Caltern. City of Bells.

The dwarves had built Caltern as a gift to the human empire, and they had built it with all the craftsmanship of their race. Aqueducts carried rainwater from the mountains, and a dozen small rivers ran through the city, spanned by ornate bridges. There was nowhere in Caltern where the sound of water didn’t flow.

And they had built thirteen belltowers. Nobody knew why. You could ring out every hour on a different bell and you would still be left with one to spare.

Today, as the Mane Bell rung, the atmosphere of the city was bruised and oppressive. Nobody wanted to be caught out in the streets by some imagined monsters. The only thing that moved were rumors, and they flew with blinding speed. Trivelin sat in a tavern with his hat tipped over his face listening as the events of the night blossomed into myth.

Olin Frampt had unleashed monsters on the city. Olin Frampt had been devoured by his own creations. He had tried to revive the dragons, or to create artificial life, he had trafficked with demons or offended the gods. The brief glimpses of Aurum became distorted and monstrous until the poor serpent was reimagined as a three-headed lion with the body of a scorpion and a centipede.

Trivelin kept his nose down for as long as he could, but he wasn’t a silent sort. No, Trivelin couldn’t help but tell a good story, and he had such a story to tell.

And it wasn’t harming the Dungeon to tell the truth, or at least a little of the truth.

After all, people were afraid right now. Fear made even common people very dangerous indeed. And if there was one thing that could overpower fear, and Trivelin knew this well, it was greed. So why not tell a few stories of the riches far-off Dungeons had brought to distant cities? Why not stir the pot a little and get people to see the benefits?

“Friends…” He began. “Somebody get me a drink, and I’ll tell you where monsters and gold come from. Dearest friends, you would not believe where I’ve been, the things I’ve seen, or the riches underneath our city…”

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But while common people worried and gossiped over what Olin had unleashed on their city, in the halls of power, there was only one matter to discuss.

There was no ruling hand in Caltern. Olin had left three apprentices, and anyone could see the Institute would be torn apart between them as they fought for his legacy. The city would no longer be ruled by the mages.

Eyfrae arrived at the governor's villa at the break of dawn- but even that was too late. In the hour it had taken to lace her into a corset and an expansively frilly gown she had lost the lead, and the courtyard outside the palatial home was crowded already.

Minor nobles lounged about on palanquins carried by golems, or under parasols. They were a high-strung lot, mostly here to seek reassurance that their lifestyles would not be endangered, that they could continue to live as fat ticks sucking the city dry. They weren’t contenders for Olin’s throne..

There were the riverfolk, half-men and half-mer with pale blue skin and tendrils instead of hair, their faces sleek and graceful with barely a ridge where a nose should be, bright pink gills fluttering on their necks.

They rarely ventured into the city, but not a ship came or left without their permission. Their warriors wore fur jackets and pendants of teeth, poised themselves like warriors with hands on the hilts of their swords, but Eyfrae knew them. They would never choose a fight here on fair terms. Instead, they would blockade the city from their home territory in the rivers.

Standing opposite them were the dwarves, the outcasts left behind when the halls of their homeland closed the doors. They were solid and frugal folk, without much decoration beyond the clan symbols they braided into their beards. Suffi Halfhand nodded to Eyfrae. She was a simple, blunt-faced girl, but every workshop in the city would stop if she gave the word.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

They could tear Caltern down in days between them.

And the governor hadn’t even invited them in.

Eyfrae had plenty of patience. God knows, she had suffered Olin for years. But Olin had let the city run itself. He was too lazy to be an iron-fisted ruler.

“You can’t go in now. The governor has important business to decide.” The chief of the guard, a man with a leonine beard and a curling chevaliar mustache, stood squarely in her way. In his gold-lined armor and white cape he must have looked quite dashing.

She opened her mouth and exhaled a long dart of flame that caught that oiled mustache like a fuse, his whole head igniting as his hair took light.

Without bothering to linger as he screamed and thrashed, Eyfrae stormed past the guards, flames wrapping around her body as they reached out to stop her. She threw the great doors open with inhuman strength. The carpet singed and scorched under her feet. Her clothes, in all their expensive lace and frillery, curled to wisps of charcoal.

Governor Keldin was entertaining the Captain Immer, the prince of the city’s slavers and Olin’s only true successor. The whip-thin pirate was perched in a chair with his black kidskin boots up on the man’s desk, a coin dancing between his lithe fingers.

And Eyfrae happened to know his knack made that coin as good as a knife to him.

“Ah, so you finally get here. We were just discussing how-”

“I have no time for this.” Flame was all she was now, a human shaped blot of wavering fire. So when she glared at the pirate, with eyes of blazing blue, he froze. “We have lost Olin, we have lost Morghul, and we’re going to lose the bloody city if you leave the mer and the dwarves sitting outside your door any longer.”

“I’m not afraid of a bunch of cast-offs and river pirates. Are you?” Immer scoffed.

“I don’t have time for your bravado, Immer. I don’t have time for you at all.”

Slipping his feet off the desk, Immer drew himself up. He cut a an imposing figure, with his long jacket and long dark hair, with his scarred handsome face. Stepping as close as he dared to the fire and heat that swirled around her, he squared up.

“Are we going to do this the simple way? A fight for who owns the city?” There was something mad and bloodthirsty in the pirate’s eyes. Eyfrae supposed most people would fear that kind of look. All she saw was a rabid dog needing to be put down.

“I think-” Governor Kedlin started, trying to lift his considerable bulk from his seat. But the two snapped in unison-

“Sit down.”

He sank back into his overstuffed sedan chair with a defeated sigh.

“No. I have no interest in fighting you. Here’s my message, and the dwarves and mer will hear the same. This bloated winesack won’t choose who rules Caltern. I will. Whoever binds the Dungeon first will have my support, and the city.”

Her hair had lifted into blazing coils of gold. She turned and departed then, before she could be dragged into petty intrigues, leaving them while her flame still lasted. The mer stared as she paraded past, the guards rushing to stomp out her flaming footprints. Suffi only grimaced in sympathy. Nobody ever listened.

She paused before them, letting them take in the spectacle that made her so feared. The legendary Attunement of Fire.

“There is a Dungeon beneath our city. It is responsible for Olin’s death, and it is the greatest hope for Caltern’s revival. Bind it to your will and you will have my support.”

It was only once she was back inside her carriage, a sturdy little thing built from the fireproof timbre of embertrees, that she could let the flames flicker out. Her dress rained away from her in a fine dust of ash, clinging to her nude form as it disintegrated. Eyfrae sighed as her maidservant handed her a cloak to wrap around herself.

“I don’t know why I bother getting dressed up. Nobody listens when I’m diplomatic.” She paused, and then added. “Olin did. God, I think I might actually miss him.”

“He only listened because he was afraid of you.” Her maid pointed out.

“Yes, he was a coward. One of his better attributes.”

She stared out the window briefly, taking in the high tower of the Noctis Bell, a monstrosity of black iron that croaked at the moment of dusk each day. This would be her city in the end. Because whoever ruled in theory, when the world found out there was a Dungeon here, adventurers would come. People who could bring the guards to their knees. People even the Empire didn’t try to rule over.

Whoever was ‘in charge’ would merely be the one responsible for bowing and scraping to the predators who came to Caltern to hunt in the Dungeon. There would be one true authority that remained, the Adventurer’s Guild- and in Caltern City she was the guild.