The altar was in ruins before I finished recording my spell, an exact copy of the first with the added advantage of not being written in my own saliva. Not only was it more sanitary, it wouldn’t wash off if my spellbook got wet.
Something felt right about destroying the altar. My spirit felt at ease. Like I could breath a little bit more freely. Like the gloom wasn’t quite as dark, like the lights were just a little brighter. The feeling may have been metaphysical; a sign the world was better in some minute way once more, or it could have simply been the catharsis of reducing an emblem of the warlocks to scraps of metal.
The smell remained in the room which the women claimed had sickened them. If there was a source of the saccharine scent it wasn’t here.
Conan was still singing, rains wash his fields, though his voice was growing hoarse. I followed the sound down past Tom’s place, down the hall and into the room beyond. I supposed they’d gone through when my flames had died out.
The thought nearly had them slip free again. I turned around and quickly cast it behind me instead.
Fireball II
The spell was a liability. If only I could remove runes as easily from my mind as from the page of a book.
The sudden light of my fire alerted the others to my prescence.
“That you, Oswic?” Erin called.
I stepped into the room in answer.
The room was about the size of Tom’s place in all aspects but height. The ceiling was low, only a few inches above my head. A circle of standing stones formed three quarters of a henge around the door I’d just entered through. Conan and the women lay or stood on the other side of the circle.
The women were looking much better. Their faces were less pale, some were sitting upright under their own power, and the tension in their faces had eased. They were all smiles now, except occasionally when they’d fix Conan with a frustrated glare, which was strange. They perked up once they noticed my entry however.
Conan did too, but in an entirely different manner. He stopped singing and smiled, gesturing to the room as a whole, “Getting away seemed to fix it. We had them lying in the hallway for maybe half an hour when they started to recover.”
That had been around the time I’d dealt the final blow on the altar.
“I think it was more than getting away which did it. The warlock’s dark altar was nearby. I destroyed it about that time.”
One of the woman stood and tottered over to me, face beaming, “Then you are the one we have to thank for our recovery?”
She threw her arms around me, “Thank you! Thank you from the bottom of my heart, on all our behalf. We thought we were going to die!”
The other women were glaring at her, but I didn’t have much time to spare for the thought as a burning was growing in my chest.
“If... you would be so... kind to release me,” I grunted through clenched teeth, “I am... somewhat inured.”
She released me at once with a cry and a deluge of apologies. I barely heard them. I was busy trying to hold back a scream. I didn’t want to dispel the manly image they had of me just yet. I took several slow shallow breaths under the pretense of studying the room.
The room had two exits other than the one I currently stood in. Both doors were heavily scratched—covered in claw marks. The wall between them was as well. As were the walls to my left and right and the door standing open behind me.
Something large had been trapped here.
There were no other signs of its passage. No excrement, fur, nor body. It had been unable to escape, but after a short time moved on, which suggested someone had let it out. Someone had let it out and not been immediately killed, or the creature would have been trapped in an adjacent room.
I studied the two doors to my left. Unless it still was trapped beyond one of the doors.
I pointed to the clawmarks, “Did you see or hear anything?”
Conan and Erin shook their heads but one of the blonde women nodded, “I heard sounds coming from that door there, both on our way past, and a few moments ago.”
She was pointing at the door closest to me.
“Snarls? Growls?”
She shrugged, “I can’t be sure. Just sounds of some sort. Animal sounds. Coming from a throat. Could have been a person singing or a dog howling.”
She cut off my next question before it left my lips, “Different from the walls.”
“Could you check the door Conan? I could break it down, but if it is trapped we could be in danger.”
Conan held his fingers for a moment more against the last woman’s neck, then stood with a satisfied nod. He’d struggled on each and every patient that I’d seen to get permission to touch them. They were all rather particular about not uncovering a scrap more skin than their robes already revealed.
