Dungeon Bringer 1

by Nick Harrow

  “I don’t,” I said. “But you will. Ready for question number two?”

  Nephket nodded and bit her lower lip to hold back the flood of questions I knew she had for me.

  “If you’re my familiar, just how close is the bond between us?” I asked.

  The priestess didn’t hesitate this time. She placed her hand on top of mine and gave it a squeeze. Her warm touch reminded me of how strange it was to have so few physical sensations. When our hands were apart, I wasn’t warm or cold. I could feel the stone beneath my feet, and I felt the sarcophagus’s texture when I touched it with my fingertips. But the sensation was muted somehow, like getting a big drink of water when you expected beer. Not unpleasant, but strange.

  “Close your eyes,” she said. “And think of me.”

  I did as she instructed, because I was way out of my depth here. Nephket was new at this, too, but she knew a hell of a lot more about the dungeon lord business than I did.

  With my eyes closed, I concentrated on Nephket’s image. The shape of her body glowed in my mind like a lightning bug’s tail. Sharp and bright for a moment, and then gone. It returned a few moments later, and this time I saw the details of her clothes and face before she flickered away. The image stabilized finally, and Nephket hovered in the darkness of my thoughts like a hologram.

  Then Nephket smiled, and everything changed.

  It was no longer dark, for one thing. I hadn’t opened my eyes, but suddenly looked out over the wahket who watched me with rapt attention.

  I walked across the chamber, even though I knew I hadn’t moved. My hand brushed across the head of one of the cat women, and strands of her hair slipped between my fingers like the finest threads of silk. I stopped in front of the throne and stared up at the glowing orb between the snake’s jaws.

  I turned around and just about pissed myself.

  A tall man sat on the edge of the sarcophagus, his ankles crossed in front of him. A pair of woven reed sandals covered his feet and were held in place by leather thongs wrapped around his calves. He wore a tattered loincloth, and nothing else. His skin was pale but tinged with a faint golden hue that seemed to radiate from deep inside him. His naked arms and legs were lean and corded with muscle. The skin across his chest was stretched tight and so thin I could see the fibers of his pectoral muscles, and the hard edges of his skull looked ready to poke through the mask of his imposing face.

  “Do you see?” Nephket asked, and I heard her voice in my head a split second before the words reached my ears.

  I almost fell off the sarcophagus when I realized I was looking at myself through Nephket’s eyes. I looked sort of the way I remembered, though I was a bit taller now and had a sinister, almost-a-monster vibe going on. No wonder the raiders had been freaked out when I showed up to take a whiz on their parade.

  “Whoa,” I said. I heard my voice twice, once with my own ears and once with Neph’s. I opened my eyes.

  “That works. A little too well,” I said. “Any idea of the range on that little trick?”

  “I don’t think there is one,” Nephket said as she moved back through the room and stopped in front of me. Her hands twisted uncertainly at her sides until I reached out to still them with my own. I held on to her fingertips and took a deep breath.

  I was pretty sure she was not going to like the rest of my plan.

  And I was totally right.

  “You’re sure this will work?” she asked me after we’d sent most of the wahket back to their homes in the village above my tomb. It turned out that they didn’t live in my dungeon; they’d just come together down there as a last-ditch attempt to hold off the raiders. Kezakazek’s spells had wounded a few of the cat women seriously enough that they’d needed help getting home, but the others had come through their encounter with the raiders with only minor injuries.

  I took a closer look at the wahket we’d kept in the dungeon. I’d chosen the ten who looked the healthiest to help with my plan and hoped they’d be up to the task.

  [[[Anunset, 0-Level Wahket Commoner, 4 Hit Points]]]

  I’d be a liar if I said their low level and hit points weren’t just the teensiest bit disappointing.

  I’d hoped the cat women would be at least first-level, but my plan would still work even with a crew with no combat experience. It was all about timing and trickery, and the wahket would be perfect for that.

