by Hugo Huesca
Somehow, no matter what, he would get out of these bindings. If only he could defend himself, expose his perspective—no message had come out of the tent… it had all been Wraith’s trick.
It was Wraith’s minions who deserved to be on the chopping block. Certainly they would be, once Agumin managed to sort this mess out.
In the meantime, Everbleed paced around, hands raised, speaking to the crowd as if he were still Lotia’s highest Dungeon Lord. “Interfering with the Endeavor is interfering with Lotia’s fate,” he said. “It is the Dark’s will that only the worthiest Dungeon Lord returns Saint Claire & Tillman’s Standard Factory to its rightful place. To stand in the way of such a noble mission is treason. By my hand, the sentence shall be delivered. Is anyone among you is brave enough to challenge my judgment?”
I am! Agumin thought furiously, trying and failing to wriggle out of his bindings. You are nothing, Everbleed, nothing and no one! If he could only get a spell out, he could disrupt the Murmur’s reach spell that Everbleed used to bind the Devil Knight, then send the former Archlord back into the Dungeon Jewel where he belonged… but he could not break the ropes’ hold!
Just as he was about to lose his mind to desperation, someone spoke up. “I am,” said the High Cleric of Vorgothas, a powerful red fiend that had helped Lord Molmeda summon the Devil Knight he had brought to the Endeavor. The crowd parted for this great man, this great fiend, to pass, and he stared Everbleed down as if there was no size difference between them.
Hope flared bright in Agumin’s heart. He was saved!
“These minions are servants of Vorgothas,” the Cleric told Everbleed. “You, whose true form famously resides in Korghiran’s palace, have no claim to their lives.”
An excited silence claimed the crowd, although a few of the cleverer fiends elbowed their way out of spell range.
“I serve all the Regents, and the Dark first of all,” Everbleed said calmly. “These former minions were caught breaking the truce among the Lordship, which could have spread chaos and risked the Factory. They were also caught contacting their Lord—an even worse betrayal. Do you challenge the logic of their sentence? Are they to live only because Korghiran and Vorgothas are enemies, even to the detriment of the Dark as a whole?”
Yes, you idiot! Agumin thought. Tell him, High Cleric, tell him we are not of the Light! Who cares about the rules? The Dark does what it wants!
The High Cleric stood very close to Lord Everbleed, almost tiptoeing so he could see face to face. Warlock Agumin could only see the Cleric’s back, but then the fiend gave a slight turn to gaze with disinterest at the kneeling prisoners.
“You misunderstand me, O Archlord,” the High Cleric said jovially, strolling to the first minion in the line, three men away from Agumin. He caressed the bound man’s cheek with a scaly hand. “I do not dispute the fate of these failures. It is the authority you claim as their executioner that I have an issue with. The prisoners are Vorgothas’ and as such—” There was a wet sound of tearing flesh. The minion under the Cleric’s caress tensed and then collapsed, arterial blood flowing from a terrible wound in his neck, the thirsty wasteland ground drinking the blood like a vampire “—it is my right to deliver them to Murmur’s halls, where their real punishment shall begin.”
The minion closest to Agumin tried to escape, but the High Cleric simply killed him with a necromantic spell that burst through his chest, showering gore on Agumin’s face and robe.
“As you wish,” Everbleed told the High Cleric as the fiend executed the prisoners.
Agumin was too stunned to even process what was happening. He refused to believe it was real. It couldn’t happen to him.
Why? he asked the Cleric with his eyes, for his mouth was bound, when the bloodied figure stood above him.
“You poor thing,” the High Cleric said, drawing a faint crimson line with his fingernail along the side of Agumin’s neck. “You don’t even understand, do you? The Dark is not angry you cheated.” His eyes were as cold as obsidian. “We are disappointed you got caught.” His hand plunged into Agumin’s neck.
23
Chapter Twenty-Three
To Kill a Dungeon Lord
“I’m going to kill Agumin,” Lord Sanguine Vandran said. “He should have warned that Wraith and his team were so close. I gave explicit instructions.” His haunches burned from the awkward position he waited in, and the continuous physical effort had somehow bypassed the quality-of-life enchantments of his armor. He hated all this waiting around. He could not wait for Wraith to show up.
