The first door I tried after leaving Conan back with his party was trapped.

I discovered this when, instead of the handle moving the bolt, it opened a pit under my feet. The mechanism itself must have been magical because there was no warning. No sound, no trap door, the floor simply disappeared beneath me, and I was at the bottom of a pit.

The pit was small, perhaps ten feet deep and half that in both length and width. I was no expert, but I’d been up enough trees in my youth to escape the hole with no great difficulty, even loaded up with gear as I was. With my new strength it was trivial.

I clambered out quickly and took a quick glance around. Everyone was still in the mosaic room. I’d been spared that at least. Still, embarrassment and self recrimination flooded through me. How had I been so careless? I knew the dungeon was full of traps. I’d gotten lucky. That one hadn’t even hurt me. I-

I stopped myself. I must have been more shaken up than I’d thought. I knew better than to blame myself – blame anyone – for what was already come and gone.

I sidled around the hole and turned the handle the other way.

Locked.

On the plus side a second pit didn’t open up under me. I wouldn’t have put it past the warlocks at this point. Their dungeon was far too dangerous to practically get around. I had no idea how they managed.

There was just enough room to wind back for a kick at an angle which wouldn’t send me careening back down into the pit. It wasn’t ideal but it would have to do.

The handle tore free from its mount and the slammed open, bouncing off the wall behind it. I proceeded cautiously after it, torch and spell book held high.

The chamber beyond was huge. Huge even for the dungeon, which was saying something. My torch’s light barely illuminated the far wall, even with my enhanced vision. To my right, the room stretched on into darkness. Darkness which I couldn’t repel even after walking for over one hundred feet. Fifty feet later and something finally came into view. Not the far wall, but a raised pool, similar to the one I’d discovered on the floor above.

The pool was large as well, perhaps twenty feet across. Shadows lay beyond it for another ten feet, and then finally, I discovered the far wall. I doubted even the feast hall of the king was this large. Perhaps his whole manor would fit inside this single room. And yet, it was empty.

Besides the pool there was nothing. No carpets, no carvings, no pillars. I had no idea how the room hadn’t collapsed in on itself. Perhaps the magic of the pool itself kept the room whole.

And it was magical. It radiated from it. A gentle buzz against the backdrop of the earth-shattering quake of the druid stone.

It was a shame I hadn’t left one of those goblins alive. I could have thrown him into it.

Despite the sheer size of the room, circling the perimeter only revealed for other exits other than the one I’d come through. Of those, one was an open archway, so that was the one I took. I didn’t have the time to spare searching every doorway for traps I wouldn’t find, but neither did I want to risk them if at all possible.

This room was far smaller. I could make out all four walls from the centre, if only barely. Maybe thirty feet off in every direction.

A mural covered the ceiling. Like the room on the first floor, this mural also depicted the Springtime War. However it depicted a different moment from the war. The first had shown a battle in full swing, perhaps the first resistant against the attackers. This one should the end of the war. The attackers retreating from the castle as monstrous figures harried them from the land, sky, and tunnels underground. The victory of Bleakfort, perhaps the fortress’s greatest moment.

Why it had been relegated to a barren room on the second floor of the dungeon I had no idea. Perhaps it was directly beneath the first and they built a sort of three-dimensional tapestry if looked at from an outside perspective. The next floor might show the defenders gnawing on their attacker’s bones.

Other than the mural the room only contained one thing. A ladder. You could do a lot with a ladder. Not that I was going to carry it everywhere with me, but it was nice to have the option. I could even turn it into some fairly useful spells given the chance. After I recorded a dozen other more pressing ones.

The room contained a single door on my right. It opened with a gentle ramming from my shoulder, practically a masterwork hinge by the standards of the dungeon.

The new room was identical in dimensions, but not contents. Where the first had two exits, this room had four. Instead of a ladder a row bookshelves and demonic masks lined the wall to my right. There was nothing on the ceiling. Instead of nothing happening when I crossed the centre of the room-

*Phwip* *Phwip*

Two darts stuck out of my chest.

