Soot and ashes crunched and kicked up as Adria and La’Var ran towards the light and the wails of the witless at the end of the tunnel. Grime spread up Adria’s legs like an infection, staining all her clothes, and dirtying her skin.

Smoke filled the air, and La’Var sniffled and began coughing. A moment later, a feeling engulfed Adria’s throat, how she imagined ghouls felt when bugs crawled down their rotting necks. She coughed, as her lungs began to burn, and she dropped her head. It helped little. Despite the pain from the smoke, they wouldn’t stop.

Blindly, Adria followed the hunter--him nudging her and grabbing her hand if she fell too far behind--until there was light all around them.

They left the dark and twisted tunnels for the chamber of mirrors, where flames scorched and waltzed. Alongside the fire, rubble and ash covered the ground. And half a dozen ghastly hands dragged the witless through the shattered mirrors.

When he saw the little green one, La’Var growled. The look of a warrior flashed in his eyes. From them seeped pure hatred at the spirits as well as love for his fellow goblin. He’d do anything to save his brethren. The hunter who liked to play around and not take things seriously was gone.

La’Var took a deep breath and leaped through the flames.

Adria stepped forth, but retreated, shaking her head. Her hands danced whilst spell words left her lips. The magic within was wavering and waves of exhaustion gnawed at her, but she’d manage to repeat the bell tower wizardry at least once, to put the hands of the spirits to sleep and save the kitchen goblin. Yet the second before she could finish, the ghosts dragged the witless out of sight. Apparently, out of the range of the spell as well -- nothing happened when Adria finally cast it..

Alone in the chamber of mirrors, Adria grumbled, cursing the spirits. The heat and the smoke were growing unbearable and sweat streamed down her skin.

Someone whispered behind her.

Someone laughed in the walls.

In the remaining mirrors of the chamber, the Liar’s black cloak and white mask appeared. Adria gasped and took a step back, towards the exit of the chamber of mirrors. When she dropped her gaze, her hands were shaking.

“Look at me and tell me, without cracking up, that it was good you didn’t pay attention to my lessons,” the Liar said in between bursts of hysterical cackling. “Now you can’t cast a simple sleep spell. Can’t save a witless. Can’t save your friend. And you dared to feel righteous rejecting my sorcery…”

Adria shook her head and clenched her arms into fists. She forced them to stop trembling.

You’re not real. You’re weak. You can’t teach sorcery properly so you kill prisoners, and you can’t do things on your own so you use sorcery!

She inhaled a breath full of soot and smoke, and jumped through the flames, into the catacombs.

The black pools sparkled from flames, which still blazed on the decaying stone platforms, bridges and on the sarcophaguses floating in the water. Along with the reeking of smoke, burnt flesh lingered in the air.

Towards the catacombs’ central statue of a cloaked man led an arched bridge. La’Var knelt on it. One hand held his hat. Another covered his eyes whilst he shook his head.

“What happened?”

“Those damn half-alives dragged the poor fool underwater.”

Adria tapped the hunter’s shoulder and scratched the back of her head for a moment.

“If we’re fast enough, this could be good,” she said. “They’ve probably taken it home. The source of our possession.”

“And what? It’s underwater! We aren’t renowned for our amazing swimming. Even if we were, we still have no clue how to get there!”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Remember you asked if there were any details about the spirits that would help us catch them? Well, it just came to me.” Adria paused while the hunter’s eyebrows curled. “They care about a glorious death and would rather see the end by their hand than by their enemy’s, and that sounds like…”

“Like they were knights in their lives.”

Adria grinned smugly.

“And that’s how we’ll lure them out -- I just have to remember the right words.”

She dug into the depths of her memory and brought back countless long nights of reading knight tales.

“I am an honorable man. You are a dishonorable man,” she uttered. “My king is fair and yours is wicked. My blade is the sharpest in the land and my moves are the most graceful, and I am prepared to prove it -- I challenge you to a duel… spirits!”

Water splashed as claws and swords ripped through the surface of the black pools. The books don’t lie. It works, Adria thought, then, grunting, she pulled La’Var to his feet. The hunter opened his mouth, but she didn’t let him speak -- she waved after herself and a moment later the water engulfed her.

The faint light of the scorching flames seeped into the black pools and showed her the hazy arms of the spirits, and from where they extended. While swords and claws sliced at her, she dodged and swam for the bottom. Where darkness engulfed everything. And something grumbled.

A stream picked her up and whipped her into a tunnel.

The last drops of air left her lungs whilst her heart pounded. Before she could start praying to make it in time, and for the Twenty Gods not to let her die now, she appeared at the pinnacle of a great waterfall. And she fell.

Countless waterfalls and little streams rained from the rocky top of an enormous cave, splashing on the weed-and-pebble-infested lake at its bottom. In the middle of the cave stood an island of rocks onto which Adria climbed, eyeing the wrecked amphitheater looming atop it.

Black soot flowed down from her skin, her clothes were torn from the fall, and her entire body ached and throbbed. Tears fell from her eyes.

I did not sign up for this, she thought, limping to her feet. I liked it better back in the dining hall, serving customers, cleaning up little messes. But I must do this. That witless doesn’t deserve to die from the hands of the spirits I brought here.

The six tall and slender ghosts, engulfed in a haze, awaited Adria, claws gripping rusted swords. They surrounded the witless who shook and shivered. She sighed in relief: she’d made it in time. The little green one was, more or less, fine.

The water behind Adria splashed and La’Var ascended out of the cold dark depths.

“I hate water, I hate water,” he muttered, stopping beside Adria. He followed her gaze and saw the spirits and silenced his complaints.

The hunter grabbed a Groundshaker horn tucked into his waist and cut the tip and crushed it with the handle of his sword. He sprinkled the dust on his sword and on Adria’s bone dagger. All of it happened so fast that Adria’s eyes could barely keep up. Before she knew it, the hunter had entered a fighting stance. Lagging behind, she followed his example

“You stand well, Hah’Dria. And your grip of the handle is beautiful.”

“Well, I have some experience with this--”

“Who are you to call us dishonorable!” one of the spirits roared.

“How dare you call our king crooked!” another added.

“Don’t like the truth?” Adria teased them. “Come on, then, prove me wrong!”

One of the spirits, slicing at the air, strode ahead, while the others remained a few steps back. They’d been knights, after all, and even though they disregarded the business of Saint Goblin’s Inn, when the time for battle came, they followed strict rules and principles; they would never attack all at once when Adria and La’Var were at such a disadvantage.

Alternatively, they were certain they’d win and wanted to play with their prey.

The spirit swung first.

Adria dodged left and countered with a stab at its underarm. The dagger grazed the side of the spirit’s chest. It stepped away, howling. Instead of collecting itself, the ghost screamed louder and twitched and swung randomly, stomping on the ground. Adria stepped back as the fellow hallows pointed their blades at it.

“It couldn’t be… Or could it?” La’Var muttered, backing away. “I might’ve made a mistake. In that case, we’re certainly dead.”

“What?!”

The screeching spirit fell to its knees and dropped its sword. The steel clanked and steam shot out of the ghost’s limbs. After a moment, like afflicted by an immensely powerful spell, the limbs began melting and the spirit morphed into a shapeless amoeba.

From a pocket, La’Var took out a saltshaker, which was full to the brim.

“What did you do?!” Adria snapped.

Life faded from La’Var’s eyes.

“Groundshaker horn dust with salt is a dinner of suffering for spirits.” He sighed. “Groundhshaker horn dust alone, on the other hand, fuels them, makes them savage. Imagine that spirit is a starving hound. Well, we just wrapped a steak around our throats.”