With few exceptions, Somasim was a simple man. He enjoyed simple foods - meat and potatoes, nothing fancy or fishy. He thought simple thoughts, like how much time he’d have to wait to get his meat and potatoes. He liked simple women, and for the life of him couldn’t figure out why they took offense to being complimented as such. Lastly, he liked simple work.

Being a soldier of Colme was ideal. There had never been need for military action in the area since he’d been alive, and the policing duties weren’t complicated. Furthermore, as he was neither threat nor resource to his superior officers’ political maneuvering, and as those in charge of physical training and martial drills were more preoccupied with matters that concerned their own advancement, he was left largely alone. Most of his shifts were spent lounging in a basement, following the simple orders of “stand here and don’t let anyone snoop around.”

So when his employer, the Consul, opened a wall and marched through, an act which would no doubt foster an air of fear and paranoia in the workplace, Somasim became worried. When his colleague was ordered to round up more soldiers and apprehend some miscreants, he became more worried still. But when the Consul asked him to be his bodyguard, relief washed over him. After all, standing between a man and danger seemed like simple work.

And perhaps it was simple, though he was becoming convinced he didn’t have the knack for it. Following the Consul was easy enough; determining what were and weren’t dangers wasn’t. Somasim was not a perceptive man, and made up for that deficiency by focusing very hard on everything he could - exhaustive work for a mind whose greatest concern was whether to bake or mash his next side dish. After meeting several people and being asked politely to cease “that creepy stare”, Somasim began to regret being picked for the job.

The Consul and his advisors were having a busy morning. Several meetings with the various upper classes of Colme were discussed, arranged, and carried out. Somasim had been sworn to secrecy, though such a measure was unnecessary; he was sooner to follow the flights of a dozen mosquitos in a whirlwind than the intricacies and nuances of elite speak.

He had noticed a pattern develop, however. Each time the subject would walk in, friendly, saying something about how they had heard rumors about the Consul, how they were glad they were just rumors, and my, didn’t he look young? The Consul would respond in varying ways, then immediately move on to business. As each meeting progressed, the subject would shift from the pleasant, easy-going demeanor that was reserved for those with a distinct lack of difficulties in life, to the somber, world-crushed look everyone else had to deal with. As each meeting ended, the subject would thank the Consul for his time, and stomp out.

Only once did Somasim notice any hostility towards the Consul. After one of the shorter meetings with a well-to-do procurer of magical reagents, the Consul received a once-over from his top advisor, Lady Herthall. “May I have a word, sir?” Herthall was not a young woman, though it was understood that she had a team of makeup specialists and possibly illusionists to hide that fact. She looked at Somasim and the other advisors. “In private?”

The Consul was examining some notes, and didn’t see the need to look away. “As you wish. Somasim, you are required to stay.”

Herthall looked as though she might say something, then thought better of it. The three of them waited as the office was vacated, leaving them alone in a large, though sparsely furnished room. “Why do you need those items now?” asked the lady advisor. “Don’t tell me you intend on using them.”

“I have no certain plans as of yet,” said the Consul. “I believe the phrase is, ‘Better to have it and not need it.’”

“This is a rare exception.” Herthall unclasped her hands from behind her back and leaned on the Consul’s desk. “You know the word: the Sovereign is on his deathbed. If the next Sovereign isn’t sympathetic to these… ideas, then any evidence of our involvement would be—“

“Nonsense.” Only the Consul could stop someone dead in their verbal tracks without the slightest rise in voice. “The odds are remote that a Sovereign would be picked who isn’t sympathetic to the philosophy behind these experiments. The Will is hardly so capricious as to defy intelligent examination and guidance.”

Herthall’s eyes widened and she slipped a glance toward Somasim, who stared back. Her arms tensed as she shifted a glare back to the Consul. Somasim thought of that as threatening, and leaned onto the balls of his feet as dissuasively as possible. Herthall didn’t seem to notice. “You should be more considerate of your company and your words, sir,” she said.

