As a girl, like many children, I’d been fascinated by adventurers. I’d read every book I could get my grubby little hands on, even the exploits of present age heroes like the late Thato Jacobs.
Adventurers had seemed to have unlimited freedom and power. The profession was important to the economy and continued civilization since all Ludus technology relied on magic stones from dungeons. Adventurers were even respected by government officials…at least publicly.
Thinking back, my fascination with adventurers had probably begun with steel. My father had told me stories about giant steel buildings on Earth, where iron didn’t rot. The very idea had seemed wild to me, and I couldn’t even imagine it until I had seen my first blessed steel weapon, wielded by an adventurer.
Blessed steel was valuable no matter what form it took. Some wealthy people in Bittertown collected blessed steel odds and ends, like nails or random pieces of metal to display in their homes. Obviously, more useful blessed steel objects like tools and weapons were more expensive. Nobody knew how blessed steel was made, or how it kept from rotting, just that it came from dungeons.
I’d been in an open-air market one day with my mother when I’d witnessed an adventurer draw a blessed steel sword. The way the weapon had shone in the sun, all silver and sparkling had captured my attention like moth-flies to a candle. Luckily, no blood had been shed that day, and when the adventurer had sheathed her sword and walked away, she’d seemed so strong and aloof...like a High Priestess.
That thought brought me back to the present with a crash. I had somehow become an adventurer and, through a bizarre twist of fate, I was actually working for a real Dolos High Priestess. The sword in my hand was dull bronze, not gleaming blessed steel, but the adventurer I’d been so impressed by as a girl would probably stand no chance against me as I was now.
Despite all of this, I didn’t feel particularly powerful as I crept forward, tracing my tracks in the thick dust of Dingeramat. I was in very real danger. In fact, the odds of surviving my situation were pretty much nonexistent unless I could find a way to escape, but that didn’t seem likely. My stomach tightened with every step, and I desperately racked my brain for everything I knew about elite dungeons.
Standard dungeons were dangerous enough. Usually, they consisted of a den of monsters with treasure at the end, or valuables hidden somewhere. Elite dungeons were another matter entirely, like comparing a schooner to a rowboat. They were fortresses full of monsters, traps, and dangerous magic.
And now I was walking through one.
I briefly paused to eyeball the crack I’d come out of, but decided not to chance going back through it. I had no idea whether I’d even survive traversing it again. Plus, I’d really gotten a good look at the cave-in above me before. I knew I’d fallen a long distance, and the huge, crushing weight of all that earth could come crashing down at any time.
No, there was only one real, possibly escape, but I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it at all. Elite dungeons usually had some sort of exit or escape at the very end so adventurers wouldn’t have to backtrack the entire way to the entrance. This was probably because unlike regular dungeons, some elite dungeons stayed dangerous. Honestly, what I’d read as a girl had been fuzzy. Not many adventurers ever saw the inside of an elite dungeon and lived to tell about it.
I was going to have to go through. Back tense, I began walking forward again, holding my sad little torch high overhead. Ignoring reality wouldn’t do me any good, but I still scanned the walls for any more cracks or breaks, any sign of a different way to escape. Even though I knew it wasn’t likely.
My situation was grim. The only consolation I had was that I was already inside the elite dungeon. Most such places had extremely dangerous external defenses meant to kill anyone and anything that got close. Some elite dungeons had magic defenses or projectiles, some had poisonous gas, and others even had elementals. No two elite dungeons were the same.
I really wished I had even the smallest piece of information on Dingeramat. The thought soured as I crept forward. Eventually, I gave up trying to move stealthily. If this dungeon had traps, I was probably already dead. I didn’t have the skill to find or disarm any, so there was no point trying to look for them.
A minute later when my booted foot landed on a stone tile and I heard a sharp, “click,” I held my breath, but nothing else happened. Eventually, I unfolded myself from my twisted, cringing position, and curiosity got the better of me. Using my knife and using a combination of my vib-bade ability and a lot of muscle, I was able to actually pull up the tile.
Underneath, I found a complicated looking mechanism that had obviously been a trap at some time in the past. The ancient past. So much corrosion and dirt covered the little gears and levers that it seemed locked in place for the rest of time. Wow. That was the first time my life had been saved by rot.
Upon closer inspection, I saw that all the metal parts of the trap underneath were bronze, maybe aluminum...no metals that immediately went bad, but I could tell just looking at it that it had been there for a really, really long time. Suddenly, the still, mausoleum-like air of the elite dungeon took on new significance for me, and I wondered how long Dingeramat had actually been buried. I’d originally thought maybe a hundred years, but now I was mentally adding at least a zero to that number.
The dust I walked through was thick, and I continued to wonder just how many years it had lain there, undisturbed. I shivered, a reaction that had nothing to do with the cold, and moved on. Every time I heard a click from that point on, I took small comfort knowing I was cheating death over and over again.
Everything eventually dies. Apparently, even traps.
When I rounded a bend, I caught my breath and readied my weapon. The hallway had widened a bit and gotten much taller, suddenly turning into a natural tunnel. One entire side of the tunnel had doors and hallways hewn from solid rock, the openings dark, gaping like empty eye sockets.
