The last goblin had extracted a heavy toll on their party. One of the men was dead, one had lost his leg, and another had lost an eye. To make matters worse, Oscar had also succumbed to his wound while I was busy recording my spells. I doubt I could have saved him, but guilt gnawed at me all the same.

They’d not recognized me when I’d first returned to the room. Somewhat unfairly, they’d appeared less tense for doing so than when I’d met them for the second time this morning. Even Erin seemed relaxed, which had surprised the others. It turned out that even my voice had changed, becoming resonant and melodious rather than menacing, though it was still far deeper than it had been before.

My eyes too were different. Red still, but now they were “gemstones which sparkled with the light of the stars” according to Rian, the man missing the leg.

The wounds would need to be treated, even Brace’s cuts and my scratch. I didn’t trust that patina on the goblins’ swords. To do that, I’d need to return to my cache, and to do that I needed to find a way around the sleep trap.

I briefly explained my idea to the group, with the intent of heading immediately off on my own, but they were having none of it.

“You’re taking me with you,” said another of the men. He also had a high pitched voice, basically confirming my theory. Given the note I’d found regarding Eric, I assumed they were royal attendants of some sort.

“I’m our best trap finder, and you discovered our biggest lead on Eric in less than an hour. We can’t afford to lose you, and I’m your best bet.”

I’d given them the note, which Erin had said was consistent with his disappearance. They’d wanted me to immediately start searching again, but a single groan from Rian had changed their minds. I don’t even think he’d done it on purpose. It was one thing to go on an adventure to save your friend, it was another to lose two other friends in the course of that adventure, and be at risk of losing three more. Spirits were fairly low.

As for the self professed trap-finder, I was hardly going to argue. My own record with traps was fairly lacklustre.

“I’d appreciate the help...?” I shivered at the sound of my own voice. Having it change every couple weeks was disturbing, even if it sounded better than it ever had before.

“Conan,” he replied, sticking out his hand, “means ‘little-wolf’.”

“Oswic of Blackbridge, but you already knew that.”

“I’ve never been good with names,” he said with a small smile, which was immediately replaced with a frown, “We should be off as soon as possible. Rian needs whatever help you can offer.”

I agreed. We gave some quick goodbyes, and I roughly sketched out the path we’d be taking in case we didn’t return. I also warned them about the sleeping gas trap and the others I’d found. Even if the monsters from the cavern hadn’t made it in such strength to the higher levels, the dungeon itself was very dangerous.

Conan lived up to his name. He was fast, easily able to keep pace as I hurried up the stairs. I was walking, not running, but considering the number of steps, keeping up with my supernatural strength even at a walk was a feat of endurance in of itself.

“What are your thoughts on magic?” I asked as we walked, “Are you all afraid of magi or is that just Erin?”

Conan shook his head, “Suspicious of it, maybe, especially of sorcery. But whatever lets us find Eric sooner.”

Sorcery was the act of binding other beings into your service, typically trapping them within the pages of a grimoire. Like breaking horses or rearing dogs it could be good or bad, in accordance with nature or against, though almost all who practiced sorcery were disreputable. It was a natural consequence of the tradition of passing down grimoires through blood or violence. Anything stolen or unearned couldn’t be wasn’t respected or understood.

“And Erin? What happened to her?”

“You might think the story a little strange, but you have to keep in mind she’s royalty. We all are, really, but Erin’s old nobility. You know the sort. Traditional.”

I didn’t really. In the small towns I inhabited nobles were a distant thing. A far off idea which might occasionally drift through our village, but never stayed.

I shook my head, “Not really, but I can imagine. Please, continue.”

He stopped for a moment, then shook his own in wonder, “Need to get out of the palace more. Anyway, the Ó Briain family is more traditional than most, and has weirder traditions than most traditional types. Raising bears, for one thing.”

He let that sit for a moment before continuing, “Each Ó Briain is given a cub when they’re born, or as soon as possible anyways. They grow up together like siblings. Her bear in particular was a bit of a miracle. Erin and Eric are twins, and so were the bear cubs. Less than a year apart between them. Way I heard it, it was common to see all four go crashing past as they chased one another about the manor or hear the growling and children’s laughter as they wrestled in the great hall. Would have been a sight to behold.”

His voice grew softer, sombre, “Erin might have been eight or nine when the sorcerer showed up. Can’t say for sure. Didn’t know Erin myself then. We’re about the same age, but I was busy with my studies. Maybe saw her once or twice at gatherings.

