THE DUNGEON CHALLENGE

BOOK 2

CHAPTER 47

I float in a river of pained nightmares. It’s the Steel, black as pitch, carrying me away from home and into the hilldoors and the earth, through sharp tunnels and wide caverns in a never-ending maze. If I try to swim, I begin to sink. If I call for help, my mouth fills with water. Other bodies float alongside me, flashes in the darkness. Rev is next to me until she isn’t. Hilde, bobbing along in the current, beaten and battered. Essa flashes by in a mess of blood and iron and Wyl has the presence of mind to try and strike at me before the river carries her away and I’m alone again.

Alone and not alone. I lift my head, break the murky, slimy surface of the water and find what I’m searching for, Katha’s hair, unmistakable, floating just ahead of me. But no matter how hard I paddle, how loud I yell, she doesn’t turn, and the river makes no concessions. My left hand is missing, I realize with horror. In the distance, spanning the whole river, the White Door stands open and I’m dragged implacably towards it. I swim as hard as I can and sink like a stone. I open my mouth to scream and the murky water rushes in.

The river hums around me, a deep and old vibration that carries meaning with every note. I shout and plead and thrash, but the river never abates, I never break through the surface again. We pass the White Door, moving from darkness to darkness, and when I close my eyes, exhausted, defeated, I finally wake up.

*

I cough up murky dreamwater and my lungs fill with air instead, dank and still and blessed. I’m in a small room that I don’t recognize, lying in a cot. A chair against one wall and a tall table are the only furniture, and light filters in through a window above me and to the left. A boarded-up window. I try to sit up, but I find my right hand manacled to a thick iron rail on one side of the bed.

What?

What did I remember? I’d made it out of the dungeon, hadn’t I? (Or was it a Dungeon? The distinction still wasn’t clear in my mind). I’d met Arbiter. And before that… A deluge of memories threatens to break through the flimsy dam of my awareness. Rev disappearing into the Golden Door, the cyclops’ malevolent eye fixated on me while it died, floating in a purple room filled with corpses, a white, searing, hot pain shooting up my arm...

My hand.

My left arm is unburdened by manacles, I notice. It’s a very far-away sort of noticing. In the right here and now, the bulk of my awareness is preoccupied with the sudden realization that my left hand is missing, a white bandage wrapped around the stump the only sign it was ever there. Ignoring the dread in the pit of my stomach, the notion is almost comical. Of course there’s a hand there. Even though I can’t see them I can feel the fingers moving, rub them together, distinguish nail from skin. I almost smile at how ridiculous it is, not having a hand, before the dread rises, permeates everything else in me, and I have to bite back a whimper and close my eyes to keep the tears from flowing out.

“Shush,” I whisper urgently. “Stop that. Stop that. You need to focus now.”

I strangle a sob and breathe in and out. Yes, focus. Something is very wrong here. I beat the Challenge, or at least the first leg of it. According to the stories, I should be a celebrated Champion, surrounded by piles of gold and arm-wrestling giants in my free time, not manacled to a bed. What happened while I was unconscious? I can’t see the shape of the puzzle yet, but I can begin to put aside the pieces I can recognize. If nothing else, the distraction brings welcome reprieve from the pain of my missing limb.

I’d made it out of the dungeon with the clothes on my back, more cuts and bruises that I could count, a read vial, minus one hand, and…

Rue.

Where is he? I listen hard for his hum, the sound I learned to tune out in the dungeon, but it’s simply not there. Would the Godtouched have taken him? A question for later, another section of the puzzle, one that I can only complete if I make it out of here first. And that’s the next order of business: there’s something else that I got out of the dungeon. Something I can’t wait to explore, and yet the very notion fills me with an apprehension that I can’t fully explain: levels.

Yes I can explain it, the thought intrudes a moment later. This is the point of no return.

I remembered a chirpy voice announcing it twice, the impossible, the unthinkable: I, Malco from Reach, had won a level.

Focusing for a moment, I manage to bring up the misty pages Arbiter introduced me to. It materializes in front of me, a partially transparent script stretching across the whole of my vision. It says:

You have gained a level!

You have gained a level!

Two times? In my puzzlement, those messages dissolve and a new one replaces them.

Congratulations, Malco of Reach! You have attained Level 1. Choose your ARCHETYPE. Available options:

INQUISITOR

PALADIN

PRIEST

I remember the choices and I remember the conundrum they represent. Having to pick out of three options I know very little about is another jump in the dark. My distrustful mind, something I’m starting to think of as my dungeon mind, seizes the opportunity to observe the choices with a more critical eye. Is this another test, perhaps a trap? Will one option result in victory, another in abject defeat?

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I focus on an entry at random and it fades away. Text comes into sharp relief.

PALADIN

EPIC ARCHETYPE

“Dying for Truth, Good, and Beauty is a lofty goal in reach of many. Living for those ideals, however, resting your soul on your beliefs and upholding them with each breath, that’s a rarer thing. To those who do, I call Brothers.”

Geryon of Alitma, Champion of Blacksand, Paladin.

Paladins are first in the fight against injustice. Their strength in battle is on par with the Warrior’s, but their commanding presence and magic wielding give them sources of power that are beyond mere arms. While the starting Paladin has only weapons and a few magics to their name, in time their own Legend will become the source of their power, and then woe betide their enemies.

Level 1:

Weapon of Choice

Command Spell

2 Basic Spells from the Battle, Fire, or Order Traditions

2 Warrior Perks

I blink, baffled. For the children of Reach, thinking about what you’d pick if you were to win a level is a favorite occupation to which much consideration and takebacks are devoted. However, the choice is usually limited to three options: Warrior, Rogue, and Mage. These options… They look like nothing I’ve ever thought of before. The Paladin feels like a Warrior draped in shining silver armor and put directly into a children’s tale. What’s this about commanding presence and magic, who is Geryon of Alitma, and why is legend capitalized like…

Before my eyes, the misty words swirl and reshape themselves.

