Mists clung to the feet of trees as the lights overhead began to grow brighter. Visibility was limited to a few dozen yards, but Rus led the way, silently, and unerringly through the undergrowth. Orin, on the other hand, made a huge racket as he tromped carelessly behind the hunter.
“Do you think you could keep it down?” Rus asked over his shoulder. “There are predators lurking in these woods.”
“Let them come,” Orin sniffed. “I could use some breakfast.”
The pair had spent the night in a large hollowed out tree. It was comfortable, but there was no prepared food, and cooking was out of the question with an army potentially on the hunt for them.
“We need to get our priorities in order,” Rus reminded the warrior. “We don’t want to arrive at the village when its dark.”
“I saw it from above,” Orin scoffed. “It’s a small village… and if those… orcs are the best this level has to offer, I can’t envisage anything in there being a problem.”
“The village is the most difficult area on this level,” Rus warned. “More difficult than many areas deeper in the dungeon. It has only been cleared once as far as I know.”
“Maybe those who have attempted it were weaklings,” Orin wanted to say, but the looks Rus had given him after his previous such barbs told him that he was being impolite, which gave him the distinct feeling that whoever he was before he lost his memories might not have been pleasant to be around.
“So it has been cleared?” he ventured instead.
“A band of delvers came through on their way to the castle,” Rus said. “However, they searched the manor and found no hint of treasure.”
“Treasure, as in gold and such trinkets?” Orin ventured. “I have no interest in such things.”
“Well, they said there were weapons inside,” Rus replied. “Normally, it would be easier to get such things on the surface, but we can’t get there, can we?”
Orin frowned. “Is better treasure normally protected by stronger foes?”
“No one knows why, but that is generally how dungeons work,” Rus said.
“I suppose that makes sense in a way,” the warrior grunted and looked around. “What is this dungeon’s purpose, anyway?”
“Wiser men than I have dedicated their lives to researching that very question,” Rus turned around and flashed the warrior a grin. “But we common folk think it’s quite simple. It’s a gambling den. Fame and fortune are up for grabs. The higher the risk, the higher the reward and the wager is our lives.”
“If you say so,” Orin said dubiously.
“And in the end, the house always wins,” Rus continued, as though he hadn’t heard Orin’s words. “I’ve seen it too many times. Delvers becoming emboldened after a few successes and pushing too far only to pay the ultimate price.”
The hunter turned to look Orin in the eye and grinned. “The only way to win is to constantly remind yourself of your limits.”
A moment of clarity struck Orin, causing him to frown. “For some reason, I believe the phrase is, ‘the only way to win is not to play’.”
Rus’ grin broadened. “Now you’re beginning to sound like my wife. You’re not related to her, are you?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Orin replied. “I’ve lost my memory, remember?”
“And your sense of humour, from the look of it,” Rus remarked without rancour. He looked up as they emerged onto a beaten dirt path and beamed. “Ah, look at that, we’ve arrived.”
The mists evaporated, and Orin couldn’t tell if it was a coincidence or if it was because they had stepped onto the path. Orin followed Rus’ gaze and was decidedly unimpressed with what he saw. There was the village, with its old and decayed buildings. The manor, however, looked to be in pristine condition atop a small hill in the heart of the village. Even its sprawling grounds appeared to be well tended. Then, he saw the skeletons. They were dressed in rags, and some carried decaying farm implements while one pushed a rotted wheelbarrow down the street. They looked very much like villagers going about their daily routines, except for the lack of flesh.
“What are they?” Orin asked.
“You’ve forgotten what a skeleton is?” Rus ventured.
“No, I haven’t,” the warrior snapped. “How are they walking around?”
Rus shrugged and looked around. “Magic, I suppose. This really isn’t anything out of the ordinary for this place.”
“Should we be standing out here in the open?” Orin asked as he readied his mace. “They will see us at any moment.”
“Are you scared?” Rus asked mockingly.
Orin resisted the urge to snap the scrawny man in half for his impertinence and shook his head. “I’m just curious. You seem the type who avoids a fight whenever possible.”
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“They won’t attack unless you enter the village,” Rus explained. “And they won’t pursue you if you leave the boundary.”
“Then the tactic is clear,” Orin remarked. “We destroy them piecemeal at the edge of the boundary and withdraw if we are in danger of being overwhelmed.”
“If only someone had thought of that before,” Rus chuckled. “Go on, give it a try.”
Orin gave the hunter a wary look. “Why, what’s going to happen?”
“Step across the boundary, where the forest ends, and crush one or two,” he said. “Go on, you’re capable of at least that much without getting hurt.”
Orin didn’t budge. “What are you trying to prove?”
“You’ve found an interesting time not to want to go barging in,” Rus remarked. “Just go, you ought to be fine. I’ll be right behind you.”
Cautiously, Orin walked down the path that ran through the heart of the village and up to the manor. When he was five paces from the edge of the clearing, the skeletons stopped what they were doing and turned their heads towards the pair. Though they had no eyes, Orin could feel them looking at him. It was an unsettling feeling, but not enough to deter him. The warrior puffed his chest out and strode forward across the threshold.
The skeletons opened their mouth and were somehow able to out a unified high pitched roar before charging towards the two men. Orin felt blood pumping through his veins at the impending battle. He stepped forward with his weapon raised when he felt a hand around his arm, pulling him back.