“Anyway, the sorcerer appeared out of nowhere, just walked into the great hall one day. Erin was there with some servants, no one else. Shame her father wasn’t there. His bear was grumpy old thing, but he was the size of a horse. He’d have dealt with the sorcerer right quick.”

We reached the top landing and I took the lead, heading straight for the hall with the sleep gas.

“Or maybe not,” Conan sighed, “thing is, sorcerer walked right up to Erin’s bear. Didn’t even say anything. Just looked it in the eyes and did something with the book at his side. Kinda like yours, really.”

I winced. My spellbook was nothing like a grimoire, but superficially they would be indistinguishable. Especially to someone who didn’t understand the tradition of true magic. I could see where this was going.

“The bear followed him back out, didn’t it.”

Conan nodded, “Got it in one. It’s not even-”

I put a hand out to stop him, “We’re here. This is the hallway where I was hit by darts and some kind of gas.”

Conan crouched down and began studying the ground, continuing his story as he worked, “It’s not even the loss of the bear, mind you. Understandable sure, but you get over that kind of thing.

“The real problem is that sorcerer. Came from nowhere, completely unexpected. If he could do it once he could do it again. Never feels safe that one. Every new person she meets could be the next one to tear her life apart. Especially if they show up out of the blue. Especially if they can do magic. It’s hard on all of us, not that we blame her. Meeting someone new can put her into a spiral for a week. Almost a guarantee if she’s not warned about it.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“I think the only reason she’s holding up as well as she is right now with you is because she’s so worried about her brother. Bit of a miracle she didn’t break down completely when you changed your appearance. We all thought you were a complete stranger. How did you go about that anyway? Glamour kind of thing?”

I shook my head. The rising tide of the power had not ebbed once, “This is me. Closer to me than I was anyway. Found a druid stone buried among the goblins’ things. It undid the curses laid upon me.”

Conan whistled, “You mind if I give it a go?”

I was about to give up the stone anytime soon, but I had to admit, I was curious. I handed it over to him. Conan held it for several moments, his face caught between apprehension and anticipation, but no change was evident.

“Well there’s a thing. Why’d it work for you then?”

I shrugged as Conan handed it back, “Couldn’t tell you. Worth a try though.”

There were countless reasons why it might not work on him. It might only undo curses, might only work on magical people, might only work on nature bound people, might only work on nymphs, or perhaps it only worked once and I’d used it up.

Conan turned back to studying the hallway, his shoulders slightly hitched, “Have to say, I’m a little relieved. It might be different for you wizards sorts, but changing your appearance willy-nilly is no little thing. I should know.

“You’ve probably guessed, but we – the men – we’re eunuchs. It’s a political thing. Makes us nobles of a sort, power behind the throne and all that. We’re reared from a young age into it, fully know what we’re getting into. Lotta power, lotta benefits, but some nights... I have trouble sleeping from the regret. Wake up screaming.”

I grunted my understanding, “It was the same for me. Thought I’d be an outcast, a monster. Saw how you guys looked at me.”

There was a pause of sympathetic silence. Then Conan stood, breaking the moment.

“Found the trigger. I’ll head down the hallway first to prove it, you follow me after. If I’m wrong...”

That’s what PushIII and Levitate were for. It might not be pretty, but it would get the job done.

“I can pull you out of there with a spell or two if necessary. No worries there.”

“Isn’t that grand?” he pointed at one half of the hallway, and then the other side a few later, “don’t step on those flagstones. They’re slightly loose, springy, like. Three of them in total. If there’s a fourth we’re about to find out.”

Conan walked forward slowly, clearly demonstrating the places he stood and avoided. It was mostly unnecessary, I could see the scrapes along the sides of the flagstones he’d pointed out, but I didn’t complain. I wasn’t so arrogant as to think I wouldn’t miss something. Not when the stake were this high.

He made it down the hallway without incident, turned back, and guided me past the trap. It was fairly simple to avoid, clearly made to trip up invaders without slowing down the warlocks themselves. I’d be able to do it myself with just the will-o’-wisps in the future.

We passed by the demonic faces without comment. I wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t notice them, or didn’t want to bring it up. Either way, I was grateful.

We travelled mostly without incident, with the wailing corner being the only obstacle of note. I’d remembered it just in time, but even forewarned it was disturbing. Conan’s high pitched – but normally soft – voice became more of a shrieking scream than a wail, and my new melodious voice was dredged from such depths of despair it made the both of us weep. Mixed together it sounded like a maiden being torn apart by mournful wolves.

I led Conan to the stream first so we could drink and refill our skins. I also took the opportunity to rinse out my new wineskin and fill it with water.

