The Dungeoneers

by John David Anderson

  “Anyways,” Serene interrupted. “As I was saying. Today Master Merribell took me out to the forest around the castle, and we came across a lame doe. One of her front legs was broken. And Master Merribell actually let me help her mend it. Isn’t that amazing?”

  Colm smiled and congratulated her. It was more than he’d accomplished today, walking along the stream and gawking with Finn at Tye Thwodin’s treasury door.

  “That’s great, Serene,” Lena said, though she didn’t sound too enthused. Lena had probably grown up skinning deer, not healing them. “I learned how to perform a spinning tri-parry back thrust.”

  “Oh. Well. Wow,” Colm said.

  “You have no idea what that is, do you?”

  “Not the slightest.” Colm looked over at Quinn, who seemed as if he was about to dunk his whole face into his bowl, which would be unfortunate, as the thick brown stuff inside was still steaming. “What did you do this afternoon, Quinn?”

  The mageling looked up finally and shook his head. He was pale as morning frost.

  “Maybe shouldn’t ask,” Lena whispered across the table. “There was an incident.”

  “It’s no big deal,” Quinn said.

  “He almost killed someone.”

  “It wasn’t that bad,” Quinn retorted. “I just caught his robes on fire, is all.”

  Colm wasn’t sure he had heard right. “What? Whose robes?”

  “Master Velmoth’s,” Quinn muttered. “He said to show him my best spell, which is the one where I shoot blue flames out of my fingers.” He looked imploringly at Lena.

  “It’s true. It’s very impressive,” she confirmed.

  “Except I didn’t quite get the words out right, and the flames shot out of my ears instead.”

  Colm quickly clamped a hand over his mouth. He didn’t want to laugh. Not at Quinn, who looked so forlorn. It was obvious the boy felt terrible about what had happened. But the image of Quinn with flame spurting out of his ears was too much. Colm saw he wasn’t the only one holding back. Lena also had that look in her eye, her lower lip trembling.

  “He was standing right beside me,” Quinn continued plaintively, still staring at his stew. “There wasn’t a lot I could do. I tried blowing out the flames, but that only made it worse. He kept running away from me, those big ears of his flapping up and down like he was trying to fly.”

  That did it. The image of bunny-eared Master Velmoth running around with his robes on fire and poor Quinn chasing after him, blowing on the flames, making them bigger—Colm snorted once, and then Lena lost it. They both looked at each other and exploded.

  “I’m so sorry, Quinn,” he said. “Really. It’s just . . .”

  The mageling tried to look angry, but even he started to chuckle. “It really was horrible.”

  “I’m just glad you both are okay,” Serene said, frowning at the lot of them, clearly not amused. “It could have been much worse. You could have really hurt him. Or yourself.”

  “You might have caught his ears on fire,” Lena said, holding her hands to either side of her head and flapping them, then laughing all over again. Colm nearly knocked over his stew.

  Serene continued to scold. “That’s why you shouldn’t dabble in that kind of destructive magic. Magic should be used to heal, to bring a little more light to the world.”

  “I’d say he brought light to the world,” Colm said, which caused Quinn to laugh harder.

  “You know what I mean,” Serene said, doing her best not to smile.

  “I just hope he doesn’t hold it against me,” Quinn said after everyone had caught their breath. “It was embarrassing. My whole face turned red.”

  This set them off all over again. Other trainees were starting to look at them. They quickly tried to regain their composure. After several deep breaths, Lena wiped her eyes. “It’s not that big a deal. I’m sure it happens all the time. It’s nothing they would kick you out over,” she assured him. “Besides, you are still more powerful than half of the mages here.”

  She looked at Colm for backup. He nodded, though he honestly had no clue. He knew even less about casting spells than he did about spinning tri-parry back thrusts.“Yeah. Absolutely,” he said. “A little training and you’ll be the scourge of goblins and bunny-eared wizards alike.”

