by DB King
They passed through the outer barricade and headed into the Underway. Dark shadows hid in the corners of the high chambers and low tunnels they passed through. Their footfalls echoed off curved walls as they walked along. Marcus led them confidently through the many turns of the labyrinth, and for a while they walked in silence.
“I’m glad, you know,” said Marcus at last. “I always wanted to help the gang to be better, richer, happier, but I never thought I’d be able to do more than a little bit for them. I always wanted to improve their lives.”
“And that is why this works so well,” said Ella, slapping him on the shoulder. “Your intention drives your magic, as I’ve said. This will do good for those around you. But tell me a bit more about our enemies in the Underway,” she asked suddenly, changing the subject, “tell me a bit more about the Sewer Slayers. You mentioned them, and the ratmen—you said they live in the lower parts of the Underway—but you didn’t say much about the Sewer Slayers except that they’re smugglers and sometimes use the murgals as muscle.”
Marcus nodded. “That’s about it. The Sewer Slayers are another gang who inhabit a section of the Underway. Their section is by the lower side of the docklands, and their entrances and exits mostly give out onto the sea. So, they make their living helping the smugglers who often come through the docklands. The smugglers can bring small boats up to the Sewer Slayers’s entrances to the Underway, and for a price they can bring their goods through the Underway and come up in the heart of the docklands, avoiding the harbor patrols and the city guard.”
“Yes, but what’s this alliance the Gutter Gang were talking about? Our friends in the Gutter Gang seemed a bit concerned about our safety because of that.”
“Well, the ratmen have generally kept to themselves down in the lower reaches of the Underway. They’re said to have a whole city down there, with underground rivers, power supplies, magical machinery, and all kinds of other things. Recently, however, they’ve been coming up to the higher reaches of the Underway, and some of them have even been going up top. They want something, rumor has it, something for their city—no one knows what—and so they need to trade for it. Ambassadors from the ratmen came to us six months ago, asking for an alliance and saying that they would pay us to go up top and trade on their behalf.”
Marcus shuddered. “We said no, of course. The ratmen are our sworn enemies, and we are not interested in helping them. But the Slayers, they’re mostly interested in profit. If there’s money in it, they’ll do it, and so it seems that the ratmen and the Sewer Slayers have made a trading alliance allowing the ratmen to get whatever it is they’re needing via the smugglers.”
“It sounds dangerous,” said Ella.
Marcus shrugged. “Perhaps. But the Gutter Gang generally keeps out of the way of the other dwellers on the Underway. We’re in a very defendable spot, and we don’t really have anything major that anyone else would want.”
“Until now,” Ella pointed out.
Marcus looked at her. “What, you mean the dungeons?”
“The dungeons, the gold they bring. It won’t be long until word of what’s happening begins to spread. Where there’s wealth, there’s people who want to take it. You’ll need to be prepared to defend the Gutter Gang as well as level them up. That’s why it’s important to make progress on developing your dungeons quickly.”
“Well, now’s the time. Look, we’re here.”
As they’d been talking, they had made good progress. Now, they stood up on top of a dark stone plinth, looking up a flight of steps that led out into a moonlit square. They walked up the stairs, Hammer trailing close to heel and Ella hanging back a little.
“See out there,” said Marcus, pointing, “there’s the plaza. You’ll need to wait here; I’ll go and talk to the duelists. I’ll place the dungeon entrance here, at the bottom of the steps, so that they won’t need to come too far into the Underway to find the dungeon.”
Marcus took out his sphere and consulted his internal spell library. Place Crucible was right at the top of the options. His spell library was able to present him with the spell he was looking for, and that was very useful. He wanted to look further into the options for customizing the library, but now was not the time.
“Hold the sphere against the wall and activate the spell,” said Ella, excited.
He did as she instructed. As soon as he had said the spell, the sphere vanished. It felt as if it had just melted into the wall. There was a glow of light, and an option floated up in front of Marcus’s face.
Crucible: Reveal
Crucible: Conceal
Marcus selected the top option, and immediately the wooded, iron-studded door appeared. He placed his hand on the handle and pushed it slightly open. Torchlight shone out into the darkened passage, and he could hear the sound of clanking and hissing from the far end of the corridor.
Hammer held back, but Ella followed as he headed out of the Underway. She would hang back, using her Brief Invisibility spell to stay out of sight.
In the plaza outside, Marcus found what he was expecting—the regular gathering of duelists at their nightly activities of drinking, insulting each other, and competing in games of chance or of physical skill and strength.
This exit from the Underway was the only one generally known about by people from up above. It emerged out of a low brick wall, through an archway about four feet high into a narrow lane behind the wall of an innyard. For the people who lived aboveground in Kraken City, the existence of the underway was not a secret, but it was so irrelevant to most of them that no one ever thought about it. For a challenge, maybe, some young adventurer might enter the Underway via the entrance at the Duelists’ Plaza, but those who did found it both eerie and disappointing. It was so vast that there was seldom any enemy to be found so close to an entrance, and unless you knew your way about, the danger of getting lost was great.
