The stairway was long and twisting. I soon lost all sense of direction, and didn’t want to waste time back tracking to try to mark its curving length. I’d probably be wrong anyway. A compass spell would be trivial to make, but there simply weren’t enough hours in the day. Or rather, there were too many hours in the day, but not enough days in the week.
About halfway down and across one of the stairways many landings I passed by a wooden portcullis leading into a room with a truly garish floor. It was covered in a bright mosiac I could only partially make out, but what I could see seemed determined to catalogue every sin imaginable in explicit detail. Murder, torture, incest, rape, and far, far worse were drawn out there in little colourful tiles.
It had to go.
Another man might not have bothered. I might not have cared on a different day, or at a different hour, but for some reason, here and now, I did. I don’t know what overcame me. It wasn’t the influence of the Mushroom-King, nor the warlocks. Master Oldshoe had said my mind was my own. Perhaps it was the unit of my dryad soul which cried out for justice, perhaps it was simply because I was human.
I grabbed the portcullis and heaved. The wood was heavier, the mechanism less smooth. The portcullis didn’t move. I shifted position and tried again, but the wood stood firm. The way was shut to me. I could teleport in, of course, but that would strand me without my gear and an easy way to destroy the mosiac.
There were many injustices in the world, and I couldn’t be responsible for all of them. Perhaps another day, or when I finally escaped this place and returned I could deal with the blasphemy against all which was good in the world. Instead I continued to hurry down the stairs. Whoever had lit those torches was drawing away from me. I wanted to meet them before my light ran out. I didn’t want them to meet me after my sword did.
My wishes went unanswered as my sword ran out just as I finished descending the stairs. I wouldn’t have normally noticed, but I had been tapping it against the wall every few seconds to check. I’d thought my time was running low.
The stairs ended in a stone doorway and a dark corridor to my right. On the logic that the path the person would have taken would be lit, I tried the door.
Stuck. Or too heavy to move. What sort of room had a stone door anyway? A crypt? I wouldn’t put anything past the owners of Bleakfort at this point.
The corridor then. The torch lighter might have been carrying a torch and not needed to light the rest of their passage.
I hurried despite the fact I had an hour of light left. I wanted to close the gap between us. Even without my sword a still had a number of offensive spells tattooed to my body. And a sword of my own. I couldn’t forget that. At worst I could still use it to bluff my way out of trouble.
The corridor forked onto a kind of three-way intersection. Three exits leading to two different rooms. One barred with a portcullis, one with a door, and one with nothing at all. The two blocked paths led to the same room, and if the torch bearer (as I was thinking of them) was keeping ahead of me, they weren’t stopping to lift heavy gates or fight with cantered doors.
I rushed path the other two exits and stopped in the archway of the room on my right. I was pretty sure I’d found my torchbearers.
Nine of them.
***
Clubs, swords, and shields were brought to bear against my intrusion. Their torches drowned out any traces of my will-o’-wisps, so it must have been the sound of my boots on the flagstones which had given me away. These people were on edge.
“Be at peace. I mean you no harm,” My voice had gotten hoarse from lack of use. Combined with how sinister it already sounded, I think it did little to set them at ease.
One of the women at the front of the group (there was two of them) took a step toward me, sword and shield raised. Her hair was nearly as wild as my own, though red where mine was white. The dungeon hadn’t been kind on anyone.
“What would a demon know of harm? What are you, an incubus then? I promise you demon, assaults against our honour will go answered as surely as those against our bodies.”
I took a step back to match her. I hadn’t been expecting that. Incubus? Did she think I was there to... I shook my head, horrified.
“I am no demon, though I have the appearance of one. I was cursed by a dark altar on the first floor of this dungeon. I truly mean no harm.”
This seem to put the woman slightly at ease, but strangely, if anything the other woman appeared to be even more on edge.
“Then why are you here?”
I didn’t want to tell them before I knew who they served, but as they outnumbered me, the onus of sharing information was on me.
“I’m looking for a source of fire and light. I’m tired of wandering these halls in the dark. Ultimately I am seeking a way out of here to end the rift between the fort and the dungeon. If you’d help me in my quest I’d be most grateful.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Let me rephrase, how did you end up here. We all want out, obviously.”
I readied my teleport and spells. This was a make or break moment. I couldn’t even lie to them, because I didn’t know what lies would serve me.
“I was captured by the warlocks. They held me prisoner for some time before I escaped and ran into their various traps and monsters which disfigured my appearance.”
The other woman, the brunette, had her eyes lit up and – by the breeze which trembles the oak she was beautiful. Her armour and club partially concealed her form, but her face, eyes, hair, she was no simple village beauty, hers was the face which started wars.
“Prisoner? Was there others? Did you meet Eric? Is he alright? Did he escape as well?”
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A blinked a few times. I’d gotten lost in her eyes. They were such a light grey they reflected the ambient light, flickering orange with the flames of the torch. It was like two tiny fires staring into your soul, or burning in hers.
I lowered my sword slightly, “I met no other prisoners, I’m sorry. But... does that mean you don’t serve the warlocks?”
The redhead growled, “They captured Erin’s brother, what do you think?”
Erin was the pretty one then.
“And you were here to rescue him?”
Erin spoke. Her was surprisingly deep and rich, though far more timid than her companion’s, “We’re going to rescue him. No matter how the warlocks have trapped us here.”
“Do you know the way out? I can help you if you’ll have me, I’m a Magi of-”
Erin fell back with a panicked look in her eyes. The men in the room moved forward to put themselves between her and me. They’d been content to stay quiet before, but that didn’t mean they were passive. Their faces were hard and their eyes were angry. One of the men spoke. His voice was surprisingly high and soft. What was with these people?