“Patience, my Lord,” Malikar said. Both men were lying in wait atop a sort of intricate, artificial hill built out of wood planks and iron. “What is a moment’s annoyance for a man of destiny such as yourself? This place is exactly where you want to be. Soon, you shall get rid of one of your rivals. The wait means time for Lord Molmeda and Lady Vaines to have their little showdown. You’ll find them after the battle is over and will easily deal with the weakened survivor. In the meantime, consider us predators and Lord Wraith the rabbit.” There was a heavy crossbow next to him, both weapon and bolt sizzling with enchantments designed to pierce the protections of a Dungeon Lord, then kill him slowly.
Lord Vandran knew the crossbow to be Akathunian in origin, made by design to kill Wraith and built by the survivors of the former Unseen Brotherhood of Constantina. Sanguine knew the story of how Wraith had hunted them to the brink of extinction, taking their stronghold and forcing them to hide in the Netherworld to gather their strength and bide their time. However, he had no idea how Malikar had established a relationship with the secretive Akathunians. Then again, that was the reason the minion had risen through the hierarchy of House Vandran so quickly. Not only was he a powerful agent in his own right, he was also well connected.
It had been Malikar’s men who had drafted the Summoning Circle that had allowed Sanguine to invade Constantina so easily. Sanguine had been so close to getting his hands on the Scrambling Towers that day. There still was a bitter taste in his mouth because of that failure.
“As you say,” Sanguine said, his voice a whisper—echoes carried far in that part of the Museum, with its snaking roads of iron and wood and the dead contraptions watching blindly around every corner. “But I don’t need to be happy about it. Is this bolt of yours truly capable of bringing down a Dungeon Lord in one shot?”
Malikar’s smile was cold and sharp, visible even through the darkness that enveloped the vast room. “Perspective is a funny thing. Take away the legends, the villagers’ fears, and the Inquisition’s paranoia, and Dungeon Lords are just mortals, my Lord Vandran. Some are nobler than others, of course,” he added. “Those not blessed by the Dark with the gift of a strong bloodline fall as easily as any mercenary commander with access to enchanted armor. The Akathunians sometimes are hired by mercenaries to deal with a rival, and so the Unseen Brotherhood of Akathun has perfected the art of clearing such marks. While in the Netherworld, they taught me. Would you like to know how to kill a Dungeon Lord like an Elite Assassin?”
“Certainly,” Sanguine said, eager for anything to distract himself from boredom.
An objective observer may have noted that Sanguine lacked the Spirit ranks to feel uneasy at the idea of his minion being so good at killing Dungeon Lords. Sanguine, however, was not an objective observer. He was proud of how clever he had been at recruiting the mysterious Malikar, who followed his every command, no matter how depraved or cruel, all for the privilege of tagging along for the Endeavor—a dubious honor that Vandran’s other minions had been happy to surrender.
Malikar caressed his crossbow. “First of all, for most of their strategies to work, you require access to the mark. This is more easily achieved against generals than Dungeon Lords, who can hide at the far end of their most fortified dungeon for years. For example, even in Undercity where he is known as a front-line leader, Lord Wraith always took measures to cover his ass against the Assassins. There are ways to get a Dungeon Lord to co
me out into the open, of course, but this is the Endeavor, after all; and since Lord Wraith is not hiding behind his Bard’s illusions, I won’t bore you with the details.”
He chuckled, as if he had made a joke at Vandran’s expense. Before the Dungeon Lord could furrow his brow, Malikar went on, “To kill a heavily defended and highly dangerous mark you can either be fast or you can be thorough. The fast way involves finding something unexpected that bypasses their defenses, then acting before they have time to react. Drowning, for example, is something not even Heroic armor can protect you from. So, drop your Dungeon Lord into a freezing lake. Falling from somewhere high enough does the trick, too. Just sabotage his Summoning Circle, make him appear two miles above the ground.” Malikar snapped his fingers and chuckled again.