“By the blessed branch, what are those things?” asked Conan, gesturing at the two rotting lumps at the end of the hall.

“Giant ticks. They were eating the bodies of the warlock and mercenaries I killed when I came back here, so I killed them as well.”

Conan looked at me sharply, “You killed a warlock?”

I raised my torch high and walked into my cell, “I had to to get out of this prison.”

Conan followed me in, “So you were held here. Look at this place. Water running over the prisoner’s feet, manacles without an inch of slack,” he approached the wall where I’d be bound, “a metal spike?”

I swayed as the memories rushed back to me all at once. I’d been trying to avoid thinking about my time here without realizing it.

“And my head was wrapped, my eyes covered, ears and mouth stuffed up with cloth. All in the name of preventing me from moving or sensing anything. If you’re worried about Eric, don’t be. This was made specifically for me and my kind. Mages are very hard to contain.”

Conan’s face twisted with empathy, “That’s horrible. That’s... who could do this to another human being? Who could do this to anything?”

“Warlocks,” I said simply. My feelings about the matter were far from simple, but the rage had been tempered by the fact I’d managed to kill one of the salt-bonded blights.

Conan stared at my bindings with disbelief for a few seconds more before shaking his head. A wry grin slowly crept across his face, “And after all this, you still managed to escape from the bastards?”

I mirrored him with a savage grin of my own, “I will not be bound.”

It was a warning as much as an exultation. I still didn’t fully trust Conan and the others, didn’t even trust that they weren’t working for the warlocks. If they had any plans of betrayal, hopefully my grim tableau would give them second thoughts. The bodies of the frogs would only add to it. And the goblins.

The sensible parts of me pointed out getting killed by goblins was an elaborate way to try to gain my trust and let my guard down. But the rest of me pointed out they could be no different from the other group of mercenaries. Servants of the warlocks trapped in an increasingly hostile dungeon after it was locked down.

I might have been able to logic out an answer, or reveal Conan’s loyalties with a clever set of questions, but I wasn’t thinking clearly. I knew I wasn’t thinking clearly. I was afraid, probably sick, and trapped in a dungeon with little hope of escape. It was a wonder I was thinking at all. But even knowing I wasn’t thinking clearly didn’t mean I knew what I wasn’t thinking clearly about.

I didn’t want to show Conan my sources of food and water, but circumstance was forcing me to. I could just let the others die from their wounds, but I still needed to treat my own. I could have forced Conan to stay, but having someone to get me past the traps had been invaluable.

The fact he’d been able to find the traps in the first place might be a sign he’d been the one to set them. Or his employer had warned him about them.

Conan’s grin simply grew, “Good. Eric is in good hands. We need someone like you.”

After all that- It was hard to distrust someone who acted and sounded so genuine.

I exited my cell and began walking, “My stash is nearby. We’ll grab some food and medicine, and then we’ll be off.”

Conan noticed the smell before I did. I guess I’d gotten used to it.

“What is that?” he said, a look of disgust on his face.

“Dead frogs,” I gestured to the far corner, “And nightsoil. I wouldn’t go over there.”

He wrinkled his nose and, despite my warning, took a few steps closer, “God forfend. They’re the size of horses.”

I cracked open my cask and grabbed a mouthful of dried fish. I was starving. It had been more than a day since I’d last eaten.

“I was lucky to kill them. I barely had any spells at the time, and they move like they’ve been shot from a cannon,” I rested my hand on the small boulder next to my cask, “Mostly I just hid behind this and prayed.”

Conan walked back toward me, appraising my room, “What do the ‘X’s mean? I’ve seen them all over.”

I grabbed my ointment and began applying it to my leg, “North. I marked all the north walls I could to help me find my way out of here.”

Conan whistled, “That must have been a lot of work.”

I rocked my head side to side, “More than I’d have liked, but not too bad. Several days, nothing more.”

At his incredulous stare I added, “Magic.”

He nodded, “Ah. You want to move that thing out of here?” he pointed at to my chest, “I’ll help you carry it.”

It was a good idea. If possible I didn’t want to have to keep coming up here and the smell was terrible. I would still have to make trips to the stream, but not nearly as often as I needed access to my fish.

Levitate

Two will-o’-wisps circled around my cask as it rose from the ground. It was fitting to use the spell to lift it, given that it had been what the spell was based on in the first place. True magic was fond of such tidy circles.

“Magic.”

Conan let out an honest laugh, as warm as spring, “Of course. What was I thinking?”

I found myself relaxing despite myself, “We’re all set here. Let’s go.”