Six hours.
It had been six hours and still the frog was showing no sign of slowing. Forget dark magic and long lost treasures, if the warlocks simply used Bleak Fort to have a monopoly on these frogs and found a way to harness their power they’d be unstoppable.
The loud cracks and the hiss as the giant creature whizzed through the air fast as a quarrel was even more unnerving in the dark. It had passed nearby several times, but so far I’d remained safe. It seemed to know the layout of the room, for I never heard it impact the walls (or ceiling for that matter, it could jump).
Even so, it was impressive that it was able to keep a mental map up and running for so long in the da-
*CRASH*
I guess it got dizzy.
The boulder rocked against my shoulder, but didn’t otherwise move, thank the perennial spring. “Crushed to Death with Boulder by Giant Frog” wouldn’t fit on my tombstone.
I leapt into a crouch. I’d have to defend myself now that the frog had discovered my lair.
Silence.
I strained my ears, but even the gasping of the first frog had faded. I guess it had finally succumbed to its wound.
“Hello?”
I ducked down as I spoke, just in case.
Nothing.
Either crashing into the boulder had done more than I’d expected, or the frog had finally gotten clever.
Could I afford to wait? If the frog was lulling me into a false sense of complacency waiting would be fatal. I’d seen not only the speed and range of the creature’s tongues, but also the crushed pile of refuse one of them had vomited up. “Eaten by Frog” might fit on a tombstone, but it was far more embarrassing.
I flattened to the ground and reached about blindly in the dark until my hand grasped one of the empty bottles. I lobbed it as hard as I could back behind the frog.
*crash*
A tinkling in the dark.
Nothing.
Okay then. Still flat against the ground I silently backed away from the boulder until my toe ran into a wall. Then I slowly crept clockwise along the wall away from the boulder. I’d noticed a door out of the corner of my eye when I’d been looking for a weapon.
It was stuck naturally. Gentle probing revealed it to be made of flimsy wood. I could easily break it down given the opportunity. But that would assuredly alert the frog.
Although... My other sounds hadn’t. I knew frogs needed their eyes to swallow, perhaps they needed them to hear as well? I’d not spent much time observing frogs. You never knew which knowledge would become useful.
I took a deep breath and readied my courage. Only one way to find out.
The door screeched forward from my kick, stopped, and then popped open when I kicked it again. I dove through the doorway, expecting at any moment for a tongue to wrap about my ankle and reel me back in, but nothing happened.
I landed in an undignified heap in the next room, blinking in the dim light.
Light?
“Who dares our halls?”
I scrambled to my feet and necked about like a chicken. Seven grey figures stood before me. They were short. Their bodies were shrivelled, like their skin had shrunk about them. Their muscles and tendons strained painful against their skin, sliding visibly as they rocked where they stood. It might be a case of the pot calling the kettle black, but if not for the fact that they were standing, I’d have thought them corpses.
Strangest of all was their heads. Still corpse-like, with patchy bristles fallen out and broken tusks, but clearly not human. More like a boar or a pig. Orcneas. Corpses.
“Speak, manling, why should we not devour your soul?”
The creature’s voice was dry and scratchy, like it hadn’t had water in quite some time. I could sympathize. Strangely, it quavered somewhat, as if it was afraid.
“I am Oswic, Magi of the Sacred Order, Wise Man of Blackbridge, The Starcaller of Dawn, Master of Twilight, Voice of the Storm, Speaker on the Wind, and Five Time Hoopstone Champion of Ravenhold. Who do I address?”
The orcneas second from my left spoke once more, “I am Mannelig, Victor of Seven Battles, Rower of the Rogue Wave, Hunter Unseen, Mast Bearer, Hero of Essibrekkr, and Warden of Hell.”
I whistled. Those were no small titles.
It – he, I supposed – continued, “Why have you come here, Magi? This is the realm of death. This is the realm of the orcs.”
“Realm of orcs no longer, Warden. Warlocks rule these dungeons now.”
The boar’s nostrils rattled. I realized Mannelig was trying to snort, “Warlocks sit on this ancient land and claim it for their own, but still we remain. Pretenders. As long as a people live, the land cannot be taken from them.”
“Why do you let the warlocks live, then? Why do they let you live for that matter?”