“Again, nonsense. My bodyguard has been sworn to secrecy, and besides which his eyes have been glazed over for hours. I daresay he’d have never thought twice of my remark without that telling outburst of yours.”

“Maybe.” Herthall looked again at Somasim and regained her composure. “But it was still a risk, just as this business with the beacon is a risk. To use it without explicit consent, out in the open for everyone to see, while its future is still in doubt….” She shook her head. “Any course of action whose consequences could realistically arrange themselves to be… disastrous to us should only be used in desperation. And where is the desperation? You’re merely preparing for contingencies. Remote contingencies.”

The Consul finally broke away from his notes, straightening his posture and lacing his fingers before shifting his eyes to Herthall. “You say ‘explicit consent.’ You mean to say that, should the people disagree or rebel against its use, you would prefer us to have seemingly had no choice in the matter. That is outrageous. Am I not the highest word in this city? Do I need to bow before others to do what is right for my charge? We are not cowards, nor are we subservient to anyone regarding Colme. And do you believe me to be so idiotic as to agree to the expense and eyesore of that tower with the possibility that its only function would be ‘to symbolize the steadfast passion and loyalty of our people through an ever burning flame for all to see’? No, I have considered all likely and unlikely possibilities and am convinced of the plan set in motion. If circumstances, immediate or otherwise, require the use of our burgeoning knowledge of the Ware—“ the word made Herthall’s eyes go wide again “—it would be more disastrous if its power were not readily available.”

“But we still aren’t sure what happened at Senable! How can you even think about using such a controversial and potentially dangerous—“

“I have weighed the risks, Ramasa,” said the Consul, stopping her before she could erupt. “Indeed, I look forward to using the knowledge we’ve worked so hard to accrue. The wealth of opportunities it affords us is substantial to the point of dizzying my anticipation laden mind. In fact… yes. Send word to our officers in the field to cancel our sweep of the woods. With all this talk of goblins, I daresay a test is imminent.”

“…What?” The word whispered out of Herthall. “You’re going to… You can’t… Why?”

“The Crysyx was recently used, yes? With a drastically reduced chance of outside help, if we allow the goblin problem to reach a flashpoint, our hand will be forced.” Then, lowering his head a fraction, the Consul musingly added, “And, ’If you have power, use it.’”

“Listen to yourself!” Herthall’s composure failed her. “You’d not only expose everything merely to slake anticipation, but also chance a violent incident? You’re moving up timetables! You’re allowing a threat to persist! Not to mention you’re crushing everyone with whom we’ve labored to build a profitable relationship!” Herthall was flailing wildly as she made her points, and Somasim decided to step between her and the Consul. It calmed her down. “You’re talking of acting without forethought—an egregious sin, you’ve always said. Sir, I haven’t mentioned your sudden youthful appearance, but what happened? What gave birth to this newfound impatience? You’ve changed in body, and seemingly in mind.Talk to me, Brame. If I started behaving as oddly as you’ve been, you’d be damn sure to get to the bottom of it. If something happened, something which might have compromised that magnificent mind of yours, you need to inform me! Are you even sure you’re still you?”

The Consul’s eyes narrowed in menacing focus. Both Herthall and Somasim involuntarily leaned back, lest they be frostbit by proximity to him. “What proof do any of us have? We lack the faculties to objectively view ourselves. Do I seem different? Each day, each moment carries the possibility of us changing. Adapting to external stimuli. No, nothing has happened that was so drastic—“ Collected up until then, the Consul spat and shouted the last word. He quickly reigned in the outburst. “…as to warrant a change worth mentioning. Nothing more than… an inconvenience.

“But you wish to know of my confidence in identity?” The Consul held up a fist. “This ring. This is my proof. It is assurance beyond certainty that I am exactly who I think I am. Nothing about me has changed so much as to confuse this heirloom.” A soft, pale glow swelled from the ring, both shadowing and illuminating the middle-aged man’s face. “I am Brame Holloway, Consul of Colme.”

