It wanted a name, but it couldn't think of a good one. It was an annoying sensation. Normally, when a dungeon wanted something, it would throw resources at the easiest path to getting it, but a name had no resources to apply.
As it mused over how to invent a new resource for the task, it had an announcement.
> Your creatures have destroyed another dungeon! Your prestige grows!
It mentally woofed out in a gesture it had taken from its gnolls. Pride flooded through the dungeon, and it felt another floor start to form. Only one warrior had been sent to fight in the goblin dungeon, and she—the most accomplished of all their fighters bar one, Forerunner—had taken her mate along to ensure her deeds would be spread by campfires.
The prestige that flowed from the event far outweighed the effort put in, or so the dungeon felt, and it aligned with everything it had heard from the city dungeons. It wanted to hear from its warrior first, but considered the dragon dungeon's offer anew and more favorably.
They had company, though, or so the dungeon saw through the eyes of its people. A big warrior approached, its armor dull and extensive, reminding the dungeon of the metal the dragon dungeon had provided. When they didn't draw their weapons to attack, the dungeon sent a positive nudge to Forerunner.
Her dungeon now had two work crews, which Forerunner was happy for. More work, more prestige, more strength. The loss of their biggest tree-feller was felt in the speed of their work, but her presence in the goblin dungeon was a point of honor in and of itself.
They might be humans, but they were excellent specimens and almost stood equal to Forerunner in height. "Come and sit," was all Forerunner said, then gestured to the fire pit that was, now, stacked with wood and ready to light.
Unsure what customs the gnolls would have, but finding comfort in the short and to the point welcome to an eating area, Hilda followed and sat down opposite the huge creature. When smaller gnolls brought out a tray piled high with food and set it between the pair, she took the offer as seriously as she would from any home in the north. "Thank you for your hospitality." It was only then she realized the gnoll's words had sounded like perfectly understandable northern low-language.
"You have a job for gnolls?" Forerunner asked, taking a hunk of sausage that Hilda had left on the tray and biting it.
"An offer. My people need to train. They need to fight those stronger, faster, and more deadly than themselves. I think you do, too." Taking a bite of what meat she'd grabbed, Hilda found her tongue burning with the searing hot spices in it. She did her best to not show it, though.
Forerunner remembered a scout talking of this woman fighting the dragon, now. The male had sung of the battle, as he'd seen it from the trees near the city, and it had set her blood pumping at the time. "You want to fight the dragon again?" The shock she saw on Hilda's face told Forerunner everything she needed. "I would, one day, challenge her too. It will take time, I think, because as we grow, she grows."
Hilda broke into a laugh, but quickly stifled it at the look she got from Forerunner. The gnoll's expression had been so perfectly curious that she had understood easily. "The people of the north believe dungeons are full of unthinking monsters. I have found the exact opposite at every turn. Yes, it will take hard work and practice, but I believe we could both defeat Penelope the dragon."
It was enough to make Forerunner's mouth hang open in a huge fanged smile. "I think we can train together. For strength and renown." There wasn't much she could think of that would be more prestigious than defeating a dragon in single combat. But, before Forerunner could hope to do that, she would need to defeat the woman sitting across from her. "Train here?"
"We have a fort with equipment, but we can train anywhere. Once those goblins are gone, there is no threat to any of us in these lands until, I understand, the next dungeon appears." Holding out her arm to shake, Hilda was glad to see Forerunner knew of the method of agreement.
"The dungeon is dead. The warriors are returning from its depths now."
That was news to Hilda. She knew the gnoll dungeon had sent someone along for the fight, so assumed there was some magical way for news to be returned. "Then let us turn our efforts to becoming the best warriors we can be."
"Sunrise?" Forerunner asked.
"That would be a good time each day to start training. I'll see your warriors then."
"Tell the wolf-woman her kin are welcome too. They fight good, or so I hear."
Considering the extra offer, Hilda nodded and stood up only to marvel at how equal parts strange and good her life had become. There was no more fighting for food or struggling to find a place to sleep—and all she'd had to do was leave some of her old ways behind her. As she walked from the camp, her deal with the gnolls made, she sighed and whispered, "Donna would never have been able to do this—she hated dungeons too much."
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Soaring high, Elanor found herself fighting for breath just a little. No matter how fast or how deep she gulped in air, it made her head a little light. "L-Lower!"
Penelope perked her head to the side. They were above the clouds by a good margin, mostly because the day had decided to turn dark and wet. She spiraled lower, a weird sense letting her know where the army was below her despite the clouds between them. "Are you ready?"
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Not yet, was what Elanor wanted to shout back. This was ridiculous, she thought, aware that if she fell, she at least wouldn't get captured. A hot wind cut through the chill and filled her lungs with dry, breathable air. "Thank you. I don't know if I am ready, but I better tell her something," she said, the words too soft for even a dragon to hear. "I'm ready!"
The clouds, Penelope judged, should still be high enough that no ballista bolts would find them. Penelope worried more about magic. "Shield of Mana, Shield Other… I think that's all I got for magic. Elanor, if you have any protection magic, now would be a good time to use it." Hearing her rider mutter her own spells, Penelope waited for the all clear and said, "Well, here goes nothing!"
