Both groups oriented on each other.

Derrick placed an elbow on Yeoric’s shoulder and lowered his tinted glasses. “Oh hey! Is that Samantha? Yeoric, Harald’s recruited his maid to go delving with him. And found more scales from somewhere to dress her up like an actual warrior.”

Lucine arched her brow in scandalized delight. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s not safe in the dungeon,” said Yeoric gravely. “You should know better, Harald. Taking your maid is criminally stupid.”

Neither Sam nor Harald had a chance to respond, for Vic slid forward as if stepping onto a stage, his smile warm, his arms spread out wide. “What do we have here? Oh my goodness, could it be? Don’t tell me you’re Ustim’s catspaws? How delightful! To think we should run into oblivious tools like yourselves in the flesh! Be still my heart.”

Yeoric’s brow lowered as he studied Vic, and Derrick’s jaw dropped as he adopted an expression of overt disbelief.

But it was Lucine who sniffed, unimpressed. “Watch your tongue, poppet. I don’t know who you are, but I can assure you we don’t suffer fools lightly.”

“Then however do you go to sleep at night?” Vic’s expression turned stricken. “Oh my poor dear. I’d offer to find time later to console you, but I fear that would be inexpressibly boring.”

Lucine’s eyes narrowed.

“This is a waste of our time,” said Yeoric. “We’re here to work. Harald, get out of our way.”

“We were here first,” said Harald. “Get in line.”

Yeoric stepped closer, and hulking as he was in his plate armor, he positively loomed over Vic. “I’m trying to be polite. You should be ashamed of yourself, dragging this ragtag crew out here in the rain. Go home, or I’ll get upset.”

Vic went to respond, but Nessa reached out to touch his shoulder, sliding past Sam and Harald to step before Yeoric.

Derrick let out a low whistle and grinned. “Looks like Harald’s raided both the kitchen and the whorehouse in search of a crew.”

Nessa ignored him, and instead made a show of slowly looking Yeoric up and down. “So you’re the one who’s going to duel Harald in a couple of months.”

Yeoric stiffened under her gaze. “Excuse my companion. He’s an idiot. Who are you?”

“Your better. I’m going to ask once that you leave the plaza. Go.”

Yeoric’s brows rose in astonishment, and then he cracked a toothy grin. “What is this? A threat?”

“An ultimatum, sounds like,” said Derrick, lowering his hand to the pommel of his short sword. “How about I counter your offer, hmm? We can leave the plaza together. I passed a suitable alley not far off. We can go down it and see what happens.”

“Tempting.” Nessa smiled, and gestured for Derrick to lean in as she cupped her hand to her lips.

Derrick’s smirked happily as he obliged.

Nessa slammed her head forward, cracking her brow into the bridge of his nose, the blow so sudden that the other man didn’t even have time to flinch. There was a flash of silver, and Derrick staggered back with a howl, hands cupping his face as blood suddenly streamed between his fingers.

But the strike wasn’t finished; it was the same Active that Nessa had used in the gym that night Harald had her caught her training.

This time, however, she had viable targets close by.

The silver light flashed from Derrick to crackle over Yeoric’s armor, causing him to spasm and go stiff, even as it then jumped to Lucine and Gazurn.

All three made choking sounds as sparks of silver ran over their bodies.

The effect was brief, however; a moment later they regained their self-possession, and with cries of alarm drew their weapons as they dropped into combat stances.

Awareness spread out in a ring from where they stood, people quickly catching on to the altercation.

Nessa crossed her arms, a faint red mark on her brow from where she’d slammed it into Derrick. “Go on,” she said, smiling a crooked smile. “Go on, Yeoric. Swing at me. See what happens if you force me to actually draw my blade.”

“I wouldn’t,” drawled Vic, stepping back. “Have you ever fought a Level 8 Bladeweaver? Hmm, didn’t think so.”

Yeoric’s eyes went wide and he glanced quickly from side to side. People were staring, and Harald was sure that the Mining Consortium guards would be on them soon. They’d find one party with drawn weapons and threatening another group who’d yet to draw theirs.

Not a good look.

Yeoric hissed and sheathed his blade. “It seems you’ve enough scales to hire yourself a real fighter, Harald. Lucine, everyone, stand down. We won’t dignify this with a street brawl.”

Harald stepped up alongside Nessa, but she responded before he could.

“If you come after Harald before the duel, if you decide to engage in pathetic threats, if you do anything to upset me, I will force you to eat each other’s ears.” Her voice was low and deadly with menace. “Now get the hell out of here.”

“You bitch!” cried Derrick, still clutching his nose as he jogged away.

Lucine all but snarled as she strode after Gazurn.

Yeoric remained for a moment longer, smiling, and then inclined his head politely to Nessa and turned to follow his companions.

