Slowly, the nude warrior straightened himself and faced the archer without any regard for his modesty. Their eyes locked, and the warrior gave the newcomer a challenging look, as though daring him to fire. They were standing roughly twenty paces apart, and the warrior decided that he would sacrifice an arm to block the first arrow should the archer fire and reduce his head to a bloody pulp before he could ready another.
“Who are you?” the archer demanded.
“I don’t know,” The warrior replied. He saw the archer’s hands quiver from the exertion of keeping the bow taut, and the warrior readied himself to charge if the archer released a stray shot. “My first memory is of falling into the water up there.”
The archer followed the warrior’s finger as he pointed at the bearded face on the cliff. It was a novice’s error that the warrior wasn’t going to let pass by. The warrior darted forward. The archer saw the movement in the corner of his eye and loosed his shot but in his arm’s fatigued state, it flew astray.
Before he could nock another arrow, the warrior had closed the distance between them. He was about to snap the archer’s bow in two and cave his face in with his fists when common sense prevailed. This was the first being he could communicate with since he had become aware. Even if this slip of a man might now know who he was, he could at least tell him something about where he was.
The warrior snatched the archer’s bow out of his hands and glowered at the lanky man. “I could have snapped your neck if I had the mind.”
The archer showed no fear as he stared back. At length, he removed his hand from the dagger he kept sheathed at the small of his back before conceding. “I suppose you could have.”
Slowly, the warrior released his hold on the bow, and the archer slung it across his back. “My name is Rus.”
The warrior nodded. “I am afraid I do not know my name.”
Rus frowned and looked down at the warrior’s armour. “I see the word Orin etched onto your cuirass.”
The warrior shrugged. “It stirs no memories in me, but you may call me that.”
Rus nodded. “Glad to meet another delver on this level.”
Orin arched an eyebrow. “Level?”
Rus nodded. “Yes, level. We are in a dungeon, or had you forgotten that as well…”
The archer paused to look at the sky. “It’s getting dark, we need to move.”
“Why?”
“This is orc territory,” Rus replied and pointed at the chapel. “They sleep in there during the day and come out after dark.”
Orin glanced at the ruins of the chapel and grunted. “Then you can rest easy. I have already laid waste to that nest.”
Rus’ eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You did that, alone?”
Orin nodded and looked at the archer. He was thin and fearful. Accurate with his bow, but probably unaccustomed to fighting. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you had trouble with them.”
A hurt look crossed the middle-aged man’s face. “I’m a hunter, not a fighter. I just came here in search of meat.”
“Do you live nearby?” Orin asked.
“No, I live on the surface,” the hunter replied absently. He glanced at the warrior before looking away quickly. “Say, uh, would you mind putting some clothes on?”
The warrior returned to the lake, but all he could find was his undergarments. “The current must have swept the rest away.”
His stomach growled as he walked onto the shore and the archer gave him a wan smile. “I suppose you did help me kill this basilisk, so half the meat is yours.”
Orin looked at the dead creature and frowned. “I’m afraid I do not know how to prepare such a thing.”
“Then you can leave that to me,” Rus said happily as he drew his dagger and used it to carve the basilisk up. “Truth be told, I’m happy to run into a powerful warrior such as yourself.”
“Why?” Orin asked suspiciously.
“See this level is a sanctuary of sorts,” the hunter explained as he peeled a section of the creature’s skin back to expose its pale red flesh. “The magi think it’s supposed to be a rest area for delvers to rest and recover before challenging the more difficult levels ahead.”
The explanation only served to deepen the warrior’s confusion. “Delvers?”
“Explorers from the surface, they come down here in search of treasure and artefacts,” the hunter replied as he expertly carved a loin out of the basilisk and set it on the grass. “The deeper you go, the better the rewards, or so they say.”
“And you wish for me to help you delve deeper into the dungeon?” Orin ventured.
The hunter shook his head. “Quite the opposite. I was due to return to the surface two days ago but found that the gateway out of this level was blocked by a demon.”
“A demon?”
“Something with strength that cannot be described,” Rus said. “I saw it cut armoured men in two with a single strike.”
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
“That doesn’t sound so impressive,” Orin snorted.
“Perhaps you could defeat it,” Rus said, observing Orin carefully. “I couldn’t hope to take something like that on by myself, so I am trapped down here.”
“I take it this demon isn’t usually found here,” Orin ventured.
Rus shook his head. “No, I have not heard of any occurring in this dungeon at all, as a matter of fact. Regardless, a creature that powerful has no business being up here.”
The hunter frowned and turned around to look at the face on the cliff. “You say your first memory was being in that cave?”
Orin nodded.
“Perhaps you came from the castle,” Rus remarked. “You certainly seem strong enough to have made it that far if you can wrestle a basilisk bare handed.”
Orin followed the hunter’s gaze and muttered. “Then perhaps there are clues to my identity there.”
“I’d advise against it, my friend,” the hunter warned. “They say the castle is the centre of the dungeon. None who have ventured there returned to tell the tale. To go alone would be suicide.”
Orin snorted derisively. “That remains to be seen.”
“Now, a fire,” the hunter said before looking around. “Help me gather branches, will you?”
As they collected fallen branches from the ground nearby, Rus gave the warrior a sideways look. “Do you have an idea of what you’re going to do next?”
Orin shrugged. “It appears as though I’m headed to the castle.”
Rus nodded. “I know of a way. I’d be willing to tell you if…”
“I deal with the demon,” Orin observed dryly. “That seems a fair trade.”
Rus smirked. “You’ve not seen the demon then, my friend.”
“Perhaps,” Orin allowed.
