by Jaxon Reed
“Well, I must say his recitation of the Ballad of Melody Hall was just wonderful. He should make plenty from that one alone, even if we’re not the finest inn in the city.”
Percel grunted. “A passable job. I’ve heard better. Heard worse, too.”
Bessa sighed, setting the tray down and leaning over the table, happy to duck away from the rest of the inn’s patrons for a moment.
“How I wish I could have been there with the Children Soldiers, watching the Prince fight like that against Ludge!”
Percel grunted again, taking another sip of beer. “It wasn’t anything to be proud of. We watched him die, same as the others. Only a few of us made it out to tell the tale.”
Bessa’s head jerked up in surprise.
“You were there? You fought with Prince Synthan in Melody?”
She could not keep an incredulous tone from creeping into her voice.
Percel nodded with neither modesty nor pride. He spoke in a matter of fact tone, his low voice rumbling.
“I fought as a Child Soldier in service of the Crown. I accompanied Prince Synthan in his efforts to clear Melody, and watched as he died fighting the monster Ludge. I was one of only four to survive that dungeon run.”
He took a long swig of ale. When he pulled the mug down from his face, Bessa stood staring at him with her mouth open. His eyebrows went up as he glanced around, but no one else had heard his announcement in all the hubbub of the busy inn.
“That’s . . . that’s great, Percel! Is the song right? Did the Prince do all those things?”
Percel shrugged. “It’s mostly right. Pretty boy there took some liberties. But yes, we fought hard. And yes, Ludge killed Synthan in the end. It’s essentially correct.”
Bessa looked at the scars on his face, the obvious marks left by swords and knives, the portion of his right earlobe that was missing . . .
Everything about the old man suddenly took on new meaning.
She lost her train of thought when somebody came up behind her and slapped her bottom, hard.
She jumped in shock and pain, and the big man behind her guffawed.
“Come on, Bessa-bitch! Ya done talked with this geezer long enough. Give us some ale. And gimme a kiss.”
He puckered his lips and leaned down toward her face, reeking of drink. She put both hands on his chest and said, “Ew. No, get away!”
“Come on Bessa! You know you wants to get it on with me!”
He made some thrusting motions with his waist and several of his friends at a table nearby cheered, raising their mugs.
“Leave her alone.”
The big man glanced bleary eyed over at Percel and chuckled again.
“Leave the women for us young ’uns, old man.”
He turned back to Bessa. She pinched her nose as he breathed in her face.
“I can satisfy a woman like you.”
She slapped his hand down as he reached for her chest.
A spark of anger glimmered in the drunk’s eyes.
“I want ale, bitch! Then I want you.”
“I said, leave her alone.”
Percel pushed his chair back and stood, still holding the mug.
The big man turned his head and stared down at Percel. He looked surprised the old man was not taller.
He chuckled drunkenly again. “You want some of this?”
He stood straight, his full size expanding like a sail filling with wind. Bessa backed away, hand covering her mouth.
All the tavern’s patrons turned and saw the genesis of a fight. They stood and crowded around, forming a half circle. Everyone looked ready for the next round of entertainment now that the bard had finished singing.
The big man’s friends stood up from their table, three of them. One swayed heavily. The other two stared at Percel with ale-blurred eyes.
Percel moved his chair and stepped around the table. Despite having several mugs himself, he did not sway and his eyes were clear.
He looked up at the big drunken oaf staring down at him . . .
Percel’s hand flew out and he punched the drunk with his mug. It happened so fast his hand looked like a blur. The big man’s eyes went to the back of his head as his jaw split open, and he collapsed backward in a heap.
His three companions moved as one from their table. They rushed Percel, fists swinging. He threw a chair at the first one, kicked the second in the stomach, and threw a roundhouse punch with the mug at the third.
The crowd stepped back in silence. The violence happened so quickly and unexpectedly from an old, scarred-up man no one thought could fight. Everyone looked at the moaning and bloody drunks on the floor, then to Percel and back.
“Step aside, step aside,” a city guard made his way through the crowd.
“No fighting, no fighting allowed. Who’s fighting?”
Everyone in the crowd pointed at Percel, who set the bent up mug back on the table.
“I was merely defending myself, and the honor of the lady of this establishment.”
A few in the crowd cast perplexed looks at Bessa.
Someone said, “He talking about her?”
The guard said, “Well, be that as it may, sirrah, I see four men on the floor and everyone pointing at you. Let’s go spend the night in the city clink, eh? Sleep off that ale and talk with the magistrate in the morning.”
“And let the magistrate fine me several silver or work it off? No thanks. You can take these drunks to the holding cells, instead.”
“Well, I’m afraid you don’t have much choice in the matter, sirrah.”
The guard puffed his chest and rested his hand on the short sword at his belt. Percel glanced down at the weapon and did not appear impressed.
At the inn’s entrance he heard a commotion as several more guards made their way inside.
A captain pushed his way through the crowd, the red plume on his bronze helm dancing as if it had a life of its own.
He said, “What’s going on? What’s happening here?”