“Level 8 Bladeweaver?” asked Sam, voice shaky with emotion and amusement.

“What?” Vic shrugged innocently. “It’s not as if they were going to pull out the Gazette and cross-reference her name.”

“Thanks,” said Harald softly.

Nessa winked at him. “What manner of blade mentor would I be if I let gutter trash like that walk all over you?”

“She’s scary,” said Vic, tone earnest. “I love that about her. Electrifying.”

“What was that technique?” asked Harald. “The one that leaped from one person to the other?”

“It’s called Echo Strike,” said Nessa softly, turning to reorient their group on the line, most of which had realized the excitement was over and looked away. “It won’t drop an enemy, but it’s good crowd control. It weakens their defenses and leaves them open to follow-up strikes.”

“Echo Strike,” murmured Harald. “Cool.”

“Cool,” laughed Nessa mockingly, but there was warmth there, too.

A couple of guards jogged up from the front of the line. Their leader, a heavily mustachioed man with a naturally belligerent glare stepped up to Vic. “What’s going on here? We heard there was a disturbance.”

“Oh thank the Fallen Angel that you’re here,” said Vic. “Everything was just going to absolute hell, but now it’s all better. The villains saw you approaching and ran.”

The guard scowled. “Watch your tone.”

But there was nothing for him to latch onto, so after a moment he growled a second warning and returned with his companion to the front.

“Ah, the hired help.” Vic shook his head fondly. “What would Flutic be without them?”

Harald was watching Nessa covertly. She’d dealt with Yeoric and the others so smoothly, with such confidence. And it had been no idle threat; if they’d actually attacked her, she’d have cut them down.

Probably.

Four against one wasn’t the best odds.

But she was a Level 4 Bladeweaver.

To have that kind of power. To be that lethal.

Goals.

Had Yeoric and the crew found him alone?

Harald clenched his fists.

He had to get faster quicker.

The line moved forward quickly, and soon the four main gates loomed into view. They were simply a means of dividing traffic for efficiency’s sake, much as the Iron Gate on the far side of the endlessly spinning dungeon portal was for the Humble Petitioners.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The four gates were arranged according to the target floors the raiders sought to enter. The first, the Copper Gate, traditionally served all the levels below twenty-nine. The Silver Gate was used by those seeking to enter levels 33 through 46, while Gold allowed people to enter levels 50 through 67.

The final gate was the grandest, ornately decorated and carved with friezes of past glories from Flutic’s history. It rose the highest, and seemed built to accommodate a passing army.

But nobody ever passed through the Diamond Gate.

Nobody in Harald’s memory had ever dared enter below the 72nd Level.

The lines sorted themselves before the target gates. Vic had led them to the Copper line, by far the busiest. A handful of seasoned raiders passed them by to be processed quickly through the Silver, but nobody approached the Gold.

Not on this rainy morning.

Still, compared to the Humble Petitioner’s line that inched toward Iron, their progress was swift. All too soon the Copper Gate reared above them, sturdily made and decorated with copper and brass flourishes, depicting stout young heroes bravely facing all manner of goblins, wolves, and other common foes.

There was a team of ten guards at the Copper Gate, four of which were working the taxation counter. Two stood up on the sturdy platform, while the remaining four processed raiders through the Copper Gate itself.

“Welcome to the Copper Gate,” drawled a heavyset woman. Harald did a double-take. Was she the same who’d been working the Iron Gate a few weeks back? “The great city of Flutic salutes her brave heroes, and welcomes those guests from abroad who wish to try their hands at the dungeon.” Her tone was much more lively. Perhaps she’d just had some coffee. “All who venture through do so at their own risk, and relinquish any right to charge the city of Flutic, the Mining Consortium, or any other governing body with responsibility for what transpires below. The city exacts a forty percent tax on all scales recovered. Do you agree to these terms?”

Forty percent. A sight better than the sixty they charged at the Iron Gate.

“But of course!” Vic beamed.

“Then in the name of the Grandees of Flutic, go forth brave adventurers and wrest glory and honor from the remains of the Fallen Angel.” The stolid woman gave a perfunctory smile and gestured for them to proceed.

No barked ‘next’, at any rate.

Vic led their little group to the taxation counter, where the team of accountants smiled at him politely.

“Good morning, sir,” said their leader, a half-elf with half-moon spectacles and thinning blond hair. “Name?”

“Victor Carmine.”

“Before you can proceed, you must register the scales you’re taking inside.”

“But of course.” Vic drew forth his pouch and spilled its contents in one of the gray bins. “Seventeen Copper Moons, three Silvers, and one Golden Dawn.”

Harald blinked. That was no small sum.

“Very good,” said the head accountant, handing Vic a stamped ticket. “And finally, please project total scales absorbed?”

Vic smiled, and a line of glowing text appeared before the accountant, who made a note. “Excellent, thank you. Next?”

