Attart returned while my focus was elsewhere. I hadn’t even been aware she left, but here she was, dragging Eric through a hole in the stonework. The bricks had simply slid away under her touch.

Such was the way with elves.

Eric’s face had already been split in half, we were too late for that. He was also unconscious for some reason.

“Sir must help carry Eric,” Attart stage whispered to me. She dazed and perhaps a little worried. That was enough to worry me in turn.

I rushed over to assist her, but was immediately brought short by her cry,“Stop! Sir must stop!”

I skidded to a stop. Something cackled further along in the dungeon as the echoes of her shout faded. Something buzzed in answer.

Many somethings.

The cave bees were awake.

“What is it?”

Attart’s eyes widened dramatically, “There is an orb sir! Sir must help carry Eric, but Sir must not look on it. Hurry Sir!”

The orb. The orb which kills whoever gazes upon it? How had I forgotten? I could have gotten Attart killed. Should have gotten her killed. And now there was a horde of bees descending down upon us.

“Close your eyes!” I shouted.

I disabled all but my ring’s touch, pressed shut my own eyes, lunged forward to pull Eric free by his armpits, and cast my spells all in one motion.

Fireball

Fireball III

The two fireballs combined only covered a space about as large as a man’s torso, but the heat filled the small portal. I couldn’t see to be sure, but given the lack of being suddenly stung to death, my wall of fire was holding the bees at bay. I careened back down the corridor to the room where we’d left the huldra. The only thing which stopped me from falling as I bounced off the walls the counterweight of Eric in front of me, though I’m sure his heels were torn and bloody at this point.

“What is going?”

“What is the noise?

“Magus? Magus!”

“You’ve doomed us all!”

“We need to bar the door!”

The clamour of women’s voices around me was my sign to re-engage the senses of my ring. Sure enough, I’d torn a rash along Eric’s legs from his lower thighs down all the way to his ankles.

I winced. The situation was hardly ideal. Eric was torn and bloody, the bees were angry, kept from descending on us only by a temporary pair of fireballs, and despite everything Eric was still unconscious.

The door slammed. Gunhild herself had managed to recover enough to run over and shut it. The door had wide enough gaps around the frame for the bees to sleep underneath, but as long as they didn’t know the path we’d taken it might throw them off our trail. At the very least it would slow the coming after us.

“You! Oswic! Explain yourself!” Angrboda strode right up to me. It would have been more intimidating if she wasn’t almost as small as Attart. Attart before her transformation. No one was as small as Attart now.

I waved her back with one arm while I lowered Eric with the other. It was a welcome surprise to see her actually follow my gesture and step away.

“What did you do to him?” I asked Attart. I couldn’t see any obvious signs of harm or asphyxiation but there was no way he wouldn’t have woken from all the noise and pain under normal circumstances.

“I had to keep him quiet, lest he startle and wake the bees. I didn’t have any cloth I wished to spare so I grabbed a handful of the jelly and filled his mouth with it Sir!”

She beamed proudly upward at me.

Proudly.

The expressions would have to wait, but I wasn’t going to let them go once Eric was safely resuscitated. It was times like this I wished I could cast heal or teleport on others.

That said, teleport wouldn’t help me here. His throat was clear, as was his stomach. Either the jelly had fallen out or it had already been absorbed by his body. What had Eric said? He had some influence with the bees? It must have come from the jelly. If it came from anywhere else the warlocks would have used the same method to allow them safe passage.

So if he ate a sudden influx of the jelly... was he now communing with the bees? Feeling their anger? Was his mind lost in the swarm?

Angrboda knelt beside me, “He isn’t breathing. Move over.”

And then she did the weirdest thing.

She kissed him.

Once, twice; long and slow.

And then she began to press down so hard on his chest I thought his ribs might break. Was this how the huldra secured their victims?

Gunhild must have noticed me getting antsy because she ran over to tug at my shoulder, as if that would stop my blades, “She is breathing for him. It is a trick devised by those who live along the river. Often the victims will start breathing on their own again.”

I watched the strange exchange. Now that she had mentioned it, I could see her own lungs heaving when she descended on his lips, the way she pressed his nose shut when she forced air into his lungs. I could even see his lungs inflating, but I tried not to focus on people’s insides too much.

I took stock of the situation, “How long can they last like this?”

“I’m not sure. Angrboda will give out before he does. I heard tell once of a man kept alive for over an hour, but he had four people taking it in turns.”

“Do others of you know this technique?”

Gunhild nodded and shoved me to the side. She was somewhat rough in her haste but given the circumstances I didn’t mind, “I do as well. I will swap out on the next one Angrboda. Sister X, come and be ready for Angrboda to teach you how to do the compressions. The Magus will need to spend his time dealing with bees.”

Bees. Right. I shuffled over to the door. They weren’t yet on the other side, my fire was still keeping them at bay. At least I thought it was. My ring couldn’t see that far.

I looked down at Attart, “Do you have any ideas for dealing with the bees?”