Herthall stood mute. Somasim watched as she studied the Consul, taking slow, quiet breaths. The glow subsided and the Consul folded his hands into his lap.

“Is there anything else, Lady Herthall?”

She took a deep, solemn bow. “Nothing, sir. I shall pass your orders on to the military.”

“Excellent. Tell the others we will reconvene in an hour, just before the ribbon ceremony.”

Herthall turned to the door and quick stepped away.

“Simple woman,” said the Consul.

“Not from where I’m standing.” Somasim almost bit his lip. “Um, sorry, sir, I just—“

The Consul broke into laughter, its noise echoing off the bare walls. “That’s alright, Somasim. Now, do you recall anything from that conversation?”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Somasim made a guttural stammer. “Not much.”

“Good. Anything you do remember you’re ordered to forget.”

It was a simple order. Somasim liked simple.

*******

The room outside the bars was about twenty by forty, with an open hallway in the middle of the long wall. Our cell took up the left half of the wall opposite the hallway, presumably with another cell adjacent. Every surface was worked stone, though the floor was uneven. There were eight rats, each the size of a collie. Six were outside. Two had disappeared into an oversized mouse hole along the short wall to the left.

I held the bars of the cell door, focused on sound. Each rat’s claws would tap and scrape the stone as it moved, and using that I was able to estimate where they were. Visualizing the area helped.

“Are you ready?” I asked.

Alice’s hand gently positioned itself on my back. “You’re the one who can’t see. Are you ready?”

There was nothing we could do that would make me more prepared. Our plan was simple enough: she’d search for thieves’ tools or anything else we’d need, and if the rats were territorial, I’d distract while she grabbed whatever she could use as a weapon. I slowly opened the door. “How we looking?”

“All eyes on us,” she said.

I stepped through the darkness. “Let me know if there are any sudden moves.”

Her hand slid along my back, fingertips just barely lingering before breaking away. She whispered “Good luck,” then disappeared from all of my senses.

My heart kept thumping against my chest like it was trying to get my attention. I willed myself not to panic—after all, I had fought a team of goblins in the dark before. I mean, this time I didn’t have any armor, or weapons, or magic, but these were only rats. Giant rats that could see in the dark, of course, but that was nothing to worry about. By my level, they’d only be trivial opponents.

Trivial opponents whose teeth could gnaw through concrete and whose size would most likely put them in direct striking range of my crotch.

“Jack!” came a harsh whisper.

My hand moved so swiftly to protect myself that I almost doubled over in pain. “What?”

“They’re circling around you,” said Alice.

Of course they were. “Maybe try to find a weapon first, yeah?” Without the majority of her paladin abilities or a high strength, unarmed combat wasn’t going to cut it for her. She’d need a finesse weapon—one whose damage was based on quickness of strikes rather than the force behind the blow.

“I’m trying, but the only—look out!”

The skittering had died down, so I figured an attack was coming. I leapt straight into the air, legs tucked. Nothing touched me, so on the descent I brought my legs down with the force of the jump. My heel landed on what felt like rope—must’ve been a tail. A throaty, evil-sounding squeal filled the room. I pivoted, digging my heel further in and kicked swiftly at the noise, connecting with a heavy, squat mass of furry flesh. Leaping off the tail and leveraging the force into another kick, I sent the rat skidding along the floor and into the cell bars, judging by the metallic din.

I smirked, hoping that taught the others a lesson. It didn’t. Deep pain shot from my calf and thigh, their long front teeth piercing my flesh. I spun onto my knees and tried to grab the vermin, but they dislodged in a flash and went skittering away and around for another strike.

I heard the claws of another coming straight for me. I turned away from the sound and leaned back, feeling the rat just barely graze my chest as it leapt past me. I got my hands on it before it hit the ground, gripping it powerfully and smashing it twice onto the floor.

Two more sharp pains sprang into glorious existence in my back and ass. “Please tell me you’ve got a weapon and can help!” I cried, slamming my back to the ground. One rat managed to escape, but the other was caught under my bulk. I spun and grabbed it, beating it into the stonework.

