The basement of the sorcerer’s tower isn’t as dank and dreary as Lord Cathal’s. The floor is stone, the walls are stone, and there isn’t much here beyond the five iron cages ringing the room. Yet without the harsh shadows and sputtering candle and the stink of stale piss, it doesn’t exactly evoke that same feeling of despair and doom.

Of course, there’s still a little despair. No one likes being locked in a cage.

But it isn’t that tired, dreary kind of misery. There’s a sizzle to it. An anxious buzz. It could just be me, in my desperate desire to get out of here, though I think it’s more than that.

There’s magic in the air. Not fairy magic. Not Lord Cathal’s tainted magic either. This feels mystical and old, like a dormant volcano or a slumbering dragon. Violet jagged streaks criss-cross over the ceiling, like forks of lightning, illuminating the room. Arcane locks shimmer over the iron bars. The tower is alive.

Plus there’s a dude in a robe sitting in the cage next to ours that screams wizard.

And then, to add to that, are the contents of the cage to our left. They’re another sort of beast. A foursome of Japanese boys huddled in a nervous cluster. Late high-school, early college-age I think.

The third party.

My pulse rises at the sight of them, but they don’t seem intent on murdering us yet. They look a little - how should I say this - geeky. Like they got hijacked from a webcafe or a manga shop. Three of ‘em gawky, the other overweight, all with bad haircuts and dressed in a mix of oversized sweatshirts and obscure anime tees, donning a few pieces of medieval gear and weaponry. By the looks of it, all but one decided to go with magic.

It’s kind of cute, in a way. An afterschool club gone a-LARPing. I’d very much prefer if I didn’t have to kill them.

Oh god, we’re going to have to kill them, aren’t we?

Okay. This is fine. Deep, steady breath. The light’s at the end of the tunnel. The finish line is just ahead. Final sprint. Conquer the tower’s gauntlet and we’re golden. The dungeon’s just a set-back. The other party, we can handle. This is just a dumb scripted event or something. That’s all.

Deeeeeep, steady breath.

“Everyone alright?” I ask.

Ron pats his backside. “Bonked my rear. Hey button, where are you? Button?”

Luci is frozen, eyes locked on the party beside us.

I touch her arm. “Hey, Luce?”

“I can’t do this again,” she whispers.

“It’s an arcane lock. They can’t attack us. We’re safe in here.”

Elias climbs to his feet and, with the butt of his axe, tests that theory. Luci winces as the metal clangs. Prismatic light ripples across the bars.

On the other side, the wizard man chortles. “No, no, friend. Ye won’t escape like that.”

The stranger is perched cross-legged, one bare leg hiked up in a rather revealing position, looking mightily relaxed and tremendously disheveled. His maroon velvet robe, once probably a defining feature of his station, is stained and tattered. A scraggly blonde beard hangs in threads over his chest. His legs and arms are thin, almost gaunt. There’s no doubt he’s been here a long, long time.

💀 Sorcerer Laserian - Herbalist, Sorcerer, Necromancer (Level 20)

Holy shit, it’s him. This is the man we’ve been hunting. This guy. Balls out and everything. We could kill him right here, and it’d be over.

Alright, don’t hyperventilate. We can’t kill him like this. We’re in a cage. He’s in a cage. We’ll talk this out, see what’s up, decide as a party.

Final stretch. Just need to keep calm.

“You’re him,” I say.

“His level is lower than Lord Cathal’s,” comments Elias.

“Yeah, don’t think we were meant to fuck with Lord Cathal.”

Ron gapes. “Where does he piss?”

The man scooches closer. It’s possible that he was rather dashing once upon a time. A square chin, chiseled jaw, bright blue eyes, and fine blonde hair.

“That I am, if you’re referrin’ to me, of course.” His voice is light-hearted and hoarse, his accent thick. “I’m afraid I don’t know who this Cathal fella is. And as to your third, into the very well thought-out trench along the wall. The shite, unfortunately, ye have to rather prod along with your finger there, but I have a spell to clean ye right up, I do, should ye have the need.”

“You can’t do magic in here,” I say. “The arcane locks block it.”

“Oh, there’s no lock on my cage. I have a key.”

“...You what.”

He sheepishly rubs his head. “Oh yes. It takes a magical key or simply an opening spell to undo it, both of which I have. I can release ye at any time. Only I can’t. Or I won’t. Not yet.”

Deeeep, steady breath.

Elias strides across the cell and looms over Laserian. “Explain yourself.”

Not helping.

“My pleasure!” The sorcerer clears his throat. “It began many years ago, when I was a simple herbalist-”

“Shorter explanation,” I interrupt.

“I’ll do my best!” he says with an affable chuckle. Then, in one breath, he continues: “I was an herbalist, dabbled in a wee bit in magic, enshrouded the isle to fend off the mainlanders, the mist rather took on a life of its own, it accidentally killed a woman dear to me, so I turned to the House of Donn, stole the magic of death, and now my love has turned into a, er…”

“A zombie?” I finish.