“Mind your tongue, demon-kin, and don’t speak of your dark arts in Erin’s presence.”
“True magic is hardly a dar-”
The men moved forward to stand abreast of the redhead. Scowls abound.
“We did know a way out,” the redhead picked up before I could respond, “Some surface caves come close enough to this floor that we were able to mine our way in. When the rift was activated the way was sealed.”
“But that was weeks ago, what have you been doing since then?”
The moment I said the words I regretted them. I was one to talk. It had taken me nearly a month to find the stairs to the second floor, and they were trying to search the whole thing.
She looked at me strangely, “Weeks? It’s been three days. We had to move slowly to avoid detection and traps. And we don’t know what floor Eric is held on so we had to search in both directions.”
Three days? That was impossible. Mages had a better sense of time than anyone, and I was a dryad (sort of) besides. Not that I’d tell them. Erin’s companions might tear my head off if I mentioned magic again. Perhaps I’d ask one of the men about it once Erin was out of sight.
We stood in awkward silence for a few moments while I tried to figure out what to say without setting off the brunette.
“So... Eric, your brother. Why was he captured? Why are you rescuing him?”
Again a strange look, a different one this time.
“He’s Erin’s brother. We’re his friends. You’ll have to be content with those answers alone. Even if you don’t work for the warlocks we have no reason to believe you wouldn’t want him for the same reasons if you knew what they were.”
I nodded, though her statement had probably had the opposite intended effect. If I was as untrustworthy as she believed I might be I’d just capture Eric for myself and work out the details later. All she’d done was made him sound valuable.
But I understood not trusting me. I wouldn’t trust me if I met me. Come to think of it, I had met me, and I’d been completely untrustworthy. Mirror me, at least.
Still, I wanted to help the man, and I wanted what aide these people could grant me. Perhaps they’d trust my self interest more than my compassion.
“You have no reason to trust my word, but I truly do feel compelled to help your brother. No man should be bound. Not by the warlocks. Permit me to extend a branch of trust by offering a trade. I need help getting out of here. If you can lead me to an exit, or at least guide me to the lower floors I’ll help you free Eric in whatever way I can. Failing that, I’d content myself for a flint and steel and some torches. I’ve no desire to continue wandering in the dark.”
The woman crossed her arms. She still held sword and shield, but it was a fair sight better than her having her weapons at the ready. I lowered my sword in response.
“You’re not coming with us, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I shook my head, “Of course not. I’ll help in whatever way you deem is best.”
The redhead glanced back to her companions. Then she took, held, and released a deep breath before buckling her sword to her side.
“Then let’s start again. I’m Brace.”
She stuck out her hand.
I sheathed my own sword and took it, “Oswic of Blackbridge. Starca- Oswic. Oswic is fine.”
“Well Oswic, to start with, where were you held prisoner?”
“On the first floor of the dungeon. At least, I think it was the first floor. I never found a staircase up. Two floors above this one anyway.”
“And you said you saw no sign of a prisoner? That’s... we focused most of our efforts on the lower floors. We figured if we didn’t find him there soon we never would. It gets more dangerous the closer to the caverns you get. Especially since the warlocks left.”
I winced. Evil though they may be, the warlocks were the only things holding back the denizens of the deep. I might inadvertently be responsible for Erin’s brother’s death.
“I spent wee- I’ve spent most my time exploring the first floor. I met some other humans, but none named Eric. They were mercenaries in service of the warlocks besides.” I hoped none had been Eric. I hadn’t gotten the names of those I’d killed.
“Where are the mercenaries now?”
“Most of them are dead. Either by disease or... or by my hand.” It would do little to set them at ease, but neither would lying or skirting around the truth.
“Good.”
Brace’s eyes were hard. Grey as well, I noticed, though true grey, piercing and bright, unlike the mirrored surface of Erin’s. I’d forgotten how vibrant colours could be by a proper source of light. It was hard to stand steady under her gaze.
“They’re as trapped as we are. I think they’re regretting their choice of employer. Maybe they never had a choice to begin with. These are warlocks we’re talking about.”
This time I noticed Erin tense up when I mentioned the warlocks. Even the mere idea was enough. What had they done to her?
“Be that as it may,” Brace waved her hand dismissively, “So you say never saw him on the first floor? What about the second?”
“I skipped over it entirely. My goal is the caverns, and I couldn’t lift the portcullis besides.”
“If we lifted it for you, would you search the floor for Eric?”
The orcneas had said I had all the time in the world. If the floors got more dangerous the further down I went, it made sense to spend more time on the upper floors to spend less on the lower.
“If you supply me with torches, flint and steel, and guidance as far down into the dungeon as possible, I’ll find him.”
“You find him first.”
“Of course, as long as you can spare me a few torches to begin with. And if I can at least borrow a flint and steel for the day.”
Brace shook her head, “Torches we can spare, but we have no way to trust you won’t simply run off with our flint and steel.”
I did my best to keep my frustration from my voice. Trust was a more valuable commodity than assurances and she wasn’t trading, “Then I’ll return tomorrow for the torches and your aide.”
She frowned, “Tomorrow? Our sense of time isn’t that bad. It’s hardly past noon isn’t it?”
“Noon or there about. Be that as it may, I have other things to tend to.”
Like staring blankly at a darkened wall while I waited for my spells to come back. By the Last Peak after the Flood, I was going to go insane down here.