Mannelig snorted once more, his tusks unsheathing slightly, “Soft hearts wielding deadly swords. We are not strong enough to drive them out. They are too weak to eradicate us. You understand the difference, Mage?”
I thought I did. It did not raise the orcneas in my eyes. I nodded.
“Good. Now,” Mannelig drew a great sword from the sheath on his back, “stop avoiding my question. Why are you here?”
Some dark creatures could recognize a lie. Demons were attracted to sin after all. It didn’t help them much. The truth was far more deceptive.
“I am a foe of the warlocks. They had me imprisoned here. I slew my captors and have been seeking a way out. Unfortunately it appears they severed the connections between reality itself to stop my escape.”
The orcs began to laugh, dry hacking coughs mixed with the raspy squealing of pigs. It was the most horrific sound I’d ever heard. Thankfully, they were laughing too hard to see my shudder.
“We sensed the change as well. You’ll find no exit on these floors. None in the dungeon. You must go down. Down to the underworld. Only there can you be reborn.”
“You think the barrier will last that long? It might be faster to wait here until it falls.”
“You are ignorant for a mage. The barrier separates both space and time. It will last forever, for those within, until one passes beyond.”
“Will you offer me any sort of guidance then? I’m sure you wish the barrier down as much as any other trapped here.”
That set them off laughing again. Jerks. I didn’t even know what they considered so funny. At my expression the lead orcneas lowered his sword.
“We have no quarrel with you mage. So long as you keep your distance.”
He shifted. His joints squealing like dried leathers. “We will not guide you. We are patient. The barrier will fall with or without you. But we will not hinder you. Go down. Down. The first exit is North of here.”
I looked around. There was a clear lack of a glowing signs pointing to the cardinal directions.
“Do you have a compass then? Or some trick to determine the direction I must travel?”
Mannelig shook his head. It creaked. “You gain a sense for these thing. Or you are doomed to wander the halls forever.”
He pointed to the wall directly to my left, the wall with the door I’d come through, “North. The dungeon itself may be your guide.”
It was a start.
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“Thank you for your assistance, Mannelig. I hope we continue to be allies in the future.”
The boar’s mouth warped into what might have been a grin. His tusks glimmered in the dim light of the room. (It came from several tall candle stands, I’d noticed.)
“Go with fortune. Kill many warlocks. Do not return here.”
I decided to push my luck, “Could I trouble you for a candle or two? The dungeon is very dark.”
His tusks were fully unsheathed now as he grinned/barred his teeth wider. “You may. But you will owe us a favour.”
He gestured. One of the other orcs reached into an alcove and withdrew a long candle, probably with twelve hours left on it still. It lit the candle on one of the others burning in the stand. The orcneas tensed as I stepped forward to accept the candle.
“Deal.” The Mushroom-King, the dark altar, and now the orcs. Perhaps all my obligations would cancel out in the end. I could only hope.
The hell-corpses relaxed as I backed away with my prize.
“Until we meet again, Oswic.” Mannelig saluted me with his sword.
I raised my flaming candle, “Until we meet again, Hero of Essibrekkr.”
I entered the frog room tensed, ready to flee, but the candle soon revealed what had happened.. The second frog was dead. Its skull had been caved in my the boulder when it had crashed into it. I cautiously moved toward the centre of the room until I found the first frog. It too lay in a pool of its own blood. Black, I noticed. Not frog-coloured. It had been too dark to tell before.
I circled the room once to make sure there were no more hidden frogs, before returning to the cask and frog-pellet. I studied the skull I’d seen poking out of the pellet earlier. It wasn’t human. I couldn’t quite figure it out. Maybe a moose, horse or a deer. Something with a long skull, anyway. I wondered when this had happened. Did the warlocks keep a stable?
The hair was much the same. Brown, short, uninteresting, almost assuredly from the same animal. If there were bones in there they might be useful, but I couldn’t see any, and I didn’t feel like touching the pellet for now. The brown stains left by stomach acid and blood dissuaded me. I’d check the cask first. Maybe I’d find a pair of gloves.
The lid was sealed tight. It had been hammered in place, not set. I pried it free with my claws. I’d probably have been able to open the cask without them, but that, plus my newfound strength, guaranteed it.