He past through the henge and began to study the door for traps, tricks, and whatever else tipped him off not to go through. I backed through the same henge to give him room to work. A strange tingling passed through me as I did so. It was entirely different from the surging jolt the druidstone had caused. This was more repellent, both in nature in literally. It felt as though I’d crossed a threshold of some sort.
I shivered and crossed my arms, joining Erin to watch Conan work. She hadn’t seemed to notice.
“Door seems safe,” Conan said finally, “As safe as anything down here anyway.”
He placed his ear against the door and listened intently, “Don’t hear anything though. Any of you have better hearing?’
I walked back across the threshold and was met with the same strange sensation. It was as if I’d pierced a sudden bubble of cold air. It didn’t slow me, but it gave me pause all the same.
“Did any of you feel that?”
“Feel what?” Conan asked at the same time as three of the women.
“There’s my answer,” I muttered. Dark magic again, it had to be. That, or something which repelled my dryadic nature, “Let me see to that door.”
I placed my ear against he door. There was a voice in there. A sound. A man talking faintly. Babbling? Begging? I couldn’t be sure.
“There is someone in there,” I said, readying my swords, “Move back from the doorway, I’m going to open it.”
I followed my own advice, retreating into the hallway instead of back through the standing stones.
The door didn’t budge from its post, choosing to shatter rather than shift. Hadn’t even been bolted. Simply stuck in its frame. Another crime the architect of the dungeon would pay for. Any meaning which could be taken from the words of the one within were lost to the splintering.
Erin and I were both moving before the splinters stopped falling. Conan lunged forward to stop her advance, but couldn't quite catch her as she dodged and twisted out of reach.
“Wait!”
The cry merged from within. A strange voice of layered tones. Deep, far deeper than my own and as hoarse as a man who’d been left in the desert to die.
“Wait,” he said again, “Come no further. The orb kills all who gaze upon it.”
That brought me up short. Even Erin halted, though I could see it pained her. I withdrew my will-o’-wisps from the room.
“Don’t even look towards this room. Close your eyes if you can. I’ve seen too many fall to this orb.”
It sounded like an awfully convenient way to sneak past someone’s defences and stab them in the back. I wouldn’t even tolerate the idea the orb existed in normal circumstance, but here I was willing to humour the suggestion.
Conan and Erin by contrast both immediately closed their own eyes. The women in the room also looked away.
“Do you... blonde women know something I don’t?” I still hadn’t learned their names or even what they called themselves. Northmen of some sort, probably. Northwomen.
“Rumours. Rumours and bodies dragged away from this corridor. We often avoid this place. We only came this way because-”
Erin interrupted her, “Is that you, Eric? You sound strange.”
“Erin?” the multi-layered voice replied, “What are you doing here? How did you come here? It’s far too dangerous. Too dangerous even now that the warlocks have withdrawn.”
“Aye, we learned that the hard way,” Conan spoke up, “But we’ve done some good along the way. Found ourselves a Magus to help.”
“A Magus? What’s a- no, get me out of here, and then we’ll talk. I’ll need to guide you past the orb. Do not even view it from afar, dear Magus. It may only destroy your spell, but I fear it could end you as well.”
The Northwomen closed their eyes at that. I followed likewise soon after.
Eric continued, “There is a second obstacle beyond the orb, I’m afraid. A swarm of cave bees guard this place. A large swarm. The entire room is their hive. I have some influence over them, but you must move cautiously and calmly, and you must not set them off by stepping anywhere important.”
“Let me make the journey,” Conan said, “My step is lighter and I have the best chance of picking any locks binding him to his cell.”
Neither Erin nor I complained, though I’m sure the both of us immediately began thinking of alternatives. I knew I was.
The sun rose.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
It would have to wait.
“Can the orb be destroyed?” I asked before Conan could enter the room, “I could guide a weapon toward it enshrouded in flame. If you felt the flame I’d know my path wasn’t true.”
“And the shadow cast by the flame might cast against my eyelids and be the end of me,” replied Eric.
“I’m heading in now, guide me with your voice,” Conan said, not leaving room for further discussion.
Sap sucker.
