One hour.

That was how long we rested. How long it took Attart to collect herself. How long it took her to savour the newfound peace.

There were still tear tracks on her face as we headed down to the third floor.

Brace and Erin would be found. The family would be reunited. Oscar and Oisín and Rian would live.

If we were lucky.

But death was not the penalty it had once been.

It was extreme. You were out of the game. But there were other games, on other shores. The only way to lose was not to play. If it was well to be done, it was worth trying, even at risk. They’d nearly attacked a demon, I could only pray an elf would be better.

Two elves, after a fashion.

This was the third time I’d properly ventured down to the third floor. Once on my own. Once with Gunhild. And now with Attart.

Two failures. Two missions meant to be definitive that ended in tragedy.

This time.

Threes were special.

I led Attart down the long spiral hall. Right and right and right and right and right again. We ignored the portcullis and the door to our left. The creature of many voices had come from there.

Brace’s party was absent from the room where I’d met them.

That was to be expected. It had been weeks later last time I’d ventured here. They had said they’d gone down first. They might not even be on this floor.

The room contained a broken helmet near the door and a dais at the far end of the room. I hadn’t remembered the dais. Did I have the wrong room?

Not that I’d entered the first time round. Relationships had been too fraught back then.

Attart gestured at the only other door leading from the room, “Do we journey on?”

It was a good question. If we stayed we almost guaranteed they’d find us. But if we pressed on we could find them sooner and head off tragedy.

They may have arrived in one piece to the room the last time round, but they’d spent time and supplies they no longer needed to spend. I was also worried. Not all was as it had been before. The mirror had remembered me. My debts to Tom had remained even if he didn’t remember me. The cask had not contained the items I’d remembered. The frog pellet hadn’t contained—my spell book! I remembered in a flash of insight.

Had those things I’d brought back in time with me remained in my possession? The whole dungeon would be changed, or at least the first 5 floors.

“We need to. When I looked through the cask earlier, not everything was as I remembered. I think my presence here has changed the past. They might be in danger if they wander too far.”

Attart nodded, “I wondered when you didn’t bring back a second spellbook.”

Of course. Tom had all my memories. Attart had all my memories. She knew the path nearly as well as I did.

“Why did the mosaic surprise you? Don’t you have all my memories?”

“Your memories are fragmented and scattered, and a memory is already a faint echo of a thing. They form something more akin to a story than a reality.”

I was running low on sword spells. Our break had lasted longer than my swords. But the door out from here was made of wood rather than iron or stone. I could work with that.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Fireball III

Wood wasn’t typically quick to burn, but wood for burning wasn’t typically as old or as dry as the doors. And coals burned hotter than wood. A flame twice as hot as that was more than enough to remove the doors hinges in under ten minutes.

The smoke was another problem altogether. The dungeon had torches and lanterns aplenty, so there was clearly ventilation somewhere, but not enough for so much so fast. The ceiling was high enough the smoke didn’t flood the halls immediately but traversing the room itself was going to soon be a problem.

“I didn’t fully think this through,” I admitted.

Said admission was drowned out by the clamour of shouting and scraping metal from beyond the door.

“Brace and Stovepipe with me! To the front! Erin and Oscar watch our retreat! Stick together now! Swords ready!”

I knew that voice.

“Cillian?” I called. Perhaps a bit foolishly, in retrospect. There was a monster not much further down the hall who could do similar.

The chaos subsided. Frantic whispers replaced the readying of arms and armour.

“That wasn’t Eric.”

“Then who was it?”

“What was it?”

My natural hearing was more than enough to follow their entire conversation. Had a been supernatural they could have been half as loud and I still would have easily heard them. They’d not yet learned enough of caution. Not when panicked at least.

I let them come to their own conclusions as to not startle them further.

Cillian ended the conversation with a cry through the smoking door, “Who goes there? Friend or foe?”

“Oswic of Blackbridge,” I wouldn’t be doing myself any favours if I mentioned I was one of the Magi at this point, “A friend, though you wouldn’t remember me. The dungeon warped my passage to send me backward through both time and space. Back before the time we met.”

“What is this strange lightness? We near fell towards it when it first came upon us. We’ve come seeking the source of the enchantment. Are you responsible?”

“I am responsible for the lightness after a fashion, though not in the way you might think. The warlocks placed a burden on the world. A fear of death. It pressed against us all, caused us all to lean towards the dark mosaic at its heart to stand upright. I removed the curse. Without the weight you have been fighting since before your were born it is no wonder you fell.”

“That is an extraordinary claim. Do you have proof?”

“Look into my eyes. Do not be afraid. My appearance is no longer my own. The dungeon has twisted me.”

I brightened myself until the room beyond began to glow, until my light cut through the smoke and gloom. Then I stepped forward. If they panicked my skin could probably take the blow.

Probably.

There were gasps and a woman shouted of fear; Erin.

“I know you.”

Oscar’s voice. Evidently he was doing a poor job of watching their retreat.

“He has that same light in his eyes. The light which entered yours yesterday.”

“The light of Elysium,” I said, “Rian and Oisín and Conan should have it as well.”

Oscar didn’t appear to be listening to any of us.

“How do I know you? I thought we’d met only in dreams. A dream friend. Have the warlocks been invading my mind?”

I had to laugh at that, “They can, but you know the truth of it, don’t you?”

“Aye. Clear as a glass house. Truth cannot be faked. Not when it is true.”

The bond was still there. We’d been bound as brothers by our time in Elysium. Memory had left him, but memory was a weak measure in face of the experiences we’d shared.

Oscar let out a roar of joy and danced through the smoke and flames between us, much to the consternation and yelling of the women and the laughter of the men.

He threw his arms around me and I mine around him.

“I’ve freed Eric,” I said, “He waits in the company of a horde of beautiful trolls two floors above.”

Oscar slapped my back hard enough I felt it. I was surprised his hand didn’t break.

“I’d expect no less of the man!” he barked, “Is he well?”

I pulled back to look Oscar directly in his sparkling eyes, hands on shoulders. He matched me.

“Well enough. His appearance has been warped. The warlocks are not kind in their experiments, though he is bearing up well.”

Erin was the next through the fire. She approached me more hesitantly, but approach me she did, in spite of her fear of magic and the arcane.

“You trust this man?” she asked Oscar.

“With more than my life.”

That was enough for her, “You must take us to Eric at once.”