Before the first guard had a chance to respond, Percel said, “I was on my way to the Dungeon Corps building when I stopped in for a pint and to hear this new bard they have, when these cretins accosted me.”
The guard said, “Now wait a minute! That’s not exactly—”
“Shut it, Joothin,” the captain said. “This man be with the Dungeon Corps. Have you your badge, sir?”
“Aye, I’ve got it here somewhere.” Percel reached under his belt to a rarely used pocket and pulled out a bronze medallion. He held it between his thumb and forefinger and showed it to the captain. The Dungeon Corps crest showed plainly in the light.
“Very well,” the captain said. “Let the man be on his way.”
Joothin’s eyes narrowed as the crowd parted to let Percel through.
“Just a minute, old timer. I’ll accompany you to Dungeon Corps. We certainly wouldn’t want you to get ‘accosted’ again on the way.”
-+-
Nessa looked up from her sandals and took a deep breath. There before her, the Dungeon Corps sigil hung from a sign: two crossed swords, one flaming and a grinning skull on top.
The 16-year-old girl let her breath out slowly and forced her feet to keep moving.
Nessa stood short, at five feet, with nondescript brown hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. She wore no glamour spell, and offered the world an unadorned face, with brown eyes and a cute button nose tilting up at a perky angle.
She wore a long-sleeved unbleached cotton shift that covered her from neck to ankles. On a leather strap, a round wooden pendant rested on her collarbone.
The front of the building housing Dungeon Corps Headquarters looked warm and inviting. Perhaps it was a spell, but light and warmth seemed to radiate from the entrance, serving as a beacon to passersby in the night.
Nessa took another deep breath and walked through the door.
Inside reminded her of an inn. It was bright and spacious. Through a large archway she could see some kind of
eating area, and several people were enjoying supper in a spirit of bonhomie.
Ahead of her a reception area faced the entrance with several people behind the counter. They looked at her and everyone smiled.
A man with pale skin and a balding head said, “Welcome to Dungeon Corps! My name is Dunken. How may I help you?”
Nessa grew shy, and glanced down at the floor as her ears reddened, but her feet propelled her to the counter.
She said, “I’d . . . I’d like to join.”
“Of course! A cleric I take it?”
He nodded at the wooden circle hanging around her neck.
“Yes.”
“What defensive spells do you know?”
“I’m sorry. I’m weak in the defensive arts. I can cast Rested State. And, uh . . . that’s about it.”
Dunken nodded but his lips twitched down. Rested State was next to useless in combat.
“And offensive spells?”
Nessa perked up a bit. She said, “I can cast Minor Damage.”
That one she had actually used, in a fight with some other girls a while back.
He stared back at her, expressionless.
She wilted and said, “I know it’s not much, but I’m working on it. I can learn more.”
“What is your purpose in coming here? What do you hope to accomplish by joining Dungeon Corps?”
“Well . . . I was sort of . . . told I had to join. By the Grand Matron.”
She peeked up to see if that would suffice, but Dunken continued staring at her. She felt compelled to fill in more details.
“You see, I was . . . I was caught kissing one of the boys . . . one of the other clerics. And, that’s against the rules. We can’t have boyfriends or husbands or anything like that. Not while we’re beginners, at least. Not in the first year. And so . . . this is my punishment. I am to serve out a one year term with the Dungeon Corps before I can return to the Rectory.”
Finally the older man smiled.
“I’ve seen it before,” he said. “You’re not the first cleric the Grand Matron has sent our way. Tell me, what happened to the boy?”
“What happened?”
“Yes, what happened to your young paramour? Will he be joining us, too?”
She could see in his eyes he already knew the answer.
Nessa said slowly, “No. He is from a rather prominent family here in Phanos. He will be staying in the Rectory.”
“I see. Well, for the record, clerics are always welcome in Dungeon Corps. They are rare, and we’re glad to have them no matter how strong they are when they first cross our threshold.
“So . . .” He pulled out a piece of parchment. “Here is the standard contract for one year of service. Place your mark here.”
Nessa took the offered quill, dipped it in ink and scribbled her name.
Dunken said, “Welcome to Dungeon Corps! Through the archway you will find supper. Take as much food as you want, that’s one of the perks. After you’ve had your fill, come back and we’ll find you someplace to sleep. Classes are every morning and afternoon in the courtyard. We’ll put you in a five man team and have you down in the crypts in no time.”
Nessa nodded, resigned. Her life in the Rectory was over, at least for a year. At her young age, a year seemed like an eternity. She would never see Pelser again, the other cleric she had fallen for. Would he find someone else? Surely. He was from a wealthy family and he had such a warm smile. All the girls found him irresistible. In a year he could have his choice . . . He’d probably end up marrying some future Grand Matron, she thought.
The door from the street opened with a loud bustle of commotion as city guards streamed in with several people in tow. Nessa and Dunken turned and watched as guards accompanied two elves inside. One of them was the largest elf either had ever seen. Another guard came in with a very handsome and muscular young man with blond hair. His dashing good looks outshone even her beloved Pelsar. Then a third guard entered along with an old scarred-up warrior who glared at everybody.
The commotion died down and everyone stared at those behind the receptionist’s desk.