“Take your boots off before venturing forth. Feel ahead with your feet. Step around the harder combs. Those are their nurseries. If your foot rests atop a large swarm move around them, if only the backs of a few bees move them aside. But slowly. Their natural proclivity is towards attacking. Even the warlocks weren’t safe from them. They refused to enter the room. Slowly. Slowly. Calm. Calm.”
Eric guided Conan towards himself. Conan was silent. Quieter than the breeze. I couldn’t mark his progress as he moved away from the rest of us, trusting only in the man to believe he was moving. Couldn’t hear him, that was, until I heard a loud crunch.
“My foot’s gone through the floor what-”
Angry buzzing filled the air. A furious droning so powerful the rest of his sentence was lost.
“Flee!” Eric shouted, faint above the drone, “Flee at once! They’ll not attack me. You must save yourselves!”
I was maddeningly useless here. My only spell which could harm the bees was as like to harm Conan or kill Eric. My others couldn’t save the men nor move the Northwomen lying helplessly on the floor. If the swarm gave chase all of them might die.
I had no choice but to rely on dark magic once more.
Withering Insect
It was as if the spell had been crafted for this very moment in time. No sooner had I cast in than the droning stopped, replaced by the sound of thousands of bodies hitting the ground. It reminded me of falling snow.
The susurration did not fade over time. Instead, it grew stronger. The falling insects’ bodies gave way to whispers dark and terrible.
Mine! Mine. mine... Good. Yes! No... Yes! Listen! Quiet. We are quiet here. Listen! Quiet. Strong. Quiet. Strong... Strong!
I shook my head and slapped my face, trying to clear the whispers from my mind. They faded, but it wasn’t enough. They were there. Like walking by a tavern with the window open a crack. A background burble just faint enough I could only make out the occasional word.
Did all warlocks experience this? The more they used their magic the stronger and louder the whispering in their mind became? How could they claim anything natural about it?
All things might drive the unsheltered mind mad. Some more than others. Death, injury, disease, beauty, fear, desire, power. All are natural. Do not blame the universe for your own weakness.
Was that my own thought? My own mind playing tricks on me? Had the warlock somehow returned? Which would I prefer?
“River run dry and soil be swept out to sea!”
Conan’s voice, coming from further back in the room. From the sounds of it he’d fled in the wrong direction.
“Conan!” Eric called, “Are you alright?”
“Abandon the last hope of man and set sail down death’s own path! I’ll survive. Feels like I fell into pit full of pens. Or one of those creatures you have around here. Porcupine! That’s it. Like I’ve been wrestling with porcupines.”
Eric laughed, and even his laugh was that strange two-toned echo, “Of all luck, of course! You were never effected by the stinging of bees when we were children. I’m surprised your immunity extends to this strange creatures.”
“Perhaps it is a sign I am meant to use their poisons for myself!”
Conan said it in what sounded like a jest, but Eric’s laughter immediately cut off, and Erin suddenly grew still beside me. From what I knew of Delta culture, poison was highly frowned upon, to the point of being a cultural taboo. Perhaps the bees had effected Conan more than Eric had first thought.
Eric broke the silence with clear deliberation, choosing to leave Conan unanswered, “Magus, is the stilling of the bees your work? Are they dead? Asleep?”
“I stopped them, though I’m not sure how. They’re probably dead, but if we can’t examine them to be sure we’d better hurry.”
Eric guided a cursing Conan back over in short order. I tried not to let my impatience show as the game of hide and seek played out and Conan fiddled with his locks. I knew more than anyone the horrible depravities of the warlocks’ capture. At the same time, I needed to record a new spell, and soon, before the sun rose again.
How quickly your priorities shift. Perhaps you’d be better as a warlock than a mage.
It was an argument the warlocks themselves never would have made. It was too on the nose. I wasn’t sure what that meant about the whispers. I did my best to ignore them.
Then again... they could take care of themselves.
“I’m going to return to the room where the women grew sickened. Can you lot look after yourselves? I’ll be busy for the next hour. I’ve another spell to craft.”