Again.

I was never going to take this armour off.

Judging by the angle the darts had come from the masks, either their eye sockets or leering mouths. Nothing had shifted when I’d-

*Knock, knock, knock*

A sudden rapping rang out behind me.

I spun, spellbook raised, but there was nothing. I waited, eyes scanning the darkness. Nothing moved. I took several steps back, ready for something to come charging out of the doorway I’d just entered through.

*Patter-Pat*

There was another knock behind me. I spun again and called beyond the door there, “Who’s there?”

No one replied.

I strode over to the door and kicked it open. Metal twisted, the lock snapped, and the mangled hinge slowly swung outward.

No one but an empty corridor.

More ghosts.

I continued on into the corridor. If rooms could also be trapped, nowhere was safe. Hesitation at every step wouldn’t get me anywhere. I may as well keep moving.

The corridor had one dead end and one end which ended in a portcullis.

The portcullis offered a view of a staircase leading up to an allure of sorts leading around the room. The floor was covered in broken shields and little else. Disappointing, but safe enough.

I leaned my torch against the wall to allow myself a better grip on the portcullis. My spellbook stayed in my other hand. It was awkward, but I’d run into enough traps today.

The portcullis slid up smoothly and easily. Erin might have been able to manage it with one arm. I guess I’d found the one well made piece of architecture in the whole dungeon. I held it open with one arm while I squatted down to retrieve my torch and then did a proper survey of the room.

The room was round, and had three exits beyond the one I’d just come through, but was otherwise as I’d seen it peering between the bars of the portcullis. One of the exits appeared to double back, coming from roughly the same direction as the portcullis. The portal there was simply an open doorway, which was why it had caught my attention. The other two doors, undoubtedly stuck and trapped, could wait.

The archway led immediately into another small room, which was to say it was roughly the size of my house back in Blackbridge.

Unlike the room I’d just left it was square, had only one exit, and the Mushroom-King was standing in the centre.

***

So, Servant of Nature, you have returned to me. Why have you forsaken your king?

I turned and fled.

The flagstones heaved beneath me as I ran. The walls buckled, the ceiling cracked as masonry began to fall. Between the broken cracks in all of them earth surged, seeking to seal off my exit. Fortunately, my reactions had been faster and I dove into the round chamber just before the archway slammed shut with a wall of earth and stone.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

I wanted to lay there and collect my breath, but I didn’t dare. The Mushroom-King might be able to travel after, or send his mycellia after me.

I ran to the opposite door and barrelled through it. My life sense showed me several pieces of rotted wood lay scattered about the room. My light showed them to me a moment later, as well as the lack of other exits from the room.

My life sense. I could see plant matter, but not the Mushroom-King or his mycellia. Couldn’t I see his presence in my mind before? Had he somehow hidden himself from me?

There wasn’t time to wonder. I spun around and ran back through the door, running for the final exit of the round chamber.

By some miracle it was also unlocked, untrapped, and swung open easily. The round chamber was the work of a master craftsman. Relatively speaking, at least.

I ran into a wall of bristling iron.

Nine people were arrayed before me, weapons drawn. Some had swords, some had bows or crossbows. One of the women even had a pick. How many people had been trapped down here?

“Halt!” cried another of the women, this one brandishing a club. She could have been Erin’s mother. With her silver hair and brown eyes she looked nothing like Erin, the complete opposite in fact, but she was also stunningly beautiful, even in her old age.

I’d just killed nearly a dozen goblins. I doubted nine people would be much harder. Physically, that was. There was a word for the one who was able to slay a dozen humans without a hint of compunction. We called them monsters.

I halted, closing the door behind me.

“I mean you no harm, but I am perused by a creature known as the Mushroom-King. Can we please continue this in the room beyond?”

The woman seemed taken aback, “No. I know not what games you play, but they shall not work on me, fae. Leave at once, for we will not play your games.”

