’s attention. Pitch was doing an enthusiastic dance in midair. Someone started throwing paper balls up for her to spear, a game the rest join in with glee. She was good at it, shredded paper littering the ground.

The noise reminded me of how quiet my first two weeks here were. How dour everyone looked as we sat around waiting for our next job. A thought came to me then. It never needed to be like that.

Things were going to change.

Convon, the halfling that poured us drinks after we cured Zekkas, dug into a well-worn satchel. He pulled out a few scrolls, handing me detailed maps of The Grey Morass.

“Keep ‘em,” He said, my offer to sketch a copy going ignored. “And if you want my advice? Leave the bees alone. You’ll live longer.”

Another Surveyor handed me some unbreakable glass jars. She’d done this mission before and still carried extra containers. Her blush was bright at my exuberant thanks. It was quite a generous offer, a proper show of solidarity, and she saved me a lot of money.

The elder surveyor saluted me as we left the basement behind, the closing door filled with the buzz of conversation.

***

On entering The Grey Morass, we gave the Slime Queen’s cave a wide berth. No part of me desired to be consumed once more.

Sadness rose at the thought we wouldn’t see another slime in the wild. The worry died when Pitch pointed, the first to spot the small muddy ball rolling down the path. My delight at the sight grew as it absorbed the sticks and other debris that littered the ground.

My instinct was to hang back to observe, but Pitch didn’t follow suit. She flew to the orb, stabbing down and marveling at how clean her weapon was when she pulled it free. The slime didn’t react, focused on trundling down the path. A direct order from the Queen?

We continued to follow it from a distance, letting it make its way through the grime until the sound of buzzing filled the air.

At the noise, it suddenly changed track, moving towards a tree whose branches formed over a large multicolored flower. The creature stripped moss from the tree’s trunk as it passed, green blending into the brown orb instead of being absorbed into it.

Camouflage? Why would a slime hide?

We hid nearby as the buzzing grew louder, and Pitch shivered in my hands as the bee entered the area. A stinger, as long as my arm, protruded from the bottom of the mastiff-sized creature. Stubby wings poked from its back, flapping furiously, but in no way big enough to allow it to fly. But the same was true of Pitch.

With a thump, it landed on the flower, whose color drained, collecting into a viscous liquid that formed into small orbs of a multitude of colors that clamped onto the bee’s legs. As soon as the flower wilted into a gray, lifeless husk of its former self, the slime rolled off the branch.

Pitch clapped in excitement as the bee struggled to rise with the added weight of the slime. Colored orbs fell to the ground during the struggle, but the slime held the upper hand. Fur melted as the bee sank down, and bile rose in my throat as the slime sunk further and further into the body.

Gross.

Eventually, the bee stopped kicking, and with a squelching sound, the ooze rolled out of the now half-melted corpse. Slimes couldn’t make sounds, not that it mattered in this case. Pitch leapt about beside me, cheering enough for two as it rolled about, gathering orbs.

Once the orbs vanished inside, it trundled back up the path to return to the Slime Queen. Before the slime made it out of view, the flower absorbed the corpse, regaining a large amount of its color. Not fully alive again, but close.

My stiff legs protested as we continued down the path, unhappy to have been crouched for so long. Other half regenerated flowers littered the path, blooming in between the larger splotches of gray. Trees showed signs of the slimes as well, the thick moss cut through in winding lines.

What was going on? Nowhere in the map notes did it say this level of slime activity was normal. As we traveled near the hive, the buzzing increased as more giant bees swarmed the area. All ignored us, though Pitch hissed at any that got too close. Eventually, the path stopped, and we got our first look at the hive.

My breath caught in my throat.

Bees swarmed around the massive stump, the structure sprouting from the small island in the center of the putrid lake. Colorless flowers were everywhere, the plant husks squelching under my feet as we walked. A quick glance at the map showed me a single way to cross without the ability to fly.

My boots felt soaked already.

Pitch watched with undisguised glee, flying above me, as she watched my treacherous traversal on the first of several rocks that formed a path across the lake. Spaced apart, the path forced anyone who wished to leap across the slippery stones.

At least the water wasn’t cold.

None of the bees made any aggressive motions at my splash, though one or two flew closer to investigate. Upon seeing a human, and not a flower, they left. The distance to shore made swimming an easier option than trying to retake the stones. My clothes dripped water and weighed me down on the climb to the one entrance Pitch could spot that would be accessible from the ground.

Time to enter The Hive.

***

The bees inside differed from their outside brethren. The ones who collected the pollen appeared as giant regular bees. Those who roamed the halls wore armor that fit their rounded bodies.

Also, unlike the previous, these did not ignore us. Pitch screamed at them as my boots squelched with each step along the wooden corridors. A buzzing followed us, as we rushed through hexagonal doors, doing our best to follow the map’s instructions. Multiple storage rooms existed, but they were located deep within the hive.

Pitch tugged on my ear, a sign to turn, but something new blocked our path. These bees weren’t flying, instead, standing up on their back most legs, dressed in pristine capes with gleaming armor breastplates. The one in the lead pointed a spear in my direction, his wings spreading out as the buzzing grew louder.

Not this way.

The wet floor caused me to skid, as we continued down a different passageway. The map in my bag offered no help as we ran. Different bees popped out of nowhere to block our path. Dread filled me. Why did they want us going this way?