“However,” he added, raising an admonishing finger, “fast can also mean sloppy. A cautious mark may reinforce his weaknesses. He may carry a water-breathing ring, for example, or a levitation rune. Of course, no mortal can know the future, and thus no one can protect against every possible danger, but there’s always the chance it’s the mark’s lucky day. And, when dealing with dangerous Dungeon Lords, you absolutely don’t want to leave these matters to luck. So we need to be thorough.”
“Thorough?” Sanguine asked, intrigued. “How so? Just slash at him with a sword until his defenses fail. Or gather around a great deal of archers and overload his defenses.”
“That would work,” Malikar said. “But the defenses rarely fail with the first strike, and even less if the mark has many talents in his character sheet. So he will retaliate, or worse, he may find a way to escape, which is something Dungeon Lords are infamous for, aren’t they, my Lord?”
This time Vandran was sure Malikar was mocking him, for his retreat during the failed attack in Constantina. Perhaps his adviser had grown too sure of his position after all. It was a mistake few minions repeated. No member of a dungeon was irreplaceable besides the man that sat on the Seat.
“After all, everyone saw Lord Wraith run with his tail between his legs from Vaines’ duel, didn’t we?” Malikar went on, unaware of Sanguine’s musings, which immediately eased. Most of their relationship was like this, with the Dungeon Lord misinterpreting the minion, and the unaware minion somehow managing to say the right thing to escape punishment.
Lord Sanguine would have thought Malikar toyed with him on purpose. But it was impossible that the heir of House Vandran could be outsmarted by a mere minion, so he didn’t give it much consideration.
“Go on,” Sanguine said.
“A thorough kill is overwhelming and absolute. Fast, if possible, but calculated. There is planning and art, and it can be a great pastime, if you know to enjoy a mix of brutality and creativity. For your example with swords to be thorough, we would need to surround Wraith with Elite Assassins all using enchanted weapons to bypass his armor, while at the same time silencing him as he steps inside an anti-magical circle so he cannot escape in any way. As the Assassins attack, we gas the room with something poisonous they are immune to but Wraith isn’t, and even if he somehow manages to fight the Assassins off, we then blast him with Advanced-ranked spells from all directions. When his body hits the ground, we quarter it, then burn it and spread the ashes on hallowed ground, so he cannot possibly come back as any sort of undead. That is thorough.”
Sanguine pursed his lips. “That is wasteful. Acid, Assassins, Advanced magic? Any of those things would be more than enough to kill Wraith. The gold spent would be my House’s, Malikar, and Wright isn’t worth it.”
“Anyone worth ambushing is worth ambushing well,” Malikar said cheerfully. “We don’t have gas or a dozen Assassins, but we do have a Dungeon Lord, two Illusionists, and a crossbow bolt designed to drill through magical buffs before spewing iron-melting acid in all directions. And the element of surprise, of course. The plan here is quite simple. Our miragefiends shall shield us from detection until I have a clear shot at Wright. The acid in this bolt is Akathunian. It will eat through his armor, skin, muscle, and bone. There shall be nothing left, and my Lord Vandran will enjoy Wraith’s screams of agony as we safely retreat farther inside the Factory before the rest of Korghiran’s lot can retaliate. Elegant. Now, my Lord, I ask you… is our plan fast or thorough?”
Sanguine suddenly felt like he was a child again, with one of his many tutors towering above him, testing him with some bothersome question or another. Most of his tutors had waited eagerly for an answer just like Malikar did just now. It irritated the Dungeon Lord. His tutors had learned to fear him, in time, yet Malikar had never shown such signs. Perhaps he would get rid of the minion, after all.
“I don’t know,” Sanguine said, no longer enjoying the conversation. “Thorough? It better be, since if this plan fails you will be the one who shall stay behind and cover my retreat.” It was true. The pact of minionship demanded it so.
Malikar’s gaze returned to the doorway. “We have everything set up. Let us hope that Lord Wraith’s luck is not on his side.”
“What could that mongrel possibly do to escape?” Sanguine snapped. “He has to pass by us, unless he wants to come back the way he went. My ambush is perfect.”
“Whenever your plan seems about to work perfectly, it’s time to look for cover,” Malikar said with a chuckle.