“I’m unfamiliar with that word.”

“It’s essentially an animated body without a soul.”

“Oh!” he gasps. “No, dear me. No. ‘Tis the other way ‘round.”

“A soul without a body.”

“That’s the one.”

“That’s a hundred times worse.”

“So you see the start of my predicament. She occupies the livin’ space upstairs, ironically. Somewhere in the lab or the scriptorium or the observatory, she is. She and whatever creatures she’s resurrected in these last years. I admit, I haven’t been up there in quite some time!”

“She locked you down here?” I ask.

His face scrunches as he hangs his head. “No. I’m embarrassed to say that I locked myself down here.”

“Release us,” Elias responds. “We’ll clear the tower in exchange.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Luci pulls on the hem of his doublet, her voice low. “Tío, we’re supposed to kill him.”

“According to the objectives, we’re meant to deal with him. Under the circumstances, I believe this is what we’re meant to do. At least, in part.”

"What about the fog? That was kinda Laserian's whole deal."

"Then he'll dispel the fog as well." Elias crouches and looks the sorcerer in the eye. “Does that work?”

“Ah. Yes,” Laserian answers. “And also no. The fog is a living spell. Certainly, it will be weakened with the death of the Sluagh. There are a few caveats, however, when it comes to... well... reaching her. In my seclusion, I perhaps became slightly carried away with my security measures. The second and third floors of my tower are made to waylay any trespassers. And if not, at least assess their competence so I can decide whether to make an escape. The enchantments have grown rather fuzzy over the years, so I doubt by now that even I know how to circumvent them.”

“We’ll manage.”

“Well, perhaps you will. However, I’d be a fool to let you go it alone. Even if ye reach the top, the Sluagh is a tricky one. Guaranteed, the four of ye just won’t cut it.”

His gaze darts to the Japanese boys behind us.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I say. “You can’t send us with them.”

“But I must.”

“But you can’t. You don’t understand. We’re in a, um...” The hell do I explain this to an NPC. “A competition.”

“May the best team win!” the sorcerer chuckles.

“No, damn it.”

One of the Japanese boys taps the bars. “Sorry, excuse me.”

I spin around. “What?”

It’s one of the thinner ones. He’s a meek, diminutive little thing. His pants are too long, his hair too clipped. Beneath a plaid button down, his black t-shirt depicts an anime woman with a wide mouth and absurdly blushed cheeks, like she’s starring in a not so family-friendly film.

He bows his head. “Miss. We have already completed our quest for the visa extension.”

“What? When?”

“We had the good fortune of spawning near a cursed battlefield. It was our quest to cleanse it. So you see, we have already obtained our extension. A former friend of the sorcerer then offered us another quest to come here. It was our intention to fulfill both extensions. But if you have not completed one, it would be wrong to take that from you.”

“...Bullshit.”

Luci clenches her arms as her shoulders tremble. “They’re lying.”

Elias twists his axe. “We can’t trust them.”

The boy shakes his head. “We would not lie. I swear it. We are glad to have your company. Together, we have a better chance to reach the highest of levels and return to the city even stronger.”

“Please. My name is Shota. I am a Level 15 Drum of Raijin, a sorcerer of storm. My friend here is Hayato, a Level 13 Hikeshi. He can control fire. Kenji is a Level 13 Tesla Coil, a lightning mage. And Eita is a Level 14 Knight Templar. He carries a rare sword from a banshee.” Again, he bows his head. “Please. I beg you to trust us.”

My attention strays to the leather satchel hanging from Elias’ shoulder. He still has the amulet in there, right? If worse comes to worse…

Ron bounds upright, and the Japanese kids gape at the size of him. “I think they’re cool, man.”

I cross my arms. “Ron, that’s only because you like Naruto.”

“Little dude wouldn’t lead me astray,” he replies, pounding his chest in salute.

“Christ.” I sigh as I turn back to Laserian. “We really don’t have a choice, do we?”

“I’m afraid I must hedge my bets. Don’t worry. Ye won’t have to wait long for the others.” He taps his temple. “I can see it.”

My stomach drops. “What others.”

“Another company of adventurers approaches. With the lot of ye, victory will be assured.”

Shit. Shit. Okay, deep breath. Hold it together, Helen.

“No,” Luci whispers. Then, more firmly, “No. No, you need to let us out. Now.” Beneath her hardened tone, her voice quivers. She pushes Elias out of the way and stares down at the sorcerer. “Listen to us. We can do this. We’ve killed wolves and otters and fairies. Those guys killed a banshee and, like, who knows what else. We can take back your tower. I promise.”

For a moment, I almost think she’ll sway him, given her charm. The sorcerer nods along with her, appearing sympathetic. Then he knots his beard around his fingers and says, “I can’t, lass. I’m sure there’s a few worthy fighters between ye, but if you’re not enough to fight the Sluagh, then you’ll only be added to her numbers, and then I’ll have to wait for another army to storm this tower. And the very trace amounts of soothsaying I possess tell me that I will be long dead before then. This is the best chance I’ve had in decades.”