For most people, the entrance to the underway was something they were aware of as an afterthought, and for that reason this entrance had never been blocked or covered. It let out into an alleyway behind a tavern, and the alleyway curved around the backyard of the tavern before opening into Duelists’ Plaza, as it was known.
The plaza’s main feature was that it was surrounded by taverns on every side. All these taverns catered to the duelists, or to those who traded with, or had some other connection with, the duelists’ guild. The taverns were big, well-appointed, bright and clean; the guild was a wealthy one and the duelists were a respected class in the docklands. The biggest of the taverns—a three-storied edifice named The Challenger’s Blade—occupied most of the plaza’s seaward side. It towered over the plaza and over the other, smaller inns and boarding-houses. A merry racket of voices, music, and clinking cups and cutlery poured out from it and filled the dark evening air.
Marcus stepped out of the alleyway and into the plaza. It was big, and decorated with many benches, rows of handsome trees, and an elaborate water fountain in the center. Lamps lit the plaza, hanging from ornately carved iron poles. The ground was white flagstones, the same as much of the docklands. All around the square, on the low walls, on the benches, or standing in the shadows under the trees, were the figures of the duelists.
It was a dangerous place to come if you did not know what you were doing, especially for a young man. Any man who walked into the plaza with a sword at his hip was likely to be challenged, and challenges in the square often led to bloodshed or even death. A man not of the guild who died in Duelists’ Plaza was not likely to get justice from the city guard. Marcus made certain that his dagger, hidden in his boot, could not be seen, then stepped out into the square.
Almost immediately, a young man swaggered over to him, backed by two buddies. All three wore long, wicked-looking rapiers at their sides. They were dressed in elaborate, brightly colored clothes, with rich cloaks hanging to their boots. The duelists favored knee-high boots of supple leather, and these three were no exception. They had wide-brimmed hats decorated wi
th exotic feathers, and the current fashion was for them to style their beards and mustaches into elaborate twirls and sharp spikes.
Marcus approached with his arms spread and his cloak thrown back, so that they could all see that he wore no blade at his hip.
The first young man approached him and looked him up and down with a disdainful expression.
“What do you want here, stranger?” he asked curtly. “You look like no merchant, and it’s plain to see that you’re no guildsman either. Are you lost? If so, your safest bet would be to go back to wherever you came from and seek another road.”
Courtesy was crucial when dealing with the duelists, Marcus knew. They were notoriously prickly, and even his lack of a sword would not necessarily save him from being challenged. With his newly enhanced physical prowess, he thought that he would certainly be able to give this young buck a run for his money in a trial of strength if it came to it, but that was not why he was here.
“I humbly beg your pardon, master,” he said deferentially, bowing his head, “but I have come to the plaza of the most honorable duelists for a reason. I have come with an offer for a duelist who is willing to take up a challenge.”
The young man’s eyes flashed, and he laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Speak the challenge,” he demanded in a cold voice. Marcus, keeping his eyes lowered, pointed up the alleyway.
“Up there,” he said, “there is an entrance to the old tunnels that lead down below the city.”
“I know that,” said the duelist, sounding interested despite himself. “What of it then?”
“A little way down the tunnel there is a door, and behind the door, there is a powerful enemy—a monstrous bladehand made of metal and magic. He can be killed—a blade through the eye may do it—but only a fast and nimble man may attempt it.”
“A bladehand?” said the young man. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Look me in the eye, man.”
Marcus looked up and gazed straight into the young man’s dark eyes. The duelist took a step toward him and glared at him, then said, “You do not lie. I know what a liar looks and sounds like, and you are not one. But why should I fight this creature for you?”
“When the creature dies,” said Marcus quietly, “gold will be the reward. A stack of at least a hundred golden tower coins, to be exact.”
The duelist’s companions glanced at each other. A hundred golden towers was a small fortune in Kraken City, and even between the three of them it would be a rich reward for killing one enemy. Their leader kept his eyes fixed on Marcus.
“What you are describing,” he said softly, “is a dungeon chamber like one of those from the ancient legends. Such a thing has not been heard of for generations, and never had been heard of in Kraken City. The old dungeons were stamped out in the Kingdom of Doran, and that’s the only place they were ever known to exist. How can this be, stranger, and who are you to come here bringing this news?”
Marcus looked the young man in the eye and did not blink. He was beginning to like this duelist. “I,” he said, “am the dungeon master.”
One of the man’s companions gave a bark of derisive laughter, but the young leader held up a hand to shut him up. He took a step closer to Marcus.
“Do you know my name, dungeon master?” he asked.
Marcus shook his head.
“I am Jonah the Thrice-Blooded,” he said, “named so for my skill in the duel. I have killed three men outright, despite only being a journeyman for a year. I have the quickest draw of any in the guild, and my honor is unmatched. What is your name?”
“Marcus,” Marcus replied. “Marcus…” The Exile? No. “Marcus of the Underway, the Master of Evolutions.”
“And what would you ask in return for bringing us this information, Marcus?” Jonah replied with a small smile.
Marcus grinned. Their game was over, and they both knew it. “Ten per cent,” he said immediately.