  Colm looked around the vast dining hall, with its thirty-foot ceilings and scalloped marble pillars. At the heaping silver plates of hot bread and the endless river of stew that seemed to flow from Fungus’s kitchen. It sure wasn’t home. He thought of the others at his table. Quinn was younger than he was, by a year at least, and he could cast spells, albeit inconsistently. Lena and Serene were both his age, but one could talk to animals and the other could probably best him in a duel using only the spoon in her hand. If he stayed, he would have just as much to learn as anyone.

  He wondered what would happen to the rest of them if he left now. If he would even see them again.

  “Are you all right?” Serene was fixing him with those cat-yellow eyes of hers.

  “Yeah.” Colm nodded. “Just thinking about how incredible it is, just being here.”

  “We still have a couple of hours before we have to be back in our rooms. Thought maybe we’d take another look around outside. Want to come?”

  Colm nodded again and stood up with the others as they made their way through the busy hall. Lena walked beside him. “So a spinning tri-parry back thrust is when you twist your body like this, and hold your sword first over your head, then swing like so . . . ,” she started to explain. They passed a group of obviously older trainees just coming in. One of them, the larger of two boys, brushed up against Quinn, nearly knocking him over.

  “Watch it.”

  “I’m s-s-sorry,” Quinn said, making a move to squeeze by, but the boy grabbed Quinn’s robe, spinning him around so that they were facing each other.

  Colm stopped with the others, forming a half circle behind Quinn. There were three in the other group, two boys and a girl, and Colm wondered if the three of them hadn’t all been thrown down the same pit together some time ago. The one who had ahold of Quinn’s robe was dressed much the same as Lena: chain-mail shirt, leather everywhere else, a long sword with a curve hung at his hip—obviously a warrior of some kind. His goatee was shaped into a point. The other boy was taller and thinner than his companion, with a gray cloak and an ax slung across his back, another brawler probably, a crisscross of scars on his chin. The girl had straight blond hair down to her waist and a mischievous grin spanning sunken cheeks. Judging by her dress, she was probably a mage. A necklace of runes circled her throat.

  The boy with the sword squinted at Quinn. His nose, Colm noticed, was crooked. “I know you,” he said. “You’re the kid that blows fire out of his arse.” This earned a laugh from his companions. Colm didn’t crack a smile. He watched Quinn’s face flush.

  “It was his ears, actually,” Serene corrected, but this just caused the other three to laugh again.

  “You must be the new arrivals,” the boy with the crooked nose said, taking them all in. “In that case I should introduce myself. I’m Tyren. This is Minx and she’s Vala.”

  “Greetings,” the girl named Vala said, her voice like a cat’s purr. Minx nodded.

  “So let me see, we know Flame Ears already. And you,” Tyren said, pointing a finger at Serene. “You must be the bug whisperer.”

  “Her name is Serene,” Lena said, stepping forward so that she stood between Quinn and Tyren, who instinctively took a step back, rubbing his fuzzy chin.

  “Right. And you are?”

  “Lena Proudmore. And if that’s too hard, I can give you something to help you remember.” Lena’s hand went to the pommel of her sword. Just resting it there. Tyren put up his hands in mock surrender.

  “That’s okay, Red. I think it would be hard to forget a face like yours.” He looked at Colm, who resisted the temptation to look down at his boots. “We heard you four made it through Renny’s maze in record time.”


  “We did all right,” Colm said. He found it was a whole lot easier to say something so long as he was standing next to Lena, who still had her hand on her sword.

  “Of course, that’s about as easy as they come,” Tyren mused. “We’ll have to wait and see how you do later, when it actually means something. When there’s something of value at stake. Until then,” he added, looking specifically at Quinn, “try not to sneeze or anything. I’d hate for you to hurt someone.” He patted the mageling once on the shoulder—a gesture that seemed in no way friendly—then nodded coolly at Lena before pulling his two companions along. Vala bumped into Colm’s shoulder on her way past, though admittedly he might have blocked her path a little. It looked for a moment like Lena would follow them, say something else, or maybe, knowing her, challenge them to a duel there in the middle of the dining hall. But she got control of herself.

  “What was that all about?” Serene asked.

  “Welcoming committee,” Quinn said.