“Is that from a book?” Sanguine asked. “I think I’ve heard it before.” Again came the annoying feeling that the minion was a tutor and the Dungeon Lord a young child that had failed yet another test.
Malikar shook his head without looking at him. “It’s just something an old friend used to say. Don’t worry about it. Either way, a Dungeon Lord dies here soon enough.”
The spiderling hung by a silvery thread among the rusty crevasses of the vaulted ceiling, invisible to everyone but the iron beetles that marched silently in ordered lines. The beetles eyed the critter as they passed, as if their unfeeling brains were unsure if the spiderling was a threat or a piece of debris to be removed.
After it had watched enough, the spiderling skittered through the ceiling and traveled down a wall, while the four men below planned their ambush.
Ed lifted his palm up to his ear and listened closely to the spiderling’s whispers, while the rest of the team waited. Understanding the tiny critter was hard enough due to the size difference, but it didn’t help that spiderlings communicated by mandible clicks and rubbing their forelegs until they grew to become spider warriors, which were able to speak human language.
“Can you repeat that?” Ed asked. “Bit slower this time. I’m not sure if you meant ‘wooden cat’ or ‘hill.’” He knew only a handful of words of spiderling, but most phrases resembled each other and there were about a hundred different ways to say “watch out, there’s a cat nearby,” all of them as frantic as one may expect.
The spiderling repeated the gestures. Ed nodded to himself. “An ambush. Two pigeons—I mean, snipers—atop a wooden platform about a hundred paces to the left.” He lowered his hand, and the spiderling jumped onto the plating of his leg, then went behind it.
The Dungeon Lord turned to the others and was surprised to see the look on their faces. “What?” he asked.
“Do you always have spiders on your body?” Xorander asked.
“You don’t?” Ed asked. “Spiderlings are very useful, like you just saw. Great spies. And they eat the kind of tiny insects you don’t want anywhere near your room.”
“But they are spiders. Which you keep on you at all times.” For some reason, Xorander seemed to think this point had to be repeated for emphasis.
Mohnuran snorted with repressed laughter. “If we survive, you should visit the Haunt sometime, Lady. There are many more like that little friend.”
Spymaster Maser came to Ed’s rescue. “My Lady, there are men on the other side of that door that want to kill us. Perhaps we could discuss Lord Wright’s idea of keeping a card up his sleeve after the Endeavor is over?”
“Only two snipers,” Steros pointed out, after
Xorander finally dropped the spiderling matter. “Where are the other two minions?”
“Maybe they died,” Xorander said.
Jarlen stifled a laugh. “With the Haunt’s luck on our side? I doubt it.”
“They could be hiding,” Ed said. He fought the need to pace like a caged predator. Sanguine was just behind that door. Without Kes’ warning, there was a chance Ed would’ve fallen into a second one of Sanguine’s ambushes. But now they had a chance to turn the tables on him. “Or under an illusion of some kind. The only thing that is sure is that Sanguine is there, waiting for us, and he is blocking our path forward.”
“We could go back and find another way,” Maser said. “We don’t know what he has planned, and we should avoid unnecessary conflict until we are near Tillman’s office.”
“Spoken like a minion. This is a Dungeon Lord’s call,” Steros said angrily. He was pacing, a hand on his sword and the other closed into a fist. “Sanguine is our enemy, so we’ll have to fight him sooner or later. Right now, he is cut off from his allies. We outnumber him. Let’s kill him before he finds Lord Molmeda and that Devil Knight.”
“Lady Xorander, what do you say?” Ed asked, although he had already made up his mind.
“I’m with Maser,” Xorander said with a dignified shrug. “Sanguine is not my enemy, and neither is Lord Molmeda. If we kill his ally, though, he may come after us needlessly.”
Steros stopped pacing. “What if Wright and I go through that door anyway?”
Tension suddenly filled the room between the Dungeon Lords and minions. Mohnuran and Jarlen surreptitiously shuffled toward Ed, and the Rogues in Xorander’s employ did the same on her side. The Dungeon Lords were allies thanks to Korghiran’s meddling, but it was an alliance of convenience, and there was the unspoken agreement that whenever that alliance was no longer convenient, then… well. It was unspoken for a reason.