“Any further and you risk being overwhelmed,” Rus cautioned. “Let them come.”
The hunter stepped back out of the clearing as the first skeleton approached. Orin brought his mace down in a savage blow, crushing the skull of the closest skeleton. He saw it collapse into a pile of bones and turned his attention to the second. He crushed the ribcage of this one, and it too shattered. The warrior stepped to the side where the ground was clear and destroyed a third. While he was fighting a fourth, he saw the pieces of the first skeleton’s shattered skull float through the air to reassemble themselves. Soon, the bones rose into the air and reassembled themselves, and the skeleton joined the fray.
“That’s enough, get back here,” Rus cried.
Orin wasn’t listening. The warrior had lost himself in the heat of battle and struck skeletons down left and right with his fist and mace. Orin winced when a skeleton he had crushed under his foot reassembled itself and began attacking his greaves. He smashed it with his foot again and was caught off balance by the sheer weight of the skeleton’s numbers as more came from the far corners of the village to join the fray. Despite his best efforts, the warrior was pushed back first a pace, and then two, and then, they stopped attacking.
The warrior found that his breath was ragged. His limbs felt heavy and sweat streamed down his face, but seeing the skeletons staring at him, as though taunting him to step back into their realm, filled him with rage. He was about to wade forward when he felt something strike him in the back. The warrior whirled around to face this new foe and saw that it was Rus, who had fired an arrow into his back from thirty yards away.
“That’s enough, you ‘ll be at that all day,” the hunter cried as he prepared to bolt should the hulking warrior turn his rage on him. “Believe me, there have been groups that have tried. They will keep coming, and you will tire, and that is how they will win.”
Reason cut through rage, and the warrior let out a roar of frustration. He turned around and blinked in surprise at their sheer numbers. The skeletons watched impassively as he backed away, and when he was five paces away, they dispersed and went back about their business, whatever that was.
“If you strike one down, it will just keep coming back,” Rus said. “They appear to be immune to magic, and arrows are of no use against them at all.”
“There have to be hundreds of them,” Orin murmured.
“Around two hundred and twenty,” Rus said. “The number seems to fluctuate for reasons we don’t understand.”
Orin turned his gaze to the mansion at the top of the hill. It looked disproportionately large compared to the village. It consisted of a three storey central building that was flanked by a pair of two storey wings.
“I take it you have an idea of how to get inside?” he ventured.
Rus nodded. “We can sneak in if we note their routines and employ a little stealth. That ought to be the easy part. I have faith that you will be able to fight your way out if we get seen.”
“I take it this has been done before?” Orin asked.
“Yes, there was a gang of burglars that snuck into the manor successfully,” Rus said. “However, the creatures inside are far beyond the skeletons outside. Think of lifelong knights compared to peasant farmers.”
“What was their number, and do they regenerate?” Orin asked, licking his lips at the prospect of fighting a skilled warrior. He had found that scything down fodder only to have them regenerate to be an exercise in frustration.
“They and the group of delvers that stormed the place counted four in all, and yes, the ones inside regenerate as well,” Rus replied.
Orin nodded. “And does attracting their attention also alert the ones outside?”
“Indeed it does,” Rus smiled. “But for whatever reason, the skeletons outside don’t go inside.”
The warrior smirked. “This seems like quite the challenge. I’m surprised you are seeing this as a stepping stone to the demon.”
“You haven’t seen the demon,” Rus remarked.
“Has anyone ever bested one?” Orin ventured.
“In other dungeons, perhaps, but I can’t be sure,” Rus shrugged. “Like I said, this is the first time I’ve ever heard of one being in here.”
Orin smirked. “I’d quite like to see it, then.”
“Well, if we can’t survive this, we won’t be able to survive that,” Rus replied. “Some challenges are impossible without the right tools. It so happens that I believe we have the right tools to complete this little one here.”
“Oh?” Orin arched an eyebrow. “And what tools are those?”
The hunter’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “Why, my brains and your brawn, of course.”
Orin grunted. “Well then, brains, why don’t you think up a way for us to get inside unseen.”
“That’s why we’re here,” Rus replied. “We’re going to observe their routes and look for an opening. It’s a shame Undral Proudnose isn’t here with us, that cocky little shit.”
“Who is he?”
“A halfling who made getting into the manor unseen into an art,” Rus shrugged. “He’d do it just to prove he could.”
“What happened to him?”
“He got cocky,” Rus smirked and shook his head. “He’d try to make his forays to the manor as flamboyant as he could and one day… well, a skeleton deviated from its routine slightly and spotted him. He was swamped and killed in the blink of an eye.”
Orin nodded. “He was lulled into a false sense of security, and the dungeon changed the rules.”
“The house always wins,” Rus said. “Let’s get somewhere higher so we can see what they’re doing.”
“I’ll leave that to you,” Orin said. “I get the feeling that climbing trees is not my forte.”
“Fair enough,” Rus said. “Wouldn’t want you falling out and injuring yourself or worse…”
“Say, why didn’t you want to come here at night?” Orin asked.
“The ones outside grow stronger,” Rus replied. “I’ve seen them tear steel armour to shreds with their bare… well, their bare bones.”
“And the ones inside?” Orin ventured.
Rus shrugged. “No one has been foolish enough to attempt to find out.”