“Almost! I just need to…” she trailed off. It sounded like she was rummaging through a bunch of sticks.

I stood up—I didn’t want to take much more damage, not when we’d only just begun the dungeon. My best bets were to either hang from the cell bars out of the rats’ reach, or try to lure them into the cell and hold the door shut from the other side.

But I’d been spinning around so much I’d lost my orientation. Think; I just heard Alice a ways behind me, and she was likely at the far end of the room, so the cell would have to be at my left. Made sense enough to me. I turned heel and stepped…

My foot hit the ground, I was sure of that. However, a split second after impact—just enough time to put my full weight on the leg—the floor simply collapsed. My leg shot down into the ground, in a hole just big enough to swallow it up past the thigh. It happened too fast. I wasn’t able to catch myself, and my head smacked straight into the floor.

Things went starry. For the record, they don’t really look like stars, more like odd bits of lens flare coming through stained glass, backed with amorphous shapes in pastels.

Things went back to black. My scream was less than manly as I called for Alice, shakily propping myself up. Gritting my teeth, I tried to pull free.

Big mistake.

A roaring, combusting maelstrom of agony devoured my overextended leg. I was firmly caught by this hole. Without a second of thought I knew what this trap was: a leg hold filled with spikes. The points were angled downward, allowing the leg to enter easily, but be shred on its way out. It was horrifically clever.

Frantic skittering reminded me that, painful as things were, I had more pressing issues. I couldn’t pull free—forget that it would make my leg completely unusable, I wouldn’t even be able to stand the pain without passing out. I was stuck where I was, almost three feet closer to ground and unable to even pivot. My back was completely exposed, including the base of my neck. “Alice!” I cried once more.

There was the sound of snapping a cracking. “Got it!” she exclaimed. “I got a—oh, God! I’m coming!” She just realized what shape I was in. Great.

I swung my arms around manically, hoping against hope it would frighten the rats somehow. It didn’t. Instead it just encouraged them to leap onto my back and gnaw away.

“Get off of him, or I’ll—“ screeched Alice, choosing to let her newfound weapon finish the thought. The rats fell off my back, one of them giving a squealing gurgle.

There was a skittering moving past me, and with a blind reaction I managed to snag another rat. It squirmed and tried to bite, but I had it by the neck in seconds and drove its head into the stone until it stopped moving. “How we doing?” I breathed.

I could hear the death knell of another rat. “That’s five dead on the floor, the others ran into the mouse hole.”

Air hissed through my gritted teeth. “Hey, speaking of holes…” I said, trying to talk before the adrenaline could wear off.

“Sorry, I didn’t see that hole at all when you asked for the layout.”

“That’s because it’s a trap. Rats probably didn’t weigh enough to set it off.”

“Are you stuck? Do you need me to pull you out?”

“Don’t pull!” I snapped. “I need you to take a look in the hole and see what we’re up against.”

“…Alright. Hold still.” I heard her kneel beside me. “…Oh,” she said. “Yeah, not going to just pull you out.” She slid something down the inside of the hole. “Wow…. These spikes are on springed hinges. Nasty.” I could feel one of the points being pushed down, only to gently slide back up into a groove of my flesh. “Let me see what I can do.” I felt a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

She walked away, footsteps gently but quickly crossing the room. I focused the pain away by listening for any more scurrying—five rats down meant three more hiding, possibly more. I could call if I heard another coming. I just had to listen. Listen. Listen…

A feeling crept up on me so subtly that I almost couldn’t notice it: I was getting tired. Not the usual physical exhaustion that comes with overworking, but the mental fatigue that makes it hard to string two thoughts together. My consciousness was draining away, undoubtedly into a pool of blood from my leg. The implications were scary enough to send a jolt of energy through me, but I knew that was incredibly temporary.

“Alice,” I said. “I… need you to talk to me.”

It was only half a second before she answered, but that was just long enough for me to consider that she’d abandoned me. “What’s wrong? You don’t sound good.”