Dunken smiled and said, “Welcome to Dungeon Corps!”
Chapter 2
“Don’t eat too much, Toby.”
Toby smiled at his sister and popped three more pancakes in his mouth. After arriving last night practically under guard, and signing away the next year of their lives, Toby and Tawny were allowed to enter the common room. They could smell the food while out in the reception area, and Tawny wondered if that was a trick designed to encourage hungry people to sign on.
She wouldn’t doubt it. Humans were sneaky that way.
They were watched by suspicious city guards who kept eagle eyes on them until the documents were signed. The man who called himself Dunken seemed delighted to have them both. No one could deny that Toby’s size alone made him an asset, and when Tawny began listing the spells she could cast, she thought Dunken might try and hug her. He seemed so happy to have her join the corps.
So they were both welcomed with open arms and led into the common room, where they discovered a seemingly unlimited supply of food. For supper they feasted on chicken, quail, ham, and mutton. That was just the meat. Toby sampled five types of bread, yams, potatoes, beans, mushrooms drizzled with some kind of sauce, three flavors of pudding, two cakes, and he washed it all down with eight cups of tea.
Tawny watched him with some amusement as he stuffed his face from the endless platters of food. She also quietly observed the staff, a group of women who ran the corps’s food operations like a well-oiled clock. They stared with wide eyes at the giant elf as he came back to the counter time and again, but never failed in making sure he had all he wanted.
As for herself, Tawny limited her meat selection to ham. She tried the mushrooms, and loaded up on vegetables. The wenches smiled at her, saying nothing about her ears, nor commenting on her sparkling eyes or the unusual size of her brother.
Reflecting back on it all, Tawny decided if they could eat all they wanted every night without people casting glances their way and making disparaging remarks, fighting for their lives in the dungeons might be worth it.
Sleeping arrangements were simple for “First Years” as new recruits were known. Single men were on one side of the building, single women on the other. Dunken assured her they would move together a couple beds for her brother.
She wandered into the women’s side of the building and found a room. Exhausted, she slumped into an open bed and dropped off into a deep sleep.
This morning they were again treated to a bountiful, inexhaustible supply of food. Toby swallowed his 34th boiled egg. She had counted.
“If you eat too much, you’ll get sick. We’re supposed to show the masters what we’ve got today. You’re going to puke if you keep eating.”
Toby smiled at her, a very happy and satiated smile. He belched loudly. Several people looked at them.
“Lovely. I hope they don’t decide to kick us out. The agreement to serve for a year should go both ways. They’ll probably end up regretting it with you.”
“On the contrary,” a handsome young man said, setting his plate next to hers before taking a seat. “The first time Giganticus here saves his team, they won’t begrudge a single ounce of the food he consumes.”
Tawny looked appraisingly at the muscular youth. He had blond hair and an easy smile. She was unused to humans bothering to engage in conversation so easily. This one certainly looked attractive. His friendliness was a definite bonus.
He said, “I’m Erik, by the way. I saw you come in last night.”
He offered his hand, and she took it with a bemused smile. Humans did not typically offer to shake hands with her, either.
He said, “You two are real assets to the corps. You’re a powerful mage, right?”
Tawny laughed now, thoroughly bedazzled by this handsome young man who spoke so freely with her.
She said, “I’m not powerful by any means.
I only know a handful of spells.”
“A handful is more than most who start out here, from what I’ve heard. I hope I’m on your team when we go into the crypts.”
What a nice thing to say! Tawny thought. She smiled appreciatively.
Out loud she said, “When will that happen, do you think? We were, uh, kind of coerced into joining. We don’t know the way things usually work around here.”
“I’m new too. I just know what I’ve heard. They’ll spend this morning figuring out what we can do. Then they’ll train us for a while, making us better. Sometime after that, they’ll put is in teams and send us down for crypt duty. The younger teams stay near the surface and battle some of the easier monsters to gain experience. As we grow in skill, we’ll get to go deeper and take on more difficult enemies.”
“That makes sense,” Tawny said, biting into an apple. “What are the teams like? I mean, how are they composed? How many are in a team and how do they decide?”
Erik shrugged. He said, “From what I understand, a typical team is made up of five people. They’ll put the strongest in front, casters protected in the middle, and ideally a healer in the back.”
“Ideally?”
Erik nodded. “Healers are rare. Most teams probably rely on potions or magical artifacts if they’re fortunate enough to have them. So, the composition of what they call a ‘five man team’ may have three swordsmen and two spellcasters. Or, two swords and three casters.”
“Can’t they have more?” Tawny said. “Why not five swords, three ranged weapons, and two casters . . . or something?”
Erik shook his head. He said, “The problem is, with too many people you get clogged up down in the tunnels and such. No, a five man team is far more typical. It’s what they call a classic. Or rather, the classic composition of a five man team is two swords, two casters or ranged weapons, and a healer. You haven’t read much, or listened to any bards’ tales about Dungeon Corps?”
“Not really,” Tawny said. “I guess I’ve heard a few songs here and there, but I didn’t pay much attention to . . . team compositions and the like.”