Right. My appearance. Fae was a step up from demon. They might have shot on sight earlier this morning. Maybe I could use it.

“I cannot fair lady,” I said in my best sing-song voice. It was surprisingly easy, my voice had become overwhelmingly melodious. It would be harder to speak normally, “I have a geas laid upon me to continue through yonder door,” I bowed, “I beg of you, forgive my tricks, and allow this poor servant passage.”

“Shoot him if he doesn’t turn back at once.”

Fine then. They’d left me little choice.

Serpent Moment

The world bent around me. The floor rushed up to meet me. I moved more like a vesper than a serpent. I moved like bolt of lightning. The room elongated. Time and space both stretched around me. It was as easy as skipping to dash across the room. To wind my way up, around, through their legs, and out the other side. I slipped under the opposite door and the world unfolded around me. I was human once more. Human adjacent, at least. In less time than it took me to blink it was over.

And I’d wasted the morning recording a spell to give me another sword! Once more, the nature of dark magic was called into question. Once more, there was no time for introspection. For all I knew, I now had nine people as well as the Mushroom-King after me. I was going to need a lie down if I survived this.

I was standing in the centre of a corridor going to my left and right. I took the left hand path on the principle that it moved me further away from the Mushroom-King’s chamber. I wasn’t sure what the range of his influence was, but it seemed better to be safe than sorry.

The corridor split once more after fifty feet, this time forking off to my left. I continued on running straight until another T-junction where I turned right without slowing. There was a door at the end of the corridor, but I could go through doors, even locked ones. Distance. Distance was what mattered.

I crashed into the door at full speed causing it to shriek and wail as it was slowly levered open. I slipped through the gap once it was wide enough rather than wasting any more effort trying to push it open.

The room beyond was mostly empty, except for another broken shield in the corner, so I continued straight on through to the door at the opposite end of the room. I stopped to push this one rather than crashing into it. My shoulder still ached from the previous impact.

Plus this door was made of stone.

Stone and lead from the feel of it. Despite my best efforts the door didn’t even move.

PushII

I couldn’t see the hinges from this side either, so I had to settle for using the spell to add to my own strength instead.

It was enough. Barely. The door slowly ground open under the combined might of my legs, arms, back, and spell. I squeezed through the gap and ended my spell. Then I kicked the door closed behind me.

Hopefully that would slow them down.

The door led to a twisting turning corridor. The corridor in turn led to a door. Wooden this time, but only slightly easier to open than the door of stone. The round chamber had led me into a false sense of security. On the plus side, I’d hear any pursuers from a mile away.

I pulled the wooden door shut behind me and looked around.

The room was hexagonal, which seemed to be as unusual for this dungeon as anywhere else. Three of the walls (thankfully the ones opposite me) were coated in a thick green slime. A handful of empty bottles lay scattered around the floor at my feet. If not for my torch I might have stumbled on them. Otherwise, the room was empty, and yet...

Under the gaze of my life sight the walls blazed like the sun. The slime was a mold or moss of some kind. One I could move. And there was a gap in it. A prism buried in one wall. Almost like a-

I sent the slime crawling away from the spot. To my normal vision it appeared like ripples spreading out from a point, becoming shallower as I watched, until all that remained was a small chest nestled atop a pillar of slime.

Ew.

I pulled the chest down easily enough. It was perhaps the size and weight of a child on the cusp of manhood. I set it on the floor and attempted to open it, only to find it was fastened with a lock. My hammer and chisel made quick work of it. Thankfully, my control of the slime allowed me to avoid getting any on myself or my clothes as I worked. I pried the lid from its ruined lock and peered inside. What had been so important it had been locked in a chest then hidden in a wall of slime?

Apparently a variety of items to put the goblins’ hoard to shame.

The first thing I noticed was a small figurine. It was silver in colour, but not made of silver. Neither did the material appear to be lead. I’d heard tales of master metal workers who could shape antimony, and it did seem to match their descriptions. But if that were true this was an artifact, a masterpiece from far away lands.