  As I explained the plan to Nephket, and she relayed the details to her people, I took a quick peek at her level.

  [[[Nephket, 1st Level Wahket Cleric, 8 Hit Points]]]

  Okay, that was a little better. She probably had a few healing spells, maybe even some sort of mystical smiting ability she could use to hammer down the bad guys. I’d have to ask her for a full rundown of all her abilities after I’d finished setting up for our next set of guests.

  After the wahket had run through the plan a couple of times and were sure they understood what was required, it was time to get the priestess geared up for the part she had to play.

  “You’re sure this is going to work?” Nephket asked as she struggled to buckle the straps of the damaged leather armor we’d appropriated from the rogue. The cat woman had significantly different proportions across the chest and hips than the half-demon, but with a few adjustments to the straps she made it work.

  In fact, she more than made it work.

  “Keep your head down,” I said, “and you’ll be fine. Don’t pick any fights and don’t claw anyone’s eyes out, all right?”

  She blushed at that and scuffed her toes on the sand-strewn stone floor.

  “I don’t look ridiculous, do I?” she asked as she turned in a circle.

  The supple leather armor hugged her body so tightly it looked like she’d been poured into it. We’d been worried that the raiders would recognize she was a wahket, but now that she was dressed in the black armor I had no doubt they would not be looking at her pointed ears.

  Just to be safe, though, I’d made a little present out of one of the daggers for her.

  “And here’s the final piece of your costume,” I said and handed it over.

  “It’s lovely.” She grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. Nephket whipped the hooded cloak I’d given her over her shoulders. The material was as dark as a moonless night but light enough that it wouldn’t hinder her movements or trip her up.

  She pulled the cloak’s hood up over her head, and it hid her ears and face almost perfectly. The cloak itself was long enough to conceal her tail, and she’d managed to get her feet into the armor’s boots and her hands into its gloves to conceal her short claws. Nephket wasn’t comfortable—I could tell that from the way she stood on the balls of her feet—but she looked stunning and no one would ever guess she was one of the peaceful wahket.

  “Okay,” she said. “You’ll be right here watching?”

  “The whole time,” I said and squeezed her hands once more. I walked over to my snake throne and took a seat. “Right here.”

  Nephket waved uncertainly, then turned away from me and headed for the surface. Before she’d left my dungeon, I closed my eyes to watch the world through hers.

  “We’re good.” I hoped she could hear me.

  “Thank you,” she replied. I heard the words as if I were standing right next to her, even though I could tell from the pitch she’d barely whispered them. At least we could talk, which would make things a lot easier.

  Nephket glided through the rest of the tomb and made her way up the stairs to the surface on nearly silent feet. She moved with the grace of a panther and the determination of a true believer. Her faith in me was humbling, but I was certain my plan would work.

  The dungeon entrance was perched at the top of a wooded hill beneath the widespread branches of a sycamore fig tree. Nephket breathed deeply, and I smelled the rich, fresh scent of the tree’s widespread branches and the cool, clean aroma of fresh water. The priestess reached up to stroke the wide green leaves over her head and then emerged from the tree’
s shadow to look down on the wahket village.

  Rolling hills crowned with thick green bands of forest surrounded the wide Kahtsinka Oasis like slumbering giants. The water in the oasis glinted silver-blue under the moonlight, and its surface was so calm I saw constellations reflected in its surface. Those star formations were alien to me, but Rathokhetra’s memories filled me in on their names: The Judge, The Hungry Jackal, Scorpion Stinger.

  The village crouched between the cool water and the ring of hills. The wahket had burrowed their homes into the flanks of those hills, and then constructed their businesses and public buildings on the narrow strip of flatland that bordered the oasis itself. The faint orange sparks of candles flickered in the windows of houses on the western side of the oasis, but the neighboring businesses were shuttered and dark. The north and south edges of the village were likewise lifeless and dark.

  The eastern edge, though, was something completely different.