  “He’s a nobleman’s son,” Colm said. “Or at least he comes from wealth—you can tell by the boots.” Tyren’s steel-toed boots were lined with fox fur, Colm noticed, with a studded cuff. Too fancy for a layman’s kid. “He’s probably used to being the center of attention.”

  Lena looked down at her own boots, then quickly turned to Quinn. “Come on. Let’s take our walk.”

  Just as they were about to pass beneath the archway leading out of the dining hall, they heard a shriek. Colm turned with the others to see Vala reaching for her neck, for the string of runes that had been there moments before.

  Colm calmly dropped the necklace into a bowl full of stew, then followed his friends out into the great hall.

  Colm had seen most of the grounds already, and Serene had spent most of her afternoon outdoors, so the two of them acted as guides for Quinn and Lena as they circled the castle and walked to the edge of the woods. The would-be barbarian walked with her arm still draped around the younger boy’s shoulder, the way Colm sometimes walked with Celia. Quinn seemed to forget all about his rough day when Serene convinced a wild hare to sit in his lap. “See,” she said, “most things with floppy ears aren’t scary at all.”

  Colm found a nearby log to serve as a bench, still struggling with how to sit without jabbing his ribs on the paw of his sword. He wasn’t used to carrying something so long and awkward at his side. It had a fitting name, at least; he had three scratches on his side already. He was a little surprised when Lena came to sit next to him, the moonlight adding a certain luster to the chinks of her shirt, glittering like fish scales.

  “I saw that, you know,” she said.

  Colm shook his head. “Saw what?”

  “Vala’s necklace. I didn’t see you take it, but I saw you dump it in the stew. You’re pretty sneaky.”

  “Thanks,” Colm said, not sure whether to feel embarrassed, guilty, or proud. He settled for proud. “Kind of childish, I guess.”

  “She deserved it. You can just tell about some people. The sense of superiority. And in a place like this, it’s inevitable. Everyone wants to be the best.”

  “I don’t,” Colm said matter-of-factly. “I’m perfectly content being slightly above average.”

  Lena rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure I believe that.” She unsheathed her sword and laid it across her lap, catching her reflection in the steel. “My father was a dungeoneer, you know? He wasn’t part of a guild or anything. He did it the old-fashioned way. Spent his youth as a soldier. Learned how to handle an ax and sword. He and his friends would get to telling stories at a tavern. Then he’d come home and grab his armor and take off for the hills. Wouldn’t even say where he was going or when he’d be back. Sometimes days, sometimes weeks. One month. Two. He’d come back with a chest of gold. Or maybe just a sack. Or maybe just a broken arm. One time he came back draped over his horse, barely breathing. That was the last time my mother let him go. But even then, he said it was still worth the trip.”

  “My father makes shoes,” Colm said.

  Lena looked at him, seemingly confused, as if he were making a joke and she were waiting for the funny part. He just stared back at her. Finally she nodded.

  “Shoes are good,” she said.

  “Keep your feet warm,” he said.

  They watched as the hare leaped over Quinn’s shoulder, causing him to lose his balance and fall backward. Serene pulled him up, the two of them giggling. Lena rubbed her hands together, looked up at the stars just starting to materialize. “That’s why I’m here, you know? He wants me to follow in his footsteps. He says I was made for this kind of thing. But it’s hard. Being everything they expect you to be.”

  Colm wanted to tell her not to worry. That he had only spent a day with her, had only been through one little dungeon with her, that he hadn’t even really seen her fight, and yet he still thought she was amazing. He was trying to think of the best way to say all that without sounding like an idiot when he heard a rustle in the grass behind them. He turned to see a figure dressed in black, hood over his face, hands in his sleeves.

  Colm slipped and fell off the log, but Lena was instantly on her feet, sword in hand pointed at the figure’s chin. Serene and Quinn stood up behind her.

  “Please, Miss Proudmore, I hardly think that’s any way to greet a fellow dungeoneer. Especially not one as handsome as me.”

  Colm instantly recognized the voice. He reached up and put a hand on Lena’s arm, lowering her sword as Finn Argos pulled back his hood to reveal his sparkling smile.