My foot caught on something, and Pitch jumped from my shoulder, then my face landed on something soft and made of wool.

Carpet?

My face smashed into the ground as something large and fuzzy landed on me. Even with the bee’s body pressing down on me, the sound was overwhelming.

My ears ached as thousands of feet scuffed on wood, undercut by the deep drone of bees in flight, mixed with the rattling of weapons and armor.

Light exploded, bright enough that even the body of my captor and my closed eyes weren’t enough to block it out. As it faded, the sound went with it, and once the ringing in my ears stopped, voices became audible.

“—and do let him up. I wish to speak with our guest,” The voice's accent was odd

A familiar buzzing accompanied the words, or the previous cacophony caused me permanent hearing damage.

Weight lifted, allowing me to lift my head to see the speaker. Regret at the action filled me. My movement drew her attention, a terrifying pressure accompanying her eyes. Shivers wracked my body, followed by a sense of deep weakness. Similar in feeling to recovering from a bad illness.

Her eyes promised subjugation and that she would stand for no disobedience.

My tongue was dry, and my hands shook as she rose from her ornate throne. Her yellow and black gown swished with every step, sounding ten times louder in the silence. She stopped in front of me, her broach drawing my attention. A simple jeweled bee.

It appeared to move. Was it a construct or my eyes playing tricks? Her scepter shone with a muted version of the previous light.

“Well,” she began before showing off a wide smile. “I don’t beelieve my eyes.”

My damaged ears weren’t the cause of the buzzing. It existed a gentle undertone to her words.

A tiny groan escaped my lips, which made her laugh.

“So you’re the one all my royal guards were buzzing about?” Her scepter pressed more firmly against my chin as her smile died. “Tell me. Why did they send you?”

With my dry throat, it took a minute to get the word out. “Honey.”

“A little forward, don’t you think?” She laughed again, and Pitch giggled from above us. Her laugh reminded me of a mother, as did her figure. Short and chubby, she could have passed for any baker’s wife.

Except for the obvious finery she wore.

All around us, the Bees buzzed in unison. “But why does she desire my honey? She already steals the work of my precious collectors. Killing my children to make her own. Why would she send you to steal what I have created?”

“Who?” My jaw snapped shut before the stupid question could make its way fully out.

From what we witnessed on the road here, she meant the Slime Queen. No question. The Slime Queen’s words came back to me. How she asked who it was that sent me to her cave. My addled brain assumed the client, but that made little sense with her follow-up.

Was this my fault?

“Your majesty. Please. I’m a surveyor, and the people in town tasked me—”

“—a mapmaker! We’ve had your kind in here before.” She cut me off, and her scepter twisted, before a metallic spike shot out of the top, digging into my throat. “They are an annoyance, especially during war. She hurt my collectors. My weakest children. Not that your kind would care anything about that.”

A memory containing a wall at the bottom of the stairs bubbled up. Another point to show that maybe these monsters weren't so different from us.

Her ranting continued as Pitch floated above me. She gestured with her pitchfork, pantomiming the act of stabbing the back of the Bee Queen’s head. My signal, no, was subtle, but she got the hint and backed off. That would end badly for everyone. We would respawn, true. However, the fact remained, that thousands of bee stings would be a nasty way to die.

We needed to stop her rant, which meant offering something she would want.

“I know of a secret entrance to her chamber!” She paused, the point of her scepter pulling away. “I could draw it for you if you would like.”

“Could you now? Hmm. A deal then. My Honey for the map. Do you find that abeeable?” All smiles once again.

We struck the deal with a shaking of hands.

***

Bee stood, surrounding us, as we watch the Queen give her speech. She spoke at length about pride, revenge, and the love of her people.

No one could mistake how much she cared for her subjects.

Her words made me think about how The Guild treated us. Pitch jabbed me, drawing my attention back to the speech. It wouldn’t do for my guards to see me daydreaming.

Almost as one, the floor above us shifted and, with Pitch quaking on my shoulder, we watched as thousands of bees flew up and out of the hive. Few stayed, including the Queen on her dais, and the royal guard who surrounded us.

The Queen looked exhausted, but her movements remained graceful as she moved over to our small group. With a motion of her scepter, the three jars that sat before me filled with the yellow liquid.

“Will that bee enough?” She asked.

“Thank you, your majesty. Yes,” The guards eyed me as the jars vanished into my bags, though they faced the Queen again as soon as my hands returned to my side.

“Good. Though you weren’t involved, she doesn’t need any advantages. So. Don’t come back,” Her scepter twisted, and pain flooded my neck.

Pitch laughed.

[https://i.imgur.com/7kRhblh.png]

ADDITIONAL NOTES

The Bee Queen is an odd, well, bee. Not a monster, but involved in their politics.

How she controls the bees, or how she rose to the throne, is unknown.

People think she was an adventurer. A druid class who charmed them long enough to take the role.

Others think the bees adopted her. No idea how that would work.

Her war with the Slime Queen is going to cause problems. If you’re in the arena, I wouldn’t wait to pick a side.

She has honey, an army of bees, and a nice dress. If that helps your choices.

Be careful in the Grey Morass. Keep an ear out for the buzz of war.