In short order they were processed. Sam had brought five Golden Dawns, which earned a surprised stare from Vic, while Nessa only had a handful of Copper Moons. She must have spent her last Silver on him last night.

“I’ve got nothing,” said Harald apologetically. “Just the Copper Moon in my lantern.” He popped the base out to show them.

“Very well,” said the accountant, handing him a short ticket. “And your total scales absorbed?”

Harald fought to keep his expression neutral. It always felt like a violation to project a part of your window to a stranger, but this was standard protocol for the Copper Gate and up, so.

He focused on that one line of his window, and it appeared in the air before him. A measly 1,034/10,000. After all, he’d have to do the same on the way back out.

“Thank you,” said the accountant, utterly indifferent. “Proceed, and may the Fallen Angel reward your endeavors.”

The guards up on the platform bid them step to a movable rope that was hitched across the platform. “Stop here,” said one of the guards, a nervous young woman with painfully new armor. An older guard was listening intently, as if judging her performance. “Welcome to the Copper Gate, honored raiders. From here you can access any dungeon level from the first to the, ah, 29th. That’s floors 1 through 12, and then 16, 21, 25, or 29. Which would you like to enter?”

“We’ll begin with the 4th, thank you,” said Vic warmly. “Here’s four Copper Moons with which to signal the dungeon.”

“Ah, thank you.” The girl flushed under Vic’s smile. “Very well. The 4th. When the portal opens, move forward and pass through it without stopping.” Her voice took on a rote cadence. “Simply walk forward, the Gate will take care of the rest. Hesitation can result in a partial teleportation, which can be fatal, so keep moving once you start. Are you ready?”

Vic glanced back at everyone, who nodded. “We are.” Then he leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “You’re doing a fantastic job.”

“Oh.” She blushed even brighter. “Thank you.”

“That’s enough, Julie,” rasped the older guard.

Julie unlatched the rope so that the four could approach the far end of the platform. Nessa and Vic drew out lanterns and activated them, which reminded Harald to do the same.

The alien dungeon portal revolved above them, its movements erratic, twisting, spinning, turning. Pentagons gave way to triangles, and as Vic moved to the fore it abruptly ceased, presenting them with an Iron Pentagram with four gold notches.

“Ready, darlings?” Vic drew his rapier and grinned at them over his shoulder. “Here we go!”

The pentagram hollowed out, seemed to swell as it swallowed the sky, and again Harald tasted metal as he felt himself drawn up into its dark heart, his feet carrying him up behind Vic and Nessa into the portal, to be consumed as the great polyhedron absorbed him into its heart.

The next moment the four of them stood in a broad, dismal hallway. The air was damp and misty, and the walls and floor gritty with puddles, dirt, and lichen. The stone blocks were greenish beige, and rusted chains hung in great arcs from the ceiling, mostly flush against the walls, but occasionally draping across the hallway proper.

An archway opened immediately up on their right, while a set of broad, curving stairs with no railing ascended behind them into the darkness. The main tunnel proceeded ahead, framed by the loops of hanging chain and occasional reinforced archway, to a far pool of icy, glacial white light that radiated from a hidden source and cast everything in that chunk of the hall into azure and emerald hues. Beyond it the corridor continued, but its depths were opaque after that bright pool of light.

“Ah, the 4th Level.” Vic straightened, rapier resting on his shoulder. “It’s a horrid mess, this level is. Endless looping hallways, dead-ends, and then suddenly, lo and behold, a perfectly perfidious little warren of ashen walkers. It would be dull if the decor wasn’t quite so… contrasting.”

Harald glanced behind them. The golden radiance of their lamps illuminated a good thirty feet of dismal hallway, but then there was darkness.

Nessa had her longsword in hand, and her very nonchalance reassured Harald, for she looked, if not bored, then decidedly unimpressed.

Sam, on the other hand, was clearly wound up, her nostrils flaring as she breathed heavily, her knees flexed as if ready to enter a guard, her blade held out low before her. Still, her armor made her look all the more amazing down here, as if she were finally where she belonged.

“Samantha! Darling!” Vic put up his hands. “You look positively terrified. It’s just ashen walkers down here, absolutely nothing to be worried about. Seriously, take a few deep breaths and think of the ocean or something. You look ready to faint.”

Sam blushed and straightened, clearly at a loss for words.

“Don’t worry,” said Harald, forcing a grin. “I’m as terrified as you are. Just because Vic’s bored doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be wary.”

“Bored?” Vic looked offended. “How could I be bored when I have you two to watch? You look ready to fight for your lives! It’s very inspiring. I dimly recall being so passionate about raiding. Don’t you, Nessa?”

“Hmm.” She clearly wasn’t listening, but rather peering down the hallway ahead of them. “Which way, do you think?”