So why did it look like me?

Not exactly like me. The figure had a different nose and eyes. But the long, magnificent hair. The delicate strength. The ethereal build. If the druid stone had made me another species, the statue would be depicting my brother. Perhaps the chest had belong to the druid himself?

The other items supported my theory. A small pipe packed with calabash. A lock of emerald hair. A rabbit’s foot. A small wooden carving of a bear. A painted animal skull. A charm of some kind, perhaps made from the remains of a shield or bucket. A lead amulet. A piece of chalk. A vial of quicksilver. A chunk of iron stuck to a large lodestone and finally a large bloodstone.

Each I tried in turn, trying to discern their nature. Only the chalk stood out as unusual for its make, but even then it wasn’t magical. Instead, it was of a refinement I’d never seen before. It felt almost like a piece of marble rather than chalk. I ran it along the flagstone to be sure, and sure enough, it produced the purest, richest line I’d ever seen. I could barely wipe it away with my fingers. A quick test on my spellbook found it could even write on parchment.

I immediately put it in my pouch. A writing tool of this quality was worth holding onto.

There were other things too. Less druidly, but still useful. The kinds of things anyone might carry with them on their travels. Most exciting to me was another journal, this one not covered in blood, though it was half full of writing in an unknown language.

The journal joined the chalk, though with protests. It was a shame the chest didn’t contain a backpack or the rest of the bottle gourd.

I next investigated and discarded a spoon, set of iron keys, a vial of what was probably perfume, two maps of the surrounding environs of Bleakfort, and a deed to a small property in turn. That left a bundle of ribbons and a pair of cloth gloves which fit. I used the first to tie the second to my belt.

From the first stack of goods I took the quicksilver and lodestone. The rest I regretfully put back in the chest and put the chest back in the wall. Though the figurine interested me, I simply didn’t have the room for it. The other goods were undoubtedly of some significance, but not to me, and I didn’t have the time nor desire to learn. The druid’s path was a hard one, and took a lifetime of dedication. My calling was with the Magi.

The far door was locked and covered in slime. I fixed both problems in quick succession, but was almost immediately brought up short by an iron portcullis just beyond the door.

I half-heartedly tried to lift it and it didn’t even budge. I then tried whole-heartedly, but the only which threatened to dislocate was my spine.

I was out of push spells, levitate too. I could teleport through the portcullis, but that would involve leaving all my gear behind, which I didn’t want to do. My magic swords could almost certain lift the gate, maybe even chop through it if necessary, but that was a last resort. What I wouldn’t give for the ability to use Serpent Moment at will.

I headed back the way I came. The non-slimy door was easier to open than it had been the first time; I might have scraped something loose. The stone door at the end of the twisting corridor – more of a horseshoe now that I was paying attention – on the other hand refused to open. I was trapped.

I moved back into the slimy hex room. Now might be as good a time as any to rest for the day. I could get my spells back, and then deal with whatever path was most desirable. Would Brace’s party be worried about me? I couldn’t remember if or when I’d told them I’d return. Too bad. I wasn’t about to risk my life to put them at ease about my safety. That would be pure insanity.

I amused myself waiting for night fall by moving all the slime in the room to cover the wooden door, creating a thick barrier between myself and any potential intruders. The slime moved slowly in the grand scheme of things. Even an ant or small spider would be faster. Plant or mold, however, whichever it may be, it moved far too quickly for comfort. Hopefully there would be some warning before I woke up engulfed in the stuff. I rested my back against the opposite wall of the chamber just in case.

I spent some more time seeing if I could write in the slime with my mind alone, tracing runes of magic through its surface. I could, but the process was slow, and the slime so non-portable that the idea had limited application. If I were trapped in a cell again maybe. As long as I could see. And there was a good supply of slime.

I eventually grew bored of drawing in the goo and turned back to old faithful: watching the Teleport rune dance before my eyes. Just for a moment. Just until I felt tired. Just to pass the ti-

It was morning.