Dungeon Lord- Ancient Traditions

by Hugo Huesca

“We’ll need one hell of a distraction to get Ed out of Vaines’ grasp,” she told her team. “What’s the situation with Mohnuran?”

  Diviner Pholk inflated slightly as he focused his Mind. “He and Rolim are still with Lord Steros and Lady Xorander. Neither Dungeon Lord seems too keen on rescuing Lord Wraith. They claim it’s impossible.”

  “Assholes,” Lavy muttered under her breath.

  Kes agreed, but she had little energy to spare thinking about Ed’s supposed teammates. “Ignore them. Scry the area for sections of the Factory recently cleared of danger. As soon as Vaines stops near one of them, direct Mohnuran to it. Tell him it’s time to get to work. Have Rolim escort him, Lavy’s creation should be protection enough.”

  “On it, Marshal Kes,” Pholk said dutifully, then he relayed the appropriate instructions to the rest of the Haunted team.

  While the Diviners worked, Kes and Lavy kept tabs on Ed’s movements. The Dungeon Lord looked alert under the scrying ball, expectant. “Any chance we can send him a message with the details of our plan without triggering Vaines’ pact?” Kes asked the Witch.

  Lavy scowled. “Maybe it’s better if we don’t risk it. Ed’s usually winging it anyway, so let’s hope he’ll be ready when the time comes.”

  Kes nodded. “Fair enough.”

  Alder and Klek stepped back in the tent, and the Marshal took one look at their faces and knew something else was wrong. “People, we’ve got trouble incoming,” Alder said. “Someone detected our communications toward the Factory. Everbleed’s forces are headed our way right now.”

  The activity in the tent came to a halt. “Shit,” Lavy whispered. “Just what we needed.”

  “Archlord Everbleed?” a lizardman spellcaster asked. His name was Churla, if Kes recalled correctly. “We need to evacuate! Open up a Portal back to the Haunt! Quick, before he arrives!”

  “We need to fight him off,” Klek said fiercely, spear in his hand. “Lord Ed is still out there!”

  “Have you seen what he did to Sanguine’s minions?” the lizardman asked. “We’re no use to Lord Wraith if we’re dead!”

  “He’s right,” another spellcaster said. “Our minionship pact doesn’t say we have to throw away our lives uselessly, let’s get out of here!”

  The kaftar guards barked in anger. “Cowards,” one of them said, towering above the scared Wizard. “Lord Wraith bled with us during the liberation of Undercity. Honor demands we defend him with our lives! The magic of a pact allowing you to run is not an excuse to do so. Escape with your tails between your legs if you want, but we won’t be the ones covering your rear as you do.”

  Kes cursed under her breath. At a glance, her team was divided. Most of the spellcasters, excluding Pholk and Arieselle, agreed with Churla. The kaftar, the batblins, and the spiders with Klek. The carrion avians seemed to side with the batblin as well, but Kes knew they would break as soon as the fight went awry.

  Even if they all fought Everbleed, chances were he’d wipe the floor with them. The smarter move was to use the emergency Portal they’d previously set up. But that would mean leaving Ed to his fate.

  The Marshal realized she was gritting her teeth hard enough to send jolts of pain through her jaw. The last time she’d made a judgment call like this, her battle-sisters had died. She had lost her wings, as well as her home.

  Was she about to lose it all again?

  “Kes?” Lavy asked. “They need orders.”

  Everyone around her looked terrified, except for the vampires. How did you do it, Ria? Kes thought desperately. How did you kept your cool when everyone’s lives depended on you? This time, however, the old sergeant kept quiet. Perhaps because Kes herself wasn’t sure of the answer.

  She made her decision. Firmly, as if she had perfect confidence that it was the right call, she gave the order.

  The summoning circle slowly took shape around Gallio as the team of high-level Wizards worked through the steps with the methodical efficiency of those that had spent decades perfecting their art.

  The Inquisitor couldn’t help but feel unnerved by the kind of magic they were doing. Those aligned with the Dark powered the spell by sacrificing experience points. Those favored by the Light could pray for the gods to void the requirement in exchange of a different sort of payment: gold, going on certain missions, or having an entire Inquisitorial squad fast for weeks. Gallio had no idea what the exchange rates were between a human life—measured in experience points—and a week without food or drink, but the very existence of such rates made him have dangerously close to heretical thoughts about the nature of the gods under whose protection Heiliges thrived.