The dim light from my sputtering flame didn’t let me see very far, but after a few endless, silent minutes, I was sure nothing was moving. The very air was as still as the grave. To my right, I could see a carved sconce in the side of the tunnel, maybe meant to hold a torch or some other light in the past.
I slowly moved forward, holding my light higher aloft. Despite the stillness, my nerves kept growing more frayed. My grip on my sword was tight, and I was ready to activate my vib-blade ability in a heartbeat. I moved forward a couple dozen steps, my head on a swivel, then came to a stop while trying to peer into the large, open doorway to my left. The gloom was stubbornly holding back my light, hiding its secrets.
My eyes tracked to the sputtering flame of my torch, and I realized that it didn’t have much time left to burn. The dungeon I was in was still, but oppressive. I didn’t want to move yet, but I really didn’t have much of a choice if I didn’t want to be stuck in an ancient, elite dungeon...in the dark.
Once I thought about my problem that way, I briskly moved forward, looking for a way to prolong my light. After a short time, I found a few brittle, dried roots, and some other flammable odds and ends. I placed them in a pile, and with a some blowing, a little patience, and a lot of luck, I was soon able to get a small fire going.
The success came just in time, too. My pathetic torch burned out right as my little campfire began sustaining itself. That was close, I thought, then shuddered. Losing my light in this place was just...it wasn’t something I wanted to spend much time thinking about.
Once my small fire was going, I pursed my lips, looking at all the smoke it was creating. Any element of surprise I might have had before didn’t exist anymore.
The area between my shoulder blades crawled as I scanned the dwellings to one side, my meager light jumping, illuminating my surroundings in tiny flashes. I absently scooped up a few more twigs and things, adding them to my fire, and blew out a slow breath. Time was not on my side.
With growing resignation, I searched along the ground until I had found a l
arge enough root, then lit it on fire. Leaving my comforting little fire behind, I explored the crushing darkness with a tiny flame on the end of a meager stick.
The darkness pressed in on me as I cautiously moved beyond a rough-hewn doorway. Despite my best efforts, my breath came out raggedly, and my weapon hand trembled as I continued forward. I didn’t belong in this place, not at all. The heavy, crushing ceiling loomed above me in disapproval, hanging in the dark.
Despite the desperation of my situation, I still moved slowly, methodically. I couldn’t bring myself to hurry, which was probably just as well since my tiny light was so delicate.
Since I was hyper-aware of the little flame, I knew when it was about to go out, and hurried back to my improvised camp fire. It took me five old, crumbly roots, five sputtering little flames, and fives terrifying stumbles into the thick dark before I finally found something of interest. On the fifth time delving into the unknown, I’d found a trunk made of an unknown, tarnished material.
After dragging it back to my fire, making so much noise I cringed down to my toes, I tried getting it open. If I had not been orb-Bonded, I don’t think I could have opened it, but with my vib-blade ability and enhanced strength, I was eventually able to pry the lid off.
Inside was...nothing—just a few inches of dust and loose dirt. Whatever the chest had held in the past had long since broken down.
At that moment, I probably could have cried from the overwhelming frustration and stress. Instead, I hunted for another meager stick, lit a small flame, and went back into the dark.
It took me seven more tries until I finally found a box with something inside. When I opened it up, my despair vanished, and a flash of triumph dispelled some of my mental fatigue.
“Jackpot,” I muttered. I reverently reached into the container I’d pried open and lifted out my prize. I’d found a light, and probably used up an entire year’s worth of luck in the process.
This time I almost cried again, but from happiness. My situation was still terrible, but at least now I had a chance to survive. Maybe.
Damaged Secrets
Most magic torches were a tube with some kind of light creation and focusing crystal on one side, and a socket holding a magic stone on the other. I had no idea how they worked, but apparently, for people who understood magic tech, the devices were fairly simple to create.
What I held in my hand was obviously a magic torch, but of an unusual design I’d never seen before. This tool had a light crystal in the shape of a ball on the end of a rod. When I thumbed the tool to life, it actually worked! The magic stone still had power.
I did a dance in the dark, almost weeping with joy. My food and water situation were still a concern, but at least I could see now! The darkness before had been so oppressive; I’d had difficulty thinking. I’d never take my vision for granted again.
After I’d gotten ahold of myself, I sheathed my sword and squatted down. My new magic torch’s clear white light illuminated my surroundings, pushing back the dark and allowing me to finally see inside the boxes. I still couldn’t tell what the containers were made of, but based on the remnants of other objects I found, I realized they had once held various objects that adventurers might have used.
I glanced at the dark, gaping doorways nearby and felt a chill. The ancient, decayed items in the boxes had once probably belonged to adventurers, taken off their dead bodies and used as trophies or something.
I didn’t find anything else of value in the boxes, but I did discover another interesting feature of my magic torch. With the turn of a crank, the round crystal retracted into the body of the device, creating a bright, narrow beam. Then with another turn of the crank, the round ball came out again, casting light in all directions more like a natural torch.