  That end of the water was dominated by an enormous, multicolored big top that had been anchored to the roofs of neighboring businesses and homes. Smaller tents had been scattered around it, and I could see that some houses and businesses had been commandeered by the newcomers. The Raiders Guild had seized this part of the village, and I could already tell I hated everything about them.

  Nephket hesitated when she reached the bottom of the hill, and for a moment I thought she would turn to the west and seek shelter with the other wahket. But the priestess stiffened her shoulders and gave a brisk shake of her head before she changed direction and headed for the Raiders Guild tent.

  Raucous cries and the stink of cheap booze filled the air when Nephket drew near to the raiders’ camp. The sights, sounds, and smells were overwhelming for the cat woman, and panic tried to get its hooks into her. Nephket’s breath quickened, her pulse pounded in her ears, and I felt her nerves twist around her spine like a knot of barbed wire.

  “You’ve got this,” I said. “Keep your hood low and don’t look in their eyes. They’ll never know you’re not one of them.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she whispered back to me. Nephket pulled her cloak closed across her chest and tugged its hood so low she could barely see the road in front of her.

  The big tent masked the moon’s face, and the only light came from guttering torches and tallow candles that spat and belched more foul-smelling smoke than they shed light. The low tarp ceiling captured that smoke in ominous clouds that made it hard for the cat woman to see more than a few feet ahead of her. While the choking smoke made it hard for Neph to see, it also made it hard for the raiders to see her. Everything was going according to plan.

  Neph passed by a cooking pit, and the smell of roasting meat and baked potatoes made her nose twitch and my spectral stomach ache.

  Shit. If I couldn’t touch the loot I’d taken from the raiders, that probably meant I couldn’t handle any food, either. I’d spend the rest of my ghostly life jonesing for a pizza. Or tacos.

  Mmm. Tacos.

  I really should have made those cartel bastards buy me a dozen spicy tacos from one of the all-night taquerias on our way to the hacking job. Now the last taste I’d have would be that shitty street meat on a stick I’d bought from the stall near my apartment. That sucked.

  “Is that you, Peska?” a gruff voice asked.

  Nephket tilted her head toward the speaker without turning her face toward him.

  “Keep it down,” she whispered. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

  She took a quick glance at the speaker. He was your run-of-the-mill fantasy dwarf dude. His heavy beard was adorned with thick leather bands that held its many complex braids in place, but his armor and weapons weren’t so ornate. He wore a black iron breastplate and had a battered old battle axe resting next to him as if he expected to fly into battle at a moment’s notice.

  [[[Gurz, 1st Level Dwarf Warrior, 14 Hit Points]]]

  “You’re doing great,” I said. “This guy’s perfect. You set the hook, now reel him in.”

  Nephket tried to move away from Gurz, but the dwarf reached out and stopped her with one calloused hand. He tried to peer up under her hood, but she deftly turned her face away before he could catch a glimpse. Fortunately, the dwarf was a little too drunk to care why this version of Peska was more well-endowed than the one he seemed to know.

  “Why not?” Gurz asked.

  Neph didn’t answer. She backed up from the dwarf and stepped around his table, then gave him a sharp glance over her shoulder and gestured toward him with the gloved fingers of her right hand. She strode into the tent’s darkest corner and settled herself at an empty table made from wooden crates lashed together with ragged hemp rope. Her seat was a stack of old wooden pallets, as were the rest of those scattered around the makeshift table. It looked like the Raiders Guild didn’t have much use for creature comforts when they were on the job.

  Gurz arrived a few minutes later with three of his friends in tow. They all wore the same black breastplates, though their weapons differed. One of them carried a flanged morning star that looked like it weighed as much as Neph did. Gurz and one other wore axes over their shoulders, and the last one had a hammer with a spiked face attached to his belt and a kite shield on his back. They looked like they’d been in a few scrapes, but I knew they were nowhere near as tough as they pretended.