  “We are almost ready, Eminence,” one of the Wizards told him. Gallio nodded, distracted. He was going on what amounted to a normal visit to King Varon’s court—the official motive being a personal report of the Starevosi insurrection. Nevertheless, he was wearing a full suite of polished mail armor and was armed to the teeth. What, exactly, did he expect to find back home? There was nothing, other than Examiner Hatter’s fears.

  And yet here Gallio was.

  He glanced out the window. In the nearest tower, a different team of Wizards was preparing another summoning circle. The Inquisitors that would step into that circle when the time was right would face some of the Dark’s most fearsome Dungeon Lords.

  Wright would be there for sure.

  Gallio rested his hand on the handle of his sword. The last time he’d seen the Dungeon Lord of Earth, Wright had bathed his hands in the blood of young Inquisitors just like the ones that currently manned Castle Vadyahun. Those very same Inquisitors would now risk their lives against Gallio’s own enemy. And Wright wasn’t the worst among the Lordship. Lady Vaines, Lord Molmeda, those were the kind of names whose presence in the past had required the help of the Order of the Silver Knight themselves.

  Outside, the wet Galtian morning blossomed into a warm afternoon.

  Heiliges or the Factory, Gallio mused as he watched the placid drift of the light gray clouds, and the sway of the wind on the garden below. Every decision was like the branch of a tree. There would be no take backs if he stepped through the summoning circle. Heiliges was his duty. But Wright was his responsibility.

  Perhaps there is no right choice, he decided, closing his eyes. Inquisitors were taught to listen to the Tenets instead of their hearts.

  Suffer not Evil to exist.

  Gallio made his choice. He had no way to know it would change the fate of the Inquisition forever.

  Vaines’ ogre struggled against the rusted metal lock of a door wide enough to fit three others like him. The door didn’t budge, just like it had refused to open for Lord Virion’s Rogue. Ed had no idea if the door was that well protected, or if the Rogue just wasn’t as good as Maser. Whatever the reason, the only option left was the noisiest approach.

  The Clerics of Tal Zamor studied the wide steel door with a frown. “Shall we blow it up, my Lady?” one of them asked Vaines.

  “No, I don’t want to risk alerting security,” she said, rubbing her chin. She glanced behind her shoulder. “Planeshifter, come here.”

  Ryan sprang forward. “Yes?” he asked.

  “We need to get inside this vault. Create a Portal that opens up two meters past the hatch.”

  Ryan winced. “I need to know the location I’m Portaling to… my Lady. Kharon was very clear. Please,” he added when he saw Vaines’ look. “You know I’ve tried.”

  “I know, in fact, that you haven’t really tried,” she said curtly. “You’ve been awfully conservative with your abilities, Argent. First you refused to close a Portal with test subjects halfway through, and now this. How are you to know the limits of your power if you refuse to investigate them? I’m starting to think your talents are wasted on you.”

  Ryan would not meet her gaze. Ed noted how the young man’s shoulders slumped, not unlike a scared batblin facing a wolf. The Lord of the Haunt wondered what Ryan’s circlet would do, exactly, if its wearer refused to fol
low Vaines’ direct command.

  “Where is a Portal to an unknown location supposed to lead us?” Ryan asked, increasingly desperate.

  Vaines was about to say something, but then Ed stepped forward and said, “Enough. There is no need to try Objectivity’s patience with this, Vaines. Let Argent be.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “No need? So when we reach Tillman’s office we’re just going to hope it was left open for me? How clever of you,” she added sarcastically, then gestured toward the hatch. “If you wish to forego the help sent to us by Kharon himself, then take point once the security activates.”

  The Dungeon Lord stiffened his back and strolled to the front of the line. “Go on,” he told the Clerics. “We don’t have all day.”

  Both spellcasters gave their Dungeon Lady a worried glance, as if asking for permission. When she didn’t react, they set to the task, casting a tongue of black flame over the hatch that they maintained for several long minutes.