Wow. That was handy. I wondered why magic torches weren’t made this way anymore. Regardless, I’d been very fortunate that the magic stone still worked for the device. I frowned and shook my head. The m-stone was getting kind of dim. I also didn’t feel much of a buzz when I touched it, so it probably didn’t have much power left. I’d need to find another one, and hopefully soon.
I gathered myself up, making sure I still had all my meager belongings, and began moving again. The darkness was still heavy, still unsettling, but with the magic torch, I traveled much faster. I passed the area with carved buildings, and the tunnel turned, becoming jagged and natural. Then I suddenly found myself before a giant stone doorway.
Some sort of unfamiliar pattern and writing decorated the door. The only other feature that stood out was a giant keyhole at about eye level. I didn’t have any random dungeon keys lying around, so I tried pushing on the door. Even with my full strength, nothing happened. I had no way to tell for sure, but I got the feeling that the stone was extremely thick.
I stepped back and stared at the door for a while, not allowing myself to listen to the gibbering panic that had started up at the base of my brain. No, this was just a problem, and problems could be solved.
With a flash of inspiration, I took out my little bronze knife and activated my vib-blade ability, increasing its power to the highest level I could. Then I tried to cut through the door.
As soon as the blade touched the doorway, there was an enormous flash of light, and I was blown backward, my hand numb. Luckily, my magic torch wasn’t damaged, and after my head cleared enough to put thoughts together again, I looked down at my hand. I was unharmed, thank the Creator, but my blade had melted down to the handle.
Okay, so that was not going to work.
I tossed my now-useless knife away and backtracked, carefully examining the walls around me. After some time, I eventually came back to the embers of my sad little fire, and the dwellings in the side of the tunnel.
As I stood regarding the gaping openings, I suddenly remembered something I’d read in an adventuring book as a girl, that sometimes dungeons were engineered to ensure that certain challenges had to be overcome before moving on.
Great.
I tapped my foot on the ground as I considered my options. There was probable crushing death waiting if I tried to exit the dungeon the way I’d come in, dig for the rest of my life at the entrance and not get anywhere, or stare at the giant, magic-proof door until I ran out of water and died…
Or I could venture into the unsettling, dark dwellings with unnaturally large doors.
The decision was obvious, but I still took a few moments to compose myself. Finally, I sighed and slowly headed back into the dwelling where I’d found my precious light. This was not going to be fun.
***
Now that I had proper light while exploring, I discovered several things rather quickly. I learned that the original inhabitants of the tunnel structures were long, long dead and that I was deeply fortunate that this was the case.
The ancient buildings I explored had once been the home of huge snake people, a fact I confirmed by finding pieces of skeletons and other remains. The ancient dungeon I was exploring had been creepy enough before. Now it was even worse.
I’d heard of these types of demons before, but I hadn’t known they could get so large. Each snake person must have been almost twice as large as me in the body, and had tails almost three times as long. On top of that, I found evidence that they’d been well armed. In the close confines of the tunnels, they probably would have been unstoppable. On top of that, the carved buildings all had connections in various places, so the snake people could have moved freely, never being boxed in. Facing them would have been a nightmare.
Elite dungeons were terrifying. I couldn’t even count how many ways I would have already been dead if I’d stumbled into Dingeramat during its glory days.
As I explored another room and found yet another piece of snake person bone, I toed it with my boot and idly wondered how such large creatures had lived in the tunnels. What had they eaten?
Then I remembered the cave-in at the entrance of the dungeon. Dingeramat had been open to the surface in the ancient past.
This realization not only explained where the snake people had gotten food, but also why they’d probably died. I felt a chill as I saw the remains with new eyes, wondering if they’d eaten each other.
One group of bones made me shake my head. Had the snake people fought, or had this been a family that had chosen to die together? For the first time, I noticed the existence of smaller remains. They’d had children here, little monster children. I had always thought that monsters in dungeons were almost always only male or only female, not able to breed. Apparently, things had been different in the distant past.
The shadows pressed in on my meager little light, and I tried to move faster. There was still no telling how long the magic stone powering my m-torch would last, and I did not want to be stuck in the dark again.
I tried to examine my surroundings as I searched for a way to open my path further into Dingeramat. Any weapons or useful tools were highest priority to scan for, but I had no luck. Piles of dirt, sand, and debris stood everywhere. Filth covered everything. I was sure that treasures might exist under all the piles of decay, but I didn’t have time to be digging around for them.
Every time I examined my light, I imagined it might be getting dimmer. The very real possibility that whatever I needed to open the huge stone door might be hidden...or broken occurred to me. I ignored it. That kind of thinking led nowhere good. Arren’s mother had taught me that lesson; the mind was like a weapon. I had to point my mind in the right direction or I could harm myself.
While randomly exploring the stone-rooms-turned-crypt, I found a few more boxes like the ones I’d found earlier. I tried opening them, and some of them resisted my efforts more than others. Unfortunately, I didn’t find anything of interest, just more dirt and dust. Eventually, I stopped opening the boxes anymore at all. I knew I might have been missing things, but I just didn’t have unlimited time to spend while getting such little reward for my efforts.
Mitigating Risk (Nora Hazard Book 1) Page 12