LEGEND

PALADIN ABILITY

At the basis of a Paladin’s power rests their Legend, individual and unrepeatable. From their first few adventures to the Paladin’s swansong, a Legend is in constant growth and change, and so are the abilities it bestows.

I finish the little blurb with a sense of equal parts wonder and confusion. The misty pages are quick to rearrange themselves and eager to provide more information, but they never seem to go deeper than these cryptic blurbs. There’s no denying that the Paladin pulls at the child in me, the chance to be someone powerful, someone great. Before I can get carried away, I think my way back to the Archetype list and focus on the second entry.

PRIEST

RARE ARCHETYPE

“While magic is a tempting draw, and much good and godly has been done through it, we must never forget that it’s our Vow that truly separates us from the common sorcerer. Our magic may decide a sentence, but our Miracles will change the course of entire tomes.”

Winged Cedua, Archbishop in Olvion, Priest

Priests command magic as well as any Mage but temper it with the fulfillment of their Vow. Their devotion and practice, their diligence and conviction, allow them to practice Miracles, which are beyond the scope of the arcane arts and cannot be contained by them. In the early stages of their path, Priests are comparable to Mages, but their Vow will, with time, set them apart.

Level 1:

1 Basic Miracle

Heal Spell

Bless Spell

3 Basic Spells from the Battle, Divination, Fire, Life, Order, or Water Traditions.

1 Mage Perk

I select the Miracle word and then the Vow word, and find that they both lead to the same short paragraph:

MIRACLE

PRIEST ABILITY

Miracles are world-altering powers independent from magic. Miracles are exclusive to the Priest Archetype, and dependent on Vows. Vows are taken at Level 1. Fulfilling Vows allows for repeat uses of Miracles. Furthering them gives the Priest access to stronger Miracles.

Now this, I think¸is an interesting one.

Like a Mage in all respects but the Miracles, which seem to only give the Priest more power. Could I use a Miracle to get Katha or Rev back to me? Somehow, I doubted it would be that simple. One other thing I notice: Priest is a Rare Archetype, while Paladin is an Epic one. Does that speak to the Archetypes’ respective power, or only to their rarity? If the former, then I would be an idiot to pick the Priest instead of the Paladin simply because of magic – which the Paladin also gets.

But then… I cast a long, absent look through the mist at my stump. Could I, as a Priest, heal myself? Regrow my own limbs, like a reptile? Reflexively, I close a hand that isn’t there anymore. I can’t let that distract me. Whatever power I’m about to gain, it’s bigger than a single hand. And what I want it for is bigger than me.

Before expanding the final option, I perk my ears up. There is a sound echoing outside, like a multitude of distant voices. In the room, everything apart from the light is exactly the way it was. While I read, the sun must have sunk in the sky and the glow coming in from outside, past the boards nailed to the window, is now a dim golden orange. I can now only dimly perceive the shape of the door, the chair and the tall table. I tug at my restraints, but the clink of metal on metal doesn’t attract a soul.

INQUISITOR

EPIC ARCHETYPE

“Some would have all good work be done in the light. To those I say: you have never looked in the face of darkness, seen the scurrying, gnawing, incessant advance of its forces, at home both in the blazing sun and the deepest of abysses. To those I say: this is how we must be also, brave enough to go anywhere, to do anything, so that good might prevail.”

Bluebrand, Spymaster of Pathua, Inquisitor

Inquisitors are Rogues in white, seeing past lies and deceptions, plunging themselves in darkness to reach their goals. By attaining Secrets, Inquisitors become a force few can stand up to and none can hide from. Inquisitors begin their path much like Rogues, but quickly distinguish themselves with the application of their particular talents. Others may make use of magic and might of arms, but only Inquisitors can wield Truth as a weapon.

Level 1:

1 Local Secret

Observant

Sneaky

1 Basic Spell from the Shadow or Illusion Traditions

2 Rogue Perks

SECRETS

INQUISITOR ABILITY

Secrets are the stuff which politics are made of. At Archetype selection, Inquisitors attain a Local Secret, pointing towards some deeper conspiracy, and will unveil more in the course of their adventures. By delving into those bits and pieces of information, Inquisitors unlock new abilities.

Another Epic Archetype, and this one sounding more esoteric than the two previous Archetypes. A little too esoteric for my tastes, and, as far as I can tell, borderline useless in a dungeon.

I spend a moment in contemplation, but in my heart I’ve already decided. I focus on the Paladin option and will the misty pages to understand my choice. The words mix into one another, and then spread out again, larger than before.

You have selected the Paladin Archetype. This choice cannot be undone. Are you certain?

I almost am. At the last second, my arm, visible behind the mist, catches my attention. It’s locked in a fairly sturdy manacle, confining me to this bed. Ever since waking up, I’ve avoided seriously considering my desperate situation. The Godtouched likely locked me in here because I infiltrated the Challenge and are just waiting for me to feel aware enough that they can punish me without any wasted pain. In the worst case, this means that I may only have a few hours to enjoy my new levels and Archetype before being put to the sword. If, that is, I remain in this bed, in this room. And as far as I can see, there’s only one Archetype that can possibly help with that.

With a long, unsure breath, I return to the list and make my choice again.

You have selected the Inquisitor Archetype. This choice cannot be undone. Are you certain?

I better be.

The words dissolve into mist.