“But you don’t get it,” argues Luci. “The people you’re waiting for are just gonna try to kill us. They’re bad. They’re evil.”

“Hell, they’ll try to kill you too,” I add.

Laserian squints up at us. “Oh, don’t ye worry ‘bout me. But I can see you’re in a panic. There’s an enchantment that triggers upon your departure from these cages that will split your numbers into groups, so you’ll be divided ‘til ye reach the top. But the Sluagh, you’ll have to pursue together.”

“That’s not better!” Luci cries incredulously. She clenches her fists, her chest rising and falling with each rapid breath. “Please. Please. You don’t get it. They’re going to try to kill us. I can’t fight them again. They’ll hurt us. I know it. Don’t make us fight them again.”

She swallows, tears welling in her eyes.

Laserian clicks his tongue and gives a belittling handwave. “Don’t work yourself into a tizzy, now. I see there’s a history between ye, but that’s a history you’ll have to resolve. These things always have a way of workin’ themselves out.”

Luci boils, her nails digging into her palms.

Then, with a bang, her fist slams against the cage. “Fuck you! I hope you die!”

“Luciana!” Elias shouts.

She stands, glaring at the sorcerer for another moment. Then, drawing a stuttered breath, she shivers and shrinks against the wall.

Elias looks at me. I blink at him. Not sure what he thinks I’m supposed to do.

Eventually, Elias takes a seat, if only to glower at the sorcerer from eye-level. In a group, we sit in silence, our nerves rumbling like engines at the starting line. Luci alternates between biting her nails, stroking the frog in her satchel in various attempts to calm herself, and curling her lip as she watches the empty enclosure in the middle of the room. Ron, hopelessly befuddled, keeps staring at random people and then quickly averting his gaze the moment they look back.

I work on my breathing. If I don’t, then I’m going to start thinking about Dave and Melinda and whoever the third guy is. I’m going to replay the image of their hapless necromancer splitting down the middle and popping like a water balloon. I might even start contemplating what the upper floors of the tower encompass or what a Sluagh is or how many undead we’ll have to fight or whether those Japanese kids are lying or how we’re ever supposed to be okay once we get back to Pharos, if we get back to Pharos, and…

Yeah. Just going to go ahead and keep trying to breathe.

Time passes. Then, thumping. Footsteps above us. Shuffling. Wood creaking.

They’re here.

I stare at the ceiling, waiting. After a painfully long time, I’m almost praying for that damn circle to open. Might as well get on with the inevitable.

And then, finally, it does. Sunlight filters in as the ceiling breaks, and three murderous pricks drop from the heavens and into hell with the rest of us. Their cage slams into the wall. Dave, the asshole archer, gets his bearings first.

Damn, he’s fast.

The same second that he notices us, he nocks an arrow, and sets it loose through the bars. Only, of course, it just slams into an invisible shield and clatters to the floor.

Melinda launches a fireball for good measure, but it sputters against the shield as well.

After realizing that they’re stuck, the archer simply looks at us and cackles.

“How in sweet mercy hells are you still alive?”

“Oh, give it up,” Melinda responds.

“How in sweet mercy hells have you guys not figured out arcane locks yet?” I snipe back.

He snorts. “I don’t see you idiots breaking out.”

“We’re not the ones who got trapped twice.”

For the first time, the sorcerer stands. “Enough!”

I think it was meant to be booming and intimidating. But the man is neither Morgan Freeman nor Gandalf, and it’s all rather undercut by a juvenile crack in his voice.

The archer snickers. “What? I mean… what?! That’s the guy?”

“That’s the guy,” I answer.

“Well, you’ve got the power of a wet fart, don’t you? Come on. Tell us the grift.”

Taken aback, the sorcerer tugs on his beard for a moment as he resets. Then, he breathes deeply, and begins, “You see, it was many years-”

“For the love of god, don’t tell me we have to listen to this. Cut to it, old man.”

Laserian’s lip twitches. “Have it your way. In three groups, you will clear the tower. In one, you will conquer it. Whoever deals the final blow to the Sluagh earns my favor. Fair luck to you.”

There’s no weaving of the arms or chanting of phrases or any kind of magical airs you’d attach to the undoing of an arcane spell. The hum in the air just dims. The iron bars become dull.

And just like that, we’re free.

Dammit. I whip the daggers from their sheathes and-

What happened? This isn’t the dungeon. I’m not in the basement. This is another room entirely. I guess he did mention an enchantment…

Okay, deep breath.

“Luci.”

I snap my head to the left.

There’s no Luci. No Elias. No Ron.

A metal staff clangs to the floor, dropped in shock by one of the Japanese boys. Kenji, was it?

Beside him, Melinda’s droll eyes glare. “Oh, joy.”