  “Nice to see such sound reflexes, though. And marvelous tumbling skills, Mr. Candorly. That will come in handy anytime you have to strategically fall off something.” Colm stood and brushed the leaves from his pants.

  “Sorry, Master Argos,” Lena said, sheathing her sword and bowing with a blush.

  “Don’t apologize for being on your guard. And don’t call me Master Argos. I’m just Finn. I’m also afraid it’s time to head back, however. It’s getting late, and there are a few creatures in these woods that might not make for good conversation, even for someone like you, Miss Willowtree.”

  Serene nodded, perhaps thinking of mountain lions and bears again, and the four of them gathered their things and followed the rogue back to the huge oaken doors of the castle. Once inside, Finn pointed them toward their chambers and bade each of them get a good night’s rest in preparation for their first full day of training. Lena whispered something in Quinn’s ear again, then snatched Serene’s hand and pulled her toward the stairs. Colm had started to follow Quinn to their room when Finn drew him aside. The day was almost over. Colm was exhausted. Quinn turned around, but Colm motioned for him to go ahead.

  Finn’s eyes followed Lena up the stairs.

  “She needs you, Colm,” Finn said. “It may not seem like it, but it’s true. They all do. Master Thwodin’s always looking for talent, and I certainly wouldn’t mind having another rogue around to teach me a thing or two, but they . . .” He looked back at the stairs, then at the retreating figure of Quinn just turning down the hall. “They might not succeed without you. You four were put together for a reason. You each have your hang-ups, but together you can compensate. That’s how it works.”

  “Balance,” Colm said, remembering what Lena had told him in the dungeon, about proper party configuration and whatnot, but Finn shook his head.

  “Family,” he said.

  Colm took his time making it back to the room, wandering the castle’s torchlit halls until it seemed every other door had been closed. When he did make it in, he found Quinn already sleeping, still fully dressed again, one leg hanging off the end of his bed, his head burrowed between two pillows. Colm tiptoed across the room and sat at the edge of his own bed, carefully taking off his boots. He stared at them for a while. Outstanding works of craftsmanship. Nearly perfect.

  It’s important to be good at something, Colm thought. Did it matter what the thing was? Or just how well you did it? Boot maker? Dungeoneer? Thief? Colm reached
over and opened the desk drawer, pulling out the sheet of parchment that he had put there earlier that morning.

  Be it henceforth known that (hereafter referred to as THE APPRENTICE) is requesting admittance to Thwodin’s Legion (hereafter referred to as THE GUILD) to be trained in the arts of dungeoneering . . .

  Colm looked over at Quinn. Thought about Serene and Lena, sleeping in some room above them. Thought about the look on Finn’s face when he had shown Colm the treasury. Enough gold to make a hundred kings weep . . .

  Then he thought about Felhaven and his father’s callused hands and his mother’s tired smile. And the horses they’d had to sell to make it through the winter. And Celia, with only a silver butterfly pin to hoard as a treasure.

  Imagine if she could see him now, sitting in this castle, surrounded by swordsmen and mages and healers and goblins. Colm looked at Scratch resting beside him, admired the intricate engraving on the handle. He had never owned anything like it before. It looked nice, riding at his hip; it made him walk a little straighter. But Lena was right; he had no idea what to do with it. He could learn, though. He could keep it if he stayed.

  Colm opened the drawer and removed the ink and quill, as well as a blank sheet of parchment. He wasn’t a great writer—his sisters all had a much better knack for it—and he usually struggled over each word whenever his mother made him practice. But once he started, he found he couldn’t stop. He told them almost everything. About where he was and what he’d seen. About Lena and Serene and Quinn and how they’d made it through the dungeon, leaving out the part where poor Quinn nearly got sizzled—no need to worry them too much. He told them about the masters, Finn especially, and Tye Thwodin, who looked strong enough to pull a tree out of the earth, roots and all.

  And he told them how much he missed them all already. And how he would see them soon.

  When he was finished, he read it over and blew on the ink to dry it.