The smell of fish embraced me. Not rotting fish, or the disgusting algal smell of the quay. Gentle, salted, dried fish. The cask was stuffed full save for the last half foot. I was set for food as long as I could stand it. On top of the food were a smattering of belongings, some stacked or bundled on top of each other. It seemed a terrible place to store your stuff, but perhaps the owner hadn’t had another choice. I began pulling the other items out and sorting them to take stock:
A small ceramic bowl, filled with some sort of herbal poultice. It smelled like a mixture of yarrow, willow, tallow, honey, and a blend of lesser plants. Something for treating wounds.
Beside it I found I pair of women’s lacy undergarments, deep red in colour. Blushing, I put them aside. A woman’s luggage then. Though I couldn’t imagine she’d been impressing anyone smelling of fish.
Beneath the lace, frills, and embarrassment, was, of all things, an onion. My curiosity overcame me and I retrieved the tuttenseck. Fish and onions. I’m sure she had the men lining up for her.
A glass orb was next, followed by some seashells and a pair of dice. Next to them was a hammer and chisel and a piece of parchment bearing a list of names. My heart fluttered in excitement for a moment, but turning it over showed both sides were completely covered with writing. Still, I could potentially write on top of the other writing with the right coloured ink, or scrap off what was their if I found a knife.
A necklace set with ivory beads lay beneath the parchment. As well as a scattering of crushed tulips. Finally, a small wood case containing a pair of spectacles was set on a pair of lace gloves next to a small whistle.
Well, it certainly told a story. I had no idea what the story was, but it told one. It was more riches than I knew what to do with, and at the same time was mostly useless to me. The gloves didn’t fit, I didn’t need spectacles, and jewellery wasn’t going to get me out of here.
Unless...
Unless it was. This was a warlock’s stronghold after all. It stood to reason that these were a warlock’s things. Perhaps the items were magical.
I set the candle on the floor with a bit of wax, leaving it close enough to shed a little light. I had time after all. Probably best to wait until I had my spells back to continue exploring.
Magic items typically only revealed themselves when worn or wielded for their purpose. For instance, a magic ring could not simply be used by holding it in your palm, it needed to be slipped onto your finger, sometimes it even needed to be the correct finger.
I slipped the necklace over my head. Placed the spectacles on the bridge of my nose. Nothing.
The gloves I jammed on as best I could, which resulted in my claws slicing through the fabric. Still nothing. Not sure what to do with the glass orb, I held it between my hands and stared deeply into it’s depths. It was heavier than I expected. Clearer too. Small rainbow lights refracted through it from the candle in... crystalline patterns.
It was magical (at least, as far as I could tell), but it was worth a fortune. This wasn’t made of glass at all, but a giant polished crystal. I wished I could take it with me, but I couldn’t justify it, even to my self.
I set the crystal ball aside and picked up the tuttenseck with a sigh. It was just clothes. And it could be my way out of here. Despite that reassurance to myself, I made sure that the door to the orcneas room had been closed behind me before putting it over my neck. The last thing I need was to hear them laughing again.
I managed to lace it up behind my back after several minutes of fumbling. My arms ached from the awkward position, these things were never going to catch on. I sat their for a few moments feeling like a fool before deciding that nothing was going to happen. I removed the tuttenseck and picked up the other undergarments, a pair of pants.
I slipped them on as best I could without tearing them. Again, nothing. Off they went.
That left the flowers, the poultice, the seashells, the parchment, the dice, the hammer and chisel, and the fish. No onion I’d ever heard of was magical and I wasn’t about to blow a whistle in a dungeon full of roving wild creatures.
The dice were easy enough. I gave them a few quick rolls, but nothing happened.
I drove the chisel into the flagstones, which made far more noise than I’d expected, but otherwise produced no further results, good or bad.
I took a small nibble of the fish, which if anything made me more hungry as I became aware of my hunger, but I dared not eat a whole steak. Without a source of water the salt might kill me.
The poultice I dabbed onto both the wounds on my arms. Magic or not, it might save me from an infection.
The seashells and flowers were a bit trickier. Given that they had most likely belonged to a woman, I settled for scattering them about me, and putting a few in my hair, to no results.
The piece of parchment was even worse. The only things I could think of doing were writing on it, or reading it.
“William Blake, 250cp, Jan 7.
Erwin Townsend, 15sp, Aug 23.
Thomas Cooper, 135sp, July 7.