“Doesn’t really matter,” said Vic. “I say up! Why not? It’s a well known fact that raiders always turn left or go down. Let’s buck the trend and seek our scales above.”

They all considered the broad stone steps.

“Very well.” Nessa began to climb, moving steadily, blade resting in a relaxed Tower Guard against her shoulder.

“I’ll go next,” said Vic. “My reach allows me to stab past Nessa if need be, though I doubt anything will challenge her here. Then Harald, then Sam.”

Sam was too nervous to argue, so they simply ascended as Vic suggested. There were perhaps some twenty steps which rose into a stairwell carved into the ceiling, and then almost immediately opened to a near identical second floor.

“Sam,” called out Vic, tone cheerful. “Characteristics of an ashen walker?”

“They respond primarily to movement,” said Sam, tone tight. “The more of them there are, the more dangerous each one becomes, because of some group intelligence thing. Um.”

Nessa led the way down the hall. A fetid breeze brushed by them, setting the ubiquitous chains to clanking.

“Harald? Can you help her?”

It was so strange to hear Vic’s cheerful voice in this dank and miserable place. If Harald had appeared here alone, he’d probably have been paralyzed with fear.

“They…” He took a deep breath, feeling an ache where Nessa had whacked his ribs last night. “They form breeding warrens where some of them, well, they turn into webbing? You said something about their turning into egg cocoons that the others guard? I still don’t understand.”

“You don’t need a precise grasp of their life cycle,” admonished Vic, “just to remember that a warren is far more dangerous than finding a patrol or solitary individual. You can find up to twenty ashen walkers in a warren, and that can become a real fight if you don’t find a choke point. Sam, what else can you find on the 4th Level?”

That’s when Harald realized what Vic was doing. He was distracting them, keeping them talking, keeping them engaged. Not only did it reinforce what he’d shared with them around the dinner table last night, but it was keeping his fears and paranoia at bay.

“What else, what else,” muttered Sam. “Haunts, right? Not quite as dangerous as ghosts?”

“Haunts, correct. Usually at those places with bright blue light. They take awhile to manifest, and you can disrupt them… how?”

“Sprinkle salt,” said Harald.

“Easy as that.” Vic flashed a smile back at them. “What else?”

“Up ahead,” said Nessa, voice serious. “Movement.”

“Ah,” said Vic, raising his lantern. “It seems we’ve come across a patrol of… four ashen walkers. How delightful.”

Patrol was definitely the wrong word, for the four monsters weren’t walking so much as standing in a group, swaying slightly together as if to some unheard song.

Nessa came to a stop just as the light washed over them, and the rest did the same. The ashen walkers were fascinating. Harald had seen drawings of them in the bestiaries in his father’s library, but those failed to do the creatures justice.

They looked to be made from abandoned wasp nests, their flesh layered and dusty white, and textured as if woven with countless coarse bandages. They were tall, their limbs spindly, unclothed and without sex. Their long, spidery fingers tapered into white porcelain claws, and their heads were misshapen, without eyes, tufted here and there by errant chunks of the same material that made up their bodies.

“Observe how they haven’t reacted to us yet.” Vic’s voice had become a stage whisper. “They’re much more alert in a warren, strangely enough, but out in the hallways it takes getting closer to rouse them from their slumber. When we close the distance they’ll orient on us and leap to attack. Don’t be surprised: a group of four can move quickly. Nessa and I will cut down the first two, and that’ll greatly weaken the remaining pair, which we’ll leave to you and Sam.”

“Oh,” said Sam, and audibly swallowed. “All right. Yes.”

Nessa turned back to smile at them. “They’ll come right at you, arms extended for your throat. Use the Tower Guard, lop off their hands and they’ll be pretty much defeated. Their bodies are tough; make sure you strike with strength, and use drawing cuts, not chops.”

“We’ll be on hand to make sure nothing goes wrong.” Vic smiled. “Ready?”

Harald took a deep, shuddery breath. Nerves and excitement roiled in his stomach, and his grip felt sweaty. In the depths of his memory he could hear the shrill screeches of the dire rats, feel the pain of their bites, remember the nausea and horror as they swarmed over him.

“Ready,” said Sam, stepping up alongside him.

“Ready,” agreed Harald.

“One final look behind us to make sure we’re not getting company,” said Vic, craning his neck, “and then we set our lanterns out of harm’s way. Nessa?”

“Try to keep up, Vic.” Her smirk betrayed all the casual confidence that Harald yearned for, and together they advanced, Nessa holding her blade casually down and behind her in the Tail Guard.

Vic whistled jauntily.

The effect on the ashen walkers was instantaneous. The closest twisted its head around with unnatural speed, which caused the other three to immediately do the same.

Then, without any sound, the very silence making their attack all the more horrifying, the four walkers raised their porcelain claws and lunged.