  My dungeon lord’s vision told me they were all lowly first-level raiders. I didn’t bother learning their names, other than Gurz, because I didn’t care that much about them. There were three warriors and a single priest in their group, which wasn’t an ideal party composition. They had no rogue to deal with traps or other hazards, and not even an apprentice spellslinger to guard against magical defenses. The only way their raiding party could have been any less prepared to hit a dungeon would be if they had no cleric.

  “These boys are absolutely freaking perfect,” I said to Neph.

  “What’s the big secret?” the first dwarf asked. “We heard you guys got your asses kicked and were in recovery.”

  “Everyone else, but not me,” Neph said. She kept her voice pitched so low the dwarves had to lean in close to hear her. She shoved a small coin purse to the center of the table and loosened its strings with her dexterous fingers. Golden coins, which she’d donated from her halter and skirt, flashed in the torchlight before Neph snatched the purse up again. “But I got out of there with a little something for my troubles. And there’s a lot more where that came from.”

  The dwarf priest rested his morning star against the table and dug a gargantuan louse out of his beard. He held it up in front of one eye, then crushed it between his fingers and tossed its bloodstained carcass over his shoulder.

  “Hmmm,” he mused. “Too bad Kezakazek and the rest of your party get to take their second swing at the place before anyone else can make a run. I could use some coin. Pockets have been a little light since the Guild jacked up the prices on everything.”

  As we’d planned, Neph plucked five coins from her purse and tossed them onto the table.

  “Why don’t you get some drinks on me?” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. “And keep the change. Let’s talk about how maybe we can all get rich instead of lining that dark elf’s pockets with coins.”

  The priest clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. He scooped the coins off the table without another word and vanished into the darkness. He was the group’s clear leader, because none of them said anything until he’d returned with five tar-bottomed wooden tankards. He slid them across the table with practiced ease, and Nephket caught hers just before it tumbled off the edge.

  All eyes were on her as she righted her drink, and her pulse quickened. The dwarves’ suspicions grew stronger as she fumbled the drink again and almost dropped it. She finally got it settled in front of her and curled her fingers around it so hard I thought the wood might crack.

  “Sorry about that,” she said. She gestured at a bloodied gash in armor. “Still a little shaky after what
happened in there.”

  That earned a round of subdued laughter from the dwarves, who all promptly buried their noses in their drinks. They slammed their tankards down on the table in unison and wiped foam from their mustaches with the backs of their hands.

  Neph covered her sigh of relief by pretending to take a swig from her tankard, and a wave of relief washed over me. That improvisation had rescued our plan.

  “All right, girl,” the priest said. “Tell us what you’ve got.”

  Nephket handled herself like a pro. Less than an hour after she’d left the dungeon, she was fifteen gold pieces poorer and headed back into my tomb.

  The dwarves were buzzed on the three rounds of drinks Neph had paid for and stumbled along in a loose group around her. At the top of the stairs, the whole group came to a stop, and the dwarven priest hoisted his morning star over his shoulder.

  “I know we’re breaking the Guild’s rules and all,” he said. “But some rules we ain’t gonna break. Raiding party means four, not five. Thanks for the booze, and I appreciate you guiding us here, but this is far as you go on our little adventure.”

  Nephket snarled and reached for one of the six daggers tucked into the sheathes hidden in her armor. She stopped just short of its hilt, though, when the dwarf warriors unlimbered their weapons.

  “I should turn you in to the Guild,” she said.

  “But you won’t,” the priest chuckled. “Because it was your idea to break the rules in the first place. You’d be in just as much trouble as we would, maybe more seeing as how you’re the one who convinced us to break those rules. But I’ll tell you what. If the treasure in this hole is as rich as you claim, I’ll be sure to come find you when we’re done. So we can celebrate.”

  The dwarf priest flicked his tongue at Nephket and made an odious slurping noise.

  My temper flared at the obnoxious display, and I hoped the asshole took a good long time to recover from the injuries he was about to suffer.