“However, I’d wager even you would find it difficult to defeat a demon with that little mace of yours,” Rus remarked.
Orin frowned. “I saw a village nearby… Perhaps they might know something.”
“You won’t find the living there,” Rus said. “That place belongs to the dead.”
“What do you mean?” Orin demanded.
“You’ll understand when you see it,” Rus replied and paused thoughtfully. “Yes, I suppose I should take you there. If nothing else, the place might yield a proper weapon for you. One suitable for taking on a demon.”
Orin nodded thoughtfully. Though the deal sounded fair, it seemed like a whole lot of trouble. His first instinct was to beat the information on the route to the castle out of this scrawny man but thought better of it. He still had use for this man. He was cooking for him, for one, and he could well yield more information on this dungeon he was in. Besides it was barbaric to resort to violence at every turn. Wasn’t it?
Soon, Rus decided they had gathered enough wood and started a fire. Orin watched, fascinated as the hunter fashioned a makeshift spit out of the remaining branches to roast the basilisk meat. As he waited for it to cook, Orin looked up at the cavern’s roof. It had been illuminated by multiple points of light that had dwindled until they looked like pinpricks against the inky blackness.
“There’s something nostalgic about this sight,” he muttered, half to himself.
“It’s like stars in a night sky, isn’t it?” Rus agreed.
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” Orin remarked. “What sort of place is this… dungeon?”
The hunter gave him a sideways look and shrugged. “People more learned than I say it’s an alternate dimension that has its own rules… Indeed, there are creatures here that simply don’t exist outside.”
“Is that why you came in to hunt them?” Orin ventured.
Rus nodded. “Basilisk scales, cockatrice’s feathers, dragon fangs and the like all fetch handsome prices outside.”
“You say you’ve been in here for days,” Orin observed. “I assume you have a camp somewhere?”
“I do,” Rus said. “But I mean no offence when I say I don’t trust you enough to take you there.”
“That’s fair,” Orin offered without knowing if it was.
Something stirred in the bushes, and Rus looked around warily. “Are you sure you took care of all the orcs?”
Orin shrugged. “If I didn’t… well, I don’t think they pose much of a threat.”
“To you, maybe,” Rus sniffed. “And I don’t care how doughty a fighter you are. If one catches you in your sleep, it’ll slit your throat just as easily as a newborn babe’s.”
Orin grunted. “Perhaps you have a point. We should take turns to keep watch.”
A smile spread across Rus’ face. “You know, it’s good to have finally found a companion. It gets tiring sleeping with one eye open.”
“Are there no other… delvers down here?” Orin ventured.
The hunter shook his head. “It’s the strangest thing. Normally, this level is a waystation of sorts, and you’d bump into groups going in each direction every so often, but they all seemed to have disappeared over the last week or so.”
He turned his gaze to the cliff and the unseen castle before adding. “This dungeon is changing. When I get back to the surface, I don’t think I will ever return.”
“You are running with your tail between your legs,” the warrior observed.
The hunter chuckled. “I suppose I am.”
He checked the meat and his face brightened. “Ah, dinner is ready.”
“Will we leave after we’ve eaten?” Orin ventured as he accepted a chunk of meat from Rus.
“Might I suggest we rest for the night and set out in the morning?” Rus said before taking a large bite of basilisk meat.
“I’m not tired,” Orin remarked before doing the same. The meat was bland, but he was hungry and wolfed it down quickly.
“You may not be,” Rus said, observing the warrior eat with morbid fascination. “But I am. Besides, it’s not safe to travel these woods at night.”
“For you, perhaps,” Orin snorted before giving the basilisk’s carcass a hungry look.
“Well, you might be able to hold your own in there, but I know I can’t,” Rus remarked. “I’ll make you a deal. If you wait until morning before setting out, I’ll cook you some more meat.”
“Fine,” Orin conceded at length.
The hunter grinned as he set his unfinished food aside to carve a larger slab of meat off the carcass. When he returned, his smile vanished. Orin turned around and saw hundreds of tiny lights in the distance, making their way down the cliff face in a serpentine manner.
“I’m afraid supper will have to be cut short,” Rus said.
Orin frowned as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. From this distance, it looked like fairy lights dancing down the cliff. “What is that?”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was an army,” Rus remarked. “Only, there shouldn’t be a path up that cliff.”
“Perhaps you don’t know this place as well as you thought,” Orin scoffed.
Rus kicked dirt onto the fire, and when it was smothered, he shrugged. “Maybe I don’t. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of an army marching up from the deeper levels. At any rate, chances are they saw our fire and are heading this way.”
“Maybe they will have weapons,” Orin suggested as he began putting his armour on. “That will save us a trip to the village.”
“It looks like there are hundreds of them,” Rus pointed out. “And they’re coming from deeper in the dungeon. You would be a fool to challenge them alone.”
Orin gave the lights a wistful look as he strapped his armour over his bare skin and thought his options over. His first instinct had been to throw himself into the thick of battle, but the prospect of turning into a rage fuelled berserker again turned his stomach. There was also truth to Rus’ words, as cowardly as he found them. It would be foolish to face an army of hundreds with little more than a glorified club.
“Then we make for the village at dawn,” he said.
“Yes, that would be for the best,” Rus let out a relieved sigh. “You say you don’t remember much, but you wear that armour like an expert.”
Orin looked down and blinked. He had donned his cuirass and his vambraces with little conscious thought. “I must have done it a lot. Can you infer anything from that?”
“That you’re not a lord, I suppose,” Rus shrugged. “As far as I know, they have squires to do that sort of thing for them.”
“What now?” Orin asked after he had donned the last of his armour.
“Follow me,” the hunter said. “I know a safe place we can rest for the night.”