“Done!” said Jonah, returning the grin. He held out a gloved hand, and Marcus gripped it for a moment. “We’ll take out this enemy of yours,” he said, “and if all is as you say it is, we will give you ten per cent of the loot, as you request. Lead on!”
Jonah’s companions looked less sure about taking on the challenge than their leader did, but their honor as duelists left them no option but to follow Jonah and Marcus to the end of the alley and up, into the dark entrance of the Underway. Jonah drew his rapier, and his companions followed suit.
“There are traps,” Marcus said. “Be wary. Once you reach the chamber, the gates will close, and you will have to defeat the bladehand before you can leave. He is vulnerable to fire, remember that. Good luck to you.”
* * *
Jonah the Thrice-Blooded showed no hesitation as he pushed the door open and stepped inside, sword drawn. His companions, Jek and Tyler, followed warily behind him, blades drawn. Jek gave one last suspicious look at Marcus as they entered, then plunged in.
The corridor was dim but for the torchlight.
“Grab one of those brands to light the way,” ordered Jonah in a terse whisper.
Tyler obeyed, pulling a heavy torch from a sconce and holding it up. The bright flickering light flooded the corridor ahead of them. Tyler took the lead, pushing the torch out in front of him in his left hand with his drawn rapier in his right.
When they reached the falling rocks trap, Tyler noticed the pressure-sensitive floor trigger in the flickering torchlight.
“Hold,” he said sharply, and his companions stopped behind him.
“What is it?” demanded Jonah, and his companion pointed to the floor. There was a round, flat area in the middle of the uneven corridor floor, and it had a single rune faintly carved into it.
“A trap,” muttered Jonah. “Go around.”
The three stepped carefully around the pressure trigger, passing without triggering the trap.
The corridor broadened and became higher, and they could hear the clanking and hissing sounds of the bladehand moving in the chamber beyond. Jonah, who was an experienced and highly trained duelist, did not feel fear exactly, but he certainly felt a tingle of anticipation as he approached the brightly lit corner up ahead.
At the last moment, he spotted the tripwire.
“Careful,” he hissed, and all three came to an abrupt halt. From the chamber around the corner, the clanking stopped. A long, low groaning sound—like a tortured soul encased inside a metal box—echoed through the corridor.
He pointed at the tripwire and his companions stopped. “Step over,” he ordered, and they all did so with great care. The second trap had been successfully avoided.
Now they were right at the corner. Jonah stuck his head around—the bladehand stood in front of him.
It filled the doorway, blocking any view of the chamber beyond. As soon as it saw Jonah, it roared angrily. It was too big to fit through the doorway, but it stuck one of its swords down the corridor and Jonah had to pull his face back quickly. After a moment, the sword retreated. Jonah heard two heavy steps moving away from the door.
“Give me the torch,” he said, reaching out a hand. Tyler gave it to him without a word, and Jonah stuck his head around again.
The monster stood a little way away from the doorway now, and Jonah saw its four swords rotating menacingly around the cold, expressionless metal facemask. It stepped forward again, but Jonah flung the flaming torch as hard as he could at it. He could tell that the torch used some kind of thick, flammable accelerant like oil or pitch, and he was gambling that the flaming liquid would stick to the bladehand’s outer armor and cause it some distress, even if it didn’t actually damage it.
He was right.
The torch hit the bladehand in the face, and a thick gout of flaming tar was smeared onto the metal. The flames flared up around the bladehand’s face. The monster took three steps backward, roaring and waving its swords around, beating at the flames.
That was the opportunity Jonah needed.
“Now!” he shouted,
and his two companions followed him as he dashed at full speed into the long, brightly lit bladehand chamber. The monster reeled back, temporarily blinded by the flames that engulfed its golden mask.
The three duelists were in the chamber. Jonah shouted orders. His two companions ran to grab torches, one from either side of the chamber, and then flung them at the monster. As before, the flaming tar that powered the torches left long streaks of thick, burning tar on the bladehand’s body.
Fire seemed to be its weakness, and it retreated again, giving ground. Jonah advanced, his eyes on the monster’s face, as his two companions grabbed the next set of torches from the wall and flung them too, leaving two more burning streaks of tar on the bladehand’s front.
Again and again, they did this, until they had herded the monster nearly the whole way back down the chamber. The torches mostly remained alight when they landed on the ground after bouncing off the bladehand, so the duelists picked them up and flung them again before grabbing new ones.
By the time the monster had backed up against the far wall of the chamber, nearly all the rest of the room was in darkness. A pile of torches lay around the monster’s gigantic feet, some still alight, others flickering out.
The bladehand itself was wreathed in flame. There seemed to be some flammable element to the creature—what it was Jonah could not tell—that meant it was set alight of its own accord when the flames hit it. Streaks of burning tar coated its face and body, but black smoke plumed out from its insides and white steamed hissed.
It did not seem to be any less deadly for that, however, and something told Jonah that the fire alone would not kill it. He would need to do as the dungeon master had said, and put his blade through the monster’s eye.
That meant getting close.
“The flames will not last forever,” he said to his two men. “We need to press our advantage. Swords at the ready, cover me while I get in close.”