There was agreement on all fronts, though Erin hesitated before doing so.
Hurried as quickly as my blinded eyes allowed, hopefully dragging my will-o’-wisps after me. I felt a chill with my first attempt to find the hallway, a clear sign I’d passed the stones. My second attempt I followed the feeling to the wall, then the wall to the frame and I was through.
I opened my eyes several paces past the bend to be sure. My jack-o’-lantern proudly led the way, my swords remained wherever I’d left them. I’d not wanted them flying blindly through the air with so many people about.
I made it to the strange smelling room in good time and hurriedly (though carefully) lowered myself into a corner.
Lesser Heal. Lesser Heal II. Lesser Heal III. Lesser Heal IIII. Lesser Heal V. Lesser Heal VI. Heal. Time collapsed to a point. I stood outside of it. Stared at that minute sphere. Of course. Of course! Free will was an expression of an infinitude. Nothing was determined, and yet everything could be seen. I knew what I must—I was cast away from that place. Time engulfed me. Reality was far too large. Too large for the living or the dead. Only in that liminal space could I gain a glimpse of what was to come. An hour had passed, and my wounds had healed. Not all the way. Not quite. Not yet. But they were tolerable for the first time in days.
Heal II: The caster’s body heals 123 hours’ worth of injuries over the course of an hour. The caster is granted visions of reality unknowable to the living or the dead.
It was a good thing I was already sitting or I would have collapsed. As it was my head still banged against the stone wall behind me as my trembling finger released my crayon. I stared at the rune in disbelief. What had I just recorded? “Visions of reality unknowable to the living or dead?” What was that supposed to mean? If I didn’t know what it meant, how had I recorded it?
I’d lost Lesser Heal IIII in the casting, and Lesser Heal hadn’t fired. Neither had Lesser Heal VI transferred its ability to be seen from anywhere. If there was an answer to this mystery within my grasp it lay with one of them.
If it was out of my control it could have been anything. The Mushroom-King reestablishing control of my mind. A warlock casting spells from afar. The dark magic of the broken altar or the dungeon as a whole interacting with my own magic.
Come to think of it, Lesser Heal VI hadn’t transferred its ability to two spells I’d recorded before Heal II. It probably wasn’t responsible for what had happened.
As for the others...
The best I could figure was Lesser Heal had been warped in the same manner as several of my other spells, but to a much greater degree.
Looking at the rune now, it appeared unchanged. If it had gone through any changes it had reverted immediately afterward. Perhaps it was merely a catalyst for a greater interaction with the twisted magics of the dungeon. Perhaps any spell could have done it, and Lesser Heal had just been unlucky.
I carefully scraped away the rune with my thumbnail. It wasn’t a valuable spell to me at this point. Better to be sure. I’d destroy the Heal II spell as well if I could afford to, but I couldn’t. I’d just have to suffer what visions came until I could replace it.
I could hear the voices of the others in Tom’s old room to the North. They must have relocated to avoid the orb. I might have to destroy it at this point, or stumbling across Eric’s prison from any other angle would be a liability.
I joined them.
Eric was a strange looking man. So strange that I could have guessed the warlocks had done something to him, even without Erin’s fussing about him. He was a handsome man, though not nearly as handsome as Erin was beautiful. He was similar enough to Erin that he could clearly be called her brother, but he’d been fortunate enough to escape the curse of femininity so many men with beautiful sisters laboured under. His only concession to his fairer bloodline was his shortened stature. Otherwise he was rugged and strong. All square angles and flaming red hair.
Except...
I’d only described the half of him.
His other half, split vertically from groin to crown of his head was another man entirely. He had blond hair and brown eyes. His build was slightly less muscular, though not by much, and his skin was of a different pattern even though it was the same pale white of the Delta. It held less freckles and swirled a different way. I hadn’t even noticed skin swirled at all until forced to compare his two halves.
“What happened to you?” I asked the moment I saw him.