“I can see the soul of the swarm.”

“Can you do something with that?”

“What would Sir give Mistress Tom to help Sir?”

She had the grace to wince.

“You want to try again?”

Attart bit her lip and shook her head.

So be it.

“I offer you my protection, for as long you wish to travel with me in the dungeon, provided you do travel with me in the dungeon.”

“I would rather you magic. Grant me your spells and I will guide the swarm back to their slumber.”

Now was not the time to be greedy, curse Tom’s mercenary little soul.

“One spell. I will grant you one spell per day.”

Attart stuck out her hand, “Sir has a deal, Sir!”

Stolen novel; please report.

I shook it as if she were a child. Moon and tide knows she was small.

She scampered to the door Gunhild had barred and had it swing open for her with a touch, I followed after nearly as qui—“Shut the door behind you!” called one of the huldra—pausing only to shut the door behind myself.

“Shield your eyes. Even an impression of the orb—a shadow against your eyelids—can kill,” I murmured.

Attart was already talking to the bees in the corner, but she raised her hands over her eyes and turned her back on the flaming portal.

I pulled out my spell book and wax. If she failed I wanted backup. It was a risk to record a spell as fast as I could write a normal word, so I wouldn’t unless necessary, but I was ready to double my wall of fire at a moment’s notice.

“That is right that is right, follow sweet Attart. That is the way. Gently now.”

She pointed at the fire with one hand and slowly waved to the side with the other. I steeled myself and obeyed her. The two fireballs rose to the ceiling and darted over her head. They might have fried a few hairs in passing, but I wasn’t going to end the spells if I could avoid it.

“Follow the mistress, right this way. Gently. Kindly. Softly.”

She couldn’t see a thing but she walked backward as fearlessly as if she’d be striding down a cobblestone road the right way around in broad daylight. Her little bare feet flashed as the hem of her skirt kicked outward and back. The edge was going to be soaked with cave jelly. Unless... I’d have to think about it.

The bees obeyed her. Their buzzing quieted, than stilled. Silence rang as loudly as a bell.

Silence, if you didn’t include the gibbering howls, clanking chains, and laughing walls.

I waited for Attart to emerge, but she stayed where she was, just beyond my field of view. I could only place her by the murmuring of her voice.

Why wasn’t she leaving?

What had been our deal?

“I will guide the swarm back to their slumber.”

Unless she was waiting to hear them snore, it sounded like she had fulfilled her portion of the bargain. Which probably meant she was now unable to leave.

Okay fine, it didn’t probably mean it, but I was going to work off of the worst case scenario, just in case.

I shut off my ring once more and screwed my own eyes shut. Then, with back to the wall containing the door, I began to shuffle toward the secret passage.

My plan was based on a number of assumptions. The first was that her body was my body. I could still feel my soul cloaking her so it wasn’t a tenuous proposition.

The second was that I could close the secret passage on my own.

My shoulder blade hit the edge of the portal. Let me see here. I reached backward with my right arm and fumbled around at the corners of the exposed brickwork. The far edge swung like a fence gate, growing in length as it did so.

Please trust me Attart. Don’t panic.

I didn’t dare speak the word aloud.

The door swung shut, narrowly avoiding pinching my fingers just as I pulled them free.

I could just make out her murmuring through the thickening stone, but it was fading fast.

My left hand flipped rapidly through my spellbook. Where had I put it? I’d grown reliant on my ring-

True Teleport II

Attart appeared in front of me, free from jelly except for a mild discoloration at the bottom of her dress.

Our job wasn’t over.

“Quickly now. Let us see if Eric has improved at all.”

Attart’s tiny legs had to jog to keep up with my strides. I waited impatiently by the door until she opened it, then hurried over to Eric’s side. The man was still on the floor. Breathing on his own. Coughing and wheezing and clutching his ribs.

He fixed bleary eyes on the two women looming over him, “Storm take me to the promised isles, I’ll never be one to argue against being woken with a kiss, but someone has to teach you ladies what to do with your hands,” his voice was the strange two toned lilt I remembered, though it sounded far wearier than last time I’d rescued him.

Gunhild giggled, “Will you be the one to teach us?”

Eric struggled upward, “And here I’ve heard Northwomen are great big louts, but that was the cleveriest idea I’ve ever heard.”

His gaze wandered from the women to my own, “You’re a pretty one as well. Not my type mind, but I’ve never met an elf before.”

“I’m not an elf but a victim of the warlocks, much as yourself.”

Eric ran his hand through his hair and I experienced mild deja vu, “Victim? Let’s not be cruel to our fine hosts at Bleak Fort. I always wanted to be blond. And back home I was never woken by the delicate kisses and tender caresses of a pair of strange women back in the Delta at home. Normally I had to,” he winced and clutched his ribs again, “had to seduce them first. Which one of you got me out of there?”

I pointed and Attart stepped into the pale light of the withering torches.

And then she stumbled.