  Slowly, the metal melted. If there was anyone—or anything—behind, they’d know Vaines and the others were here. They’d have time to set up an ambush. And usually the first person to fall during an ambush was the one at the front. In this case, Ed.

  “Are you sure?” Ryan asked him while the Clerics worked. “You saw what those oozes did to Vaine’s ogre the second he stepped through the Portal.”

  Ed gave him a stiff grin. “What do you think would happen if you make a Portal to nowhere?”

  “Well…” Ryan shuddered. “I don’t know. I just really feel like it’s a terrible idea.”

  “Hold on to that instinct,” Ed said, thinking of the sensation of doom he got whenever Objectivity started losing its patience. “Nothing Vaines can do to you is worse than what happens if you abuse your power.”

  The door fell off its hinges with a crash loud enough to raise the dead. “After you, Lord Wright,” Vaines said, amusement in her voice.

  Ed went into the dark without complaint, his sword drawn and Evil Eye activated to a low intensity to avoid the glow pinpointing his exact location to anything watching from inside. He cast a light spell and had the globes spread around him in a circle, all shifting at a random pattern.

  The place was even more vast than the Museum, large enough that his globes couldn’t reach the opposite walls before he ran out of range of the spell. The floor was elegant—a marble checkered pattern with brass engravings. There were unlit candelabras in the domed ceiling and raised platforms and displays strewn about. It reminded Ed of the Haunt’s own vaults.

  As he walked, he wondered if he’d live long enough to see the trap that would kill him. Was he strong enough to survive a fireball if he stepped on a rune? Probably not, he decided. He took deep breath after deep breath. Every step was a gamble. No trap sprung, though, for the moment. Behind him, Vaines’ team set to work, the remaining ogre guarding the entrance and the others looking for any hidden attackers among the recesses of the vault.

  “A Treasure Room?” Ed ventured, stealing a glance at a display. It contained a scimitar with a brass handle and a blade of a black metal he’d never seen before.

  “An Armory,” Vaines said, a few steps behind him. “Lord Saint Claire had the best weaponsmiths in the Netherworld under his employ. Any Dungeon Lord that could afford it had their weapons custom made by him.” She created an orange globe of light of her own and sent it to highlight a black battle-axe that only a man the size of Rolim or Mohnuran could’ve wielded. “My brother commissioned that one. Knightcrusher. Designed to plow through the enchantments used by the knights of the Silver Order. He never got the chance to use it.”

  “Good for the people he intended to use it against, I venture,” Ed said. From what Lavy had shared about her stepfather, Lord Heines had been like Vaines but without any semblance of subtlety. A violent man who ruled by fear.

  “Indeed,” Vaines said, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. “Don’t touch anything,” she told Ed, loud enough for the rest of the group to hear. “The Armory is sure to be trapped against thieves. And the weapons are cursed to anyone but their rightful wielder.” She patted at her own sword, still in her scabbard. Another of Saint Claire’s creations, Ed guessed.

  No one came at him from the darkness. His own cursewing stirred, sensing his unease.

  The Dungeon Lord headed for a statue on a raised dais near the middle of the vault. The statue’s plate armor was heavily enchanted, enough so that even after all this time the surrounding air still shimmered with magic. The statue held a long black lance whose blade was made of the same unknown metal of Heines’ axe.

  “This one have a name?” Ed asked Vaines, curiosity overcoming his dislike.

  Vaines flashed a clearly nostalgic grin. “No, the Dungeon Lord who owned it wasn’t keen on naming his blades. He had a reputation for losing them, you see.” She took a step forward, moving so close to the weapon that her nose almost brushed against it. Ed almost wished she’d stumble and eat whatever curse that black steel held. “Funny that among all weapons you took an interest in this one. Then again, late Dungeon Lord Sephar and you share more than a passing resemblance.”

  “How so?” Ed asked. “That’s not the first time you’ve said that, either. I keep hearing about him and his Bane, but few more details than that.”