He replied in that double voice of his, a voice which now made sense, “It wasn’t done to me but to a mercenary. A punishment of some sort. I happened to be on hand. He gained half of myself and I gained half of him. I heard he died a while later. They didn’t say how. Just wanted me to know there was no going back.”
He then did a double take as he truly looked at me for the first time, “But what happened to you? Are you a man or an elf? I’ve heard trooping fairies are said to dress like yourself, but they never travel alone. And never your size.”
“I am a man of Blackbridge. As mortal as any other. Or I was before I came to these dungeons. Now... Now I couldn’t tell you.”
Shame crossed his features in the way of the Delta people; Fiery hot, all at once, his face turning as red as a fenberry.
I cut him off before he could apologize, “There are many in these dungeons who wear the form of man. It would be foolish not to ask. Think nothing of it.”
I could see the man perform a quick calculation behind his eyes, “If you can’t restore yourself, then your magics cannot restore me either?”
“I’m afraid not. You’ll have to look elsewhere than the Magi’s magic for that. Though I recommend learning to live with it instead if all possible. Those capable of helping often offer deals worse than the curse in the first place.”
“You look as if you speak from experience.”
I merely nodded, unable to recount my experiences with Master Tom Oldshoe and not wanting to relive my time with the Mushroom-King.
“What about your stone?” Erin spoke up, “Does it not remove enchantment? You restored our sight with it, surely it is powerful enough for something as simple as this.”
The flash of hope in her eyes pained me more than any grim despair, for now the duty of dispelling it was an unpleasant one.
“It might have been able to, but I lost it. It was taken from me in a battle against a dark magic devouring the sun,” then, to ease the blow, I added, “A battle it won.”
Erin’s face fell, but Eric merely nodded, “Hope won easily is easily lost. Never expected to find an easy cure. Maybe no cure at all,” he ran a hand through his hair then grinned at me ruefully, revealing two half-sets of teeth which didn’t quite match, “I’ve always thought I’d look good as a blond.”
The Northwomen who were paying attention (which at this point was any with the strength to sit upright) nodded sagely. One was so bold as head over to him. She didn’t stand or even crawl, but instead moved almost like a toddler might, scooting across the floor.
She placed a hand upon his cheek, “It suits you rather well. And I have no concerns about the rest of you. You look strong even still after all your confinement. Why, I bet you can even dance.”
She clasped his hand in hers, then stood, drawing him up with her. Eric grinned.
“Had I known that a gaggle of gorgeous women awaited me at the end of my capture, I’d not have fought against the warlocks half as hard.”
The woman giggled and moved her leg in the first step of her dance, but was abruptly cut off by Erin. The taller woman placed her right hand atop the dancers’ intertwined fingers and her left at her brother’s back and firmly lowered him to the floor.
She stared firmly down at her brother, ignoring the Northwoman’s scowls, “You shouldn’t exert yourself just yet. Who knows what might happen? Your heart might tear itself in half.”
“Then I might die happy,” Eric winked at the Northwoman and it was Erin’s turn to scowl, but the man wasn’t done, “But if it pleases you I’ll hold off on dancing until you are assured of my health. And I will assure you. The jelly made by the bees might not taste like much, but it is as nourishing as any stew or roast.”
“You ate the jelly coating those floors?” Conan asked, his face doing its best to match my own in complexion, “That grey slime I’m still wiping from my toes?”
“You get used to it. It reminds me of-”
The Northwoman turned on me as the two friends continued to talk, “What about yourself? You’re looking like you’ve recovered nearly as much as we have, care for a dance?”
Her eyes twinkled. Stars on a moonless night she was beautiful. Her hand was lifted in gentle invitation, hopeful, confident, with only the slightest tremor betraying her nerves. When was the last time I’d had the privilege of a dance?
I rolled my shoulders. My chest still hurt, and the pain grew with the movement, but it was a pain I could ignore in small doses. A pain a bit of levity in the warlocks’ abode might be worth.
I took her hand.
“I would be honoured.”