“I’m not feeling… good.”

“Okay, hang on.” I could hear desperation in her voice. “How’s your leg?”

“Um…” It felt like I had to send an inquiry down there just to be sure. “The pain’s… still there, but not as bad.” The inquiry finished its findings and gave a full report. “Actually, it’s feeling kind of cold. But… I hit my head when I…”

“Your head?” She was scared. “Alright… alright. I think I remember hearing about how staying awake isn’t the real issue with a concussion, but I don’t know enough to bet…”

I recalled having heard that, too. I wondered if it was true.

-It is. Actually staying awake is less important in assessing the condition of the afflicted than determining if the afflicted can, in fact, respond to various stimuli, such as voices, pain-

I discovered then and there that agony mixed with annoyance makes the best groans. “You’re right… but I should try to stay awake, at least until… we’ve freed my leg. The head might be a… concussion. My leg… cold would mean blood loss, but I don’t… feel cold in the rest of my body. Maybe the spikes are poisoned. Maybe… the rats have some… disease.”

“How’d you learn so much about medicine?” she asked, finally making her way back to me.

Some of it wasn’t by choice. “Oh, it’s just because… I’ve run a lot of D&D. It’s good to know a… little about a lot of things.”

“Yeah? How long have you been, uh, running D&D?” She started to insert something into the hole.

“Long time.”

The object was wide and flat. With minimal added trauma, it managed to push the spikes along one section of the trap out of my leg. She left it there, a barrier between the spikes and me, and started putting in another one. “That’s good. You… need friends to play it, right? Tell me about your friends, Jack.”

“My friends… The one’s I play with are Kevin, Topher and… Gabe. Kevin and Topher are stuck here with me.” A thought occurred—slowly, as my mind was at quarter speed: If Gabe had played with us that night, would he be here too? I’d have to table that for later. If I remembered it. “Kevin’s an elf, Topher’s a half-orc. You might need… to find them. Kevin’s got red hair. Topher’s… kind of an asshole. And there’s Jenn.”

“Okay… Okay. Jack, I need you to listen to me: I’m going to move your leg up against this side of the hole,” she tapped my leg on the corresponding side. “I’ll need your help to shift it. Can you do that?”

“I think so.”

We counted to three. There was a bit of resistance when we moved the leg, and I gave an indignant yelp to let her know.

“You okay?”

The pain brought me back into alertness. “Yeah… Just a few of the spikes had to rip through to move the leg. Ugh, do you think I’ll ever be able to tap dance again?”

“Could you tap dance before?” I was pretty sure she was smiling.

“I could, thank you very much.” The pain was subsiding, and with it my energy. “I could… shuffle step with the best of them.”

“Hey, stay with me.” She was setting up another barrier. “Um, shuffle steps are easy. Do you remember what a Broadway is?”

She sounded like she was getting farther away. “…Yeah, it’s…” I almost moved my foot to start the recitation. “Uh… Fl-lap heel heel back heel toe heel.”

“Good! I wasn’t sure you were being serious. I took a little tap. Got a favorite move?”

“…Haven’t really done it in a while, but… when I’m bored I’ll do drawbacks. Used to see how fast I could do them. I did…” I had to remember what the exact number was, “…five count riff steps if I was walking with a slow group.”

“When’d you learn? Were you young?”

“…Back in high school. Thought I’d… be unique. A giant tap dancer. Then someone told me about Tommy Tune. That idea went out the window.”

“How’d you manage to get into tap without knowing who Tommy Tune is?”

“I was… I grew up more with Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire.”

“I love Gene Kelly. He did ballet, too. How’s your leg?”

It took a second. “Uh, I think you got all the spikes.”

“Good. Let’s try getting you out.”

My mind was shot, but my muscles still had a smidgeon of energy. With her under my arm, we lifted my leg straight out of the hole.

“That’s it! Now, I’ll take a look at—Jack? Jack!”

Everything was so dark. She was so far away. I was so tired.

It was time to sleep.