Below, the Western army was stuck in hurry-up-and-wait mode. Their officers weren't fools, they knew an enemy was coming, but whether it was a month or six was their problem. But, while they weren't anticipating an attack so soon, their leaders weren't such idiots as to not be prepared. There were earthworks around the picket, and in the rear was a wooden fort complete with some long-range cannons that were set up and manned—but few were aimed in the direction of Stewart's army.
In all, on the dreary day, they weren't ready when a dragon smashed a hole through the clouds above, aided with a torrent of divine magic pouring in behind her. The first they knew was sunlight breaking through the otherwise perpetual gray clouds.
And, so, turning their eyes up and squinting, the army witnessed a dragon above their position, haloed in golden light. Streamers of sunlight flickered off each wingtip and it seemed like each stroke of its wings cast aside more and more of the thick cloud cover.
"Hear me, army of the West. Lower your weapons. Do not fight. Your cause is unjust!" The voice was neither Penelope nor Elanor's, though it seemed to come from the latter. "The king comes, and with him the light of truth!"
They were the first words Sandwalker had spoken in the mortal realm. They felt incredibly drained after the effort, and wanted dearly to curl up in a sunbeam—but they had to protect their chosen priestess. Even as their voice faded, the first group of mages of the Western army prepared a massive spell that would hurl a spear of ice skyward.
Penelope's eyes flickered around the camp, but the siege-bolt of ice, hovering in the air in the center of a circle of spell casters, drew her attention. From experience, she knew this kind of magic took extreme skill and training as a team to pull off, and she watched as the mages lined up on her, pouring their energy into the spear. "I've never done a lot of praying before, but Sandwalker, please—"
Hearing a prayer from a voice new to them made Sandwalker purr happily. They didn't wish to test Penelope's shielding magic against such a spell, and combined with the prayer it made interceding simpler. Launched skyward with unerring accuracy by the raw power of wizardry, it drew nearer at greater and greater speed. They reached out with more of their power and batted the ice. It didn't miss by a lot, but Sandwalker didn't care—a miss was a miss, and their spell should never have missed.
Elanor felt wrung out. Even as the mages below were going about creating another spell, she was still acting as the conduit for Sandwalker's power. With her god taking a wait-and-see stance with the magic, the mere presence of Sandwalker's attention felt like a huge weight crushing her.
Another surge of magic, another deflected spear of ice sent wide of its target. Sandwalker felt personally attacked given how much effort had been put into deflecting the spells. Catching one bright sunbeam, the god whittled it down and tossed it at the next construction of ice.
Penelope watched the growing spear hit by the searing light explode. The mages around the blast, their focus on offense rather than defense, didn't fare well as huge chunks of ice impaled them. "Stewart didn't want us killing anyone, but those bastards had it coming."
Below, the Western army stared at the fire-wreathed dragon as it continued to hover, and the woman barely visible on its back—the pair appearing unfazed by the attacks. Some lost their grip on weapons and gear. Such freed hands made holy gestures. Those warding gestures all inspired a small reassurance and warmth, spreading to those around them as Sandwalker's act attempted to subvert the opening battle of a war. Muttering started to spread, soldiers feeling in their hearts that a god had spoken to them, told them to lay down weapons, and their own commanders had ordered the god's messenger slain.
It was Penelope's task now. She opened her mouth and bellowed as loud as she could. "Lay down your arms, on order of King Stewart Gallant, son of the late King Darren Gallant! The Marquess slayed the King's father!"
In all, it was a spectacle of the grandest design. A dragon, a god, magic flying, and a pronouncement that they'd all been lied to. It was a fantastic show that allowed Stewart to wheel his army into place and have his cannons set up with no one looking at them—until he wanted them to.
Aided with a spell to amplify his voice, Stewart addressed both armies at the same time. "This battle begins a war to reestablish the kingdom that David Fitzgerald, no longer a marquess, tried to kill along with my father. I ask you, as your King, to stand aside. I seek justice! These crimes are not yours! No more need to die this day!"
Even in the sky above, Penelope heard every word clearly. She turned her hover into an arcing descent, bringing herself over Stewart's army and low, landing at his side smoothly and showing her support clear as day. She lowered her shoulder and offered a foreleg for him to climb, so that her allegiance was obvious. Elanor jumped down the other side of her to make room, and in a moment he was seated astride her neck, just forward of her wings.
Now came the tricky bit. Penelope was not all that elegant on the ground, but as she reared up into a fierce pose, forelimbs flashing her talons and wings balancing behind her, she angled her neck down so Stewart was visible.
Holding the pose as best she could by leaning on her tail, she managed to mutter, "Please hurry, this isn't stable," so that only Stewart and perhaps a few of the front ranks of soldiers heard. Thankfully, she noted the soldiers didn't start laughing, though she knew if she did fall, she'd never hear the end of it. Under her breath she added, "I should have practiced this earlier."
"Surrender now, or perish!" Stewart bellowed.
Ten cannons in a line beside Stewart's army belched out flame, a warning shot with no ammo loaded to make a statement and promise.
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