“There was a warm breeze...” Attart’s voice trailed off as she rose an inch from the floor. No, her feet stayed on the ground. She’d grown once more. Her skin grew pale and her hair took on a dark red sheen. Her features changed too. Her angular nose became softer, than softer still until it was as cute as a button. The slight wrinkles of her face smoothed entirely and her lips shrunk from an archer’s hunting bow to a horse bow.

She looked now more like a Delta woman than one of the Bronze Coast. Even her eyes had lightened, though the mischievous twinkle, if anything, had deepened.

Rather than frightened, this time Attart appeared curious. She tilted her head as she stared down at Eric, “Mistress Attart can feel your gaze Sir. Is something the matter?”

Eric’s mouth was agape, “I... I nothing at all. I should count myself among the stars while my feet still dance on this green earth. What manner of enchantment is this?”

I was a little stunned myself. The holy man’s cards were not done with us yet.

Attart brought her hands up to her face and began feeling her lips and nose, “Attart would be most pleased if the dungeon stopped having its way with her,” she pouted.

Pouted.

As if she’d merely had her hand slapped while trying to sneak honeycomb. Was that Tom’s souls influence or her own?

Since she didn’t appear to have an explanation forthcoming, I offered my own, “Attart and I made a bargain with an elf which has not yet finished revealing its consequences.”

Eric gave me the side eye, “And is she... you know,” he raised his hand to his head and did little crazy circles at an angle where she couldn’t see.

“No more than any of us. The elf bonded onto her soul. It has, effected some of her actions for the moment.”

“And who are you? What is your part in all of this?”

“I am Oswic, Darkswallower of Bleakfort. I come on behalf of Erin and her friends, though due to the dungeon’s dark magic they won’t remember me.”

The name felt awkward rolling off of my tongue. Why not Shadowslayer? Or Warlock Wrangler? Maybe “Swallower” sounded more impressive in the Orcneas runes, but in the Painted language it just sounded like I ate in the dark.

“Darkswallower? You’re afraid to eat during the day?”

I sighed, “The kin-name was granted by the orcneas known as Goreswallower, given for slaying Neferhi the Shadowmaster. I am a former prisoner of the warlocks, and there enemy.”

Eric laughed, “The orcneas? And you killed a warlock? You say Erin sent you?” He whistled, “What manner of bargain did she have to make to win your service?”

My ring sense flared back to life.

TransportII

The invitation which had lured Eric here appeared in my hand. I handed it to him.

“None. I am an escaped prisoner myself. She is here in the dungeon, looking for you.”

His eyes widened, “You’re a Magus. One of the wise.”

“Vows mean little in the halls of the warlocks, but I hope my word at least gives you pause.”

He nodded slowly, “You say Erin is here? Is she in danger?”

“Not as far as I am aware. She has a party with her. Brace, Conan, Oscar, Stovepipe, half a dozen more whose names escape me.”

Eric’s face broke into a grin, “I never would have wished another risk my rescue, but it lightens my heart to know they came. I was growing tired of eating cave jelly. It reminds me too much of old Nana’s cooking.”

Gunhild had been inching closer the whole time we’d been talking, now she snuggled in right against Eric, “Do you miss her so?”

Far from being bothered by her forwardness, Eric seem pleased. He barked out a laugh and threw an arm around Gunhild’s shoulders, “I miss my Nana, but not her cooking. Never could tell with her if the porridge we were eating was supposed to be roast or apple pie. She could turn a salad grey and lumpy just by looking at it.”

Gunhild laughed in turn. It was something of a relief to hear so much laughter coming from a source other than the walls, but Eric had a right to know.

“Ware, Eric. The women are a good sort, but they are Huldra; trolls who seek to seduce men.”

Eric swept Gunhild once over with his gaze. Several of the other women looked upset but she managed to keep the hurt off her face, “Are they harmful?”

“Not as far as I am aware, though your attraction may not be your own. It is in the woman’s control.”

“Isn’t that ever the case?” Eric winked at Gunhild, “I’ll not turn down easy company, troll or otherwise.”

Despite my own desires I felt a spike of jealousy in my gut. I would never trust the huldra like Eric seemed able to, but even still, Gunhild had been mine. I would have married her. I knew nothing about her, but I would have married her.

It had been a spell. An enchantment. And yet, I would have married her.

I let the sorrow of loss flow through me. Let it sit with me while I engaged the world proper.

“Attart, may we make use of your house while we recover? Eric and the Huldra are still weak, and it would be easier to defend them their. And some warmth would do them good.”

“Of course you m-”

With my undivided attention on Attart, or rather attention undivided on her she changed again. She dropped the inch she had gained and her features darkened once more, but her hair kept its reddish hue and her face its button nose.

She toppled, falling on her rear. Fortunately it wasn’t a very far fall.

Attart struggled unsteadily upward and dusted herself off. I couldn’t quite be sure with her layers of cloth, but by her hands and feet it seemed every part of her had shifted subtly in some way.

“Gentle Attart will never get used to that. Sir best find a cure for her soon.”