  “They were the champions of an age long past: Everbleed in his tower, Saint Claire in his factory, and Sephar deep in the bowels of the earth. There were no artificial Heroes during that time, and Inquisitors were little more than rule-abiding adventurers delving through our dungeons. Our cities held month-long rites during which the blood of slaves and prisoners ran like a river through the streets canals and Dark gods sang and danced among the smoke of the burning carcasses. I was little more than a child myself,” Vaines said. “Old enough to have whet my teeth with my first kill, but not old enough to pay attention to things other than battle and glory. So the only first-hand memories I have of him are of the times we fought together, along with my brother. If you’ll allow an old woman a moment of self-pride… We were monstrous back then.

  “Sephar had a thing against rules. He was a traveler, a cheat, and a scoundrel. The people loved him; the nobility abhorred him. He never fought fair, even when he had the upper hand. He kept testing Objectivity’s limits while somehow never pushing too far. He invented the modern fireball spell, if I recall correctly, by taking away the heat out of the spell and focusing on raw concussive force—far more efficient at killing an enemy with magical protection. His minions were the best of the best; it was considered a great source of pride to serve in his dungeons.” She glanced at Ed. “He was also a stubborn idiot that refused to lose, no matter the cost and no matter the consequences for everyone else. He tried to conquer a kingdom for himself while the others fought the Heiligians. The kingdom was a dungheap with superstitious locals and an infestation of werewolves. I’ve no idea why Sephar wanted it, but perhaps you do, since it’s the same kingdom you’re willing to die for.” She walked away from the statue and said over her shoulder, “Sephar overextended his hand. The Silver Knights found him, blocked his Portals, and forced him deeper south—away from Lotia. Toward the Wetlands. The rest of the story you probably already know.”

  She smiled wistfully, then her expression turned stern and she was back to her normal self. “History lesson over, Lord Wright. Time to get back to work. There’s a Factory you must win for me.”

  Ed stared at the bat-winged helm of the ancient Dungeon Lord as if it would fly away at any second. The same kingdom you’re willing to die for. He had the vaguest memory, like a dream of a dream, of a man that was not a man sitting next to him during the Spriveska festival and telling him that there were gods other than the Dark and the Light.

  What had Sephar found during his travels that made him want Starevos for himself?

  “Wright?” Vaines called somewhere behind him. “One more thing,” she said when the Dungeon Lord turned. “I believe Sephar’s demise came because he had no stern h
and to rein in his nature. He would’ve been best kept like a dog on a leash against our enemies instead of allowed to roam free. I won’t repeat my ancestors’ mistake. You will either learn to serve me and my people, or you will die before you find your Bane.”

  The crowd had to grant it to Lord Dominique Molmeda—he didn’t make the same mistake that Lord Sanguine Vandran had made. Instead of trying to use his illusions to trick the enemy Dungeon Lords, he and his miragefiends kept well out of sight of Vaines and Edward Wright and only targeted the minions.

  The Rogue who had a Perception too high for the illusions disappeared silently under a pile of rubble when he got too close. A second later he came out as if nothing had happened, or at least someone who looked like him did. The body language was a bit off, and if Lady Vaines or Lord Virion had taken a closer look they might have realized it was actually a miragefiend in disguise.

  Eventually they would realize the ruse, but Lord Molmeda did not intend to give them the chance.

  A myriad of fiends and minions of all types and sizes held their breaths as the fake Rogue made its way toward Vaines, holding something in his hand. People made bets. Who would be left standing in the next few seconds? Was the Endeavor about to come to its end, like it had many times before?

  The bloodbath was about to start.

  Archlord Everbleed paid little attention to the screens. He approached the Haunt’s tent, the crowd parting around the lazy span of his wings. Lord Wright’s minions watched his arrival with the grim visage of those who knew their doom was only a few minutes away. Would they try to fight him? He hoped they would.

  It had been a long, long time since he had had a good fight, and even in this borrowed body he yearned for the unmistakable sensation of a neck breaking under his heel.

  The Haunt had mostly batblins and kaftar, and even a couple newborn nightshades. Perhaps the humans could last a few rounds, but he doubted it.

  Well, he thought, they’ll have to do.

  Vaines found what she had been looking for a few minutes after her talk with Ed. He watched as her face brightened, as if she’d just found an old friend she’d thought lost forever. It was a weapon, of course.