Ted Smith, 67cp, Jun 4.
...”
It wasn’t the most magical incantation I’d ever read. I finished the list with no results.
Well, disappointing, but not unexpected. Even among warlocks, magical items were rare. It had been worth a try. Under other circumstances the discovery of the crystal orb would have been worth it alone.
I still had one more avenue to explore. The frog pellet might contain bones I could fashion into a tool, or at least a stick to prod disgusting things with at a distance. Like a frog pellet, for example.
I dug through the pellet with the remains of the woman’s gloves. Unfortunately the thing I’d been looking for – bones – seemed to have been completely digested by the frog. There was, however, a greater prize than I could have imagined. A journal. It was bloody, and someone had already written in it, but only the first fifth or so was truly marred. The rest of the book was mine. I had my spell book.
I flipped through the journal, seeing if the previous owner had written anything of note. Unfortunately it was in Dusk Speak, a language I recognized but did not speak. As I flipped through the journal whispers rose in my mind unbidden. Louder and louder until finally a voice shrieked in my ear.
Spawning Cauldron
Was that a warning about how the frogs had been created or a new spell? Maybe it was both. Seeing as I didn’t have a cauldron, and didn’t need more frogs in my life, I’d not be finding out.
Now that I had two spells I could feel a sort of sickness in my mind. The whispers seemed a little louder than before. A little more chaotic. A little more warped. Reality seemed thinner, as if it could change at any moment.
Dark magic at work? I knew it was inimical to natural order. That greater build up I felt in this dungeon had to come from somewhere.
Unless...
Perhaps reality was not what it seemed. Perhaps the natural order of things was constant change. It made sense. Nothing was the same from day to day. No waters flowed through the same stream twice. No tree stopped growing. No animal didn’t collect scars. No human didn’t grow old.
The idea of natural order as a constant, as unchanging, it was stifling; arrogant. Who was I do declare things could not change, simply because it made my study of them more difficult? If there were constants they were the exception, not the rule. I’d have to be careful not to allow me need for false order to stifle my observation of the world as it was in the future. Who knew what I had already missed?
Still... I shouldn’t be hasty to leap from arrogance to arrogance. Just because my teacher’s had been blinded by their need for order, did not mean the warlocks were right. They were called warlocks, after all: Oath breakers. Not all who used dark magic were warlocks, but they were all equally as disreputable. I’d still need to exercise caution in my reliance on the spells.
I was now left with a dilemma. Two of them, actually. A didilemma, if you will.
My candle would not last forever. I could extinguish it, but I had no means of relighting it. I could take advantage of its light now, when I didn’t have any spells, or wait until dawn to continue exploring, and be limited to a single hour of light.
I needed to take into consideration as well my need for water. If I waited here I wouldn’t find any. I wasn’t above drinking the frog’s blood for satiation, if I didn’t suspect it to be highly poisonous. Many frogs were. Even the possibility was too dangerous.
I’d had water this morning, so my need wasn’t desperate, but going without was far from pleasant.
Secondly was this cache. The cask had held treasures beyond my wildest dreams, and this book was the first major step I’d made in advancing my magic since I’d broken free from my chains. The problem was, I couldn’t carry them all with me. Not without a spell. If I didn’t take advantage of the candle now I’d be wasting my new spells on light, not on lifting things. If it wasn’t for the reality warping nature of this place I wouldn’t concern myself, I could just return here when I became hungry, but I’d already seen how the rooms could shift and move.
Teleport swam in front of my eyes. I’d become adept at ignoring the rune. However... I still had it. The risk from Teleport was there, but it was low. I’d only had a mind rune go wrong once in nearly twenty casts. And the risk of stumbling across such a deadly trap as the ice fog seemed fairly low as well. I’d found perhaps one every other day.
I’d take my candle and explore a little, if only to map out what I could before the dungeon or myself were moved again.
I returned the items to the cask and hammered the lid back into place as best I could. The orcneas had said to go north, so north I went. Thankfully, there was a door set in the north wall of the frog room. Iron, and stuck fast in its frame, but nothing I couldn’t pull free.
My view was immediately obscured by a pile of rubble. It didn’t fully block my entry, but I had to scramble over it to view the rest of the room.
There was a hiss.
This room glowed without my candlelight.
There, in the centre of the room, was a shimmering red beetle.